Ghost in the Blood (The Ghosts) (15 page)

“It’s not, it’s not bad,” said Jiri, eyes wide. “It only clipped me.” A lot of blood was coming from the wound, though, and her face had gone gray with pain. 

“Can you walk?” said Halfdan. “We have to keep moving.”

“No,” said Jiri with a tight shake of her head. “Go without me.”

“I will not leave you here,” said Radast

A pair of mercenaries emerged on the rooftop of a neighboring house, weapons in hand.

“Too late,” she said. 

Ducas swore and gave his oaken rod a dubious look. More mercenaries filed onto the rooftop, swords ready. Eight of them, including the man with the crossbow. 

“We fight, then,” said Halfdan. “Get ready.” 

Caina watched them come, cursing herself. She should never have stayed alone with Jadriga. And Ducas was right. An oaken rod against a competent swordsman was not a winning tactic. Caina knew how to fight unarmed, but she could not possibly defeat an armed, skillful foe. 

Then the mercenaries rushed them, and Caina had no more time for thought. Two men came at her, driving her back towards the edge of the roof with vigorous blows of their swords. Caina parried with a dagger, dodging and weaving. She couldn’t keep this up forever, and the mercenaries knew it. Sooner or later one of them would score a hit, or she would lose her footing and plunge to her death. 

She saw Radast staring at her, his eyes bright with calculation. He knelt and rummaged through his bundle, looking for something. Then he stood, bright metal gleaming in his hand.

“Take this!” he yelled. “It will balance the equation!”

He threw the shining thing at her head.

Caina caught it on instinct. Her hand closed around the hilt of a curved Kyracian dagger, the blade written with flowing characters. It shone in the moonlight, seeming to glow.

Ghostsilver. 

The blade had been plated with ghostsilver. Ghostsilver was proof against certain kinds of arcane attack…

Her eyes widened with the realization. 

The nearest mercenary thrust, and Caina sidestepped, moving inside his guard. He wore no armor. None of the mercenaries did. Why bother, after all, when their enspelled bracers would protect them from steel weapons? He wore no armor, and there was nothing to stop Caina from burying the ghostsilver dagger to the hilt in his throat.

The wound drew no blood. Instead it smoked and charred, as if she had plunged a hot iron into his throat, and the hilt grew hot beneath her hand. The man staggered, mouth open in a silent scream. Caina yanked the curved dagger free and kicked out. Her enemy lost his balance and crashed into the second man. Caina spun around them and drove the dagger into the second man’s neck. Again the wound burned black with smoke, the dagger warming, and the man fell. 

Caina wrenched the weapon free and turned. She saw Ark and Halfdan fighting back to back, Halfdan with the rod, Ark with his shield. They were losing, but they were holding their own for the moment. 

There was a brilliant green flash. Ducas fell in a roll across the rooftop, the shattered remnants of his broadsword falling from his hand. Caina realized what had happened. In desperation he had drawn his sword, striking his opponent…and the enspelled bracers had shattered his weapon, just as they had shattered the knife Caina had flung at Icaraeus’s throat. 

Ducas clawed at the shingles and managed to stop his tumble a few inches from the edge of the roof. Two pursuers bounded after him, blades raised for the kill. They paid no attention to Caina whatsoever. Evidently they had not seen the fate of their comrades. 

Caina let them go past, spun on her heel, and drove the dagger into the nearest man’s right kidney with all her strength. He stumbled to a stop with a sudden agonized gasp of pain, eyes bulging, arms flailing for balance. Caina kicked him in the back of the knee and he went over the edge of the roof. The second man turned towards her, eyes wide with surprised alarm. 

“You can’t hurt us!” he whispered. 

Caina spun the ghostsilver dagger in a showy flourish, smoke still rising from the blade, and waited. 

It didn’t take very long. Ducas tackled the man from behind, driving him to the shingles. The man fell with a thump, the wind bursting from his lungs. Caina dropped to one knee and plunged the dagger into his throat, the wound sizzling. 

“How did you…” Ducas began.

“Not now,” said Caina, turning back to Ark and Halfdan. Radast had produced another of those ghostsilver Kyracian daggers from his bundle and gotten it to Ark. Even as Caina watched, Ark sent another man falling, smoke rising from his torn throat. Caina stepped up, reversed her dagger, and rammed it into the back of the nearest mercenary.

The fight was over a short time later. Caina looked around, breathing hard. The streets were empty, and she saw no sign of any other mercenaries. Or of any Legionaries, for that matter. Apparently the wealthier districts were not so well patrolled after all.

“How?” said Ducas. “How did you hurt them? My sword…” He looked at the splintered remnants of his broadsword and scowled.  

“Ghostsilver,” said Caina, lifting her weapon. “The dagger is silvered.” She looked at Radast. “How did you know ghostsilver weapons could pierce their protections?”

“I…I did not,” said Radast, helping Jiri to her feet. “I calculated. Four years, seven months, and nineteen days ago I constructed a special chest for a brother of the Magisterium. He insisted that dozens of sigils be carved into the sides and filled with ghostsilver. I calculated that he intended the sigils to deflect sorcery. So it seemed an excellent chance that silver could pierce the mercenaries’ sorcerous protections.” 

“Good thing that you were right,” said Ark.

“Yes,” said Caina, looking at the corpses. That had been close. “It was. Where did you get that much ghostsilver? It costs a fortune."

Radast shrugged. "I told the magus the job would require more ghostsilver than it actually did."

Jiri closed her eyes and managed a soft laugh. "You rogue."

“Those bracers,” said Ducas, kneeling besides a corpse. “Those will come in handy.”

“No!” said Caina. Suddenly she remembered the misshapen wolves from her dream. “Don’t touch them.”

“Why not?” said Ducas.

“I don’t know,” said Caina. “I…think they might do bad things to you.” She pointed at the dead man. “Knife wounds aren’t supposed to…smoke like that.” 

Ducas swallowed and lifted his hands from the bracers. 

“We can discuss this later,” said Halfdan, his breath still coming hard. “I want to get off the streets before more of Icaraeus’s men come along. Jiri, can you move?”

Jiri stood, leaning against Radast, and winced. “I…can limp.”

“That’ll have to do,” said Halfdan. He looked around and spotted the trapdoor in the roof. “This way.”

“Ducas,” said Caina, “make sure you take one of their swords. We might need it before we get to the safehouse.”

Ducas scowled at her, but did as she ordered. 

###

They made it unmolested to the docks, and stopped before an abandoned warehouse. A heavy chain held the doors shut, pinned in place by a steel lock. A rather complex, sturdy lock, come to think of it.

“Ah,” said Radast. “So that is why you ordered that lock.”

Halfdan produced an equally complex-looking key, opened the lock, and drew back the chain. After throwing a quick glance around the street, he pushed open the door, and waved them inside. Caina stood in the darkness, waiting until Halfdan began lighting candles. A trio of tables stood in the darkness, covered with tools, weapon racks standing nearby. Barrels of wine had been stacked in the corner, and Caina saw bundles of dried food dangling from the ceiling, hung up to protect them from rats. 

“A cozy little hole you’ve got here, Basil,” said Ducas. 

“The warehouse is registered to a Anshani emir who died three years ago,” said Halfdan. “None of his heirs or his seneschals bothered to claim the place. So I thought I’d put it to better use.” He glanced at Caina. “And since Anna didn’t know about, there’s no way Jadriga could have stolen the knowledge from her thoughts. Icaraeus can’t find us here.” 

“Clever,” grunted Ducas. He snatched a wooden cup from the tables and walked to the wine casks. Radast helped Jiri to one of the cots.

“Anna,” said Halfdan, “help him with her wound.”

“Let Arlann do it,” said Caina. “I’m going out again.”

“Are you insane?” said Ducas. 

“Perhaps,” said Caina, “but I have good reason.”

“Which is?” said Halfdan.

“I want to check on Zorgi’s inn,” said Caina. “If Jadriga and Agria knew about Radast’s workshop, then they probably know about the inn as well. I don’t want Zorgi or his workers to get killed on our account. And if Icaraeus has sent men to the inn, I might learn something useful from them.”

“Madness,” muttered Ducas.

“I know how to move unseen,” said Caina. 

This time Ducas did not argue. Perhaps he knew better, having seen her fight. 

“Do it,” said Halfdan. “Get back here before dawn, though. And if Icaraeus’s men are attacking the inn, don’t try to get involved. Alert the Legion and get out of there. Oh, and check on Radast’s workshop, if you get a chance. Understand?”

Caina nodded, and slipped into the night. 

Chapter 15 - Counsels

Caina moved slowly and carefully through the docks, keeping out of sight, pausing to hide whenever groups of drunken sailors wandered near. Caina didn’t mind. It gave her time to think.

That damnable dream. Somehow it had warned her of Icaraeus’s mercenaries. But how was that even possible? A reaction to Jadriga’s attack upon her mind, perhaps? But that made no sense. Undoubtedly Jadriga had sent those men to kill Caina. 

Was the dream a message of some kind? But from who?

Or what?

Caina remembered of the dream-image of her mother and shuddered. Whatever that thing had been, it hadn’t been her mother. Nicorus had said that the scars from the necromancers made her more sensitive to the presence of sorcery, to necromantic energies. Was she sensing something?

If so, then what?

Caina gave her head a shake. Too many questions, and not enough answers. Perhaps she could find answers when they took down Icaraeus. Yet she doubted that even Icaraeus’s death would resolve this. She had started this hunt to find a slave trader and a traitor to the Empire…and she had found worse things. Agria Palaegus and her sorcery. And Jadriga. A sorceress of power, unlike any Caina had ever met before. What did she want? 

Whoever Jadriga was, whatever Jadriga was, Caina suspected that she was far more dangerous than Icaraeus ever could be. Caina had gotten lucky. Jadriga could have shattered her mind, reducing her to a drooling simpleton, or simply killed her on the spot. No wonder Nicorus had been terrified of her. 

Caina pushed her questions aside. Chewing endlessly over them would achieve nothing. Besides, it might distract her, and she needed to focus.

She returned to the market plaza below Radast’s workshop, keeping to the shadows of an alley. The plaza now crawled with Legionaries. She saw the insignia on their shields. Ninth Cohort, Twentieth Legion.

Hiram Palaegus’s cohort. 

She spotted Hiram a short distance away, talking with a man in the plumed helmet of a middle-ranked centurion.

“A messy business,” said Hiram. “These damned mercenaries. Brawling in the streets.”

“But their wounds, sir,” said the centurion. “Not a single drop of blood. It looks as if they were burned.” 

“They must have done it to themselves,” said Hiram. “There are no other bodies.”

Caina scooped up a pebble and threw. It bounced off Hiram’s armored shoulder. Hiram turned, frowning, and saw Caina. She beckoned at him with a gloved hand, and then melted into the darkness of the alley.

“Centurion,” said Hiram, “I’m going to have a look around. Keep an eye on the cleanup, will you?”

“Aye, Tribune.”  

Hiram walked into the alley, hand resting on his sword hilt, and squinted at Caina.

“So. You’re back,” said Hiram. “I suppose you had something to do with this?” 

“These men worked for Icaraeus,” rasped Caina in her disguised voice. “He discovered our location. We just managed to escape.”

“Gods,” muttered Hiram. “Those wounds. What did you do to them?”

“The bracers,” said Caina. “Their bracers were enspelled to turn aside steel weapons. Ghostsilver can penetrate the spell, and fortunately we had silvered weapons on hand. The burns come from the reaction of the warding spell to the ghostsilver. Don’t let any of your men loot the bracers. They might have unpleasant side effects.” 

“Sorcery?” said Hiram. “Where would Icaraeus obtain enspelled bracers?” 

“We knew Icaraeus had access to some level of sorcery,” said Caina. “At first we thought the Magisterium was aiding him, or that he had allied with a rogue foreign sorcerer. After I witnessed Agria Palaegus’s abilities, I thought that she had created the bracers. But I was wrong. And there are worse people in Marsis than slave traders and Icaraeus.”

Hiram frowned. “Such as?”

“Jadriga.”

Hiram snorted. “Jadriga? That charlatan? I…”

“She is not a charlatan,” said Caina. “Agria learned sorcery from her, and I wouldn’t be surprised if Messana Heliorus and Vorena Chlorus had some level of ability as well. Jadriga is a sorceress of considerable power.”

“How much power?” said Hiram.

“I think,” said Caina quietly, “that she could kill you and your men with a thought.”

Hiram frowned. “But if she has such power as you say…what would she want with Agria? Or with slaves, for that matter?”

“I don’t know,” said Caina. She could think of several possibilities, remembering Agria’s endless talk of blessings, and none of them were good. “Agria is her student, and I suppose she finds Agria useful. As for the slaves…I don’t yet know.” 

Hiram nodded. “What should I do?”

“Keep this quiet,” said Caina, gesturing at the bodies. “We’re preparing to move against Icaraeus. We have a chance to capture one of his lieutenants. If we are successful, we might have a chance to catch Icaraeus himself. The less warning he has, the better.”

Hiram nodded again. “I will keep it quiet. What else?”

“I warned you against approaching Agria directly,” said Caina. 

“I haven’t,” said Hiram. “I haven’t spoken to her since the night of her last ball.”

“Continue to avoid her,” said Caina. “Agria is just as guilty as Icaraeus, and we intend to take her down as well.” Caina took a deep breath. “And under no circumstances approach Jadriga. Not for any reason. I cannot emphasize that enough. If she decides that you are a threat, she will probably kill you then and there.” As Jadriga had sent men to kill Caina, that very night. “Or you’ll wish that she had killed you, before she is done with you.” 

“Very well,” said Hiram. “I will not approach them. Anything else?”

“Not yet,” said Caina. “But soon. Be ready to act at a moment’s notice. Things will start happening soon.” 

“I will be ready,” said Hiram. He glanced back at the square, where the Legionaries loaded the corpses onto a wagon. “As will my men.”

Caina took the opportunity to roll backwards, concealing herself behind a barrel. Hiram turned to face her and flinched. He spent a few moments scanning the alley, but thanks to Caina’s cloak, he saw nothing.

“How does he do that?” muttered Hiram. With a shake of his head, he stalked back to the plaza. 

###

A short time later Caina returned to Zorgi’s inn, the Citadel and Black Angel Tower looming in the background. 

She saw Icaraeus’s lookout at once. The man leaned against a wall, sipping from a flask. From time to time, Caina glimpsed the rune-carved bracers strapped to his forearms. No doubt another squad of men lurked nearby, waiting to attack should Caina and Halfdan return. But otherwise, the inn seemed unharmed. Of course, the White Road Inn had looked unharmed, and the innkeeper and his family had been chained in the cellar. 

Caina decided to double-check.

It was easy enough to evade the lookout, and she vaulted over the low stone wall and into the inn’s gardens. Light streamed from the windows, and Caina crept up for a closer look. Inside she saw one of Zorgi’s servants washing the tables, and another scrubbing the floor. Nothing looked out of place. Caina nodded to herself, and turned to go.

A woman’s sobbing drifted to her ears. 

Caina crouched and spun, yanking a knife from her belt. The sobbing continued, but Caina also heard a man’s voice, low and insistent. Zorgi and Katerine, she realized. Caina crept around the corner of the inn.

She saw Zorgi and Katerine standing together, Zorgi holding his wife by the shoulders, Katerine shaking her head.

“You must let this go,” said Zorgi, his voice shaking. “Our son is dead.” 

“No,” said Katerine, “no, no, I know that Peter is alive, I know that he will come back to us one day.” 

“Katerine,” said Zorgi, “I wish more than anything that you were correct. I would give everything I have to see Peter again…I would give everything I have just to know what happened to him. But we are alone. No one will help us.”

Caina stood up. “Perhaps you are wrong.”

Zorgi whirled in alarm, his eyes widening as he took in Caina’s shadowed form, and he shoved Katerine behind him. “Who are you?” he demanded. “Name yourself! Speak!”

Caina held up a hand, palm out. “I mean you no harm. I wish only to speak.”

“What…what are you?” said Zorgi. “Are you a spirit? Are…are you Peter’s shade?”

“Husband, use your eyes,” said Katerine. “He must be one of the Emperor’s Ghosts.”

Zorgi looked even more frightened. “The Emperor’s Ghosts? Here?”

Caina wondered how he would react if he realized that three of the Ghosts had been sleeping under his very roof. 

“The Emperor has no Ghosts,” said Caina, “only servants who watch from the shadows.” 

Zorgi swallowed. “What do you want from us, sir? We are only innkeepers, not great Lords or wealthy merchants.” 

“Don’t you see?” said Katerine. “The Emperor has sent him to kill the Moroaica.” 

Caina blinked. The Moroaica? 

“Be quiet, wife,” said Zorgi. “That is only a tale.” 

“You have heard the name Lord Naelon Icaraeus?” said Caina.

Zorgi frowned. “I…have. A villain and a traitor, so they say.” 

“He is,” said Caina. “He has since turned to slave trading, and has kidnapped hundreds from Marsis. Almost certainly that is what happened to your son.”

Zorgi gave a heavy nod. “I…thought so. People have been disappearing for years. Especially children.” His voice was bitter. “But not the children of Lords or wealthy merchants, the villains are clever enough not to take them, so no one cares. At least now you have come to make Icaraeus pay for his crimes.”

“He will,” said Caina. “I promise you that. He will pay dearly for all that he has done, if I can lay hands upon him. Tell me how your son disappeared. The more we can learn, the better chance I have of finding Icaraeus.” 

“The Moroaica took him,” said Katerine. “And he is still alive.” 

“He simply disappeared from his room one night about four years ago,” said Zorgi. “We do not know what happened. I searched for years. I questioned everyone I saw. But…he is gone. No one saw anything.”

“He is still alive,” said Katerine.

“I’m afraid your husband is right,” said Caina. “He’s probably dead.” Or a slave in some plantation or mine, or murdered in one of Agria and Jadriga’s spells. 

“He is still alive,” said Katerine. “You are not a woman so you would not understand. But a mother, a mother knows.”

“No,” said Caina. Her disguised voice kept the pain masked quite handily. “You are right. I would not understand.” 

“And I saw the Moroaica take him,” said Katerine.

“Did you?” said Caina, interested.

“Forgive her, sir,” said Zorgi. “The Moroaica is an old tale, from before our fathers’ fathers left their homeland and came to the Empire. She is a female demon that takes the form of a beautiful woman and carries of children to be slaves in her palace in the lands of the dead.”

“I know the story,” said Caina. “Let her speak.”

“I awoke that night in a terror,” said Katerine, her voice low and pained. “I knew that something was wrong. I went to check on Peter, and he was gone. I ran outside, looking for him. He was in the garden. I called to him, but he did not answer.” She touched her throat. “There was a…a shining thing around his neck.”

“A shining thing?” said Caina.

“Like a collar, or maybe a chain,” said Katerine. “His face was slack, his eyes empty. And he was walking to the Moroaica.”

“How did you know she was the Moroaica?” said Caina. 

“I saw her,” whispered Katerine, her face drawn with soul-crushing fear. “Who else could she have been? She had a crown made of skulls, and a cloak made of blood, and there were lines of ash and flame written upon her skin. Her eyes were like pits into the blackest fires of hell. She looked at me…and she laughed. I thought I would go mad. She pointed at me, and everything went black. When I woke up, she was gone, and so was Peter.” 

“A dream,” said Zorgi, voice numb. “A terrible, terrible dream, but a dream nonetheless.” 

Caina said nothing. The story of the Moroaica sounded disturbingly like what she suspected Agria and Jadriga and the others of doing. But they, at least, were only mortals of flesh and blood. And she doubted that Jadriga and her students kidnapped slaves themselves. They contracted that job out to Icaraeus. 

So just what had Katerine seen that night? 

“A grim story,” said Caina.

“Do you believe me?” said Katerine.

“Did you see the Moroaica of legend?” said Caina. “I don’t know. But Icaraeus is working for people with sorcerous abilities. And we still don’t know how he is kidnapping slaves from the city undetected. So you may well have seen something. Though I don’t know what.” 

“Sorcery?” said Zorgi, aghast. “This Icaraeus uses sorcery? What sort of devil is he?”

“A bad one,” said Caina. “Listen to me. You must speak of this conversation to no one, do you understand? The wrong word in the wrong ear and you both will die.”

Zorgi and Katerine both nodded. 

“If you learn anything of interest,” said Caina, “send a bottle of wine to a man named Ducas, a tribune in the Twentieth Legion. Send no details with the message. The next night either myself, or a representative, will make contact with you. Am I understood? If Icaraeus knows you have spoken with me, he will not hesitate to kill you. Your lives depend upon your obedience.”

“I understand, sir,” said Zorgi, “and we will not speak of this to anyone.” 

“Good,” said Caina. “If I learn your son’s fate, I promise that you will know of it.”

Zorgi closed his eyes. “Thank you.”

“He is alive,” said Katerine. “You will see.” She hesitated. “I will say prayers for you, Ghost. Both to the gods of the Empire and gods of our fathers. For when you find my son…I think you will face many evil and terrible things.”

“Thank you,” said Caina. “I will take all the help I can get.” 

She left, leaving them standing in the garden. 

###

The door rattled open, and Caina stepped into the warehouse.

Ark and Jiri lay sleeping on the cots. Radast sat at one of the tables, working with the tools. Halfdan leaned against the wall, sipping from a cup of wine. Caina drew back her cowl and pulled off her mask, wiping the sweat from her forehead.