Blade of the Ghosts Read online

  “Thank you, master magus,” said Halfdan with a small bow. “Forgive me. I meant no rudeness, but I confess a great deal of curiosity. The Sword of the First Emperor would be a relic of astounding value, and I wonder how you found it.”

  “We located it,” said Taldrane, “in a ruin of the First Empire, located some miles north of the capital in the Great Mountains.”

  “Such ruins are dangerous, are they not?” said Caina. “I have heard devils conjured up by the sorcerers of old lurk in such ruins.” That was only partly legend. In the days of the First Empire, the nobility of the Empire had also been sorcerers of power, and a nobleman was expected to be both a valiant warrior and a skilled sorcerer. Eventually all the sorcerers of the Empire had been brought into the Magisterium, but in the old ruins relics of the ancient days remained, fell and deadly.

  Was this Sword of Nicokator once such relic?

  “Quite dangerous, my lady,” said Armus, “but our expedition braved the ruin. My studies revealed that Nicokator’s sword had been brought there for safekeeping during the final collapse of the First Empire. I realized at once that it was my duty to charter an expedition to the ruins and retrieve the Sword of Nicokator.”

  “Why, my lord Count?” said Caina. “For glory and gold, I trust?”

  “Perhaps,” said Armus, “but such things are secondary. There is so much strife and turmoil in the Empire of late, my lady. Factions vie for influence and money, and we neglect the foes beyond our Empire’s borders. I hope the Sword can serve as a symbol of better days, a way to unify the Empire in our duty.”

  Count Armus Valdarion, thought Caina, might have been a dutiful man, a noble man, a learned man, but he was also a naïve one.

  “A most inspiring vision, my lord,” said Caina.

  “I told my son Aetius of my plan,” said Armus, “and his friend the noyan and his retainers agreed to accompany us.”

  “Jurchan and I met while serving in the Legion,” said Aetius, “and have seen numerous dangers together. The Great Mountains have many bandit nests, and the noyan’s warriors proved a capable escort.”

  “How did you pay for it all?” said Halfdan. “Kagari mercenaries, being of high quality, are not cheap.”

  “The Count approached me,” said Taldrane. “I thought the Magisterium might have an interest in uncovering this relic, and so I convinced the preceptor of the Malarae chapterhouse to provide the necessary funds.”

  “I see,” said Halfdan. The Magisterium would not waste its money on empty gestures of Imperial unity, especially since many of the high magi thought that they ought to be ruling the Empire instead of the Emperor.

  “If you will excuse me,” said Armus with a bow to Caina. Halfdan, being a mere merchant, did not warrant a bow. “I must prepare for the unveiling of the Sword. Please avail yourself of the refreshments. I hope we shall talk more later, Master Basil.”

  “I look forward to it,” said Halfdan, and Armus strode to a door at the rear of the long hall.

  “Your father,” said Doriana, her voice soft as she looked at Aetius. “He is a very noble man to do such a thing.”

  “Perhaps,” said Aetius. “He is too much of a visionary. House Valdarion has fallen into obscurity and Eastwarden into ruin, yet he dreams of past grandeur. I fear such dreams cloud his vision of what is possible.”

  “Of what is financially possible?” said Halfdan.

  “Yes,” said Aetius. “My House needs the money. I need the money.”

  Doriana gripped his arm tighter. “I do not care about the money, my love.”

  “Your father certainly does,” said Aetius. “You might, too, once it runs out.” He gazed at Halfdan. “To be frank, Master Basil, until we know that you are trustworthy, I do not think it wise to share many details of our plans.”

  “You are too suspicious, my lord,” said Taldrane in a lazy voice. “I’m certain Master Basil is as trustworthy as any merchant of an Imperial Collegium.” His words had a sardonic bite to them. “And I’m sure the good Countess maintains the high standards of the Imperial nobility.”

  Caina gave him a frosty smile. “You are too kind, master magus.”

  They exchanged a few more moments of polite small talk, and then drifted away to other conversations.

  “What did you think?” murmured Halfdan in a low voice.

  “I’m surprised they aren’t at each other’s throats already,” murmured Caina back. “Aetius and Taldrane clearly cannot stand each other. Doriana is scared out of her wits. Jurchan is friends with Aetius, but the Kagari fear the Magisterium, and Jurchan seems wary of Taldrane. And Count Armus is oblivious to all of it.”

  “Quite so, I am afraid,” said Halfdan. “The Count is a scholar, not a schemer. Well, there are worse qualities in a man.”

  “Not if they get him stabbed in the back,” said Caina.

  “Perhaps we can prevent that,” said Halfdan. “The time has come. Go find the Sword. If it’s not enspelled, Armus cannot prove it is an artifact of the First Empire, and it is therefore harmless. We will then leave the poor man to his scholarship. But if it is enspelled…”

  “It is too dangerous to leave here,” said Caina.

  “You know what to do,” said Halfdan.

  Caina lifted a hand to her forehead. “You know, Master Basil, I think I am developing quite the thunderous headache. All this arguing has upset the Countess’s delicate constitution, and she needs to lie down in silence.”

  Halfdan smiled. “Good girl.” He called one of the servants over.

  In short order Caina claimed to have a splitting headache accompanied by dizzy spells, and Halfdan and two of the Count’s servants escorted her up the stairs to a guest bedroom on the second floor. In ancient times these had been the rooms of the garrison’s centurions and tribunes, and so were small, cramped stone cells, with windows overlooking the River Megaros below. Halfdan claimed that the Countess needed to lie down in undisturbed silence until her headache passed, and soon Caina found herself alone in the little guest room with a damp cloth pressed her forehead and a carafe of wine on the side table. The Count was a solicitous host. It made her feel bad that she was about to steal from him.

  Not bad enough to stop her, though.

  She counted to five hundred, but no one entered the room.

  The time was right.

  Caina rolled to her feet and crossed to the window, opening the shutters. The damp night air washed over her face, accompanied by the muddy smell of the River Megaros. Here and there she saw the running lights of a barge making its way down the river, bearing marble or timber or grain from further up the valley.

  The little bundle Caina had hung below the windowsill a day earlier waited there, untouched and unnoticed.

  She smiled, pulled it into the room, and unrolled the bundle upon the bed.

  Caina stripped out of her dress and boots and began putting on the clothing from the bundle. She donned black trousers, soft black boots, a black shirt and a jacket lined with steel plates to deflect knife blades. Over her head she pulled a mask that concealed everything except her eyes, and pulled leather gloves over her hands. Around her waist went a belt holding throwing knives and lockpicks and a few other useful tools.

  Last of all came her shadow-cloak, the cloak of a Ghost nightfighter.

  It was a wondrous thing, black as midnight and light as air. The cloak blended and merged with the shadows, giving Caina an enormous advantage at stealth. It also shielded her thoughts from mind-controlling sorcery and protected her from divinatory spells. So long as she wore it, Master Taldrane and the other magi in the great hall below could not use their spells to detect her presence.

  Though hopefully they were not looking for her.

  Caina wrapped her dress and her high-heeled boots in the bundle, slinging it over her shoulder beneath the cloak. She intended to return and resume her role as Countess Marianna Nereide, but it was best to be cautious. If she had to flee the tower of Eastwarden in haste, she did not wan
t to leave any incriminating evidence behind.

  And the best way to avoid unexpected developments was to get the job done as quickly as possible.

  Caina hopped onto the windowsill, her fingers grasping the rough stonework of Eastwarden’s wall. The tower was old, built of massive blocks of weathered masonry, and Caina had no trouble finding handholds and footholds. She scaled the wall slowly, trusting that the shadow-cloak would conceal her from any observers on the ground below.

  Besides, no one ever looked up.

  A few moments later she reached the tower’s top level, her arms and legs aching from the exertion of the climb, and stopped before the windows to the Count’s private apartment. She listened at the shutters for a moment, but heard nothing but the faint moan of the wind. Caina reached into her belt, drew a dagger, and slipped it between the shutters. After a moment’s work she popped the latch, and the shutters swung outward. Caina returned the dagger to her belt, gripped the windowsill, and pulled herself into the Count’s chambers.

  She found herself in a small library. Books filled shelves on all four walls of the room. Two long tables took up most of the floor, their surfaces covered with more books and a variety of loose papers. Caina paused long enough to examine the papers. In the dim moonlight she could not make out many details, but they looked like maps of the Megaros Valley and the Great Mountains. Perhaps one of them showed where Armus had found the Sword of Nicokator.

  Caina crossed to the door, listened for a moment, and heard nothing. She gripped the handle and swung the door open, and then froze as a scent filled her nostrils.

  It was the coppery, hot smell of fresh-spilled blood.

  Quite a lot of it, too, to judge from the strength of the smell.

  Caina whispered a silent curse to herself and slipped through the door. Beyond was the Count’s sitting room, the walls adorned with tapestries showing scenes from the Empire’s history. Dim light came from enspelled glass spheres in iron stands, and Caina felt the faint prickle of the simple spells upon them that generated light. Armus Valdarion’s more valuable relics sat in display cases along the wall, swords and helmets and chalices and other items. One display case sized for a sword stood in the center of the room. The Count would have put the Sword of the First Emperor in that case.

  The display case had been smashed open, and save for the shards of glass lying upon the black velvet pillow, the case was empty.

  Count Armus Valdarion himself lay upon his side before the shattered case, his eyes unblinking, his chest motionless. The front of his white shirt had turned crimson with blood from a wound in his chest, and more of his blood soaked into the room’s rich carpet.

  He had been murdered, and the Sword of Nicokator stolen.

  Caina considered what to do next. Any moment someone would come in through the door leading to the tower’s stairs, maybe one of the servants, or perhaps Aetius himself would come to summon his father. She had only a few moments to look around and discern how the Count had been murdered.

  If he even had been murdered.

  There was no sign of a struggle. Armus Valdarion had been old, but he had been healthy enough, and he would not have gone meekly to his death. There should have been marks of violence upon the room, chairs knocked over and tables damaged, yet Caina saw nothing out of place except for the broken case. For that matter, she heard the murmur of the guests conversing in the great hall five stories below. If the sound carried up here, any noises Armus had made should have been audible below. If his killers had wanted to kill him in silence, they would have poisoned him as he slept, or crept up behind him and cut his throat, not stabbed him in the chest. A man stabbed in the chest could make a lot of noise before he died.

  Caina knew that firsthand.

  Yet the wound seemed…wrong, somehow. So did the position of Armus’s corpse. Caina crept forward, taking care not to step into the blood, and scrutinized the dead man. He had been stabbed just beneath the breastbone, and to judge from the dark spot on the back of his coat, the blade had sheared through his heart and lungs and emerged between two of the ribs in his back…

  Caina blinked.

  He had been stabbed from below. If the blade had pierced his torso entirely, it had been a powerful blow, which meant his assailant had been kneeling or…

  No.

  The Count had fallen upon a sword. He killed himself.

  That made even less sense. The man she had just spoken with in the great hall had been full of hopes for the future, and she found it unlikely that he had committed suicide. Yet she could not deny the evidence of her eyes. Armus Valdarion had thrown himself upon a sword – in fact, Caina saw the scratches at the base of the display case where the sword’s pommel had grated against the wood. He had died swiftly from blood loss, and then someone had yanked the sword from his body, his corpse falling upon its side.

  The Count had killed himself with the Sword of Nicokator, and someone had then taken the weapon.

  That made no sense at all…but as far as Caina could tell, that was what had happened.

  And recently, too. Within the last ten minutes.

  For a moment Caina did not know what to do next. She decided to bring the news to Halfdan and allow him to decide how to proceed. She did not want to get caught here. If anyone found her, they would assume that she had killed the Count.

  She started to rise, and then froze.

  There was something in the pocket of the Count’s coat. Caina reached into the pocket and drew out a small piece of paper. It was a list of numbers, some of them two digits, some of them three, and all of them apparently random. One of the numbers had been circled.

  Footsteps rasped in the stairwell outside the door, and Caina’s head snapped up.

  Someone was coming to summon the Count.

  Caina took the bit of crumpled paper and vanished back into the library, closing the door behind her.

  By the time the shouting began, she was back in the guest room and in her formal gown, lying upon the bed with a feigned headache.

  ***

  Chapter 2: Embers

  “Well,” said Halfdan as their coach rattled into the darkened streets, “that was certainly an eventful evening.”

  Caina shook her head, scowling. “I don’t understand it.”

  A predictable outcry had greeted the Count’s death and the theft of the Sword. A furious and grief-stricken Aetius demanded that Eastwarden be sealed and the tower searched from crown to cellar, that every guest submit to a search before departing. Of course, half the guests had left the minute the servants began screaming that Armus had been murdered, and it was possible one of them had taken the Sword in the initial chaos. Caina and Halfdan had both agreed to a search of their possessions and a search of their coach. Aetius and his men found nothing.

  Of course, they hadn’t found the secret compartment that now held Caina’s shadow-cloak and nightfighter garments.

  “Likely Aetius will go to the urban praetor and demand an investigation,” said Halfdan. “The praetor’s magistrates will probably conclude that the Count was surprised and murdered by thieves, who then absconded with the Sword and vanished into the night.”

  “No,” murmured Caina, staring out the coach’s window at the passing street. “He killed himself.”

  “You’re sure of that?” said Halfdan.

  “Absolutely,” said Caina. “The angle of the wound was all wrong. I am convinced he braced the sword against the base of the display case and threw himself upon it. His own weight drove the blade through him, and he died quickly. Then someone took the sword and left with it.”

  “You’re sure?” said Halfdan.

  Caina nodded. “Entirely.”

  Halfdan considered. “You realize, of course, that makes no sense.”

  Caina shook her head, fingering the gem in her choker chain. “I know it doesn’t. I’m overlooking something, I’m sure of it. Or I don’t have all the information. Or there’s something that we don’t understand.”
>
  She fell into silence, trying to find another theory that fit the facts she had observed.

  “At least we got away without drawing suspicion,” said Halfdan. “Attention is never favorable for the activity of the Ghosts.”

  “No,” said Caina.

  “And we got away without burning down the building,” said Halfdan.

  Caina blinked and frowned at him. “I told you that I only did that once. I certainly don’t plan to make a practice of it.”

  “I hope not,” said Halfdan. “Casual arson is too much trouble. So.” He leaned back against his seat. “We must assume that the Count was murdered, and that the killers took the Sword and escaped with it.”

  “He killed himself,” said Caina. “I’m sure of it.”

  “I doubt the Count committed suicide voluntarily,” said Halfdan. “Perhaps he had secretly been consumed with despair for several years and finally succumbed, but his activity was not that of man planning to kill himself.”

  “Maybe the Sword had consumed his thoughts for all these years,” said Caina, “and once he found it, he lost the will to live.”

  “That seems very unlikely,” said Halfdan.

  “Aye,” said Caina.

  “And it doesn’t explain what happened to the Sword,” said Halfdan. “If the Count killed himself, the Sword didn’t walk away on its own. So for now, I think we must assume that the Count was murdered somehow and the Sword stolen.”

  “Is this the affair of the Ghosts?” said Caina. “Armus found something that might or might not have been the Sword of Nicokator and was murdered for it. It’s hardly a threat to the Empire or the rule of the Emperor.”

  “Not yet,” said Halfdan, “but that may not last. It’s the embers, my dear.”

  “Embers?” said Caina.

  “We must beware the embers,” said Halfdan. “The Empire is like a vast field of crops. It’s healthy enough, but one ember in the wrong place at the wrong time and it can all go up in flames. Better to stamp out the embers before they become an inferno.”