Ghost in the Storm (The Ghosts)

by Moeller, Jonathan

  "All right," said Tanya. "Just be back by sundown."

  "I will," said Caina.

  She rose, as did Nicolai, a wide smile on his face, but Tanya started to reach for him.

  "You're not sure about this, are you?" said Ark.

  Nicolai turned an imploring look toward his mother.

  "No. You can go," said Tanya. Her voice dropped to a whisper. "And if the Balarigar cannot keep you safe, then who can?"

  ###

  An hour later, Caina walked hand in hand with Nicolai along the Avenue of Governors, the main street connecting the Plaza of the Tower to the Great Market. Traffic flowed around them. Ox-drawn carts carried goods to the shops and merchants of the Plaza of the Tower. Hawkers cried out from the booths and workshops lining the street, selling their wares. Women hurried back and forth, carrying jars of water from Marsis's public aqueducts. Gulls wheeled overhead in the blue sky, and the air smelled of sweat and smoke and horse dung and salt.

  It was a beautiful day.

  Nicolai looked at everything. This was all new to him. He had been raised by his mother in the dungeons below Black Angel Tower, his death intended to fuel Jadriga's monstrous sorcery. Caina looked at the dark shape of Black Angel Tower, rising from the Citadel atop its crag, and her mouth tightened into a hard line. Well, Jadriga was dead, and Nicolai would live...

  "What's wrong?"

  Nicolai looked up at her, concerned.

  "Nothing," said Caina.

  "You were frowning," said Nicolai.

  "Well, I was upset," said Caina.

  "Did I do something wrong?" said Nicolai.

  "I was upset," said Caina, "because I haven't gotten you a piece of candy yet." That wiped the concern from Nicolai's face. "But don't tell your mother."

  They stopped at a confectioner's shop, not far from the Plaza of the Tower, and Caina bought a pair of hard candies. They were expensive, but Caina had the coin. Sweeter than she would have liked, but Caina preferred simpler food.

  Nicolai devoured his.

  "Can I have another?" said Nicolai as they returned to the Avenue of Governors.

  "No," said Caina, "you'll rot your teeth."

  "And Mother won't really get mad at you," said Nicolai.

  "Oh? Why is that?"

  "Because she says you are the Balarigar and you kept the Moroaica from hurting me," said Nicolai. "And Father says you are very clever and you stopped a bad man from burning thousands of people."

  "You shouldn't say such things," said Caina.

  "Why not?" said Nicolai. "They're true, aren't they?"

  They were. But Caina did not like this "Balarigar" business, this legend that had grown in the retelling. She was no demonslayer, only a woman of flesh and blood. Her victories had been such near things. Maglarion could have thrown her from that tower, rather than trying to kill her with plagueblood. Kalastus could have burned her to ashes. And if Jadriga could have twisted Caina into a monster.

  "Because," said Caina at last. She picked up Nicolai and whispered into his ear. "Because the Ghosts have to stay secret, so we can do good. Can you help keep my secret?"

  Nicolai smiled. "I'll keep your secret." He hesitated. "Since I'm keeping your secret, can I have another candy?"

  Caina rolled her eyes. "Maybe on the way back."

  ###

  Crowds packed the Great Market.

  Of course, the Great Market was always packed. The wealthy merchants and high nobles preferred to buy their goods from the shops of the Plaza of the Tower. But the commoners of Marsis shopped at the Great Market. Booths and stalls filled the vast square, and warehouses lined the nearby streets. Marsis was the Empire's chief port on the western sea, and items from half the civilized world found their way to the Great Market.

  But today, it was packed for a different reason.

  A century of Legionaries waited in the center of the Market, grim and solemn in plate armor and crimson cloaks. The banners of the Empire and House Maraeus flapped overhead. Corbould Maraeus, the Lord Governor of Marsis, sat upon his horse before the Legionaries, clad in black ceremonial armor. He was in his later fifties, lean and fit, with the arrogant expression of a lord of high Nighmarian birth.

  "Who's that?" said Nicolai.

  "The Lord Governor," said Caina. A ring of Legionaries kept the crowds at bay. She heard the roll of distant drums, and saw a mass of horsemen entering the Market.

  "I want to see the ships," said Nicolai.

  Caina looked around. The Legionaries had closed off the street to the docks, and crowds of people choked the Great Market. Yet many of the merchant booths and stalls had been closed for the day. And some of the booths had roofs of sturdy wood.

  "Here," said Caina, crossing to the nearest booth. She climbed upon a barrel, lifted Nicolai to the roof, and then pulled herself up after him. A few nearby men gawked at her, but most copied her idea and climbed onto booths themselves. From here Nicolai could see the ships, until she took him to the docks for a closer look.

  And from here Caina could take a good look at Rezir Shahan.

  "Are those the ships?" said Nicolai, peering at the forest of masts that filled the harbor.

  "Aye," said Caina, watching the horsemen enter the Great Market. They moved at a slow, steady pace, drummers beating out a solemn rhythm. Banners of crimson silk floated overhead, adorned with the sword-and-crown sigil of the Padishah of Istarinmul. Most of the horsemen wore elaborate coats of black chain mail and black cuirasses, faces hidden beneath helms wrought in the shape of human skulls. Curved swords and whips made of coiled chains hung from their belts.

  "Who are they?" said Nicolai.

  "Immortals," said Caina. "The bodyguards of the Padishah." Istarinmul's College of Alchemists fed the Immortals a steady diet of sorcerous elixirs, granting them superhuman strength and speed, though the elixirs tended to induce homicidal insanity after a few years of regular use. Yet the Immortals were among the finest soldiers in the world. With them came regular Istarish soldiers, infantry armed with spears and scimitars, clad in shirts of steel scales and spiked steel helmets.

  Rezir Shahan himself rode at their head.

  He was a in his middle thirties, clad in ornate gilded armor, the purple cloak flowing from his shoulders a marked contrast to his bronze-skinned face. His horse was a huge, ill-tempered stallion, yet he handled it with easy skill. As he drew closer, Caina saw that he was dark-haired, the line of his jaw shaded with a close-cropped beard.

  He looked...cold. His expression, as he looked over the assembled crowds, was contemptuous. Caina suspected he was the sort of man who had no qualms about kidnapping women and children and selling them in chains far from their homes. Like the sort of man who had sold Jadriga her victims.

  "He looks like a bad man," said Nicolai.

  Caina opened her mouth to answer, and her skin began to crawl.

  She frowned in alarm and looked around. She had only been a child of eleven when her father had been murdered with sorcery, when Maglarion had scarred her body and soul with his necromancy. In the nine years since then, that scarring had permitted her to sense presence of arcane forces.

  And right now she sensed the presence of nearby sorcery.

  She looked around, trying to find the source. A short man in a black robe stood near Lord Corbould's horse, his gut spilling over his purple sash. She knew of the man - Quintus Tolius, master magus and preceptor of the Magisterium's Marsis chapter. Yet he remained motionless, his expression bored. He was not casting a spell.

  The tingling grew sharper, and Caina realized it came from Rezir himself.

  A wind picked up from the harbor, tugging at her hair and skirts.

  She squinted at Rezir, wondering if he had a hidden arcane talent. Then she saw the black ring upon the third finger of his right hand. A massive green crystal rested in the black band, and from a distance it looked like an emerald. But Caina knew that crystal was no gem.

  It was a bloodcrystal, a product of necromantic science.
And as Rezir rode past her booth, she felt the queasy, clenching sensation that indicated the presence of necromantic sorcery.

  Where had Rezir gotten such a thing? He had sold slaves to Haeron Icaraeus. Perhaps Maglarion had fashioned it.

  Caina wondered what the ring did.

  The horsemen reined up, and a blast of trumpets rang out. One of the Istarish soldiers spurred forward, a banner streaming from a lance in his right hand.

  "Behold!" he boomed. "He comes! He who is the Emir of the Vale of Fallen Stars! He who is Captain of the Southern Towers! He who is Lord Ambassador to the Empire of Nighmar, and high in the favor of the Most Divine Padishah! Rezir Shahan comes!"

  Rezir walked his stallion forward, flanked by four of the Immortals in their black skull helms. A fifth horseman followed, a small man slumped in the saddle. He wore simple clothes, leather and wool, and a pair of daggers rested in his belt. A hooded cloak hid his face, yet even from this distance, Caina glimpsed hideous scarring across his jaw and mouth.

  For a moment he looked right at her, and then his gaze swept over the crowd.

  The wind grew sharper, the banners snapping.

  Lord Corbould rode forward, surrounded by a pair of Legionaries, the master magus Tolius, and a throng of Marsis's prominent nobles and merchants. One of the minor nobles stepped forward, carrying a banner, and began to shout.

  "You stand in the presence of Corbould, Lord of House Maraeus, Lord Governor of Marsis, and cousin to the Emperor."

  Rezir did not answer, and neither did his herald.

  The wind picked up, the gusts striking with enough force that Caina had to take a step back to keep her balance, skirts billowing around her legs.

  Corbould frowned at his own herald.

  The minor noble cleared his throat. "Lord Corbould invites the Lord Ambassador to come forward, that he might lodge as a guest of the Emperor of Nighmar in the Citadel."

  Still Rezir and his men did not move.

  Caina frowned. There was something wrong here, she...

  "Look at the ships!" said Nicolai.

  Caina turned, and felt her eyes grow wide.

  She saw a fleet sailing into the harbor, their sails filled with the sharp wind. But these vessels were neither merchant ships nor warships of the Empire. They were long and narrow, with raked banks of sails. They cut through the water with smooth grace, and their sleek lines made them look like hunting predators.

  Kyracian ships, from the city-state of New Kyre, the chief maritime power of the western sea. The Empire and New Kyre had fought many wars over the years, but for a Kyracian fleet to sail so boldly into the harbor of Marsis...

  Gods, there were hundreds of them.

  One of the nobles grabbed Lord Corbould's arm and pointed.

  And as he did, Rezir Shahan drew his sword. The Immortals and Istarish soldiers followed suit, and a ripple of panic went through the gathered crowds.

  "What's happening?" said Nicolai as the sound of chaos rose around them.

  "I don't know," said Caina. This was madness. Rezir was in the heart of one of the Empire's chief cities. Surely he couldn't think to cut down Lord Corbould and his officers, not here...

  As one, the doors to most of the warehouses ringing the Great Market burst open.

  And Istarish soldiers, hundreds of them, flooded into the Market.

  Caina looked from them, to the Kyracian fleet sailing into the harbor, and back to the soldiers.

  This wasn't a parley.

  This wasn't even an assassination.

  This was an invasion.

  Chapter 2 - Lightning

  "I would like," said Tanya, "to go for a walk."

  Ark looked up from his broadsword.

  He sat by the hearth in the common room, oiling and sharpening his sword and daggers. He did so every morning, without fail. For sixteen years he had served in the Eighteenth Legion of the Empire, and the Legion's iron discipline had been hammered into his bones. He would oil and hone his weapons every morning until the day he died.

  Ark grunted. "Anywhere in particular?"

  He watched Tanya as he worked, his hard hands moving of their own accord. Five years had not changed his wife. The years in the Moroaica's captivity had left her a little paler, marked her eyes with dark circles. But save for that, she looked no different than that day Ark had left their home to go hunting in the woods.

  That day he had returned to find his village burned and his wife and infant son taken by Istarish slavers.

  He still had nightmares about that day.

  "You misunderstand, husband," said Tanya. "I wish to go on a walk, true, but I wish for you to accompany me. It is a fine day, and should not be wasted."

  "Ah," said Ark, rasping his whetstone down his blade. "The famed subtlety of women. Too subtle for a man of the Legion. Well, I will finish here," he ran the stone down the blade once more, "and you fetch your cloak. Then we shall go for a walk."

  She smiled at him and left for their room.

  Ark slid his sword into its scabbard and rose with a grunt. He did not want to go for a walk. He was past forty now, and his knees and shoulders ached. He would rather have spent the day in front of the fire, a mug of Zorgi's excellent beer in his hand.

  But Tanya had spent five long years trapped in the Moroaica's dungeon. If she wanted go on a walk with him, then he would damned well go. Ark doubted he could have denied her anything.

  Because he had failed her.

  He knew, of course, that he could have done nothing. The Moroaica had wanted Nicolai's blood for her terrible spell, and she would have slain thousands to claim it. Ark's resistance would not have slowed her in the slightest.

  Yet he had not been there to save his wife and son.

  But that was over now. Tanya and Nicolai had been rescued. Ark had killed Naelon Icaraeus with his own hands. And somehow Caina had outwitted and killed the Moroaica herself, the ancient terror of Szaldic legend. The freed slaves were right to call her the Balarigar, whether she liked it or not.

  And Tanya and Nicolai were returned to him.

  So Ark would take his wife on a walk into the city, no matter how much his knees ached.

  ###

  "I used to come here with my father as a child," said Tanya, walking past the Plaza of the Tower's rich shops. In the Great Market, the hawkers sold pots and fish and wool cloth. In the Plaza of the Tower the merchants wore finery, and sold polished silver lamps and gleaming swords and bolts of silk and linen. “We came to Marsis twice a year, to sell our hams and garlic to the brokers here. Then we would buy anything we needed for the coming year.” She looked at a merchant selling bolts of silk and gave a wistful smile. “Not that we could ever afford anything in the Plaza of the Tower, of course. But I liked to come and look at all the fine things.”

  “I remember,” said Ark. “I met you upon the road north, returning to the village.”

  Her smile turned less wistful. “Where you saved me from bandits. Like some hero out of my grandfather’s stories.”

  Ark snorted. “I’m no hero. Just a soldier. And a retired soldier. I'm a blacksmith now.”

  She laughed. “Well, you did spend five years looking for me. Though I suppose to qualify as a proper hero of legend, it should have been seven years. Seven is a more poetic number, my grandfather used to say.”

  “It was still too long,” said Ark.

  Tanya’s smile stilled, and she looked toward Black Angel Tower. “It…could have been worse, I think. When those slavers burned the village, I thought they would sell us in some market across the sea. Instead they took us to Jadriga.”

  “She must have been cruel to you and Nicolai,” said Ark, the old anger shivering through him.

  “No,” said Tanya. “She was not cruel. Her acolytes, Agria Palaegus and the others, they were cruel. But they were small-minded fools. Jadriga was worse than cruel. She kept us in comfort, gave us whatever we needed – food to eat, clothes to wear, books to read. And all so she could kill Nicolai a
nd use his blood to let the fallen angels out of their prison.”

  He took her hand, led her away from the stalls. They wandered down a deserted side street, away from anyone who might overhear.

  “I am sorry,” he said at last.

  “It was not your fault,” said Tanya. “It must have been worse for you. The Moroaica told me that you were dead. You never knew…”

  “It was…unpleasant,” said Ark. In the Legion, he had known fear and doubt and pain. But the constant wondering, the constant seeking, had been like a knife he could never pull from his flesh. “Halfdan found me after the village burned, and I joined the Ghosts. We tracked the slavers down and slew them…but Naelon Icaraeus had already taken you to Black Angel Tower. We thought the slavers' ship must have sunk with you aboard it. Halfdan checked with the Ghost circles in the ports of the western and Cyrican seas. No slaver ship put in after you were taken. So I thought you were dead. Yet…I never knew. Not for certain.”