The Ghosts Omnibus One

by Jonathan Moeller

  Caina often had this nightmare.

  But this time the pale girl in the gray dress stood in the corner, watching with dark eyes.

  ###

  Caina awoke, shuddering. Halfdan lay nearby, wrapped in his blanket, snoring. The fire had died down to coals, and pale moonlight bathed the countryside. Ark stood some distance from the fire, eyes on the road and hand on sword hilt. Caina rose, wrapped herself in a cloak, and walked to his side.

  “Cannot sleep?” he said.

  “No. Anyway, it’s my turn at watch.”

  “Not that it matters. I doubt I could sleep.” He hesitated. “Nightmares?”

  Caina nodded. “The usual ones.” She had told him about some. Others they had survived together. “But different, though. I saw a little girl in a gray dress, watching me.”

  Ark grunted, and Caina thought his eyes strayed towards her stomach, where the thick scars lay. “I’m sorry.”

  Her hand twitched towards the scars. “Is that what you think it was about?”

  He shrugged. “Perhaps. You told me about…what happened to you, how you’ll never have children.”

  She had her mother to thank for that.

  “Perhaps,” said Caina. “Halfdan always said…”

  “That nightmares are scars of the mind,” recited Ark.

  Despite herself, Caina smiled. “True. But sometimes they mean nothing. I’ve never seen this little girl before. Perhaps I drank too much of Halfdan’s damnable wine.”

  He snorted. “You had half a cup. If that.”

  “Too much. Wine puts me in a foul mood.”

  “If it will cheer you up,” said Ark, “we could double back and burn down the Ragman’s Inn.”

  “Oh, stop that.”

  They stood in comfortable silence for a moment.

  “What about you?” said Caina. “You haven’t slept yet. Are you worried about nightmares?”

  “I’ve been thinking,” said Ark, “about the last time I came to Marsis.”

  “Oh,” said Caina.

  “I was going to kill myself,” said Ark. “I thought about throwing myself from the walls of the city, but I decided that I had been a centurion of the Eighteenth Legion, and I would damn well die by the sword. So I headed north I wanted to see the ocean one last time before I died.” He snorted, laughing at himself. “But the road was too crowded, and I wanted to be alone when I did it. I wandered a little farther than I intended…and met Tanya.”

  Caina nodded. He had told her this story before. She knew how it ended.

  “When you were in the Imperial capital,” said Ark. “Did you ask after her?”

  “I promised you that I would,” said Caina. “I disguised myself as a sailor, visited taverns, warehouses. No one had seen a Szaldic slave woman named Tanya, or her son.”

  Ark nodded.

  “She’s probably dead,” said Caina.

  He nodded again, silent in the darkness.

  “The Ghosts have spies in every port with a slave market on the western seas,” said Caina. “Not a one of them saw the slavers’ ship. It probably sank at…”

  “I know,” he said, sharply.

  “I’m sorry,” said Caina.

  “It was not your doing,” said Ark. “I know that she is dead…and yet I wish I knew for certain. I would give anything to know what happened to her, to my son.”

  “Sometimes that can be worse,” said Caina. “I saw what happened to my mother and my father with my own eyes.”

  “You loved your father, did you not?”

  “I did,” said Caina, touching the ring hanging from her neck.

  “Would you rather lie awake at night, wondering what had happened to him?”

  “I suppose not,” said Caina. “But if it meant I had a chance of seeing him again, however small…I don’t know, Ark. I don’t know.” She shook her head. “What a pair we are. The widower and the barren woman. Halfdan has strange tastes in recruitment.”

  Ark coughed. “But effective. You saved Rasadda, didn’t you?”

  “We saved Rasadda. Both of us. How many times must I remind you?”

  Again they stood together in silence.

  “Independent slavers have been attacking the western coast for years,” said Ark. “But I wonder…”

  “What?” said Caina.

  “The slavers who took my wife. Were they working for Naelon Icaraeus and his father?”

  “It was five years ago, wasn’t it?”

  “About.”

  “I don’t know,” said Caina. “They might have been. Haeron Icaraeus was buying slaves in bulk for Maglarion's experiments by then.” Something occurred to her. “That’s the real reason you came here, isn’t it? Not because you hate slavers. Because the particular slavers who took your family might have been working for Icaraeus.”

  “Still clever,” said Ark. “And when you and Halfdan find Icaraeus’s hiding place, when you have him at your mercy, I will ask him. I will ask him if the men who attacked the village of Hruzac were working for him.” She heard his fingers tighten against his sword hilt. “And if they were…the gods themselves will not save him from me.”

  Caina said nothing. She didn’t know if the gods existed or not. She knew that some of their priests taught mercy, kindness, compassion.

  Yet they also taught justice.

  “I don’t think,” she said, “that the gods would want to.”

  ###

  Eventually, Ark let her take the watch and went to sleep. Caina kept watch for the rest of the night, keeping an eye on the road and the sea. Asides from the running lights of a ship heading south, she saw nothing. Caina wondered if that was Icaraeus’s ship. If the renegade slaver had made allies out of Marsis’s noble Houses, then he would almost certainly flee to the city.

  She watched the distant lights until they vanished.

  Later Halfdan took her place at watch. Caina caught a few hours of sleep. If she dreamed, she didn’t remember it.

  When morning came, Halfdan made breakfast, and Caina wandered off to work through her forms. She felt better when she was done. Vigorous exercise always cleared the mind.

  After breakfast, Halfdan drove, Caina sat next to him, and Ark paced alongside the wagon. More traffic began to fill the road, merchant wagons traveling back and forth, liveried horsemen performing their masters’ errands, and commoners going about their business.

  She smelled the city before she saw it. Baking bread. Tar and salt. Wood and coal smoke, lots of it. And the smell of ordure, common to every city in the Empire.

  “Almost there, Father?” There were enough travelers in earshot that she didn’t dare speak openly.

  “Aye, lass,” grunted Halfdan. A wagon laden with barrels groaned ahead of them, the driver cursing at his oxen. “And we would have been there an hour past if not for the fool in front of us.”

  “Your father, my lady,” said Ark, “likes to drive fast.”

  “Bah,” said Halfdan. “Time is wasting. No one ever turned a profit sitting about.”

  A short time later Marsis, the chief city of the western Empire, came into view.

  It sprawled as far as the eye could see, spread out between the northern bank of the River Marentine and the seashore. Hundreds of ships crowded the fortified harbor, and Caina saw a score of vessels maneuvering to their piers or setting out to sea, surrounded by clouds of seagulls. A pair of fortified lighthouses sat at the harbor entrance, topped with both beacons and war engines. Ferries and boats choked the river, carrying cargo from the towns and villages further inland. Caina saw mansions, temples to the gods of the Empire, and high towers, all surrounded by countless houses and warehouses and shops.

  And above it all loomed the Citadel.

  It sat atop a crag overlooking the harbor, walls and gates and scarred towers piled atop each other. The walls bristled with catapults and ballistae, reading to bring death down upon anyone foolish enough to assault the harbor. But Caina barely noticed the grim Citadel, or the city sprawl
ed at its foot.

  The massive black tower rising out of the Citadel’s heart drew her eye.

  It stood six hundred feet tall from crown to base, blacker than the night. It looked too delicate, too slender to stand, and yet it did. It had stood for a long time. It was older than the Empire. Perhaps it had been there before mortal man had ever come to Marsis, if the stories were true.

  “Welcome,” said Halfdan, “to Marsis. City of a thousand ships.”

  “I thought that was New Kyre,” said Caina.

  Halfdan chuckled. “It is. But don’t tell the Lord Governor that, or any of the highborn. Marsis likes to pride itself as a city of trade, where any merchandise can be bought and sold.”

  “Like slaves?” muttered Caina.

  She saw Ark staring at the city, face grim, and knew that he was thinking about his wife.

  The docked ships drew her eye. She looked over the hundreds of ships, and wondered how many might carry chained slaves.

  Chapter 4 - Zorgi's Inn

  They pulled into a long line of carts waiting to enter the gates. The walls of Marsis loomed over them, gray and scarred from ancient battles. Caina remembered vaguely that Marsis had been conquered and retaken a score of times over the centuries. Though the Citadel and the black tower at its heart had only fallen from treachery, never from assault.

  “What’s the plan?” she said.

  “We go to an inn,” said Halfdan. “Run by a friend of mine. Set up shop there. Then we’ll go looking for business.”

  “And where, Father,” said Caina, watching the carts rumble through the gates, “shall we find business?” Four legionaries stood by the gates, asking questions of the drivers.

  He glanced at her. “The noble Houses, I think. Noblewomen are vain and prideful and ever eager for more jewels to flaunt at their expensive balls. It should not be hard to get an invitation or two.”

  Caina nodded, and their wagon pulled up to the gates.

  A legionary strode towards them, expression bored. He wore the segmented steel armor of the Legion, a broadsword at his belt, and a shield slung over his shoulder. His eyes flicked over Halfdan, lingered for a while on Caina, and returned to Halfdan.

  “Your name and business?” said the legionary in Caerish.

  “Basil Callenius, of Malarae,” said Halfdan, speaking his own Caerish with a Nighmarian accent. “A merchant of jewels and other luxuries.” He lifted a leather folder. “I have all the proper papers and licensures, I assure you, and I am a member in good standing of the Imperial Collegium of Jewelers.” A silver coin glimmered in his hand. “I do hope I can go about my business in peace.”

  The legionary gave the papers a cursory glance and took the coin. “Aye, Master Basil, you’re free to go.”

  “Though I hope I might ask a question of you, soldier,” said Halfdan. “Do you know a man named Ducas?”

  “Aye,” said the legionary, “he’s a tribune of the Twentieth, my Legion. His cohort has command of the south lighthouse.”

  Halfdan pulled a sealed scroll from inside his robe. “Might you send this message, worthy sir?” Another silver coin glimmered in his hand. “It would be worth your while, I think.”

  “As you will.” The legionary took both scroll and coin. “I’ll send it with the next rider. Now go. The centurion will have my hide if he sees you blocking the gate.”

  Halfdan tipped his cap and cracked the reins. The wagon rattled through the gates and into a broad plaza paved with flagstones. Merchant stalls stood everywhere, vendors hawking food and drink to travelers entering the city.

  “Wretched dog, taking bribes,” muttered Ark, glaring at the gate. “Were I his centurion I would whip him until he cried like a child.”

  “Bribes make the world go round,” said Halfdan.

  “Why are legionaries manning the gate?” said Caina. “Isn’t that usually the task of auxiliaries, or local militia?”

  “Usually,” said Halfdan, “but not here. Two Legions are kept in Marsis at all times, in case the Kyracians attempt to sail in and seize the city. It’s only been six years or so since their last raid.”

  “This Ducas fellow,” said Caina. “A business associate of yours, Father?”

  “Oh, yes,” said Halfdan, “we’ve done business many a time. Now, hush, daughter. Speak no more of business until we’re alone.”

  Caina nodded, thinking it over. A military tribune who was also a Ghost? It seemed odd, though it made sense that the Emperor would want spies in his own armies.

  She took in the city as Halfdan drove. People crowded the streets, Nighmarian lords, Caerish merchants, Szaldic craftsmen, Kyracian traders, Anshani merchants, priests of various gods, all of them haggling, gossiping, bickering, preaching, and arguing. Caina spoke a dozen languages with varying degrees of proficiency, and she heard all twelve in the streets, along with a few she did not recognize. She saw the pickpockets working their way through the crowds, and noted with amusement how they moved on to different marks after taking one look at Ark.

  Hardly any beggars, though. That surprised her. She had seen one or two at the gate, and none since. Was Marsis prosperous enough to have no beggars?

  It seemed hard to believe that this thriving city could host a gang of sorcery-empowered slavers.

  She glanced up at the mansions surrounding the Citadel, and wondered how many of them held dark secrets. Her eyes wandered past the mansions, to the Citadel itself. And the great black tower rising from its center.

  “Draws the eye, doesn’t it?” said Ark.

  “Who built it?” said Caina.

  “No one knows,” said Ark. “Some people say the gods built it, or the Strigosti, or a mighty sorcerer raised it in a single day with a single spell.”

  “What do you think?” said Caina.

  Ark shrugged. “I don’t know. An ancient people reared it, most likely. The Szalds call it the Black Angel Tower.”

  “A strange name,” said Caina. “Why?”

  Ark seemed uncomfortable. “Do you want to tell it, or should I?”

  “You should, I think,” said Halfdan. “You heard it from a better storyteller than I did.”

  “As you wish,” said Ark. He kept his eyes on the street, but began to speak. “According to the legend, there was a war in the heavens, and the angels rebelled against the gods. In the end, the gods prevailed, and the fallen angels were cast out of the heavens. Some were chained for all time in the hells. Some escaped, and wander the earth to torment mankind. And one in particular was thrown out of the heavens with such force that it fell to earth like a falling star and buried itself in the ground. The gods raised the tower to seal the demon in its prison for all time.”

  Ark fell silent, his face distant. Caina watched him for a moment. She realized that Tanya must have told him that story.

  “A grim tale,” she said at last.

  Ark nodded. “The Szalds have countless legends like that. Ghosts that drink blood, and men that become wolves, female demons that carry away newborns, and sorcerers that lay curses upon innocents. Grim tales for a grim people.” He shrugged. “They live in peace and tell grim tales. In the Legion we’d tell bawdy tales and do grim things.”

  “Is that what the horseshoes are about?” said Caina, hoping to turn his mind from the subject of his wife.

  Ark blinked. “The what?”

  “The horseshoes,” said Caina, pointing. A nearby house had a horseshoe hammered into the lintel, a spring of dried flowers tucked between the iron and the wood.

  “Oh, those,” said Ark. “Another Szaldic superstition. They’re supposed to ward away the Solmonari and the Moroaica.”

  “What are those?” said Caina.

  “The Solmonari are…different things, depending upon who you ask,” said Ark. “Supposedly they were the wise men of the ancient Szaldic tribes, and went extinct when the Arthags and the Malrags drove them into the Empire. Others say they were an order of wicked sorcerers.”

  “There’s another kind?�
�� said Caina.

  Ark almost smiled. “Whatever the Solmonari were, whether or not they even existed, most of the Szalds think they were evil. So they put up those horseshoes to ward the Solmonari away.”

  “What about the Moroaica?”

  Ark shrugged. “Some kind of demon, I think. It would appear in the form of a woman, and carry off newborn children.” He pointed. “See there, the house with that second horseshoe nailed to the door?”

  Caina nodded.

  “You can always tell a Szaldic house with a new baby,” he said. “They nail up a second horseshoe then, to ward away the Moroaica.”

  “A strange belief,” said Caina.

  “And who is to say that they are not right?” said Halfdan. “There are many strange things in the world.”

  “Most of them conjured up by the brothers of the Magisterium,” said Caina.

  “There are other sorcerers in the world than the Magisterium,” said Halfdan. “But we should not discuss them on the streets. Bad for business, dear daughter.”

  “True, Father,” said Caina. She gazed at the Black Angel Tower, thinking about fallen angels and blood-drinking demons. It made for grim thoughts, as Ark had said. Yet within the city’s walls were men who would rip children from their mothers and sell them to strangers.

  No need to dig through dusty Szaldic legends to find monsters. There were plenty here and now.

  She rode in silence for the rest of the trip, thinking.

  “Here we are,” said Halfdan, pulling the mules to a stop.

  Caina looked up. They had gone into the heart of Marsis, not far from the ring of palatial mansions surrounding the Citadel. The wagon sat before an inn built of timber and white stone, surrounded by small gardens and trees. It did not look nearly as luxurious as the White Road Inn, but it had an understated charm that the White Road had lacked.

  Well. At least until Caina had burned it down.

  “What’s this?” said Caina.

  “Zorgi’s Inn,” said Halfdan, “favored by discerning master merchants throughout the Empire. Zorgi keeps a fine inn, and Basil Callenius has stayed here many a night.”