“Then,” said Caina, keeping her voice mild, “you think the magi should rule the Empire?”
Corvalis shot her a look.
“No, of course not,” said Claudia. “Certainly not with men like my…”
Halfdan cleared his throat.
“With men like the First Magus ruling the Magisterium,” said Claudia. “But if better men governed the magi, the Magisterium could shepherd the Empire, could guide the nobles and the commoners to be better than they are.”
“To force others,” said Caina, “to do as the magi will?”
She had heard similar speeches from the magi before.
“Yes,” said Claudia. “But only in the name of the greater good.”
“Pardon,” said Caina. “I need to stretch my legs.”
She dropped from the wagon seat and walked away without another word.
###
Thankfully, Caina and Claudia had separate tents, so that night Corvalis was able to sneak into Caina’s.
After they finished, Caina rolled off him and flopped against the blanket, her skin beaded with sweat. She rested her head against Corvalis’s chest as he caught his breath.
“I have taken,” he said at last, wiping sweat from his forehead, “many journeys across the eastern Empire. Never have I had something so pleasant to look forward to at the end of the day’s traveling.”
Caina laughed. “Nor I. I have been to Marsis in the west, Rasadda in the east, and Cyrioch in the south…and you are right. This is more pleasant by far than a cold blanket at the end of the day.”
“Then you are better traveled than I,” said Corvalis. “I have never been farther west than Malarae.”
“I’ve never been to Artifel,” said Caina, “nor to the northern provinces.”
Corvalis snorted. “You haven’t missed much. The Magisterium’s Motherhouse dominates Artifel, and the magi rule the city in all but name. The northern provinces are nothing but cold forests and mountains. Not many towns. The Ulkaari and the Iazns keep to their villages and don’t go out at night for fear of the things that haunt the forests.”
She traced one of the tattoos spiraling over the muscles of his chest. “Where you got these from an Ulkaari witchfinder.”
“Aye,” said Corvalis. “The Ulkaari hate sorcery. Too many creatures in the forest. Sometimes Iazn shamans call up beast-demons and invite them into their bodies to transform themselves into monsters. And the Magisterium has hardly endeared itself to the people of the northern provinces.”
“Too many magi eager to do things to them for their own good, I suppose,” said Caina, “much like Claudia.”
She felt Corvalis tense, and regretted the words.
“She means well,” said Corvalis at last. “They are not just empty words for her. She used her powers to aid people in Artifel. Warding grain warehouses against rats, using her spells to help heal.”
“They all say that,” said Caina. “Every magus that goes bad says…” She made herself stop. “No. Let’s not argue about this. Not now.”
“Very well,” said Corvalis.
They lay in silence.
“That ring,” said Corvalis at last. His hand slid down her shoulders to where the gold signet ring rested on its cord against her chest. “You never take it off. Who did it belong to?”
“Jealous?” said Caina.
Corvalis smirked. “If you are not as satisfied as you look right now…well, then you are a better actress than any I have ever met.”
Caina laughed. “A fine argument.” Her laughter faded away. “It belonged to my father.”
“Ah,” said Corvalis. “Then you wear it to remember.”
“Yes,” said Caina. “My mother murdered him.” She sighed. “She was an initiate of the Magisterium, but they expelled her because she wasn’t strong enough to become a full magus. So she made a pact with a renegade necromancer named Maglarion. My father found an old Maatish scroll, and my mother sold it, and me, to Maglarion in exchange for his teachings. When he found out, my father tried to stop her. So she wiped his mind, and Maglarion killed him and used his blood for his spells.”
“Maglarion?” said Corvalis.
“You knew him?” said Caina.
“I knew of him,” said Corvalis. “He was a legend among the high magi. He had some sort of pact with the magi, teaching them in exchange for service.”
“It was a trick,” said Caina, remembering that dark day when Maglarion had almost killed everyone in Malarae. “He would have killed them along with everyone else.”
Again Corvalis paused.
“Then…you killed Maglarion?” he said.
Caina nodded, her hair sliding over his chest.
He laughed.
Caina looked at him. “It wasn’t funny.”
“No,” said Corvalis. “But, gods…that was three years ago?” Caina nodded. “That was right before Claudia convinced me to leave the Kindred. My father was furious when someone killed Maglarion. I’d never seen him so angry.” He laughed again. “And all the time it was you.”
“Well,” said Caina, pushing aside the memories. “I am pleased I could discomfort him on your behalf.”
“Basil praised you,” said Corvalis, “but if you killed a man like Maglarion, then he was too modest by far.”
“I was lucky,” murmured Caina, resting her head back on his chest. She had defeated powerful foes…but had she been lucky. If she had been a half-second slower, if she had been a touch less clever, then she would have been killed.
Along with millions of others.
Someday, she knew, she would be killed. Someday she would be too slow, someday she would face a foe she could not outwit.
But not today.
“Let’s not talk about the magi,” said Caina, “or about killing. I am weary of them both.”
“I’ll have to go,” said Corvalis, “before dawn. Else there will be talk.”
“Let them talk,” said Caina, smiling. “A mercenary seducing his employer’s daughter? What better disguise do we have?”
They drifted to sleep.
###
Dreams filled Caina’s mind as she slept.
She often had nightmares. She had seen too many terrible things not to have nightmares. Sometimes she saw them over and over again, or her memories blurred together in a scattered haze of twisted images.
And occasionally she dreamed of the Moroaica.
Caina stood in a field of gloomy gray mist, wearing a blue gown with black trim. Six paces away stood a Szaldic woman of about twenty, clad in a crimson gown, her hair and eyes black. She looked young, younger even than Caina, but her eyes were heavy with age and power.
She called herself Jadriga, but the Szaldic legends named her the Moroaica, the ancient sorceress of terror and might.
And her spirit was trapped within Caina.
“You,” said Caina.
“So I am,” said Jadriga.
“What is it now?” said Caina. “Trying to convince me to join your great work, whatever it is? Or to warn me about another of your disciples?” She frowned. “The Masked One that attacked me in Cyrioch. He was one of your disciples.”
“No,” said Jadriga. “He is an old, old enemy of mine. I’m surprised he found you. Still, I should not have underestimated him.”
“Then what is it?” said Caina.
The Moroaica stared at her for a long time, and to Caina’s astonishment, sadness flickered over the pale face.
“Child of the Ghosts,” murmured Jadriga. “You should beware love. Betrayal is a blade that cuts deeper than any other.”
She gestured, and the dream dissolved into mist.
###
Two days south of Cyrioch, Lord Titus’s column crossed Cyrica’s low mountains and entered the Sarbian desert.
And for the first time in her twenty-one years, Caina left the Empire of Nighmar.
Cyrica had been hot but wet. The desert was dry as a centuries-old bone. The road led southwest, the arid
wastes stretching in all directions, bleak and empty.
“If this is your homeland,” said Caina to Saddiq, “I understand why your people seek employment elsewhere.”
Saddiq chuckled, his voice a basso rumble. “The desert is a harsh mother, mistress, and she raises harsh sons. There are only two things to do in the desert. We can fight each other, or we fight outlanders in exchange for pay. One is more profitable than the other. But when we are bored, we fight each other.”
“I wonder if the Catekhari sent an ambassador to the Sarbian tribes,” said Caina, “and offered to sell them the weapon.”
Saddiq’s white teeth flashed in his dark face. “More likely that my kinsmen would agree to purchase the weapon…only to ambush the Masked Ones, steal the weapon, and use it to extort tribute from the Empire, Anshan, and Istarinmul.”
“Do you think the tribesmen will attack us?” said Caina.
“I doubt it,” said Saddiq. “There are too many of us, and the tribes prefer easier prey. But if they choose the path of folly, we shall simply have to teach them wisdom.”
Saddiq proved correct. From time to time to the scouts saw Sarbian horsemen in the distance, but the tribesmen always moved one.
Four days later the caravan crossed the desert and entered the borders of Anshan.
###
“This is egregious,” grumbled Lord Titus.
“Think of it, my lord,” said Halfdan, “not as an escort, but as an honor guard to see you safely through the Shahenshah’s lands.”
Caina watched the exchange. Halfdan stood alongside Titus’s horse, and Lord Titus seemed to know that Halfdan was a Ghost. Certainly he seemed more willing to accept a jewel merchant’s advice than Caina would have expected from a lord of high Nighmarian birth. Corvalis stood a discreet distance behind Halfdan, hands near his weapons.
The objects of Lord Titus’s ire waited twenty paces away. Four hundred Anshani cavalrymen, armored in scale mail and spiked helmets, spears resting in their hands, long oval shields upon their arms, and bows and quivers hanging from their saddles. Their leader, an Anshani khadjar, wore a cloak of brilliant crimson silk. The other horsemen were anjars, lesser nobles who owned enough land to equip themselves with horse and armor. The Imperial Legions produced the finest infantry in the world, but the Anshani nobles fielded the best horsemen.
If it came to a fight, Caina was not sure who would win.
“It is still egregious,” said Titus. “Are we brigands, that the Shahenshah should send soldiers to dog our path?”
“It is part of the Emperor’s agreement with the Shahenshah,” said Halfdan. He sounded as if he were soothing a truculent child. “The Shahenshah agreed to allow the Emperor’s Lord Ambassador to cross his lands with a cohort of the Imperial Guard. But until we leave the boundaries of Anshan, a guard of the Shahenshah’s soldiers will escort us.”
“To make sure we stay out of trouble,” said Titus.
“In essence, yes,” said Halfdan. “But it would be impolite to say so.”
“No one,” said Titus, “will match a Lord of the Empire for courtesy. Very well. Let us greet our…escort.”
He spurred his horse forward, accompanied by his bodyguards and a squad of the Imperial Guard.
###
The column traveled south across the grasslands, and then came to the Great Western Caravan Road.
Caina had read about it in her father’s books as a child. The road began in Anshan and traveled through the hills and mountains at the heart of the Shahenshah’s domain. It cut through the western grasslands, the Red Forest and the petty domains of the free cities, and reached the gates of New Kyre. There were many romantic tales about dashing highwaymen preying upon the merchants of the Road, highwaymen who sometimes abducted the merchants’ petulant daughters and won their hearts with roguish charm.
Caina suspected the reality was rather more prosaic.
“All those grain wagons,” said Corvalis. A constant line of grain wagons traveled west along the Road. “Where are they going?”
“New Kyre,” said Caina, walking at his side. She had given up riding in the wagon. Claudia rode in the wagon, and she constantly offered suggestions on how the teamsters could handle their animals, how the Imperial Guards could clean their weapons, and how the merchants could store their cargoes. If she was masquerading as a merchant’s spoiled daughter, Claudia was doing a fine job.
Caina suspected she was not masquerading.
“Why New Kyre?” said Corvalis.
Halfdan spoke up from the wagon. “New Kyre controls only a few hundred square miles outside of its city walls. Half a million people live in New Kyre, and the city cannot possibly feed itself. So they must import grain. Their fleets carry grain to their harbors, and they buy the rest from Anshan. Anshani khadjars have made vast fortunes selling grain to the Kyracians. Cyrican lords, too, before the war started.”
“A pity,” said Claudia, “that the Legions cannot strike these grain caravans. The Empire could strangle New Kyre and end the war.”
“If we did that, my daughter,” said Halfdan, “that would mean war with Anshan. The Shahenshah allows those caravans to pass through his lands, and his khadjars reap great profits selling grain to the Kyracians. Were the Empire to attack a single Anshani caravan, the Shahenshah would declare war upon the Empire…and the Emperor would lose any chance of forcing the war to a truce.” He wiped some sweat from his brow. “Though such concerns are far above a simple merchant of jewels.”
###
The next day a second caravan joined the column.
And unlike the others, it was not carrying grain.
The caravan had a dozen wagons, and though none of the wagons were particularly full, the oxen nonetheless appeared burdened. A quick look at the wagons told Caina why. They carried stacked ingots of crimson steel.
“That’s red steel from the mines of Nhabatan,” murmured Caina to Corvalis.
Corvalis frowned. “If I remember rightly, that’s the only place where red iron can be found.”
“Aye,” said Caina. “It’s incredibly valuable. Which explains the guards.”
A score of men in elaborate gray plate armor surrounded the wagons. Their breastplates were adorned with elaborate, stylized reliefs that looked almost Maatish. Despite the bulky armor, the men seemed to move without encumbrance. Each man also wore an elaborate helmet fashioned from red steel. Caina took a step closer, hoping to get a better look…
And then stepped right back, bumping into Corvalis.
“What is it?” said Corvalis as Claudia joined them.
“I think,” said Caina, voice low, “I think their armor is enspelled.”
“You’re right,” said Claudia. “I suspect that armor is Catekhari.”
Caina blinked. “So Catekhari soldiers are escorting this caravan?” That warranted further investigation. “Come with me.”
She walked to the front of the long column, Corvalis and Claudia following her. Lord Titus sat on his horse, flanked by his bodyguards. Halfdan stood nearby, ready to advise Titus. A middle-aged man wearing a fine tunic of white linen and sturdy sandals stood before the lord’s horse. A leather belt wrapped around his waist, holding a sheathed short sword and dagger, and he had a hawkish, weather-beaten face.
“Khaltep Irzaris at your service, my lord Titus of House Iconias,” said the man with an elaborate bow, “a humble merchant of Catekharon.”
“A curious coincidence,” said Titus. “My party and I are traveling to Catekharon at the invitation of the Scholae.”
“Perhaps we can travel together, my lord,” said Irzaris. “The Red Forest is only a few days ahead, and bold bandits sometimes prowl beneath its branches. There is safety in numbers.”
“Indeed,” said Titus. “Though I am curious about what sort of wares the Masked Ones might purchase. One would assume they simply conjure up spirits to provide whatever they need.”
“Perhaps, my lord,” said Irzaris, “but for all their power, t
he Scholae are still men of flesh and blood, and enjoy meat and wine and comely slaves. And the Sages of the Scholae are artificers without peer, but still require raw materials to create their enspelled artifacts.” He gestured at his wagons. “The red iron of Nhabatan is rare, but the Scholae prefers to use it for their work. So if a daring man makes the long journey from Catekharon to Nhabatan and back, the risk is great, but the profits are greater.”
“Very well,” said Titus. “You would be welcome to travel with us.” He glanced at Halfdan. “This is Basil Callenius, a master merchant of the Imperial collegium of jewelers. He will find a place for you in the line of march.”
Irzaris bowed again. “Thank you, my lord.” He strode to Halfdan. “May you find profit and shelter, Master Basil.”
“And you as well, Master Khaltep,” said Halfdan. “These are my daughters, Irene and Anna.”
Irzaris’s smile widened a bit when he saw Claudia. “Master Basil, you are indeed a bold man to take your treasures with you upon the road.” He bowed over Claudia’s hand, kissing her knuckles, and did not release her fingers right away. “Though I am sure you have chosen strong husbands for your daughters.”
“Alas,” said Halfdan, “my daughters are yet unwed.”
Claudia looked appalled. She had been a magus and the bastard daughter of the First Magus, and only a bold or suicidal man would attempt to seduce such a woman. But a rich merchant’s pretty daughter made for a tempting prize.
“Indeed?” said Irzaris. “I grieve to hear it. It is a cold and cruel world. Perhaps, Master Basil, you would allow me to keep your daughters company during our journey to Catekharon?”
“Please, Father?” said Caina, putting just the right note of petulant pleading into her voice. “The countryside is ever so dull, and some conversation would be welcome.” And it would give her the opportunity to learn more about Catekharon and the Masked Ones.
Jonathan Moeller - The Ghosts 06 - Ghost in the Forge Page 6
