Jonathan Moeller - The Ghosts 09 - Ghost in the Surge (2 page)

“There were slave traders in Varia Province, when I was a girl,” said Caina, “which is why my father wanted to find work in Malarae. But I thought they had been wiped out.”

“They were,” said Nisias, “briefly, before the war. Naelon Icaraeus, son of the traitor Haeron Icaraeus, controlled them. It seemed he had some fool idea of building a mercenary army to overthrow the Emperor, aided by some sorceress out of Szaldic myth. But then the Legions killed him.” He snorted. “Aided by the Balarigar, if you believe the tales.”

“A fanciful tale,” said Corvalis.

“It is,” said Nisias, “but the Szalds believe it. And not a few people in the Imperial capital, for that matter. But I wander from the matter at hand. The Legions wiped out Lord Naelon and his followers, but the war transformed the western seas into a battlefield…and I fear battlefields always draw jackals.”

“Perhaps you could write to the Lord Governor in Marsis,” said Corvalis, “and ask him to send one of his Legions to sweep the slavers from the province.”

“I have,” said Nisias, “and he refused me.” He sighed and took a drink of wine. “The honorable Lord Aiodan Maraeus believes that his father Lord Corbould and his brother Lord Conn shall soon starve the Kyracians and force them to submit. So he holds his Legions back, lest the Kyracians grow desperate and launch an attack upon Marsis.”

“That seems unlikely,” said Corvalis. “The Kyracians could not even take Marsis with the aid of the Istarish. Surely they could not do so on their own.”

“No,” said Nisias, “they could not. But I cannot convince Lord Aiodan Maraeus of that fact.” He sighed. “But perhaps Lord Corbould’s plan will work, and the Kyracians shall soon submit. Then Lord Aiodan would have the men to spare.”

Caina knew better. If Lord Corbould convinced the Anshani to stop selling grain to New Kyre, the Kyracian stormsingers would respond by using their sorcery to alter the weather over the Empire to produce a famine. The resultant war would drown the world in blood, and she could only imagine how the Magisterium would use the chaos.

Or, worse, the Moroaica…

She pushed aside the thought. 

“So I fear you have wasted your trip, Master Anton,” said Nisias. “I cannot recommend that you send your cargoes to Mornu. Perhaps after the war, once the governors of the coast can turn their attention to dealing with the pirates and the slavers. But by then, alas, my term will be over. Ah, well.” He grinned. “I would have looked forward to sampling your fine coffees as they passed through my port. Merely to maintain my goodwill, you understand.”

Corvalis laughed. “I understand quite well. Thank you for your candor, my lord.”

Nisias shook his head. “Alas, my fate is to be the bearer of bad news. Enjoy the feast, Master Anton.”

Corvalis bowed, and the Lord Governor went to speak with another group of guests. 

“What do you think?” said Caina.

“He seems an unlikely slave trader,” said Corvalis. “Most magistrates would leap at the chance to have more cargoes coming through their ports. More opportunities for graft. Though shipping coffee to Malarae through Varia Province is a stupid idea. Perhaps he saw through it.” 

“Aye,” said Caina. “If you bankrupt my coffee house, I shall be most cross.”

Corvalis grinned. “It is your business, my dear. I am merely the public face.” He shrugged. “Perhaps Nisias Druzen has nothing to do with the slavers.”

“Or maybe he’s merely a very good liar,” said Caina. “We know someone has been kidnapping slaves from the coast and shipping them through Mornu. Perhaps he’s not involved directly, and is merely taking a cut of the profits.”

“And if it’s just that,” said Corvalis, glancing across the ballroom, “then he’s still going to have an unfortunate accident, I assume?”

Caina nodded and followed Corvalis’s gaze. 

She just managed to keep her expression calm.

A master magus of the Imperial Magisterium walked across the room, the hem of his black robes rustling against the marble floor. He was lean and gaunt, with a shock of graying black hair and a prominent nose. Caina had never seen him before in her life. 

Yet he seemed familiar, somehow.

“Do you know him?” said Caina. 

“No,” said Corvalis. “I have seen most of the high magi and the master magi, but I’ve never seen him. He must be the Lord Governor’s advisor. If he was banished out here, he must not have been terribly competent.”

“Or he got on the wrong side of your father,” said Caina. Decius Aberon, First Magus of the Magisterium, was the sort of man who kept grudges. 

“My father doesn’t have anything but wrong sides,” said Corvalis. “We…”

He fell silent as the master magus headed towards them.

Toward Caina, specifically. His black eyes locked upon her, and a faint sneer of contempt went over his lip. Her first thought was that he wanted to seduce her. That vanished as she got a better look at his face, at the hatred there. 

She wondered what she had done to offend him. 

He stopped a few paces away from them, scowling. 

“Good evening, master magus,” said Corvalis. “It is an honor to meet you. I am…”

“I know who you are,” said the magus, his voice curt. “Do you know who I am, I wonder?”

“I fear not,” said Corvalis. “I…”

“There’s no need for you to do the talking,” said the magus, still staring at Caina. “I know that you are merely the arm that carries out her designs.”

Caina felt a prickle of alarm. When people looked at her, she wanted them to see the shallow, flighty mistress of a coffee merchant. She did not want them to see the nightfighter of the Ghosts, the eyes and ears of the Emperor of Nighmar. 

“Who are you?” said Caina.

“You don’t remember?” said the master magus. “Well, we have never met. My name is Oberon Ryther.” 

For a moment Caina could not recall the name, but then her alarm increased.

A few months past, she and Corvalis had gone to town of Calvarium to stop the Moroaica and her ancient enemy Rhames from claiming the Ascendant Bloodcrystal in the cursed ruins of Caer Magia. Rhames had been destroyed, and the Moroaica’s body killed again. But Martin Dorius, the Lord Governor of Calvarium, had aided Caina, and knew that she was a Ghost.

And the master magus assigned to the Lord Governor of Calvarium had been named Oberon Ryther.

“When I last heard your name,” said Caina, “you were in Calvarium, in Caeria Ulterior. A long way from here.”

“When I last saw you,” said Ryther, “you were calling yourself Rania Scorneus, and claiming to be a sister of the Imperial Magisterium.” He smiled. “Impersonating a magus carries the penalty of death, Sonya Tornesti. Knowledge of your crime might be of interest to certain men within the Magisterium.”

“Interesting,” said Caina.

“Oh?” said Ryther, tilting his head to the side.

“You didn’t attempt to arrest me,” said Caina, “and you didn’t denounce me before Lord Nisias. Which means…”

“Which means that Lord Nisias is a pompous fool,” said Ryther. 

“Or,” said Caina, “that you intend to bargain.”

Ryther send nothing, a twitch going through his face.

“Come with me,” he said at last. “I would prefer that neither the Lord Governor nor his fools overhear us.”

Corvalis glanced at Caina, and she nodded. They followed Ryther toward the high windows that overlooked the bay, away from the other guests. 

“Let us dispense with the games,” said Ryther. “I know who you are. I know you are both Ghosts. No one else would dare to impersonate a sister of the Magisterium. And I know why you’re here. It’s about the slave trading, isn’t it? All the abductions from the countryside?”

Caina said nothing. 

“Do not,” said Ryther, “play games with me. It will end badly for us both, Ghost. I am in just as much peril as you, if not more.”

Caina hadn’t expected that.

“Why?” she said. “Are you fearful your illegal slave trading will come to light?”

“Hardly,” said Ryther with a grimace. “I care nothing for the slaves, nor for this miserable backwater of a province. But the First Magus, as you can imagine, is not terribly pleased with me. It would be politically convenient for him if I happened to disappear, and Decius Aberon has strong ties with the Kindred assassin families.”

“I’ve heard that,” said Caina. “So what do you propose?”

“A pact,” said Ryther.

“You’re mad,” said Caina, “if you think I would trust a magus.”

“And you are just as crazed if you think I would trust a Ghost,” said Ryther. “But trust is not required, merely mutual necessity.” He gestured in the direction of Nisias. “Your suspicions are correct. The Lord Governor is indeed heading up a ring of slave traders. He has been kidnapping both citizens from the town and Szalds from the countryside and selling them to his Istarish associates.” 

The rage stirred within Caina. If Nisias Druzen was indeed aiding the slave traders, he was not long for this world. 

“So,” said Corvalis. “If you know that Nisias is selling people into slavery, why have you not acted? You could report him to the Lord Governor in Marsis, or to the preceptor of the Magisterium’s chapterhouse in the city.”

“No, he’s not going to do that,” said Caina, pushing aside her dark thoughts. “The First Magus doesn’t like him. And if he causes the Lord Governor’s downfall, it will look like the Magisterium had a hand in it. That would annoy the First Magus. And if the First Magus is annoyed, Master Oberon Ryther is unlikely to live much longer.”

“I’ve heard,” said Corvalis, “that the First Magus has a temper.”

“Indeed,” said Ryther with a scowl. “But there is another option. Sooner or later that idiot Nisias is going to make a mistake and meet his downfall. But if the Ghosts were to remove him first, why…no one would suspect the Magisterium of his ruin.”

“So you want us,” said Caina, “to kill Nisias Druzen for you.”

Ryther smiled. He looked far too pleased with himself. “It is crude to speak so bluntly about such a delicate matter. But who am I to disagree with your conclusions?”

“No,” said Caina.

Ryther scowled. “Why not? You are not the first Ghost I’ve had the misfortune of meeting. Your order never stops yammering about corrupt nobles and the grievous injustice of slavery. I thought you would leap at the chance to rid the Empire of a corrupt governor who deals with slavers.”

“We would,” said Caina, “but we don’t have proof that he is involved. We only suspect it. We know that slaves have been taken from Mornu, but we don’t know for certain that Nisias is behind it.”

“He is,” said Ryther, “and I can prove it. Break into his study, on the third floor of the mansion. The second drawer of his desk is locked and trapped, and it contains his ledger. His secret ledger, not the province’s official financial records. Get your hands on that, Ghosts, and you shall have all the proof you need to deal with Nisias.”  

“That’s very helpful,” said Caina. “Too helpful, even.”

Ryther sighed. “What does it take to satisfy you? If I withheld information, you would accuse me of obfuscation. I tell you everything you need to know, and you are still suspicious.” He gave an irritated shake of his head. “Do with the information as you please.”

He stalked away, his boots clicking against the marble floor.

Caina stood in silence with Corvalis for a moment.

“Well,” said Corvalis after a moment. “That was interesting.”

“It was,” said Caina.

“You’re going to break into Lord Nisias’s study tonight, aren’t you?” said Corvalis.

Caina nodded.

“Ah,” said Corvalis. “Just as well that I had only one glass of wine.”

Chapter 2 - Disciple of the Moroaica

Caina feigned illness to leave the ball early, and returned with Corvalis to the Rusalka’s Kiss, Mornu’s finest inn. Tanya had told Caina about the legendary Rusalkae, the beautiful river spirits who drew unsuspecting men to their watery doom. It was a grisly name for an inn, but many sailors lived in Mornu, and Caina had found that seamen often had a black sense of humor. 

Rather, she supposed, like Ghost nightfighters. 

In their rooms at the Rusalka’s Kiss, Caina prepared.

She put aside her finery and donned black trousers, black boots, and a black jacket lined with thin steel plates to deflect knife blades. She secured daggers in hidden sheaths in each of her boots, and around her waist went a leather belt holding throwing knives, lockpicks, a coiled rope and grapnel, and a number of other useful tools. The strap of a leather satchel went across her chest, to carry any documents she found in Nisias’s desk. Her curved ghostsilver dagger went into a sheath on her right hip. Black gloves covered her hands, and a black mask concealed her entire head, save for her eyes.

Around her neck went a leather cord holding a man’s worn golden signet ring. Everything else she carried had a practical purpose, but the ring did not. Her father had once worn it, and it was all she had left of him. 

She paused for a moment, looking at the ring. Eleven years he had been dead, for half her life. His death and her mother’s betrayal had led her to the Ghosts. That pain would never leave her…but it had been part of her for so long that sometimes she forgot it was there. 

And if she had not joined the Ghosts, so many people would have died. Maglarion would have destroyed Malarae, and Kalastus would have turned Rasadda to ashes. Ranarius would have thrown Cyrioch into the sea, Mihaela would have unleashed an army of enslaved souls bound into living armor, and Rhames would have claimed the Ascendant Bloodcrystal and rebuilt the dark empire of ancient Maat. 

Caina could take not credit for any of those victories. She would not. Luck and good fortune had been with her.

But if her father had not been murdered, if she had not joined the Ghosts, than all those people would have perished.

Yet Caina still wished her father was here. 

“Something wrong?” said Corvalis, donning his own nightfighter grab. He wore black chain mail beneath a leather jerkin, his sword and dagger at his belt.

“Nothing,” said Caina. “Though we are about to break into the mansion of a Lord Governor of the Empire.”