Blade of the Ghosts

by Jonathan Moeller

  “You think the Sword is such an ember, then?” said Caina. “Truly?”

  “I do,” said Halfdan. “The Empire is stable at the moment, but there are a dozen minor crises in the provinces and a half-dozen plots in the capital. There always are. If a man were to appear with the Sword of Nicokator at the wrong time and the wrong place, claiming that the gods had led him to the Sword to restore the Empire to its ancient glory, the results could be dire.”

  “Very well,” said Caina. “What should we do about it?”

  Halfdan grunted. “I need you to discover who killed the Count and stole the Sword.”

  “All right,” said Caina. She paused for a moment to gather her thoughts. “I think we can discard the possibility that random thieves broke into Eastwarden and made off with the Sword. There were several other valuable objects in the Count’s sitting room, and none of them had been taken. For that matter, a party of armed thieves would have attacked the great hall and made off with the guests’ jewelry.” She tapped the ruby in her chain.

  “Agreed,” said Halfdan. “We should focus our attention upon the Count’s partners in his venture. His son Aetius, the master magus Taldrane, and the Kagari noyan Jurchan. In all probability one of them was behind the murder and theft.”

  “Taldrane,” said Caina at once. “The master magus.”

  Halfdan laughed. “Of course you would say that.”

  “The magi are corrupt and ruthless,” said Caina.

  “Not all of them,” said Halfdan.

  “All of them,” said Caina. “If we could kill every last magi in the Magisterium, the Empire would be a better place…”

  Halfdan raised his gray eyebrows. “Every last sorcerer in the world, too? All the Alchemists of Istarinmul? The stormdancers of New Kyre?”

  “Every last one of them,” said Caina, certain of it. She knew firsthand the cruelty and ruthlessness of the magi of the Magisterium.

  “That is a flaw in your thinking,” said Halfdan. “Not every sorcerer is like Maglarion.”

  “No,” said Caina, “but every sorcerer has the potential to become him.”

  Halfdan pointed at her. “That is a weakness in your thinking, Caina Amalas, and one day it will get you into trouble.”

  Caina sighed and inclined her head, unwilling to concede the point but just as unwilling to argue about it.

  “However,” said Halfdan, “in this instance you are right.”

  Caina burst out laughing.

  “Taldrane is a dangerous man,” said Halfdan. “The circlemasters have had their eye on him for some time. The Magisterium investigated him three times for practicing the forbidden sciences. So far he has eluded formal charges, but I am certain he has been dabbling in necromancy or attempting to summon up spirits. Taldrane’s involvement drew my attention to the Count’s expedition in the first place.”

  “He could have mind-controlled Armus into killing himself,” said Caina.

  “That would have been within his abilities,” said Halfdan. “However, he was in the great hall the entire time you were gone.”

  “He might have dispatched the lesser magi to do it for him,” said Caina.

  “Agreed,” said Halfdan. “He could have also hired thugs to force poor Armus upon the Sword to make it look like a suicide. If the Sword is indeed a weapon of sorcery as the legends say, then it is possible the Magisterium wished to claim the weapon for their own by getting the Count out of the way.”

  Caina considered that. “Aetius might have murdered his father.”

  “It is possible,” said Halfdan. “He served as a military tribune in one of the Legions, a commander of a cohort. His centurions, I understand, all hated him.”

  Caina frowned. “Of course they hated him. Don’t tribunes outrank the centurions?”

  “They do,” said Halfdan, “but traditionally the centurions run the Legion. A centurion can be with the same Legion for sixteen years, while a tribune is usually a noble-born young man who serves a term of two years. The wise tribunes stay out of the way while the centurions run the cohort. Aetius was something of a hothead.”

  “I think it possible that Aetius killed the Count, but not likely,” said Caina. “Aetius seemed to respect his father. Either he did not kill the Count, or he is a supremely skilled actor.”

  “I’ve met men who could kill while smiling and singing a cheerful song,” said Halfdan. “You have, too. If Armus presented the Sword of Nicokator to the Emperor, the Emperor would have indeed rewarded him. House Valdarion is teetering on the edge of poverty, and that kind of poverty and that kind of money can make a man do things he would otherwise not.”

  “True,” said Caina. “What about Jurchan?”

  “I have not been able to find out very much about him,” said Halfdan. “The Ghosts have little presence among the Kagari tribesmen.”

  “It is rare for a Kagari noyan to come this far west, isn’t it?” said Caina.

  “Aye,” said Halfdan. “The Kagari spend most of their time warring against each other with an appalling amount of savagery. They send contingents of horsemen with each Legion, but once their term of service is up, they usually return to their homeland. Kagari noblemen visit Malarae from time to time, but rarely.”

  “Perhaps Jurchan cannot return to his homeland for some reason,” said Caina, “or thinks to return a wealthy man.”

  Halfdan shrugged. “Nevertheless, he did seem to be friends with Aetius. I suspect they met while in the Legion as Aetius said. Also, Jurchan was gone from the great hall in the time when the Count would have been murdered.”

  “If Aetius was willing to betray his father to steal the Sword,” said Caina, “then it is just as likely that Jurchan was willing to betray Aetius and his father to claim it.”

  “You see clearly,” said Halfdan. “So, these are our suspects. Lord Aetius, Master Taldrane, and the noyan Jurchan. It is possible any one of them are responsible for the Count’s death…”

  “Or that one or more of them might have been working together in secret,” said Caina.

  “Exactly,” said Halfdan.

  Caina shook her head. “A puzzle.”

  “An ember,” said Halfdan. Caina looked at him. “That is what this is. An ember. Best to stamp it out before it can set anything aflame.”

  “Where would you like me to start?” said Caina.

  “We’ll begin by having a watch put on all three of them,” said Halfdan. “You, I will send to a tavern along the riverside docks, not far from Eastwarden, a place called the Bloated Maiden.”

  “Sounds charming,” said Caina.

  Halfdan smiled. “It’s really not. The wine is terrible. Don’t eat any of the food unless you have a sudden urge to spend a day squatting over a chamber pot. Nevertheless, the proprietor is a Mardonish man named Cadiz, and he is a Ghost. He has many informants along the docks, and I shall put him at your disposable. Use whatever disguise you think necessary and proceed as you think best.”

  “Very well,” said Caina. “As soon as we return to the townhouse, I’ll gather some things and begin at once.” She shrugged. “Though if the Count’s killers have taken the Sword out of Malarae, this is a waste of time.”

  “I doubt it,” said Halfdan. “The Sword’s chief value is as a symbol, and that symbol will fetch the highest price in Malarae. Whoever killed Armus and took the Sword almost certainly did it for financial gain. Therefore, it is probable that the Sword is still in Malarae.”

  “That seems reasonable,” said Caina.

  They rode in silence for a while, the wheels of the coach creaking. Caina gazed to the west and saw the dark mass of the mountains blotting out the sky, the white glimmer of the walls of the Imperial Citadel reflecting the moonlight.

  “Do you think they are true?” she said at last.

  “What?” said Halfdan.

  “All the stories about the Sword of Nicokator,” said Caina.

  Halfdan smiled. “What stories have you heard?”

  Cain
a shrugged. “Ones I read in my father’s books as a child. Some historians claimed that Nicokator’s blade was invincible, that it could cut through anything, even stone. Others said that the Sword could summon armies of spirits to the side of its wielder. Another claimed the Sword granted the right to rule, and whoever carried the blade could wield absolute power over the Empire.”

  “Likely none of those stories are true,” said Halfdan. “Nicokator, from what I understand, was as much a figure of myth as of true history. He founded the First Empire, and conquered the other Nighmarian nobles and welded them together into a single state. In those days a Nighmarian noble was expected to wield sorcery, just as nobles today are expected to know the sword and law and the business of government. So almost certainly Nicokator was a powerful sorcerer, if he defeated so many other nobles and forced them to obey.” He tapped his fingers against his leg. “Yet he died thousands of years of ago. Much myth encrusted itself around the history, but that is always the way of history. It is said that Istarr, the founder of Istarinmul, wielded a sword that could slay spirits, and that the first Archon of Old Kyrace could command the wind and the storm. Is any of that true? I cannot say.”

  “But if Nicokator was a powerful sorcerer,” said Caina, “then he would almost certainly have worked potent spells into his sword.”

  “Beyond a doubt,” said Halfdan.

  “It would explain why the sword survived for so long,” said Caina. “A blade of steel would have rusted away long ago. A blade wrought with sorcery could last forever.” She frowned. “And it might have spells unknown today. Did not the ancient Houses of the First Empire guard the secrets of their spells like gold and jewels? None of Nicokator’s descendants survive today. He might have possessed arcane knowledge now lost.”

  “Knowledge,” said Halfdan, “that someone like Taldrane would dearly love to possess. You see why this ember is dangerous, my dear?”

  Caina nodded. “Then we had best stamp it out as soon as possible.”

  ***

  Chapter 3: Bluffing

  Caina began as soon as the coach returned to Halfdan’s townhouse.

  She withdrew to her room and discarded her dress and jewelry, choosing instead a different costume.

  Specifically, she dressed as man.

  She didn’t like wearing men’s clothing, but there were definite advantages. For one, it was much easier to run in trousers and boots than in a skirt and high-heeled sandals. For another, it let her move about Malarae anonymously. There were many places in the city that an eighteen-year-old woman could not go alone without drawing a great deal of attention. By contrast, disguising herself as a man let Caina move about unnoticed.

  She donned a disguise she had employed several times before, that of a caravan guard. Malarae was the center of the Empire and one of the largest cities in the world, and caravans came to the city every single day. One more caravan guard would draw little notice. She dressed in dusty boots and trousers, a long shirt of gray wool, and leather armor reinforced with steel studs. A ragged brown cloak went over her shoulders, and a sheathed short sword and a dagger went at her belt. Caina carefully applied makeup to her face, creating the illusion of stubble and adding ten years to her features.

  When she was finished, she considered her reflection in the mirror and nodded. She looked like any other caravan guard, the sort of unreliable mercenary who might turn bandit if unable to find paying work.

  Undoubtedly she would fit right in at the Bloated Maiden.

  Caina loaded some useful items into a pack and headed out, making her way through Malarae’s darkened streets.

  It was nearly midnight by the time she returned to the riverfront and found the Bloated Maiden. It perched right at the edge of the retaining wall overlooking the River Megaros, and the ramshackle wooden building reminded Caina of a massive toadstool squatting at the edge of a stagnant pond. In fact, the building jutted a few feet over the water, supported by thick wooden pillars, and Caina suspected smugglers wishing to avoid the customs collectors at the main piers quietly offloaded goods here.

  She grinned to herself. It was exactly the sort of place the Ghosts would have eyes and ears. Halfdan had a knack for acquiring friends in the oddest places.

  Caina strode into the tavern’s common room. If anything, it was less appealing than the exterior. Bargemen in various states of inebriation sat at benches and tables of pine boards, nursing cups of cheap wine. Two villainous-looking Mardonish men with clubs stood near the door, keeping watch over the patrons. An older, paunchy Mardonish man in a worn apron stood behind a bar, watching the room with a sour expression. He had dark eyes, and a drooping gray mustache in the Mardonish style that deepened his frown.

  Caina leaned against the bar, and the man’s sour expression turned toward her.

  “Are you Cadiz?” she said Caerish, taking care to disguise her voice as Theodosia had taught her. She could make her voice deeper, harsher, rougher, and she did so now.

  “Aye,” said Cadiz, glaring at her. “Who the devil are you? If you want a room, you can have one, but it shall cost you.” His Mardonish accent made him roll his Rs with a flourish.

  “I’ve a message for you,” said Caina, lowering her voice. She switched from Caerish to High Nighmarian. “Look into the shadows.”

  Cadiz blinked, looked around the room, and leaned closer. “For in the shadows are the watchers.” His High Nighmarian diction was execrable, but nonetheless understandable.

  “Let the tyrants beware the shadows,” said Caina.

  “For in the shadows wait the Ghosts,” said Cadiz, completing the sign and countersign. “Halfdan sent you, didn’t he? Figured this would be his sort of business.”

  “And what business is that?” said Caina.

  “The old Count of Eastwarden got himself murdered and robbed,” said Cadiz. Armus had been murdered barely four hours past, but already Cadiz knew.

  Caina supposed that nothing traveled as fast as gossip.

  “That’s why I’m here,” said Caina.

  Cadiz grunted. “You here to question me? I’m not holding out on Halfdan. I just didn’t tell him because I didn’t think it mattered.”

  “Tell him what?” said Caina.

  Cadiz grunted, scratched his unshaven chin, and belched. Caina kept the wince from her face. His breath smelled like a mixture of garlic and old cheese. “Well, you know that some of the more…ah, enterprising bargemen like to drop off small and valuable cargoes here in order to turn a greater profit…”

  “And to avoid paying the Emperor’s tolls and tariffs,” said Caina in a dry tone.

  “Best not to say such things openly,” said Cadiz. “Anyway, I have an arrangement with Halfdan. He makes sure the civic militia and the urban praetor’s magistrates turn a blind eye to the Bloated Maiden. In exchange, I keep an eye on my customers and tell Halfdan anything he wants to know.”

  “I see,” said Caina. Understanding came to her. “Count Armus has been here before, hasn’t he?”

  “Aye,” said Cadiz. “Several times. He would hire a barge to take him further up the river, and he’d return with things all boxed up in crates.”

  Caina nodded. “Who was with him on these trips?”

  “His son,” said Cadiz. “Some Kagari fellows.” He spat upon the floor. “I never cared for the Kagari. Too uppity, and they’ll cut out a man’s heart just as quick as look at him. And a tall fellow in a black hood and cloak.” He shrugged. “They paid well, so I never asked any questions.”

  “No need for that,” said Caina. “I’ll do the asking. I need a room for the next few days, and I need some of your informants to keep an eye on some things. Someone murdered the Count and stole a valuable item from him, and we need to find the murderer and reclaim the item.”

  Cadiz hesitated. “Ah…will you be paying for the room? Though the friends of Halfdan stay for free, of course, but I am but a poor man, and…”

  “Of course,” said Caina, passing him a few silver co
ins. “We are spies, not beggars.”

  “I do have a few eyes and ears among the beggars,” said Cadiz. “They cheerfully spy in exchange for food and drink.”

  Caina thought that even the city’s beggars would turn up their noses at the Bloated Maiden’s food and drink, but kept that thought to herself.

  ###

  Caina spent the next few days spying.

  She slept in her room at the Bloated Maiden. It was Cadiz’s nicest room, a narrow closet with a chamber pot and a rickety bed against the wall. One look at the bed convinced Caina to sleep on the floor with her cloak as a blanket.

  Before dawn she awoke and paid a quiet visit to Eastwarden. Black banners had been hung from the tower’s windows to mark the death of Count Armus. Caina supposed that Aetius was now the Lord of House Valdarion and the Count of Eastwarden. As far as she could tell, Aetius had not left Eastwarden since his father’s murder.

  She recruited a few of Cadiz’s friendly beggars and paid them to keep an eye on Eastwarden, instructing them to send a messenger to the Bloated Maiden at once if Aetius departed or if anything unusual happened. Aetius planned to inter his father in the ancestral Valdarion crypt beneath Eastwarden, and the priests of Cicholan, the god of death, would attend to the details of the funeral, as was traditional for a Nighmarian lord. Caina watched Eastwarden for an hour, but nothing strange happened. To all appearances, Aetius seemed like a young lord mourning his father.

  But appearances could be deceiving. Caina was living proof of that.

  She tracked down the residence of Taldrane, master magus of the Imperial Magisterium. Many master magi and even a few of the high magi owned their own houses in the city, usually building them as tall towers. The magi claimed that the position of the moon and certain stars and planets could influence the outcome of spells, and so used their towers to observe the heavens. Caina didn’t know if that was true, or if the real reason was that the magi preferred to look down upon the rest of the city, imagining themselves as little gods surveying lesser mortals.