Blade of the Ghosts

by Jonathan Moeller

  “Greetings, sir,” said Caina in her disguised voice, planting the cane and bowing. “I wish to speak to your noyan, the honorable Jurchan. I desire to extend my business to his district, and therefore seek his protection.”

  The warriors shared a look amongst themselves.

  “Wait here,” said one of the warriors, disappearing through the rough wooden doors. A few moments later he returned, Hulagon following him with a massive scowl on his face. Caina held her breath. If Hulagon recognized her from the wine shop…

  He didn’t. Her skills at disguise had proven themselves once again.

  “Who are you,” said Hulagon, folding his arms over his chest, “and why do you seek audience with the noyan?”

  Caina removed her cap and offered a bow. “My name, sir, is Cordan Malocco.” Both were common Nighmarian names. “I am a merchant of Disali cheeses and wines.”

  Hulagon sneered. “I would not feed Disali cheese to my pigs.”

  “Regardless, sir,” said Caina, keeping an ingratiating smile upon her face, “wheels of Disali cheese are quite durable, and recently I have won a contract to provide them to the Legions of our benevolent Emperor stationed in the Imperial Pale beyond the headwaters of the Megaros. Of necessity, therefore, I have a purchased a warehouse nearby, not far from the city’s northern gate. Commerce is ever a risky enterprise, alas, and it seems prudent to gain the friendship of the noyan. All the local residents say that the noyan provides security and protection to his friends.”

  Actually, they said that the noyan was an extortionist who sent his warriors to threaten anyone who would not pay him protection money. But it seemed diplomatic not to mention that.

  “Very well, Master Cordan,” said Hulagon. “You will follow me.”

  He led the way into the apartment building, Caina limping after him. The front doors opened into the central stairwell, rickety wooden stairs climbing to the building’s upper levels. To judge from the amount of dust upon the steps, Jurchan’s warriors lived on the ground floor, but the steps to the upper apartments were intact.

  Caina filed that away for future reference.

  Hulagon opened a door on the far wall of the stairwell, and Caina followed him into the building’s inner courtyard. At the moment, the brick courtyard looked a great deal like the pavilion of a Kagari noyan or even a minor khan. A firepit had been dug in the center of the courtyard, crackling and snarling with pine logs. Bronze braziers of Kagari design stood here and there, giving off the smell of incense. Furs had been spread upon the ground, and some of the Kagari warriors sat upon them, drinking and talking. Other warriors sparred against each other in the corners, steel clanging upon steel, while a few warriors sat with Kagari women in their laps, the women clad in tight halters and flowing skirts of red that left their arms and stomachs bare.

  Jurchan sat slumped in a wooden throne on the far end of the courtyard, the ground at his feet heaped with carpets. A half-dozen warriors stood around him, and a pretty young woman knelt next to his throne, holding a goblet of wine. Behind Jurchan’s throne a wooden stair climbed the courtyard wall, ending in a door five stories above the ground.

  The noyan and his warriors stared at Caina as she approached.

  “Well, Hulagon,” said Jurchan in his rasping voice. “I hope you will give me at least one piece of good news before the sun departs.”

  Hulagon bowed. “Lord noyan, this man is Cordan Malocco, a merchant of Disali cheeses.”

  A rumble of laughter went up from the warriors.

  “Bah,” said Jurchan. “You think to sell me your cheese, Master Cordan? You waste your time. Disali cheese is fit for dogs and women, not for warriors.”

  “I would not insult you so, my lord noyan,” said Caina. “Instead I sell it to the men of the Imperial Legion.”

  The warriors laughed again, louder this time.

  “Aye, Master Cordan,” said Jurchan, looking at Hulagon. “Only a whipped dog would fail to overcome the men of the Imperial Legion.” Hulagon’s lips thinned, but he said nothing.

  “Alas, lord noyan,” said Caina. “I am but a simple merchant, and such matters are far beyond my meager comprehension. As the honorable warrior has said, I deal in Disali cheese and wines, and accepted a contract to deliver wheels of Disali cheese to the Legionaries guarding the border citadels of the Imperial Pale. Therefore I have purchased a warehouse in this district to hold my cheeses before they make the journey north in my wagons.”

  Jurchan grunted. “You will not send them by barge?”

  “The damp of the river barges is bad for the cheese,” said Caina, “and ill is the fate of the man who sells moldy cheese to the Emperor’s soldiers. No, better to ship them overland. Since I must store my cheeses and wines in this warehouse, it seems prudent to make friends of my neighbors.”

  “Where is your warehouse?” said Jurchan.

  Caina rattled off the address of an abandoned warehouse nearby.

  “Then you have exercised prudence to seek my friendship,” said Jurchan, leaning back in his throne. “This district is full of thieves. Though since you are Nighmarian, Master Cordan, perhaps you are unfamiliar with the customs of the Kagari. The friends of a Kagari noyan bring him gifts.”

  “I have traveled to many places, my lord noyan,” said Caina, reaching into her robe, “and am passing familiar with the customs of the men of the Kagari steppes.” She produced a leather purse and held it out. Hulagon took the purse and gave it to Jurchan, opening it to reveal the gleam of the gold coins within. The noyan hefted the purse, nodded to himself, and passed it to the young woman kneeling next to his throne. She rose without a word, her eyes downcast, and hurried to the stairs behind the noyan’s throne. Caina watched she ascended the stairs, making her way to the narrow door upon the top of the building. Unless Caina missed her guess, that door opened to the noyan’s treasure room. Likely the other entrances had been bricked off, and the only way in and out was through the high door in full sight of the courtyard.

  If Jurchan had stolen the Sword of Nicokator, he would have hidden it there.

  “Good,” said Jurchan. “It is always pleasant to meet a man who understands the ways of the Kagari, especially in the wilderness of brick and concrete that is Malarae.” He leaned back in the throne, tapping his fingers against the arms. “Perhaps you should return tonight, Master Cordan.”

  “Why is that, my lord noyan?” said Caina.

  Jurchan offered a small smile. “Soon I shall come into great wealth and power, more than you can imagine. Those who have been my friends shall be rewarded, while those who opposed me will be punished.”

  “May the gods favor your endeavors,” said Caina.

  “They shall,” said Jurchan, “for the gods of strife and battle favor the bold. Tonight I hold a great feast for my friends. It would be a shame if you were to miss the feast, Master Cordan. Someone might think you were not my friend.”

  Caina kept herself from smiling. The noyan’s greed was apparent. His feast was an opportunity to extort more presents from his “friends.” Even if he had stolen the Sword and was about to loot the First Emperor’s tomb, he still could not stop himself from extorting money.

  That might be his undoing.

  “How many of your friends shall attend?” said Caina.

  “All of them,” said Jurchan. “And their wives and daughters and sons, as well. All shall be under Jurchan’s promise of protection.”

  “Alas, my lord noyan,” said Caina, “I shall not be able to attend. But my younger sister shall.”

  Jurchan seemed more intrigued by that.

  ***

  Chapter 5: A Falling Out

  Caina prepared for the noyan’s feast with a great deal of care.

  The courtyard, she expected, would be safe enough. All of the noyan’s “friends” would be there, and Jurchan would not harm anyone within the courtyard. There was no point in paying protection money if Jurchan could not even protect his “friends” from his warriors. Once Cain
a got away from the courtyard and into the apartment’s upper levels, she would have to exercise far more caution. The Kagari would kill anyone attempting to break into Jurchan’s treasure room. From the way that Hulagon had spoken of weighing down corpses with stones, she suspected that would not have been the first time Jurchan had dumped his enemies into the river.

  Caina needed to keep Jurchan and his men from suspecting her, so she dressed for the part.

  She chose a sheer red dress with black scrollwork upon the sleeves and bodice. The fabric clung to her tightly, and the neck line plunged far lower than propriety allowed. The sleeves and bodice were far too tight to conceal any weapons, but the skirt was long and flowing, so she concealed daggers and a few other tools within the hidden sheaths of her heeled boots. Over the dress she wore a long green cloak with a deep, voluminous cowl. The cloak’s hidden lining would prove useful if everything went as planned.

  To complement the costume, she chose cheap, gaudy jewelry, bracelets and necklaces of bronze set with polished stones, and applied too much makeup. She piled her black hair into a high crown, leaving her neck exposed, and donned a belt of black leather holding a sheathed dagger and a money pouch.

  The pouch did not contain any money.

  When Caina was ready, she wrapped herself into the cloak, pulling the cowl low, and slipped out the Bloated Maiden’s back door, vanishing into the fog-choked gloom of Malarae’s night. The district near the northern gate was reasonably safe for a lone woman at night, so long as she avoided the alleyways, but Caina walked with haste nonetheless.

  Soon she arrived at Jurchan’s building. From within she saw a fiery glow from the bonfires of the inner courtyard and heard the sound of rolling drums. Jurchan must have hired musicians. A number of guests milled about outside the doors, mostly minor merchants and their wives. A pair of Kagari warriors stood guard at the doors, letting in the invited guests.

  Caina took a deep breath, stood up straight, threw back her shoulders, put a wide smile on her face, and strode towards the doors, the high heels of her boots clacking against the cobblestones.

  One of the Kagari warriors at the doors looked at her. “Who are you?”

  Caina threw back her cowl and pushed her cloak back, and she saw the warrior’s eyes flick up and down her.

  “I was invited,” said Caina. “Or so my brother tells me.”

  “Your name?” said the warrior, a glint in his hard black eyes.

  “Lucia Malocco,” said Caina. “My brother Cordan is a merchant of cheese and wine from the Disali provinces. He wished for the friendship of your noyan, but with great regret was unable to attend the feast. So he sent me in his stead. I know I am a poor substitute for my sober and industrious brother, but…”

  “No,” said the warrior. “Come with me, and I’ll show you just how welcome you are.”

  For a moment Caina contemplated it, thinking of the pouch at her belt, but discarded the idea. It was too soon.

  “Could you, sir?” said Caina. “My brother told me to seek out a man named Hulagon. Do you know where he might be?”

  The warrior deflated a little. “He will be in the courtyard, not far from our noyan. Though if you get bored with him, you should come back to me.”

  Caina smiled. “Shall I tell him you said that, sir?”

  The other warrior laughed.

  “I would prefer that you did not,” said the first warrior.

  “Then your secret, sir,” said Caina, “is safe with me.”

  She glided past them, through the stairwell, and into the inner courtyard.

  Again it had been transformed. Two more bonfires blazed in the courtyard, throwing wild shadows everywhere, and the heat seemed to soak into the brick walls. Neither Caina’s dress nor her cloak were heavy, but she already felt sweat start to gather on the back of her neck and the small of her back.

  The courtyard was crowded. Jurchan had more “friends” than Caina had expected, and maybe some of them were even fond of the Kagari noyan. The Kagari women circulated through the crowd, bearing trays of food and drink, while musicians beat their drums in the corner with intricate rhythms.

  Caina looked around the crowd for a moment. A lean man in a nondescript dark coat caught her eye and smiled, and Caina found herself smiling back. He was handsome enough in a classically Nighmarian way, with gray eyes and a strong jaw. An idle fantasy flickered through Caina’s thoughts. Maybe she would talk with him, and let him draw her away into the shadows. Perhaps she would let him kiss her. It had been a long time since anyone had kissed her. And if it went further…well, what was the harm? It was not as if she could become pregnant, not after the injuries she had suffered from Maglarion’s spells…

  That sent a sad chill through her. As a child she had wanted nothing more than to be a better mother than her own cruel mother, but the chance had been forever denied her. A kiss from a handsome stranger, maybe even a dalliance with a handsome stranger, might bring her a moment’s pleasure but would leave her feeling emptier and colder than she already did…

  Then Caina’s brain cut through the self-pity, and she felt like a tremendous fool.

  The handsome man was a magus of the Imperial Magisterium.

  She was certain of it. She was absolutely certain of it. Master Taldrane had not been the only magus in attendance at Count Armus Valdarion’s final banquet. There had been several other magi there, likely followers of Taldrane, and she had seen this man whispering to Taldrane.

  So what was a magus doing here?

  Caina kept her smile in place as she walked past the magus, and she felt the faint tingle of a warding spell around him. The magi rarely went anywhere without their ceremonial robes of office, which meant this magus was here in disguise. He was here in disguise…and had already warded himself.

  Did he expect trouble?

  She tensed as she passed him, but the magus seemed content to smile at her, his attention turning to one of the Kagari women in their tight red skirts and halters. Caina felt a flicker of offense at that, realized it was irrational, and turned her attention to the matter at hand.

  If the Magisterium was here, and if they expected trouble, the sooner she was gone, the better.

  She wove her way through the crowds until she spotted Hulagon. The Kagari warrior stood not far from where Jurchan stood exchanging words with his guests. Hulagon held a cup of the foul-tasting wine the Kagari preferred, his hard dark eyes sweeping the crowds, though his gaze lingered upon Caina as she approached him.

  “Pardon, sir,” said Caina, letting her voice tremble a little. “Pardon, but…are you Hulagon?”

  “Aye, girl,” said Hulagon. “What of it?”

  Caina gripped her skirts and dipped her head, letting Hulagon see down the front of her dress. “Forgive me, sir, but my name is Lucia Malocco.”

  “Ah,” said Hulagon. “The merchant’s sister.”

  She smiled at him. “Yes, that’s right. He could not attend the honorable noyan’s feast, so he sent me in his stead. The guard at the door said to present myself to you, which I confess disappointed me.”

  Hulagon frowned. “Why is that?”

  “I thought I would have to present myself to some damp-handed servant with a lisp,” said Caina. “Not to a warrior.” She stepped a little closer, looking up at him. “Tell me. Is it true that all Kagari kill a man by their thirteenth birthday?”

  Hulagon grunted, those his eyes remained fixed on her. “Not all. Only those who become warriors. Servants and thralls do not. Though the Emperor’s laws do not let us keep slaves as we did in ancient days. But perhaps we shall return to the old ways.”

  Caina hated slavers almost as much as she hated sorcerers.

  She turned her loathing into a laugh, lifting a hand to her throat. “Why, sir. Such a thing to say. Would you make a slave of me?”

  That brought the brief shadow of a smile to his lips. “Perhaps I might pay a silver coin or two for you.”

  “Truly,” murmured Caina, “the
warriors of the Kagari steppes are prone to flattery.”

  “I am no mere warrior,” said Hulagon. “I am a tarkhan, the chief warrior of a noyan. All of the noyan’s household is mine to command.”

  He was trying to impress her, though his scarred face remained impassive.

  “I see,” she said, letting feigned admiration come into her expression. “It sounds a weighty responsibility.”

  “It is,” said Hulagon. “A Kagari warrior is sworn to his noyan through sacred bonds of blood, and we fight at his side to any end. The men of your Empire fight in Legions for pay. They understand little of the honor of true warriors.”

  “You are a long way from the steppes,” said Caina. “What has brought you here?”

  Hulagon scowled. “The whims of ill fortune. Yet fate is a wheel, is it not? It has brought my lord noyan low, at least for now. Yet the wheel shall turn again. Soon it will raise him high again, and his loyal men shall follow him.”

  Caina placed a hand upon his forearm. “I would quite like to see that, noble tarkhan.”

  “Would you, now?” said Hulagon, his voice calm, but eyes blazed with a harsh intensity.

  “Yes,” said Caina. “Can you imagine my life in the Imperial capital, my lord tarkhan? My brother thinks to marry me to one of his business partners. Weak, flabby men with soft hands like those of children.” She slid her fingers down to his hard, callused palm. “I’ve always known I was meant for a warrior, for a man of war and valor. Not some fat merchant in his counting house.”

  That, and maybe the low-cut dress, was all it took to get him to follow her.

  They had ducked into the stairwell when Hulagon seized her shoulders, pushed her against the wall, and kissed her with enthusiasm. Given the amount of garlic he had consumed recently, that was not a pleasant experience. Caina broke free, gasping for breath, which he took as a sign of arousal.

  “Not here,” breathed Caina. “I don’t want anyone watching.”

  Hulagon grunted. “We shall go to one of the upper apartments.”