Jonathan Moeller - The Ghosts 07 - Ghost in the Ashes (8 page)

Chapter 8 - The Imperial Citadel

Caina had been a Ghost for eleven years, half of her life, and she had never set foot within the Imperial Citadel. 

Caina’s tasks for the Ghosts had taken her from Rasadda in the east to Marsis in the west and Cyrica Urbana in the south, and yet for all the time she had spent in Malarae, she had never entered the Imperial Citadel, the heart of the Empire, where the Emperor lived and the Imperial Curia met.

She had to admit the vast fortress was much more impressive up close. 

Caina walked arm-in-arm with Corvalis, climbing the broad stone ramp that cut its way up the mountain spur to the Citadel’s outer wall. The ramp would make a tempting target for an invading army, but anyone foolish enough to attack would face the archers and war engines lining the Citadel’s towering outer wall. Little wonder the Imperial Citadel had never fallen to an invading army. 

Corvalis laughed.

“What is it?” said Caina.

He glanced over his shoulder at the guests making their way up the ramp to the gates. “Cruel of the Emperor to make them leave their coaches at the foot of the ramp.”

Halfdan shrugged. “It is traditional.”

“Though unpleasant,” said Corvalis, “to make those accustomed to riding everywhere to walk up the ramp.” 

“The exercise does them good,” said Halfdan.

Muravin grunted. Thanks to Caina’s efforts, he looked quite a bit different. He had dyed his beard and hair black. The careful application of makeup gave the left side of his face a series of scars, his lip drooping from the damage. He wore gleaming chain mail beneath the livery of the House of Kularus, and carried a broadsword and a dagger at his belt, rather than his preferred weapons. She only hoped no one would recognize him. 

They reached the massive arch of the Citadel’s outer gate. A centurion of the Imperial Guard stood there, flanked by a half-dozen Guards in their black armor and purple cloaks. 

“Ah, Tylas,” said Halfdan to the centurion, “you’ve come up in the world, I see.” 

Tylas looked at Halfdan, his expression hard beneath the black helm, and nodded. The man was a centurion of the Imperial Guard…but he was also a Ghost. 

“Master Basil,” said Tylas, looking at Corvalis and Caina.

“These are my guests,” said Halfdan, “Anton Kularus and Sonya Tornesti, both of Malarae. How are matters here?”

“Well enough,” said Tylas, lowering his voice. “There are Guards at all the entrances, and I have a century of trustworthy men assigned to watch over the Lord Ambassador’s residence in the city.”

“Stay vigilant,” said Halfdan. “There already was one attempt on the emir’s life at the Via Triumphalis. The Bostaji of Anshan are after him, and it is possible he has other enemies as well.”

Tylas nodded. “The emir will remain safe, Master Basil.” He looked at the line of nobles and merchants and magi climbing the ramp and waved his hand. “You may enter. Next!”

Caina walked through the gates and into the Imperial Citadel’s outer courtyard. The great white mass of the Citadel rose up before her, domes and towers and basilicas and ramparts blended together in a huge mass of stone. The banners of the Empire, a golden eagle upon a purple field, flew from the towers. Already hundreds of guests filled the courtyard, lords and merchants and master magi in their stark black robes. Many guests had brought a few servants and bodyguards of their own, but Imperial Guards stood everywhere, keeping watch from the walls and the entrances into the Citadel proper. Globes of enspelled glass threw bright light from the ramparts. It would take a very bold assassin to try anything here.

Just as it would take a bold assassin to shoot Tanzir Shahan upon the Via Triumphalis. 

“There is the Emperor,” said Halfdan.

For the first time, Caina looked at the Emperor she served.

Alexius Naerius, Emperor of Nighmar, stood on the steps to the main doors of the Citadel proper, Tanzir at his side. He was a tall man in his sixties, clad in the white-trimmed purple robe of the Emperor. Caina thought he looked…tired. Sad, even. The most powerful lords in the Empire stood clustered around him. Caina saw Corbould Maraeus, Titus Iconias, and a dozen others, along with the heads of the merchant collegia and several of the high magi. 

Corvalis grunted. “Shorter than I expected.”

“Who?” said Caina. “The Emperor?”

“Aye,” said Corvalis. “But my father hates him, so he must be a decent fellow.” 

“The emir should be safe enough,” said Caina, looking at the score of scowling Imperial Guards near the Emperor, hands on their sword hilts, eyes scanning the crowds with ceaseless vigilance. “Anyone who tries for the emir will have to deal with the Imperial Guards.” 

And the Immortals, for that matter. Six of the skull-helmed soldiers stood near the emir, no doubt a concession to his rank. 

“True,” said Halfdan. “Unless, of course, the Shahenshah decides the best way to continue the war is to have both the Emperor and the emir murdered in the Imperial Citadel.”

Caina hadn’t considered that. “Someone is always trying to kill the Emperor.” 

“Aye,” said Halfdan. “Tanzir is as safe here as anywhere in Malarae…but there is no such thing as perfect safety. Remain vigilant. Come, Master Anton. It’s time to mingle.” 

They moved through the crowds, Halfdan and Corvalis greeting the other merchants, Caina keeping an expression of vapid boredom on her face. She was glad she had taken the time to bathe and change her gown after fighting the Bostaji. Now she wore a sheer cloth-of-gold gown that utterly failed to match her dyed hair…though Sonya Tornesti would think it matched her hair. Jewels glittered on her fingers and at her ears, a silver chain dipping into the gown’s low neckline. The sleeves and bodice felt tight against her skin, too tight to conceal weapons, though she had knives hidden in her boots, and the curved ghostsilver dagger rested in a sheath at her belt. 

She listened as Halfdan and Corvalis discussed the state of trade with the merchants, nodding in the right place, laughing at the jokes whether or not they were funny. But her eyes roved over the crowds, watching for any sign of the Bostaji or other assassins. Both native-born Anshani and Istarish men usually had bronze-colored skin and dark hair and eyes, and an Anshani Bostaji could pass unnoticed among the emir’s guards and advisors. But like the Kindred, the Bostaji recruited men from every nation and tribe. For all she knew an assassin could look like one of the cold-eyed barbarians from beyond the Imperial Pale in the far north. 

Muravin played his part well. He stood expressionless at Corvalis’s left, his eyes likewise scanning the crowds for any sign of threat. Once Ibrahmus Sinan drew near, his white robes glittering in the light from the globes, and Caina feared that he would recognize Muravin. But Sinan’s eyes passed over them without recognition, and the Alchemist continued through the crowd.

Caina caught Muravin’s eyes as Corvalis and Halfdan listened to a grain merchant discuss the cost of shipping, and the former gladiator gave a tiny shake of his head. He had not seen anyone he suspected of sending the Kindred after him, nor had he seen any potential assassins. That was a relief.

Still, if it came to violence, Caina was glad she had brought the former gladiator.

“And the rate of shipping from Cyrioch has increased by at least nine and a half percent,” said the grain merchant, his voice dour. 

“Egregious,” said Halfdan with a shake of his head.

“Truly,” said the merchant, “and…”

The Emperor climbed to the top of the steps to the Citadel’s main doors, and a hush fell over the crowd. 

“Men of the Empire,” said Alexius Naerius, his voice hoarse, yet still commanding. “Men of Istarinmul. I bid you welcome to the Imperial Citadel, to the very heart of the Empire of Nighmar. In the last year our Empire has been ravaged by war, both upon the land and the sea. Yet our Legions have defended us with stern valor, and we have not surrendered an inch of land to our foes.”

That overlooked the fleet Kylon Shipbreaker had destroyed upon the western sea. But truth, Halfdan often said, was of only limited utility in politics. 

“But enemies can once again become friends,” said the Emperor, “and the Padishah of Istarinmul has seen wisdom, and dispatched his cousin Tanzir Shahan, the emir of the Vale of Fallen Stars, to negotiate a treaty of peace between our two nations.”

The Emperor beckoned, and Tanzir stepped to his side.

The emir licked his lips, looking back and forth over the crowd, and Caina saw the sweat dripping from beneath his turban. The man was plainly terrified, and for a moment of awful embarrassment Caina wondered if he would lose his balance and fall down the stairs in front of the assembled high nobles of the Empire. 

“Yes,” said Tanzir in High Nighmarian at last. “Yes, peace. Our Padishah desires peace. With you. The Empire, I mean. But all of you are part of the Empire…so, yes, peace. Because the Padishah is wise. Very wise. And peace is good. So…ah, peace.”

He fell silent, and the Emperor coughed.

A smattering of polite applause went up from the crowd. Caina glanced at Sinan, saw a hint of contempt on the Alchemist’s face. 

“Thank you for your wise words, emir,” said the Emperor without a hint of levity. “I look forward to hearing the results of your discussions with Lord Titus.” He turned back to the guests. “Meanwhile, I urge you to enjoy the hospitality of the Empire, as we prepare to inaugurate this new era of peace.” 

The guests returned to their conversations.

“What shall we do now?” said Corvalis.

“Now?” said Halfdan. “Now we shall eat and drink.” He took a flute of wine from the tray of a passing servant. “This is the finest Caerish wine, and I urge you to avail yourself of the opportunity.” He smiled. “If drinking coffee all day hasn’t ruined your palette.” 

“I can get drunk with the best of them,” said Corvalis. 

“That is exactly what I mean,” said Halfdan. “Wine is…”

He fell silent, and Caina saw a man in a white robe walking towards them.

Ibrahmus Sinan.

Muravin looked away, as if scanning the crowd.

“Good evening, honored sir,” said Halfdan, switching to High Nighmarian. “You are a member of the honored emir’s party, if I may be so bold?”

“I am,” said Sinan. “You are?”

Halfdan bowed. “Basil Callenius, a merchant of the Imperial Collegium of jewelers.” He gestured. “This is Anton Kularus, an associate of mine, and his…companion, Sonya Tornesti.”

Corvalis bowed, and Caina gripped her skirts and did a curtsy.

“Indeed,” said Sinan, ignoring Caina. “I am Ibrahmus Sinan, a full brother of the College of Alchemists of Istarinmul. Fame of your coffee house has spread far and wide, Master Anton. It seems the emir himself wishes to visit.”

“Truly?” said Corvalis. “He would be welcome. All are welcome at the House of Kularus.”

Sinan smiled. “Provided they have coin to spend, of course.” 

“Well,” said Corvalis. “A man must make a living however he can.” 

“Might we be of service to you, learned one?” said Halfdan. “Do you wish to purchase some gems from me? I understand Alchemist can make potent arcane objects from the proper gemstones. Perhaps some emeralds, cut just so…”

“No,” said Sinan. “Rather, I have come with a warning for Master Anton.” 

“Oh?” said Corvalis, lifting his eyebrows. Caina recognized the dangerous smile on his face. “I always appreciate warnings.”

“You should,” said Sinan. “Not all the nobles of Istarinmul approve of our Padishah’s wisdom in making peace with your Emperor.”

“From what I understand,” said Halfdan, “Rezir Shahan started the war, and lost both Marsis and his life. The wisdom of peace should be apparent.”

“It should be,” said Sinan, “but it was not apparent to Rezir, and it is not apparent to many in Istarinmul. Or in the Empire or Anshan, I imagine. And how easy to continue the war by murdering the Lord Ambassador in Malarae?”

“I confess,” said Corvalis, “such a thought had occurred to me, but such matters are far beyond a simple merchant of coffee.”

“They are,” said Sinan, “unless the Lord Ambassador is murdered at the simple coffee merchant’s establishment. The emir has taken quite an interest in your establishment, and wishes to visit tomorrow. An excellent opportunity for an assassin.” 

Corvalis shrugged. “I have guards, and the emir has his Immortals. I’m sure Imperial Guards will accompany him as well.”

“Nevertheless,” said Sinan, “be on your guard. Make certain your workers are trustworthy.” He peered at Muravin. “Such as this disreputable fellow. What is your name?”

Muravin turned, blinking, and for an alarmed moment Caina was certain Sinan would recognize him. 

“He is mute,” said Caina, making sure her Szaldic accent was thick. “He was once a slave, yes? His cruel master, he cuts out his tongue to make sure his secrets are safe. Then he flees to Cyrioch, and Anton finds him, gives him a job.”

Sinan gave her an annoyed look, his lips pressed together. 

Corvalis shrugged. “I don’t own slaves, but I have secrets that must be kept.”

“Yes, the price of coffee in Malarae,” said Sinan. “A dire secret, I’m sure.” He looked at Muravin, and for an instant seemed so angry that Caina thought he might attack. “Heed my warning, Master Anton. It is amazing how quickly a merchant can fall into penury when a nobleman is murdered under his roof. If you will excuse me.”

He strode away, his robes flowing behind him. 

Muravin let out a long breath. “I fear he recognized me. He seemed most wroth.”

“Have you forgotten that you are mute?” said Halfdan. “Good thinking, by the way.”

“Thank you,” said Caina. “And I don’t think he recognized you, Muravin. You said he used to be a slave?” Muravin nodded. “I think…I think he doesn’t like to be reminded of what he was. That sometimes happens when a man climbs from poverty to wealth. Anything that reminds him of the past infuriates him, because it reminds him of who he used to be.” 

“That was quite profound,” said Halfdan. 

“Why, thank you,” said Caina.

“And likely accurate,” said Halfdan. “Still, he thought to warn us against assassins. We can be confident he is not involved in the plots against Tanzir’s life.”