The Ghosts Omnibus One

by Jonathan Moeller

  “What happened?” said Ark.

  “We set up a base in a nearby cove and attacked,” said Tigrane. “Encircled the place, killed the men, rounded up all the women and children. We had Jadriga’s witch-collars, so keeping them docile wasn’t hard. His Lordship sent one of his ships, and we loaded them up.”

  “And then?” said Ark. His voice had gone cold, colder than Caina had ever heard it.

  “It all went bad,” said Tigrane. “The Ghosts figured out that we were there. They roused the local militia and attacked. It was bad. I barely got out with my head attached, along with Rhicon and a few other lads.”

  “What happened to the ship?” said Ark.

  “Don’t know,” said Tigrane. “I figured the Ghosts took it.” He snorted in disgust. “Gods of the brine know, I never got paid a single copper coin for that raid. So I figured the slaves never got to Lady Palaegus. His Lordship was furious for weeks, and I knew better than to ask him about it.”

  Ark said nothing, still holding the dagger steady below Tigrane’s jaw.

  “Jadriga,” said Caina. “Does she often give you specific villages to target?”

  “No,” said Tigrane. “That was the only time. Wonder what was so special about Hruzac.”

  So did Caina.

  “When you were taking the villagers from their homes,” said Ark, his voice quiet, “did you see a woman named Tanya?”

  “Tanya?” said Tigrane, incredulous. “What, you think I ask the merchandise their names?”

  “A woman almost six feet tall,” said Ark, “with blue eyes, and black hair. She would have had a child, a boy, about a year old…”

  “You know, I do remember that one,” said Tigrane. “We’d usually have killed the baby, but our orders were to take all the children. And that woman…she was a beautiful one. Had some fight in her, too. She gave Rhicon a black eye, broke another man’s jaw. So we had to beat the fight out of her. Couldn’t hurt her too bad, but she was still screaming like dog before we…”

  Ark straightened up, reversing his grip on the dagger.

  Tigrane looked at Ark, frowning.

  And Caina saw Tigrane’s expression dissolve into horror as he figured it out. A sudden sharp stink flooded the warehouse. Tigrane’s bladder had let go.

  “She was yours?” said Tigrane, his eyes wide, the words tumbling out in terror. “It…it wasn’t personal, it was just business, I didn’t know she was yours, it was His Lordship and Lady Palaegus, you can’t blame me for…what are you doing, no, don’t, don’t, no, no…” His voice rose to an incoherent, terrified scream.

  Caina grabbed Ark’s arm. He glared at her, eyes wild and full of agony.

  “We might need him alive later,” said Caina.

  Ark let out a shuddering breath, and lowered the dagger.

  “Listen to me,” he said to Tigrane. “You were promised safe passage to Anshan. That’s fine. But if I ever see you out of this chair, if I ever see you walking…I’m going to kill you. I’ll make you tell me everything you ever did to your captives, and then I’m going to do it to you. Over and over again. It will take days. Do you understand me?”

  Tigrane managed to nod, weeping. Ark stalked away, glaring at the wall.

  Halfdan looked at Caina. “This abandoned mansion he told us about. Go examine it. Make sure he was telling the truth.” He glanced at Tigrane. “I really hope you were telling the truth. Because if my scout hasn’t returned by dawn, I’ll let my large friend do with you as he pleases. You won’t enjoy that.”

  Tigrane swallowed and looked at Ark.

  “Anything else you’d like to add?” said Halfdan, voice mild.

  The final wisps of defiance left Tigrane. “There are guards. Four patrolling the grounds, two more watching from the windows.”

  “Take your time,” said Halfdan. He looked at Tigrane. “Remember, dawn.”

  Caina wanted to talk to Ark, to try and calm him down. But she had her duty. For a moment she toyed with the idea of deliberately returning after dawn. But, no. As she had said, they might need Tigrane later.

  And whatever his crimes, Caina did not want to see a man tortured to death. Or more precisely, Caina did not want to see Ark torture a man to death. Ark had enough on his conscience. Caina didn’t want him to scar his soul any further.

  She gathered up her shadowed cloak and vanished into the night.

  Chapter 17 - Price of Power

  Crumbling grandeur surrounded Caina.

  Mansions lined both sides of the street, their façades pitted and cracked, their roofs decaying. Caina supposed that this had once been the fashionable district of Marsis, decades ago. Yet as the city expanded, the docks pressed too close, and the lords and wealthy nobles moved closer to the Citadel and Black Angel Tower. Now the mansions had been divided into tenements or converted into warehouses. Most simply stood abandoned. Caina caught the occasional glimpse of movement in the ruins, men skulking behind windows and in doorframes. Only those with reason to hide would come here, Caina realized.

  In retrospect, it was the ideal place for Naelon Icaraeus to stay out of sight.

  The mansion Tigrane had described stood at the very end of the street, overlooking both the river and the harbor. The house itself was only three stories tall, maybe a quarter of the size of Lady Agria’s residence. A thick belt of overgrown gardens ringed the crumbling house, heavy with bushes, young trees, and tangled shadows.

  Caina crept as close as she dared. After a moment she spotted the sentries that Tigrane had mentioned. Men patrolled through the overgrown garden, and two more waited on the roof, armed with crossbows. But the men in the garden made too much noise, and stumbled as they picked their way through the vegetation. And the men on the rooftops huddled near lanterns, which had undoubtedly ruined their night vision.

  Caina vaulted over the low wall and rolled into garden. She crept past the overgrown bushes and tangled trees, her cloak merging with the shadows. The air was heavy with the smell of rotting leaves and damp earth, but as she drew closer to the house, a new smell came to her nose.

  Blood. Rotting flesh.

  The smell came from a yawning window in the house’s foundation. Caina slipped through the window and dropped into the cellar. It was empty, save for some rusty chains bolted to the stone wall. Caina looked at the dirt floor, scrutinizing it in the dim moonlight. The earth had been disturbed.

  Her lips thinned in anger. A mass grave. No doubt Icaraeus buried any slaves here that died before he could sell them. Probably anyone that he needed killed wound up here, too. Had the attack at Radast’s workshop succeeded, no doubt Caina’s corpse would lie moldering beneath the earth.

  She crept up the stairs and examined the rest of the house. It stood empty, the dust disturbed by countless footprints. From time to time she saw patches of dried blood staining the floors. Stacks of enspelled slave collars rested against the wall. Caina saw no sign of any documents or ledgers.

  Apparently she had taught Icaraeus to keep his records under better security.

  Light glimmered on the third floor. Caina settled into the shadows of the stairwell and peered through the worm-eaten balustrade. High windows offered a grand view of the overgrown garden and the river. Two men sat at a crude table, a lantern between them, playing cards and drinking beer.

  “When do you think they’ll be back?” said a thin-faced man with a sour expression. Caina recognized Rhicon’s voice.

  “Tomorrow night,” said the second man with the look and accent of a Anshani sailor. “Don’t ask stupid questions. You know His Lordship’s orders.” The sailor slapped his cards on the table. “Pay up.”

  Rhicon spat a curse and shoved some coins at the sailor. “I know they’re coming tomorrow night, you idiot. But when tomorrow night?”

  “Soon as possible,” said the sailor. “His Lordship is coming to inspect the slaves personally. He’ll want to deliver them to those noble witches as soon as possible.”

  “What’d you think they do with
all those slaves?” said Rhicon.

  “I don’t know and I don’t care,” said the sailor. “So long as I get paid, of course.” He muttered something in Anshani. “It’s better not to know, believe me. The occultists back in Anshan…they’d just as soon peel the skin off you as look at you. And those noble witches and their Szaldic teacher are worse.”

  “Bah,” said Rhicon. “Customers are always unpleasant, sorcery or not. I just wish Tigrane would get back sooner. Can’t be too careful.”

  The sailor laughed. “You worry like an old woman. We’ve been doing this for years, and no one’s noticed. What could possibly go wrong?”

  Caina grinned behind her mask. They would find out tomorrow night.

  She glided back down the stairs, into the cellar, and climbed up to the garden. Her mind worked as she moved from shadow to shadow. Approaching the house from the street would be easy enough. If they gathered enough men from Ducas’s cohort, they could overwhelm the slavers and seize the house in one strong rush. But the river presented a problem. If Icaraeus realized what was happening, he would flee to the river. If he moved fast enough, he could get away.

  They needed more men.

  And after a moment’s thought, Caina knew just where to get them.

  ###

  The Ninth Cohort of the Twentieth Legion patrolled the city’s wealthier district, operating out of a barracks not far from Messana Heliorus’s estate. All Legion barracks in the Empire were built to a common plan, with the Tribune’s quarters upon the top floor.

  So Caina knew exactly where to break in.

  The room had minimal comforts, as she expected of Hiram Palaegus. A desk, a chair, a rack for arms and armor, and a bed were the only furniture. Hiram lay upon the bed, snoring. Caina knelt besides him, reached under the pillow, and removed the dagger that lay there.

  Then she clapped a gloved hand over Hiram’s mouth and laid her dagger at his throat.

  Hiram awoke at once. He started to struggle, then felt the steel at his throat and went still.

  “Remain calm,” rasped Caina, disguising her voice. “I wish only to speak.”

  She removed her hand from his mouth and stepped back.

  “You,” said Hiram, sitting up. He wore only his tunic, his arms and legs thick with muscle and old scars. “Have you learned anything more?”

  “Yes,” said Caina. “We have an opportunity to capture Lord Icaraeus. We require your help.”

  “You shall have it,” said Hiram. He rose and crossed to his sword. “Where is he?”

  Caina raised a hand. “You must do exactly as I say. If we act too soon, or rashly, he will escape.”

  Hiram nodded. “I swear to you, by the blood of my murdered brother, that I will do as you command.”

  “Very well,” said Caina. “Naelon Icaraeus is expecting to take delivery of captured slaves. However, we arranged to disrupt the slave raid, and captured and killed all his of men. Icaraeus doesn’t know this, and will await his men tomorrow night.”

  “Where you will capture him,” said Hiram, hands curling into fists. “And at last find proof to bring Agria to justice.”

  “We may not find proof that Agria murdered Lord Martin and Lydia, as you believe,” said Caina. “But we shall certainly find proof that she has engaged in slave trading and business dealings with a traitor to the Empire. Both crimes carry the death sentence.”

  “Where will Icaraeus wait for his men?” said Hiram.

  “At a mansion Agria owns, on the edge of the dock district,” said Caina. “It overlooks the river.”

  “I know the place,” said Hiram. He scowled. “A good place for a villain to hide. It has a commanding view, and should Icaraeus see you coming, he might flee to the river.”

  “Which is why we need your help,” said Caina. “We have men who will attack the mansion from the street. But if Icaraeus escapes, as you said, he might make it to the river. If he’s a strong enough swimmer, or if he has a boat waiting, he could get away. And we might never again have such a good opportunity to capture him.”

  “Boats,” said Hiram. “You want me to put my men into boats and watch the river.”

  “Yes,” said Caina.

  Hiram began to pace. “I can contrive some excuse. Yes. I will tell the Legate that I suspect smugglers will try to enter the harbor from the river.”

  “Your men will need to be disguised,” said Caina. “If Icaraeus sees a half-dozen boats full of soldiers drifting past his mansion, he will realize something is amiss.”

  “My men can disguise themselves,” said Hiram. “And we will commandeer a few fishing boats.”

  “Good,” said Caina. “Make sure your men have quarterstaffs, or some other weapon not made from steel. Icaraeus and his men bear enspelled bracers that have the power to turn aside any steel weapon. Gifts from Jadriga, no doubt.”

  “And if I am the one to capture him?” said Hiram.

  “Do your best to take him alive,” said Caina. “We’ll have an easier time dealing with Lady Palaegus and her friends if Icaraeus is alive to talk. Though we won’t be very upset if you do have to kill him. Also, don’t touch or try to remove his bracers. We don’t know the full extent of the sorcery laid upon them.”

  “I understand,” said Hiram. “When should we be in place?”

  “After sundown,” said Caina. “We’ll strike as soon as Icaraeus arrives.”

  “Good,” said Hiram. “I look forward to it.”

  “Yes,” said Caina. “So do I.”

  ###

  Caina got back to the warehouse just before dawn. Tigrane would live to see another day after all. She pounded on the door in the specific pattern Halfdan had given her.

  Nothing happened.

  Caina frowned, started knocking again, and the door wrenched open.

  “Ark?” said Caina. His face was drawn, his eyes wild. “What happened? Tigrane didn’t escape, did he?”

  Ark took a deep breath. “Not…quite. You’d better look.”

  Caina stepped into the warehouse. The first thing she noticed was the smell, something like dust and mildew and wet mud. Halfdan stood gazing at Tigrane, while Radast sat besides Jiri, his arm around her shoulders. Caina walked around Ark, looking at Tigrane.

  And stopped in her tracks, stunned.

  What was left of Tigrane sat slumped in the chair. He looked like a centuries-old corpse, dry and brittle, skin clinging to yellowed bones. Patches of his skin looked burned, and his clothes had withered to rags.

  His only intact garments were the rune-carved bracers, gleaming on his withered forearms.

  “What happened?” said Caina.

  “I don’t know,” said Halfdan. Even he sounded shaken. “An hour or so after you left, he started complaining that he didn’t feel well. Then he began screaming.”

  “He aged before our very eyes,” said Ark.

  “About four years, three months, and nineteen days a second, I estimate,” muttered Radast.

  “He kept screaming, and after a minute or so…that was all that was left,” said Halfdan.

  “The bracers,” said Radast. “I calculate an eighty-four percent chance the bracers had something to do with it.”

  “How about a hundred percent chance?” said Caina. She crossed to the withered corpse and pulled away the ruined shirt. The wound from her silvered dagger still marked his shoulder.

  Except that it had spread to cover his chest and stomach.

  “I think I know what happened,” said Caina. “Those bracers. They must draw their power from…the life force of the wearer, his soul. Except ghostsilver damages the protective spell, so the bracers try to draw more power to ward away the damage…”

  “And the bracers sucked the life right out of him,” said Halfdan.

  Ark muttered a vicious curse. “Tanya told me that the Solmonari used to say that the gifts of a necromancer were always poisoned.”

  “The Solmonari were right about something,” said Caina. “And I’ll wager that neit
her Jadriga nor Icaraeus mentioned this possibility to their men.”

  Ark shook his head. “I wanted to kill him, badly. But, gods, that was an ugly way to die.”

  “Don’t touch the bracers,” said Jiri.

  Caina erupted with a half-hysterical laugh. “I should say so.”

  “What did you find?” said Halfdan. “Was he telling the truth?”

  “He was,” said Caina. “The mansion is guarded, and I overheard the guards saying that Icaraeus will arrive tomorrow night. We’ve got our chance.” She hesitated. “I spoke with Hiram Palaegus, as well. His troops will secure the river. I don’t think Ducas can bring enough men to cover both the street and the river.”

  “He can’t,” said Halfdan. “I was thinking on how to obtain the men. Well done. Tomorrow night, then. We’ll have our chance.”

  Ark’s sword hand closed into a fist. “And Icaraeus will pay for what he’s done.”

  Caina hoped so. Though she didn’t know what would happen if Agria or Jadriga chose to use their powers in the fight. Somehow she doubted they would come to Icaraeus’s aid. She suspected that Agria and Jadriga both viewed Icaraeus as a bothersome necessity, a tool to be used until they no longer needed him. They would not lift a finger to save him, if it came to that.

  But if they viewed Icaraeus’s downfall as a threat, then they would act. And Caina had no idea how to stop a sorceress of Jadriga’s power.

  “I’m getting some sleep,” said Caina. “It’s been a busy night. And tomorrow’s going to be even busier.”

  “You’re right,” said Halfdan. “We’re going to meet Ducas at the Dead Fish Inn tomorrow. His men will capture any slavers lingering around the place. And then we’ll move together to the mansion.”

  Jiri shuddered. “How can you sleep with that…thing in here?”

  Caina shrugged. “Don’t look at it.” She scooped up a spare blanket and dumped it over Tigrane’s withered shell. “Problem solved.”

  She lay down upon a cot, rolled into a blanket, and fell asleep.