Ghost in the Storm (The Ghosts)

by Moeller, Jonathan

  Her hand cupped his cheek. “That must have been dreadful.”

  “Aye,” said Ark. “It was my fault.”

  She blinked, puzzled. “What do you mean?”

  “I should have been there,” said Ark. “When the slavers burned the village. I might have been able to stop them. I could have gotten you and Nicolai away, I could…”

  “Or you could have died with the other men who fought,” said Tanya. “The Moroaica wanted Nicolai and his blood. She only kept me alive because she could not be bothered to care for Nicolai herself. If you had tried to fight, she would have killed you along with everyone else.”

  “I should…” began Ark.

  “Arcion,” said Tanya, her fingers tracing his jaw. “It wasn’t your fault, what happened to us. And perhaps it was for the best.”

  “For the best?” said Ark. “How could you possibly think that?”

  “Because if you had been with us, you would have perished,” said Tanya. “If you had found us on your own, Jadriga would have killed you. But instead you joined the Ghosts, and you found the Balarigar. She slew the Moroaica and saved Nicolai.” She took a deep breath. “We have gone through a dark time, yes. But now it is over.”

  Ark gazed at her in wonder. She was not the first woman who had shared his bed, not by far. There had been a girl in Caer Marist, before he fled his father to join the Legion. The camp followers that trailed after every Legion camp. A woman of half-barbarian blood who had attached herself to him after his promotion to first spear centurion, shared his tent for three years, and abandoned him after his enlistment ended.

  None of them had the sort of steel he saw in Tanya.

  “We can start anew, now,” said Tanya. “You were the village smith of Hruzac, and I was the smith’s wife. A fine life. Hruzac is ashes, and we cannot return to that life…but we can forge a new one together, can we not?”

  “Yes,” said Ark.

  ###

  They kept walking, and wound up in the gardens ringing Zorgi’s Inn.

  Marsis was the largest city in the western Empire, home to nearly a quarter of a million people, packed with houses and warehouses and tenements and mansions. Yet somehow Zorgi had found space to surround his Inn with gardens of bushes and small trees.

  “It is lovely here,” said Tanya. “I would not expect to find a place like this in the heart of Marsis.”

  Ark snorted. “Caina told me that half the guests sneak out at night for a tumble in the bushes.”

  Tanya laughed. “There is little that she does not see, is there?”

  “No,” said Ark, looking at his wife. Caina and Tanya looked a great deal alike, yet Tanya had a warmth to her eyes, even after her ordeal at the hands of the Moroaica. And for all Caina’s skill at masquerading as a frivolous young woman, her eyes sometimes gave her away.

  Veteran Legionaries, hardened killers, had eyes like that.

  For all that Ark respected Caina, she sometimes frightened him a little, and he had never thought any woman could inspire fear in him.

  The wind from the sea picked up, setting the leaves to rustling, and Ark put aside the thought.

  “Perhaps we should find Nicolai a dog,” said Ark.

  “A dog?” said Tanya.

  “Aye,” said Ark. “I had a dog, as a lad. A fine companion. A boy should have a dog.”

  “If we live in the city,” said Tanya, “it will be harder to feed a dog.” She titled her head. “Unless you mean to find a village and live there.”

  “No,” said Ark. “I mean to stay here.”

  “Are you leaving the Ghosts?”

  He glanced around to make sure they were unobserved. “One does not leave the Ghosts. If I find something the Emperor should know, I’ll tell the local circle. But I joined the Ghosts to find you, and I have. And I've a family to feed now. So here we shall stay. Lord Hiram offered me a job in the foundry that manufactures arms and armor for the Legions, and I will take it.”

  “Would that make you happy?” said Tanya.

  Ark shrugged. “I know the work, and it’s better than soldiering. The pay is good, since skilled smiths are not common. I’ll spend my days making cuirasses and lightning rods.”

  Tanya laughed. “Lightning rods? What are those?”

  “A metal pole, affixed to the roof of a tower,” said Ark. “If lightning strikes the tower, the metal conducts the blast to the earth so the roof does not catch fire. If we ever go to Malarae, you’ll see hundreds of them. The nobles compete to build the highest towers, and would rather not see their mansions burn every time a storm rolls in.”

  “That seems like a peaceful life,” said Tanya. “And the pay is good, you say?”

  “It is,” said Ark.

  “That is well,” said Tanya. “We could get Nicolai a dog. But perhaps he would be happier with a younger brother. Or sister. Or both.”

  “You want more children?” said Ark.

  “I want many children,” said Tanya, and she grinned. “I am almost fifteen years younger than you, husband. I shall need strong sons to look after me in my old age, will I not?”

  The wind caught her black hair, making it dance around her face.

  And all at once Ark did not feel quite so old.

  ###

  They returned to their room at the top floor of Zorgi's Inn.

  The other women who had shared Ark's bed over the years had done so for a variety of reasons. For protection - the life of a camp follower was not an easy one. Or prestige, since a Legion's first spear centurion had a great deal of authority.

  Ark lowered himself over Tanya and kissed her, her arms coiling around his back.

  She was the only woman who had ever shared his bed because she loved him.

  After they were done Ark rolled onto his back, breathing hard, while Tanya snuggled against him.

  "We," she said, "should do that more often."

  Ark laughed. "We have five years to catch up on."

  He felt himself drifting toward sleep. Yes, this was better than life in the Legion, and far better than wandering the Empire seeking the slavers who had taken his wife. A low murmuring reached his ears, and Ark closed his eyes. Tanya was right. The life they should have had was gone, but they could build a new one together with Nicolai.

  The murmuring grew louder. That sudden sharp wind, most likely - perhaps a gale was coming in from the western sea.

  Tanya might not blame him for what had happened, but Ark blamed himself. He could not change the past, yet he could still alter the future, and Ark of Caer Marist vowed that his wife would never again suffer, that no one would ever threaten his family again.

  The future beckoned, and it seemed bright.

  Yet why was Ark so uneasy?

  That damned murmuring. The wind must have been the forerunner of a storm. Now it seemed he heard the clang of the steel, the shouts...

  His eyes shot open, and he sat up.

  He knew that sound. He knew it very well.

  "Arcion?" said Tanya, frowning. "What is it?"

  "That's not the wind," said Ark. It was the sound of men shouting and women screaming, of boots slapping against the ground, the clang of steel on steel, all joined together in a distant murmur.

  The sound of a battle.

  But here? Marsis was the heart of the western Empire. What enemy would dare attack here?

  "Is something wrong?" said Tanya, sitting up.

  "Yes," said Ark, climbing out of bed. "I don't know what. But..."

  He reached the window and threw open the shutters.

  Chaos filled his vision.

  Zorgi's Inn had a fine view of the harbor and the dockside districts along the waterfront and the River Marentine. Which meant that Ark saw the battle in the Great Market, the masses of soldiers surging back and forth, the commoners fleeing for safety in all directions. Perhaps a dozen buildings in the dockside district had caught flame, plumes of black smoke rising into the blue sky.

  He saw the dark mass of long le
an ships pouring into the harbor. A fleet of Kyracian warships, and Ark saw soldiers in cloaks the color of the sea lining their decks.

  An army.

  He felt Tanya next to him. "What's happening?"

  "I don't know," said Ark.

  An instant later a lightning bolt screamed out of the clear sky, slamming into the walls of the Citadel with a massive thunderclap.

  Chapter 3 - The Fall of the Great Market

  The noise filled Caina's ears.

  The commoners screamed and fled in all directions. The Immortals and soldiers surrounding Rezir Shahan bellowed their war cries and charged into the fray, Rezir's voice ringing like a trumpet over the melee. The centurions among the Legionaries shouted commands, the Legionaries forming into a shield wall.

  Nicolai tugged at Caina's skirt. She suspected he was too shocked to start crying.

  Shock that matched her own surprise.

  The Istarish soldiers must have smuggled themselves into the city for weeks, disguised as common travelers and merchants. It should have been obvious, but the Ghost circle in Marsis was not strong, and its efforts had been focused on finding Naelon Icaraeus. So they had missed the Istarish soldiers.

  And the sorcery of the Kyracian stormsingers and stormdancers granted them power over wind and wave, allowing their fleet to enter the harbor unnoticed. Neither the Kyracians nor the Istarish had the strength to assault Marsis on their own. But together, they might have the forces to take the city. If they moved fast enough, if they seized the city's gates and the Citadel before the Legions could react...

  All this flashed through Caina's mind in an instant.

  Rezir Shahan galloped through the chaos, striking right and left, his scimitar running crimson with blood. The Immortals rode at his side, scimitars in their right hands, chain whips in their left. The whips should have been unwieldy to swing from horseback, yet the black-armored Immortals used them with vigor, and the line of Legionaries collapsed beneath their onslaught.

  A more urgent thought broke into Caina's mind.

  She was in the middle of a battle. Worse, she was in the middle of a battle with a terrified six-year-old child. The Istarish were slavers, and if they had come to Marsis to take captives, a lone woman and a small child would make a tempting target.

  She had to get away now.

  Nicolai began crying, still tugging at her skirt.

  “We’re going home,” said Caina, “now.”

  She swung off the booth and dropped to the ground. Nicolai screamed and reached for her, and for a horrified instant Caina though a stray arrow or javelin had found him. Then she realized he was afraid she would abandon him on the top of the booth.

  She reached up, grabbed him, and ran.

  Mayhem raged around her. Men and women fled in all directions. Some of the Istarish soldiers and Immortals attacked, cutting down their victims. Why were they attacking the commoners? Shouldn’t they be focusing on the Legionaries?

  A quick glance over her shoulder answered that question.

  Lord Corbould’s guard of Legionaries had collapsed, and there was no sign of the Lord Governor himself. The Immortals and the Istarish infantry swarmed over the remaining Legionaries. As Caina watched, Rezir Shahan himself galloped his horse at a Legionary, scimitar spinning in his fist.

  The Legionary flung a javelin. The spear struck true, slamming into Rezir’s chest with enough force to punch through his armor and burst out his back. The emir swayed in the saddle, and Caina expected him to fall to the ground.

  Instead he straightened up, face tight with pain, the emerald in his black ring flickering with green light.

  His scimitar blurred, and the Legionary’s head rolled across the ground. Rezir wheeled his horse around and ripped the javelin from his chest. Blood flowed over his gilded armor, but Rezir did not seem discomforted in the slightest.

  The blood flow stopped.

  Necromancy. Drawn from that black ring on his finger, Caina suspected. If the bloodcrystal worked like others she had encountered, it would heal his wounds.

  But that was a detail for later.

  An Immortal galloped toward her, chain whip swinging from his fist, and Caina saw eerie blue light in the black depths of his skull helm. The alchemical elixirs the Immortals ingested altered their eyes, causing that strange glow. She dodged into an empty booth, Nicolai shrieking in her arms, and the Immortal reined up. But Caina doubled back, raced past the rump of his horse, and ran into a maze of merchant stalls. A horseman could not follow her there.

  And she had to escape. She had to tell Halfdan of Lord Corbould’s fate and Rezir’s treachery. More importantly, she had to get Nicolai to safety. For him to escape Jadriga’s knife, only to fall into the hands of Istarish slavers…she would not wish that kind of cruelty on anyone, and certainly not Nicolai.

  She heard a distant clang.

  Caina looked up, and saw the Citadel unleash its war engines.

  The Citadel sat atop a crag overlooking the harbor and the River Marentine, a massive squat fortress of grim stone. The slender dark shape of Black Angel Tower rose from its center, stark against the blue sky. Catapults and ballistae lined the walls of the Citadel, and began raining bolts and casts of burning pitch upon the Kyracian ships in the harbor.

  Or, at least, they tried. Whether due to the incompetence of the Legionaries manning the Citadel, or because of the sharp wind, most of the missiles missed. Caina saw a ballista bolt slam into the Market, pinning a pair of fleeing men to the ground. A cask of burning pitch crashed into a nearby warehouse, setting it aflame.

  Nicolai screamed, thrashing, and she struggled to keep her grip on him. Despite the horrors he had seen, nothing had prepared him for the sight of a battle. And if she let go, he would start running until he collapsed from exhaustion.

  Or until the Istarish took him.

  She gritted her teeth and kept running. Overhead, the crews upon the Citadel walls corrected their aim, another volley of burning missiles lancing out. More fell upon the dockside district, setting warehouses ablaze, but some reached the Kyracian fleet. Caina saw a few of the graceful warships go in flame, fire dancing over their sails and rigging.

  The wind picked up, and Caina felt the cold prickle of sorcery against her skin.

  Powerful sorcery.

  A blast of lightning screamed out of the cloudless sky and exploded into the walls of the Citadel, the thunderclap ringing over the city. The bolt ripped apart a massive catapult, and Caina saw the tiny figures of armored Legionaries flung from the ramparts and tumbling to their deaths. A moment later another tongue of lightning licked out, smashing another catapult.

  A stormsinger.

  The Kyracian sorcerers had the power to unleash lightning upon their foes, and had dueled the Magisterium throughout the Empire's history. Caina had read of the stormsingers' capabilities, and only a stormsinger of immense power could conjure such potent lighting.

  Another problem for later. Caina jumped over a dying man, Nicolai still in her arms, and kept running. She was almost to end of the Great Market, and the Avenue of Governors was in sight. If she could get to Halfdan…

  Three men stepped between her and the Avenue of Governors.

  Two were Istarish infantry in their scale armor and spiked helmets, scimitars and shields ready in their hands. The third wore the black armor of an Immortal. The man held his skull helmet tucked under his arm, revealing a pale face and eyes that shimmered with pale blue light.

  “Those two,” said the Immortal in Istarish, pointing at Caina. “The woman is young enough to fetch a decent price. More if she’s virgin. The boy, too. But kill him if he raises too much of a fuss.”

  The soldiers started forward.

  Caina turned and ran.

  She veered away from the Avenue of Governors and toward the warehouses, dodging into the maze of narrow alleys next to the Great Market. The soldiers and the Immortal pursued, boots pounding against the ground. Caina had killed men before, more than she ca
red to remember. But she avoided straight fights whenever possible. Two veteran Istarish soldiers, aided by an elite Immortal, would be more than she could handle.

  So best not to make it a straight fight.

  The alley opened into a narrow courtyard ringed by tenements and warehouses. The door to one of the tenements stood open, a narrow staircase rising into the darkness.

  An idea came to her.

  She dashed halfway up the tenement stairs, set Nicolai down, and looked the sobbing boy in the eye.

  “Stay here,” she told him. “Keep quiet. And don’t move.”

  Something in her tone must have reached him, and he managed a shaky nod.

  Caina returned to the courtyard just as the soldiers and the Immortal entered. Another fireball from the Citadel's catapults arced overhead, followed by a thunderous blast of lightning.

  “Take her,” said the Immortal, pointing with his scimitar. “Then search for the child.”

  The soldiers nodded and started toward Caina. Each man, she saw, carried a stout rope. They planned to bind her and take her back as a captive.

  “Please, no!” screamed Caina in Caerish, letting herself sob. “Please, please. Do whatever you want to me, but don’t hurt my son. Don’t hurt my son!”

  The soldiers’ expressions did not so much as flicker as they drew closer. They had seen crying women and terrified children before, had led them off in chains to stand upon the block in Istarinmul’s market. They saw her as merchandise, not as a potential threat.

  Which meant they were not at all prepared for her to snatch a throwing knife from her sleeve, draw back her arm, and fling it.

  The blade buried itself in the throat of the soldier on the left. The man staggered, eyes bulging in his face, hands flying to his bleeding throat. The soldier on the right yelled in alarm and charged, scimitar raised for a slash. Caina sidestepped, seized the dying man’s wrist, and shoved. The dying soldier crashed into the live one, and both went down in a tangled heap.

  It gave Caina all the opportunity she needed to dart forward and cut the throat of the second man.