Ghost Claws Page 2

  “But you’re not loyal,” I said, voice quiet, “because you’re not loyal to organizations. Or sovereigns, or nations. You, Corvalis Aberon, are loyal to people.” I let out a long breath. “And you are loyal to Caina Amalas.”

  “When you put it like that…yes, I suppose you are right,” said Corvalis.

  “What a bind you’ve put me in, boy,” I said. “I ought to kill you, but Caina has fallen in love with you.”

  “You love her, too,” said Corvalis.

  As much as man like me could love anyone. “Let us just say I wish her to find what joy she can in her life.” I sighed. “If I do kill you, for her sake I will make it look like an accident.”

  “How comforting,” said Corvalis. “Will you kill Claudia, too?”

  His stance remained relaxed, but I knew my answer might provoke a violent response. “Most likely not. I admit I misjudged her. She is not suited for work in the field. Likely I will send her to Caer Magia, to work with the Ghosts there. From time to time we need experts in sorcery.”

  “And experts in assassination, too,” said Corvalis.

  I nodded. “I suppose I could hire you to kill yourself.”

  Corvalis snorted. “At least it would get done efficiently.” His face grew grave. “Do you want the truth, Basil Callenius? I am loyal to Caina…and I will stay with the Ghosts as long as she does.”

  “We will see,” I said.

  A man in the leather armor of a caravan guard appeared next to us. My hand dropped to my sword hilt as I wondered how the guard had gotten so close to us…and then I recognized Caina.

  Gone was all trace of the spoiled merchant’s daughter. Now she wore dirt-caked boots, ragged trousers, a leather jerkin with steel studs, and a worn brown cloak, a short sword and a dagger at her belt. Her black hair hung in greasy curtains around her face, and makeup gave her jaw the illusion of stubble. If I had not known better, I would have sworn that she was a man, a ragged mercenary and caravan guard.

  “You look as if you’ve come to cut my purse,” I said.

  “Why bother?” said Caina. Even her voice had changed, becoming rough and harsh. “You’ll give me what I ask anyway.”

  I wondered if she had overhead my conversation with Corvalis. Her expression gave no hint that she had…but it would not unless she wished it. If she wanted, I knew she could kill me without hesitation and without the slightest warning.

  I had turned her into that kind of woman, and again I felt a twinge of the old guilt. Perhaps it would have been better to give her to the Temple of Minaerys.

  But if I had, millions of people would have perished.

  “I take it,” said Caina, “we’re going to talk to Cardiz?”

  “Clever girl,” I said, turning my mind back to the business at hand. “Yes, if there’s been a murder in the camp, Cardiz is the man to question.”

  ###

  I had dealt with dozens of men like Cardiz over the decades.

  Cardiz was a peddler, a seller of trinkets…and of secrets and stolen goods. He had attached himself to Lord Titus’s column soon after we left Cyrica Urbana, offering his wares to the Imperial Guards, and had traveled with us to Catekharon. I suspected he had offended someone powerful in Cyrica and wanted out of the Empire for a time.

  We found him with his wagon, humming to himself as he packed up his goods. He wore a florid robe of bright color, topped with a turban he had won playing at dice. He had a pointed black beard in the Mardonish style and beady black eyes that reminded me of a ferret.

  “Master Basil!” said Cardiz with a bow. “So good of you to come! Do you wish to purchase some wine? I have many fine vintages for the discerning palate. Or some silks for your lovely daughters? Such lovely jewels ought to be displayed in the finest settings.” He smiled. “Where are your daughters?”

  “Alas,” I said, “Irene has a headache. Some woman’s concern, so Anna is tending her.” It gave an explanation for their absence, though Cardiz would never know that “Anna” stood behind me, disguised as a guard.

  “Ah,” said Cardiz. “Do give the dear lady my regards. I have an unguent guaranteed to ease the cramps of the woman’s time of the month, if you wish to purchase some.”

  “I am certain she shall be delighted to know that,” I said with a straight face. “Though I have other business. Have you heard about the anjar Kamahd?”

  “Yes,” said Cardiz. “A tragic business. Torn apart by a grass lion.”

  “You know I am friends with Lord Titus,” I said. That got his attention. “And Lord Titus believes that the anjar was murdered. He has tasked me with finding the killer, lest this cause a rift in the Emperor’s friendship with the Shahenshah.”

  Cardiz blinked, several times. At once I realized he knew at least something about Kamahd’s fate.

  “So,” said Cardiz, licking his lips. “You know he was murdered over the white lion?”

  “White lion?” I said.

  “Yesterday, before dawn,” said Cardiz, lowering his voice. “Kamahd left the camp and went hunting with another anjar named Masud. They found a white lion, and Kamahd slew it. A white grass lion, you see, is very rare, and the Anshani believe that good fortune graces the man who slays one.”

  “How do you know all this?” I said.

  “Kamahd wished it kept secret,” said Cardiz, “lest the other anjars try to take credit for his kill, or steal the lion’s pelt.”

  “Which,” I said, “is what happened, is it not?”

  Cardiz bobbed his head. “I believe that Masud murdered Kamahd and left his body outside the camp. He will claim that the white lion slew Kamahd, and he then avenged Kamahd by slaying the lion.”

  “Allowing him to keep the pelt,” I said, “and credit for the kill.”

  “Precisely,” said Cardiz. “Nobles are a treacherous lot.”

  “Thank you for your information,” I said. “Lord Titus will be grateful.”

  Cardiz bowed. “I am a humble merchant and am ever glad to serve. Do let his lordship know that I am willing to provide him with excellent goods at a low price.”

  “I will,” I said. Titus Iconias was one of the most powerful lords in the Empire, and I doubted he had ever visited a merchant like Cardiz. “Perhaps his seneschal shall soon pay you a visit.”

  We departed, walking across the camp.

  “Well?” I said to Caina.

  “He was lying about something, I’m sure of it,” said Caina. “He kept licking his lips. Either he was thirsty or he was nervous. Liars tend to be nervous.”

  I nodded. “True. We should speak with the anjar Masud next.”

  ###

  No one questioned us as we walked through the Anshani portion of the camp. Of course, there was no reason for the Anshani anjars and their slaves to trouble us. Basil Callenius was a merchant, and wealthy merchants traveled with guards for protection. One of the slaves directed us to Masud’s tent, and we stopped outside it.

  “His tent’s still standing,” Caina said.

  “So?” I said.

  “So,” said Caina, “look around. Most of the other tents are down. The caravan master will start today’s march within the hour. Why haven’t Masud’s slaves taken down his tent?”

  Corvalis shrugged. “Maybe they are busy trying to hide a white lion pelt.”

  “Maybe,” I said.

  We stood in silence for a moment. No one moved nearby, and there was no trace of life from the tent. Around us the wind moaned, setting the high grasses of the Anshani plains to rustling.

  “Since we are waiting,” said Corvalis, “how did you join the Ghosts?”

  Caina laughed. “You are determined.”

  I shrugged. “If you must know, it was entirely an accident. I was an orphan, and wound up working at a vineyard in the southern part of Caeria Superior, not far from Caer Marist. One day about thirty-eight years ago, I came across a nobleman hiding from Kindred assassins. I hid him inside a wine cask. In gratitude he gave me his seal, and told me that h
e would reward me. The assassins were after him because the old Emperor had died, and they wished to keep the Imperial Curia from electing him as the new Emperor. When he became Emperor Alexius Naerius, I traveled to Malarae…and I became one of the Ghosts.”

  “That’s not true, either,” said Caina.

  “And just why not?” I said.

  “Because Alexius Naerius has been Emperor for thirty-three years, not thirty-eight,” said Caina.

  “You are entirely correct,” I said. “An important lesson. Best to keep one’s lies as vague as possible for maximum plausibility.” I thought for a moment. “How about this? I was in fact born near Caer Marist …but I was a smuggler, not a vintner. I helped guide cargoes in and out of hidden coves along the coast to avoid the Emperor’s customs agents. One day I helped a smuggler move a ship out of Caeria Superior, only to realize that he had a cargo of slaves kidnapped from the nearby villages. One of the Ghosts contacted me, I helped the slaves escape…and I have been part of the Ghosts ever since.”

  “Unlikely,” said Caina.

  I laughed. “And why do you disbelieve me?”

  “Because I have seen you on a ship,” said Caina, “and you don’t know enough about them to be a sailor. The part about the slaves happened…but that was fifteen years ago, with a smuggler you recruited into the Ghosts.”

  “How did you know about that?” I said. “I never told you.”

  “Komnene told me,” said Caina, “when I was at the Vineyard.”

  “Another danger of lying,” I said, shaking my finger at her, “assuming that your audience has less information than it actually does.” I stared at the tent. “It seems deserted. Shall we?”

  “Let me go first,” said Corvalis, drawing his sword in his right hand and his dagger in his left. He strode before us, pushed open the tent flap, and Caina and I followed him inside.

  The tent was large. Apparently Masud had wealth enough to travel in comfort. He had an actual bed, albeit a small one, and a pair of gleaming bronze braziers to keep the night’s chill at bay. Two elaborate tapestries hung from the pavilion’s wall, showing scenes of Anshani noblemen hunting lions and gazelles. A rack of weapons stood near the bed, displaying fine scimitars, gleaming spears, and polished bows.

  Masud himself lay on the bed, quite dead.

  And like Kamahd, his body had been ripped and slashed by claws.

  “A lion didn’t do this,” said Caina. “It’s just like Kamahd. Look at the way the blood soaked into his blankets. He was killed right there, and he didn’t put up much of a fight. Someone took out his throat with a spiked mace, probably while he was sleeping. Then they hit him enough to make it look like something mauled…”

  She frowned and stared at the tapestry on the left for a moment.

  “Look out!” she said, yanking her dagger from her belt. “There’s someone…”

  Even as she spoke, two men leapt from behind the tapestries, weapons in hand. I cursed and reached for my sword, but Corvalis was faster. He moved in a blur of steel, and one of the men fell dead to the ground. Caina stepped forward, her arm shooting forward, her entire body seeming to snap like a bowstring, and one of her throwing knives sprouted from the second man’s thigh. He stumbled with a scream, slashing at the air with a peculiar forked mace, and Corvalis killed him with a quick thrust.

  I let out a long breath. I hadn’t even gotten my sword out of my scabbard. I’m getting old…but there are advantages to surrounding oneself with capable fighters.

  “I know these men,” said Caina, poking at one of the corpses with her boot. “These are Cardiz’s guards. I’ve seen them at his wagon a dozen times.”

  “And look at this,” said Corvalis, lifting the odd-looking mace. It was a wooden club, its end tipped with a carved head that looked like a lion’s paw. Four gleaming black claws, each three inches long, jutted from the paw.

  “Grass lion claws,” I said.

  “An odd thing,” said Corvalis.

  “It’s a trophy, a ceremonial weapon,” said Caina. “If an Anshani nobleman slays a lion, he has the skin made into a mantle and the claws fashioned into a ceremonial mace.” She pointed at the rack by Masud’s blood-soaked bed. “There’s a matching one there.”

  “A ceremonial weapon,” said Corvalis, “but a useful tool, if you wanted to make it look as if a man had been killed by a grass lion.”

  “I think,” I said, “that it is time to have a second talk with our friend Cardiz.”

  ###

  I crept around the edge of Cardiz’s wagon. I may be old, but I know how to move quietly, and my boots made not a hint of sound against the grass. I peered around the edge of the wagon, and saw Cardiz himself standing there, hands on hips as he gazed at the Anshani camp. Beads of sweat glittered on his forehead, and he kept gnawing on his lip.

  I stepped around the edge of the wagon and cleared my throat.

  “Good morning, master Cardiz,” I said.

  Cardiz whirled, his eyes going wide, and reached for a dagger at his belt.

  “You!” he said. “What did…I mean, Master Basil. Good to see you again. Can I…”

  As I held his attention, Caina and Corvalis stepped around the other side of the wagon. Corvalis seized the peddler and slammed him against the wagon, while Caina drew a dagger and rested it at his throat.

  “What…what is the meaning of this?” said Cardiz. “I demand that you release me! I have powerful friends! I…”

  “Am surprised to see us, I suppose,” I said, “given that you sent your men to kill us.”

  “I…I did nothing of the sort,” said Cardiz. “I…”

  “Let me spell it out for you,” I said. “You heard that Kamahd and Masud killed a white lion, and knew you could sell the pelt for a vast profit. So you killed Masud with one of his ceremonial maces while he slept, and then lured Kamahd out and killed him, too. You figured you could blame the deaths upon the lions. But then we started asking questions, and you realized we might learn the truth. So you hinted that Masud might have killed Kamahd, and you sent your men to kill us.”

  “You…you killed them both?” said Cardiz, shocked, and then realized what he had just admitted. “This is preposterous! A wild fancy, Callenius. Are you already drunk at this hour? Your men have no right to…to manhandle me like this! Unhand me at once, or I shall call for help.”

  “And if we searched your wagon,” I said, “would we find the pelt of a white lion?”

  Cardiz sneered. “You have no right to search my wagon.”

  “Perhaps not,” I said, “but I am friends with Lord Titus. And if I asked Lord Titus to send men to search your wagon by force, I think we would find…”

  Cardiz slammed himself against the wagon. As he did, I heard the sound of breaking glass as something in his pocket shattered.

  An instant later I saw a bright flash burst from his robe, followed by a plume of smoke. Caina and Corvalis stumbled back, coughing, and I realized that Cardiz had shattered some kind of smoke bomb. The merchant sprinted into the high grass, and Corvalis started after him, Caina leaning against the wagon and coughing…

  A golden blur slammed into Cardiz.

  I heard the peddler’s horrified scream, followed by the sound of tearing flesh and crushing bone.

  A huge golden grass lion crouched over Cardiz’s corpse, its muzzle smeared with the dead man’s blood. The brilliant golden eyes fell upon me, and the beast showed its fangs.

  “Back away,” I said, walking backwards and spreading my arms to make myself look larger. “Back away slowly. It wants to protect its kill. If we get away…”

  But Caina could not stop coughing.

  The lion’s head swiveled towards her, and the beast stalked forward, five hundred pounds of muscle tensed and ready to spring. Her coughing was drawing the beast, and I felt a surge of panic. I had no weapons that could hurt the lion, and the Imperial Guards and anjar were too far away to help.

  The lion sprang at her.

  I saw a b
lack blur as Corvalis ran past Caina, his sword in both hands. The blade slammed into the lion’s head, and the force of his blow knocked the beast aside. Corvalis lost his balance and fell, and the lion slammed into the ground, its limbs thrashing, Corvalis’s sword stuck in its head.

  And then it went still.

  “Good,” said Caina, still coughing as she rubbed her throat, “good swing.”

  Corvalis got to his feet, wiping sweat from his brow. “You’re not hurt?” I saw a hint of fear in his face, but not for himself.

  For her.

  “I’m fine,” said Caina. “Gods! Someone ought to tell Cardiz not to use so much sulfur in his smoke bombs.”

  “I think,” I said, looking at what remained of Cardiz, “that the lesson will be lost on him.”

  ###

  The khadjar Arsakan was annoyed by the death of two of his anjars, but the evidence was plain, and the man responsible for Kamahd’s and Masud’s deaths had met his just fate. Arsakan promised to pay an indemnity to their widows and orphans, and that was that.

  When the column stopped for the night, I found Corvalis sitting by a campfire, sharpening his sword.

  “Lion bone,” he said, “is not good for a blade. Are you here to kill me?”

  “Where’s Caina?” I said.

  “She went to buy some tea from one of the merchants,” he said, “something to soothe her throat.”

  “I think she’ll be fine,” I said. “A few days and the cough will stop.”

  Corvalis nodded, but again I saw that faint hint of fear on his face. I realized that he feared losing her, perhaps more than he had ever feared anything. Yet he had not allowed that fear to rule him. Instead he had slain a lion with nothing more than a sword.

  Few men could boast of such a feat.

  “Good,” said Corvalis. “So. Will you kill me tonight? Or should we do it tomorrow? I would hate to die without a good night’s sleep.”

  I snorted. “That would be tragic. But unless you get yourself killed, I don’t think you need fear.”

  I turned to go.

  “How did it happen?” said Corvalis. “How did you become a Ghost?”