The Ghosts Omnibus One

by Jonathan Moeller

  The slavers broke and ran. Some tried to flee into the streets, while others fell back into the tenement. It did them no good. The Legionaries swarmed over them, striking them down with two-handed swings from their heavy quarterstaffs. Tigrane hacked back and forth with his sword, and managed to cut down a Legionary. He leapt free, sprinting down the street.

  “Now!” said Caina, springing towards the edge of the roof, Ark at her heels.

  Radast snatched up another crossbow, a quarrel ready and loaded. This quarrel had been tipped with a small wooden ball. Radast took aim and squeezed the trigger.

  The blunted quarrel smacked into the back of Tigrane’s left knee. His leg folded, and Tigrane fell on his face with a bellow of pain.

  “Damn it,” said Radast, “I was aiming for his neck.”

  Two coiled ropes lay at the edge of the roof, grapnels buried in the shingles. Caina seized the nearest rope and jumped, her cloak billowing around her. The rope played out, its length ending a few feet above the street. Caina kicked off the wall, hit the street in a roll, and came to her feet. She heard a grunt and a curse as Ark landed with less grace.

  Tigrane staggered to his feet, favoring his right leg, as Caina sprinted at him. He snarled and lashed out with his sword. Caina caught the blow on her silver Kyracian dagger and sidestepped, launching a sideways kick as she did so. Her boot slammed into Tigrane’s bruised left knee, and he hopped back a step, growling in pain. Caina slashed her dagger across his shoulder, smoke rising from the wound, and Tigrane howled in pain. But he recovered his balance, drawing his sword back for a blow.

  Just in time to meet the two-handed swing of Ark’s shield. The thick oak slammed into Tigrane’s face with all of Ark’s strength behind it. Both teeth and blood flew from the blow, and Tigrane fell back against the wall. Ark cast aside his shield, seized Tigrane’s wrist, and ripped the sword from his grasp. Tigrane fell to his knees, blood splattering from his mouth.

  “Do it!” said Ark.

  Caina pulled a cloth pad from a pouch at her belt, dripping with some vile concoction that Halfdan had brewed up. She pushed the pad over Tigrane’s bleeding nose and lips. Tigrane struggled uselessly against Ark’s grip for a moment. Then his eyes rolled back into his head, and he went limp.

  Ark sighed and pulled a gag and a hood from his belt. “Well done.”

  “You too,” said Caina. “Don’t hood him.”

  “Why not?”

  “He’s no use to us if he chokes on his own blood,” said Caina. “Just blindfold him and gag him. I’ll get Halfdan.”

  Ark nodded and went to work. Caina hurried back to the tenement. The fight was over. Some of the slavers lay dead, their heads cracked by the heavy blows. The Legionaries were binding the rest, stripping them of their bracers and weapons. The soldiers avoided looking at her. Caina wasn’t sure what Ducas had told them, but none of them wanted to look too closely at the Ghosts.

  “Well?” said Ducas, standing before the tenement’s door.

  “We’ve got him,” rasped Caina in her disguised voice.

  “Ah,” said Ducas. “Nice to know all this hard work wasn’t for naught.”

  “My father?” said Caina.

  Ducas jerked his head at the door. “Inside, second floor. Some of the slavers got inside. Said he found something that you’d find interesting.”

  Caina nodded and waited for a trio of Legionaries to come down the stairs, dragging a pair of captured slavers between them. Then she hurried up the stairs herself, entering a gloomy hallway. A door stood open at the end of the hall, the faint glow of a lantern spilling across the floor. She saw Halfdan just within the door, masked and hooded, and walked towards him.

  The tingle of sorcerous power rubbed against her skin, and she hesitated. Then she pushed into the room.

  “I think,” said Halfdan, voice quiet, “that we’ve found out how Icaraeus smuggled slaves through the city.”

  Two mercenaries lay on the floor, the blood from their crushed heads soaking into the boards. Three children and a woman stood against the wall, faces blank, eyes gazing at nothing. For a moment Caina thought that the horror of the scene had overthrown their reason. Yet their expressions seemed so very…empty.

  They each wore a delicate chain collar around their necks, the links shining. Caina hesitated, and waved her hand in front the woman’s face. She blinked, once, but made no other sign. Caina brushed a finger against the chain links, and jerked it back as the buzzing, tingling sensation of sorcery surged up her arm.

  “The collars,” said Caina. “It was the collars, wasn’t it? They’re enspelled to turn people into mindless puppets. Agria and Jadriga must have manufactured them. That’s how Icaraeus did it. He wasn’t smuggling anyone through the city. So long as he kept the collars covered, he could march his slaves through the city in broad daylight, and no one would look twice.”

  “And he didn’t bother using them at the White Road Inn,” said Halfdan, “because he didn’t plan on leaving any witnesses alive. Probably the planned to force them to wear the collars once they arrived at Marsis.”

  Caina peered at the woman’s collar, saw a small lock holding the links together. “And that’s why Jiri’s informers and Ducas’s men never saw anything.” She knelt and began searching the corpses. “They were looking for a reeking slave ship, a warehouse full of slaves. No one thought to look for groups of people moving quietly through the street. No one.” She found something cold and hard in a pocket and pulled it free. It was a small steel key, carved with runes.

  “Though we still don’t know where Icaraeus and Agria are hiding the slaves,” said Halfdan.

  “We will soon,” said Caina. “We got Tigrane.”

  “You did? Good.” Caina heard the satisfaction in Halfdan’s voice. “He’ll tell us everything he knows, once I’m done with him.”

  Caina unlocked the collar and yanked it away from the woman’s throat. She shuddered, took a deep breath, and began to shriek, backing away from Caina in fright.

  “You’re safe now,” rasped Caina. “The slavers are dead and your children are safe.” She knelt and undid the collars around their necks. The children wailed and clung to their mother’s skirts. “They will not return.”

  “We’re safe?” the woman whispered.

  Caina nodded.

  “Thank you,” said the woman. “But…who are you?”

  “No one important,” said Halfdan.

  They scooped up the collars and left.

  ###

  “Well?” Halfdan asked Ducas.

  “Twenty-six slavers dead, twelve captured,” said Ducas. He smirked. “Only one dead and a few minor wounds among my men. These dogs were used to terrorizing women and children, and not facing men of the Legion.”

  “Make sure to destroy both the collars and the bracers,” said Halfdan.

  Ducas grunted. “Sorcerous collars. Icaraeus is a clever bastard. I never would have guessed.” He lowered his voice. “You’ll be…ah, speaking with Tigrane?”

  Caina nodded.

  “Good,” said Ducas, eyes glittering. “Do let me know how it goes.”

  ###

  An hour later Caina, Halfdan, and Ark stood in a half-circle around Tigrane, Jiri and Radast watching from a cot. The lights had been extinguished, and only a single dim lantern threw illumination upon their prisoner. Tigrane sat slumped in a wooden chair, face crusted with blood, his arms and legs bound with thick rope. The ugly charred cut from the silver dagger gaped through a tear in his tunic.

  “I think you hit him too hard,” said Jiri.

  Ark’s voice was cold. “I wanted to hit him harder.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” said Halfdan, tapping a small amount of gray powder in a cup of water. “This will wake him up.”

  He waved the cup under Tigrane’s nose. A moment later Tigrane shuddered, mouth working. He let out a long groan and lifted his head, looking around with bloodshot eyes.

  “Ah,” he rasped. He coughed and spat out
some half-dried blood. “I see I have been captured. Though…you’re not Legionaries, are you?” He frowned. “So…you must have snatched me off the street during the fight.”

  Halfdan said nothing.

  Tigrane’s bloodshot eyes wandered over them, looking at their masked faces. She saw the gears working behind his eyes. Despite herself, Caina felt a twinge of admiration. Not many men could retain the ability to think things through in such dire circumstances.

  His eyes fell upon Caina.

  “You,” said Tigrane. “I remember you, or at least that mask and cloak. You tried to kill His Lordship at the White Road Inn. That means…that means…” He swallowed, and a twitch of fear went over his face. “That means you’re Ghosts.”

  “The Emperor has no Ghosts,” said Halfdan, his voice unrecognizable behind a thick Kyracian accent, “only those who watch from the shadows.”

  “I’ll take that as a yes,” said Tigrane, licking his cracked lips. “So…one of you must be that locksmith His Lordship wanted dead.”

  Caina frowned. Tigrane was a little too clever.

  “I don’t suppose Icaraeus told you why he wanted the locksmith dead,” said Halfdan.

  Tigrane shrugged. “He didn’t say. I didn’t ask. His Lordship has clients, and they paid him to do the deed. His clients didn’t say why.”

  “Perhaps the locksmith offended Lady Palaegus in some way, hmm?” said Halfdan.

  Tigrane blinked in surprise, and let out a long sigh. “You’ve been busy, haven’t you?”

  “Shadows never sleep,” said Halfdan.

  “So,” said Tigrane, “since you haven’t cut my throat, and since I’m not rotting in the Citadel…I guess you want something from me.”

  “You’re a clever fellow, Tigrane,” said Halfdan. “Are you clever enough to tell us what we want to know?”

  Tigrane barked out a laugh. “Do you know what His Lordship does to people who betray him?”

  “A better question,” said Ark, voice full of anger, “is what we’re going to do to you.”

  “I’m getting older,” said Tigrane, “and you hit me right hard. Might have cracked something important. Rough me up too much and I might die on you. Hard for me to tell you anything useful then.”

  “Violence really ought to be a last resort,” said Halfdan. “I hope we can avoid it entirely.”

  “Aye?” said Tigrane. “All right. Give me a thousand gold coins and my freedom, and I’ll tell you everything I know.”

  “Do not presume to barter with me,” said Halfdan. “You are guilty of slave trading and taking service with a traitor to the Empire. Both crimes carry the death sentence. You are not of high birth, and to judge from that accent, not an Imperial citizen. So in your case, a death sentence means crucifixion. Your friends the Legionaries captured? They’ll get dragged before the Lord Governor, they’ll be found guilty, and they’ll end their days screaming on a cross as the crows peck at their faces. And if you annoy me too much, you might end up there alongside them. And I sincerely doubt Icaraeus will lift a finger to save you.”

  Tigrane said nothing, but the muscles in his jaw kept trembling. Caina supposed he no longer found Vardan’s warnings about crucifixion quite so laughable.

  “But,” said Halfdan, “if you cooperate, I’ll have you put on a ship and sent to Anshan. You’ll have no money, of course, but you’ll have your freedom. And your life.”

  “Throw me penniless into Anshan?” said Tigrane. “At my age? I’ll end up a beggar.”

  “Probably,” said Halfdan. “But, tell me. Which sounds better? A beggar? Or a crucified corpse?”

  Tigrane sighed. “What do you want to know?”

  “Where is Icaraeus?” said Halfdan.

  “I don’t know,” said Tigrane.

  Ark growled and started to draw his sword.

  “I don’t know! But I know where he’ll be,” said Tigrane. “Once we had taken the slaves, we were to meet him tomorrow night at the usual place.”

  “Which is?” said Halfdan.

  “An old mansion,” said Tigrane. “At the base of the Citadel’s crag, overlooking the harbor. Lady Palaegus owns it, but she never uses it. We use it to hide slaves. It’s the best place. We’d sometimes hide them in Lady Palaegus’s cellar, but there was never enough room. Lady Heliorus’s mansion was too open, and Lady Chlorus’s just wasn’t large enough.” He shrugged. “I suppose you can ambush His Lordship, the way you ambushed me.”

  “This mansion. What happens to the slaves after that?” said Halfdan.

  “I don’t know,” said Tigrane.

  Again Ark growled.

  “I don’t know!” said Tigrane, a note of frustration in his voice. “His Lordship won’t tell us, and I’ve tried to figure it out. It makes no sense. Young men with strong backs, and pretty young girls who are still virgin, that’s where the money is. Yet we take old men and children and Lady Palaegus pays a high price for them. I thought maybe she was reselling the slaves, perhaps to mine owners in the mountains…but no one would pay that kind of money. She’d have to be selling the slaves at a loss.” There was genuine bafflement in his pained voice. “But why would she do that?”

  “Perhaps she is using the slaves for sorcery,” said Halfdan.

  “Maybe,” said Tigrane. “But between the three of them, we must have sold His Lordship’s clients two thousand slaves over the last five years. Surely she couldn’t have used them all for some kind of witchery…could she?”

  “If she did,” said Halfdan, “it’s not the kind of sorcery you ever want to see.”

  That was an understatement. Caina had encountered the kind of sorcery that drew its power from death before. It was nothing she wanted to see again.

  “Icaraeus’s clients,” said Caina in her disguised voice. “The noblewomen. Tell me about them.”

  “Them?” Tigrane shrugged. “Bored noblewomen who turned to sorcery. Bah. Look what comes of leaving women idle.”

  “So Agria Palaegus and the others truly have sorcerous powers?” said Caina. She already knew the answer, but she wanted to see how Tigrane would answer.

  “Aye,” said Tigrane, voice quiet. “I’ve seen all three of them cast spells. Palaegus seems like the strongest of the three. At least she’s the one usually giving the orders. The other two seem to listen to her.”

  “What about their teacher?” said Caina.

  Tigrane seemed to shrink into himself. “Their teacher?”

  “Jadriga.”

  Tigrane actually shivered. “I don’t want anything to do with her. Aye, Ghosts, I don’t doubt that you can take down Icaraeus and Lady Palaegus. But if you have the sense the gods gave a gnat, you won’t go anywhere near Jadriga.”

  “Why not?” said Caina. “She’s just a woman. Sorcerous powers or not, she still can be killed.”

  “Perhaps,” said Tigrane. “But not by you, Ghost. Not by any of you. I saw her use her powers, once. We’d captured a band of slaves from further up the river, brought them to Lady Palaegus’s mansion. They were bolder than most, managed to kill a bunch of my lads and make a dash for it. But they ran into Jadriga. She got this look on her face, started muttering under her breath…there was this flash. Like green fire. And when it cleared, all the slaves were dead. Thirty-seven of them, killed by one spell. And not just dead…they’d been ripped apart. Like they’d been mauled by wild beasts.” He shook his head. “I’ve never seen any sorcerer do anything like that, not even one from the Magisterium.”

  “Power or not, she will be called to account for her crimes,” said Caina. Assuming they could figure out a way to kill her. “I have only one more question for you. Agria Palaegus is a widow.”

  Tigrane frowned. “Aye?”

  “Did she kill her husband and daughter?” said Caina.

  “Ah,” said Tigrane. “You mean, did she pay us to kill them? No. They were both dead before His Lordship began supplying Lady Palaegus with slaves.” He grunted. “I do think that she killed them, though. Bet she
enjoyed it, too. That all?”

  Caina nodded, and glanced at Halfdan. He nodded back and touched Ark’s shoulder.

  “Good,” said Tigrane. She saw the cunning glitter in his eye. He thought that he had gotten off easy. No doubt he would return to the slave trade as soon as he arrived in Anshan. “If we’re done with the questions, I could use some water. All that talking…”

  Ark stepped forward and backhanded him.

  “What’s this?” said Tigrane, sputtering. “I answered all your…”

  Ark seized Tigrane’s gray hair, a dagger in hand. He held the point of the dagger below Tigrane’s jaw and leaned in close. “Listen to me. My friends, I think they went too easy on you. I want to cut off your fingers one by one and listen to you scream. So if your tongue doesn’t tell me what I want to know,” he jabbed the dagger against Tigrane’s throat, “I’ll pin it to the roof of your mouth. Understand?”

  “But I told you everything I know about Icaraeus,” said Tigrane.

  “No. Not that,” said Ark. Behind his mask, his eyes burned with rage and desperate eagerness. “You’re going to tell me about Hruzac.”

  “Hruzac?” said Tigrane, baffled. “I don’t…”

  “A seaside village north of here, in Varia Province,” said Ark. “You attacked it and enslaved its inhabitants.”

  “We…we did,” said Tigrane. “But that was a Szaldic village, what do the Ghosts care about…”

  Ark growled. “You will tell me what happened there. Now!”

  “It was a disaster, that’s what,” said Tigrane, sweat pouring down his face. “It…it was one of the first jobs His Lordship took from Lady Palaegus. I heard them talking. Jadriga herself wanted everyone from that village.”

  “Jadriga?” said Caina, startled. She had assumed that Icaraeus had targeted Hruzac at random. “Why?”

  “Do you think I was dumb enough to ask her?” said Tigrane. “His Lordship didn’t tell us the details. But it was a strange job. We were to take every last woman of childbearing age and every last child under thirteen years. And if we missed even a single one, we wouldn’t get paid.” He grunted in annoyance. “Don’t ask me how Jadriga knew who lived in Hruzac.”