Child of the Ghosts (13 page)

Chapter 13 - Assassins

A few days after her fifteenth birthday, Caina blinked in astonishment, her heart hammering, sweat pouring down her face.

It was a cool morning in the Vineyard, the terrace chill beneath her bare feet. A breeze blew down from the hills, and she saw the sun just beginning to peek over the eastern hills. 

She also saw Akragas lying sprawled at her feet, breathing hard, eyes wide with surprise.

It had been so…easy. She had seen the hole in his defenses, assumed it had been a trap. But he had tried to compensate, tried to change his stance. So Caina attacked with all her strength and speed, throwing everything she had into the opening, expecting any moment for Akragas’s trap to close around her.

But there had been no trap. He had simply been too slow to stop her.

Akragas grunted, sat up.

“Did I hurt you?” said Caina. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

Akragas barked out a laugh. “I have been teaching you to hurt people, yes? So if you did hurt me, it would be my own fault.” He got to his feet, shaking his head. “I thought I would have ample time to work around that opening. But I am getting too old, too slow. And you are getting too fast.” He sighed. “And now I will have no time for breakfast. Or a nap afterward.”

Caina blinked. For over three years, she had sparred with Akragas almost every day. 

She had never expected to beat him.

“I’m sorry,” she said at last.

Akragas snorted. “Since you are so fast, why do you not run to the kitchens and fetch an old man his breakfast? Getting beaten by a fifteen-year-old girl works up quite an appetite, no?”

Caina smiled, and ran for the kitchens. 

###

Later Halfdan summoned her to the library.

He sat at one of the tables, frowning at a stack of letters. Rekan waited nearby, his expression souring as Caina approached. She had spent a great deal of time with the magus, learning how to defend from sorcery, and their mutual dislike had only deepened. 

And much to Caina’s satisfaction, he still had failed to learn her name.

Riogan leaned against a shelf, sharpening a dagger. 

“Ah, child,” said Halfdan. He always called her “child” in front of Rekan. “It’s time you left the Vineyard.”

“Why?” said Caina. 

“Because we need you,” said Halfdan. “There’s trouble. What can you tell me about the Empire’s nobility?”

Rekan frowned. “This is a waste of time…”

Halfdan raised his hand, and Rekan scowled, but stopped talking.

“They have three factions,” said Caina. “The Loyalists support the Emperor, oppose the return of slavery, and,” she glanced at Rekan, “sensibly oppose letting the Magisterium rule the Empire once more.”

Rekan’s scowl deepened. 

“The Militarists,” said Caina, “want the Lord Commanders of the Legion to elect the Emperor, not the nobles. And the Restorationists want to restore slavery, and restore the magi to control of the Empire. The Loyalists are friendly to the Ghosts, the Militarists indifferent, and the Restorationists hostile.” 

“Very good,” said Halfdan. “And what can you tell me about Lord Haeron Icaraeus?” 

“The fat bastard,” muttered Riogan. It was the first time he had spoken. 

“He’s a Lord from the Cyrican provinces,” said Caina. “One of the most powerful and influential of the Restorationists.”  

“And why is that significant?” said Halfdan.

“Because,” said Caina, “the Cyrican provinces are the only ones in the Empire that allow slavery. Cyrica broke away from Istarinmul, during the War of the Fourth Empire, and offered to join our Empire. But only on the condition that the Cyrican lords would get to keep their slaves.” 

Riogan snorted. “Quite the little scholar you’ve trained there, Halfdan.”

Halfdan smiled. “Perhaps that explains why Rekan has yet to break into her mind.”

Riogan’s eyes narrowed, and Rekan’s scowl deepened further, but neither man said anything. 

“Anyway, you’re right,” said Halfdan. “The Cyrican lords kept their slaves, and they want to expand slaveholding into the rest of the Empire. The most powerful Restorationist lords are from Cyrica, and of them, Haeron Icaraeus is by far the most influential.”

“So Lord Icaraeus is an enemy of the Ghosts,” said Caina.

“Of the Ghosts, the Emperor, and the commoners of the Empire,” said Halfdan. “He has contracts with the assassin brotherhoods of Istarinmul and Anub-Kha, the Kindred and the Red Hands, and sends them after his enemies. He frequently hires outlaw magi and foreign sorcerers, and uses their sciences against his opponents. The slavers’ brotherhood of Istarinmul is allied with him, and he permits them to raid inside the Empire for captives. And he kills any Ghost informant or agent within his reach.”

Caina remembered the Istarish slavers descending upon her father’s villa and shuddered. 

“And he’s gotten worse lately, much worse,” said Halfdan. “A gang of Istarish slavers have been kidnapping people from the streets of Malarae, smuggling them to the slave markets in Istarinmul and Cyrica. They’ve even infiltrated the Disali hills, and have been kidnapping Disali peasants and travelers.”

Riogan scoffed. “That’s foolish. There are too many miles of road between Disalia and the sea. Easier to snatch slaves from the coasts and escape to a ship.”

“Not if the profits are worth the risk,” said Rekan. “Disali slaves can fetch a high price.”

“Why?” said Riogan.

“In some parts of the world, the Disali are an exotic curiosity. Disali men are tough and strong, and valued in the mines,” said Rekan. “And the Disali women…well, some Anshani satraps have a taste for Disali women.”

“That’s contemptible,” said Caina.

Rekan shrugged. “It is merely the way of the world.” Caina suspected he would enjoy a an enslaved Disali woman in his bed. 

“So we’re going to shut them down,” said Halfdan, “and you’re going to help.” 

“How?” said Caina. 

“I will disguise myself as Marcus Antali, an independent merchant,” said Halfdan. “Riogan will be Raccard, a mercenary guard in my employ. And you, I think…we shall disguise you as my daughter Talia. Marcus Antali will bring you along in hopes that your beauty would ensnare a noble-born husband, or at least a wealthy one.” 

Caina nodded. “As you say…father.” 

It felt strange, saying that. Almost four years now, Sebastian Amalas had been dead, and Caina thought of him often. But Halfdan and the Ghosts had taken his place. If she had to masquerade as Halfdan’s daughter to stop men like Maglarion and women like her mother, then so be it. 

###

They left at dawn. 

Caina dressed in a gown of blue wool, with boots and belt of soft black leather. Komnene helped her wash and style her hair. Caina felt odd, wearing a gown again, but she supposed she would get used to it. 

“She’ll stick out like a thief in a satrap’s harem,” said Riogan. He dressed as he always did, black leather over chain mail, daggers at his belt and spear in hand. 

Halfdan shrugged, clad in the robe and cap of a prosperous merchant. “That’s the point. How many fifteen-year-old girls look comfortable when their fathers try to sell them off like a side of meat? She’ll learn social graces soon enough.” 

Caina wondered what he meant by that. 

She kept a dagger in her belt and a pair of throwing knives hidden beneath each sleeve. After so many hours training with Akragas and Sandros, she would feel naked if she went anywhere without a weapon. 

They left the Vineyard by pack mule, the beasts making their way along the narrow roads. Caina watched the Vineyard recede behind them and felt a pang. It had been her home for almost four years, a refuge from the terrible things that Maglarion had done to her. 

But it was time to move on.

It was time to start fighting against those things.

And it was good to travel again. She had seen so little of the Empire, of the world. 

“We’re going east,” said Caina.

“Aye,” said Halfdan.

“I thought we were going west,” said Caina.

“Why’s that?” said Halfdan.

“If the slavers are taking their victims to the sea,” said Caina, “then they would go west, towards the Megaros River and the Bay of Empire…no. They’re taking their captives east, towards the Narrow Sea, aren’t they?”

“They might be,” said Halfdan. “All shipping coming out of the Narrow Sea has to travel through Arzaxia, and thousands of ships pass through Arzaxia every year. A clever slaver could easily smuggle his captives through the city. And the northwestern coast of the Narrow Sea is lightly populated, nothing but fens and swamps. Plenty of places for slave ships to come and go unobserved.” 

###

A few days later, they reached the Vytaagi swamps.

The Vytaagi had once been a nation of barbarians, following the other tribes during the great invasions of the Second Empire. After the Legions and the warrior-Emperors of the Second Empire had been victorious, the remnants of the Vytaagi had accepted the Emperor’s authority and settled in the swamps along the northwestern coast of the Narrow Sea. Now the province of Vytaagia was a quiet backwater, with no major cities or towns, the Vytaagi themselves making a living from fishing, farming, and hunting their swamps. 

The perfect place, Caina supposed, for slave traders to operate undetected. 

“We may have made a mistake, father,” said Caina as they reached the first village. 

“Oh?” said Halfdan.

“You couldn’t possibly find a wealthy husband for your daughter here,” said Caina.

Riogan laughed at that. 

The Vytaagi villages all looked alike. Built upon grassy islands, the houses stood on high beams, no doubt to keep flooding at bay. Or perhaps the Vytaagi built their houses upon stilts to keep out the vicious crocodiles that wallowed in the swamps. Wooden planks covered the streets, and rickety stairs led up to the houses. Men and women alike wore clothes of loose linen, though some men wore vests and belts of crocodile leather. 

“Hunters,” said Riogan, pointing with the butt of his spear. “Among the Vytaagi, only a man who slew a crocodile can wear leather made from its hide.” 

Every village had its own tavern, a roomy hall standing upon thick logs. Inside the Vytaagi men sat around peat fires, telling stories and drinking a vile beer brewed from the swamp plants. And Halfdan visited every tavern, Caina and Riogan trailing behind them. 

Marcus Antali was well-known among the Vytaagi. 

She watched Halfdan with amazement.

He held the Vytaagi enthralled, buying, selling, and telling stories. He had a remarkable gift for stories, and could hold an audience rapt. The Vytaagi roared with laughter and clapped at all the right places, and more than once Caina found herself laughing with them.

Even Riogan smiled, once or twice. 

And in return, the Vytaagi told Halfdan things. Most of it was trivial - grumblings about taxes, complaints about the weather and the crocodiles, but some of it was not. Istarish ships had been sighted in the Narrow Sea, and had sent canoes into the swamps. The Vytaagi hated the Istarish, had nothing to do with them, but the Istarish were smart enough to avoid the Vytaagi villages. But the Vytaagi hunters spied on them, and saw the Istarish canoes carrying cargo to Kaunauth.

“Where’s that?” murmured Caina to Riogan.

“Village a few miles from here,” answered Riogan, his eyes roving over the tavern. “Smugglers’ nest. You can buy or sell anything there, including people. Big lagoon, room for a lot of ships. Every smuggler, slaver, pirate, and corsair on the Narrow Sea weighs anchor in Kaunauth, sooner or later.” 

Halfdan told a few more stories, and then they left the tavern.

“We’re going to Kaunauth, I take it?” said Riogan. 

“Aye,” said Halfdan. “Word is a man named Jakob operates out of a tavern near the lagoon, a man who takes cargoes from the Istarish canoes. And we’re going to talk to him.”

“Is that wise?” said Riogan, glancing at Caina. “Walking into a den like Kaunauth with a girl?”

Halfdan shrugged. “I’ll tell them that Marcus Antali has suffered business reverses as of late, and is interested in entering the slave trade.” 

“Or you could always offer to sell me to them,” said Caina.

Halfdan laughed. “Confident, isn’t she?”

“Or foolish,” said Riogan. 

“Hopefully it won’t come to that,” said Halfdan. “I merely plan to look around, gather information. Then we’ll send a letter to the Lord Governor of Vytaagia Province, and the militia will come, burn Kaunauth to the ground, and shut down the Istarish slavers. And if we’re fortunate, we’ll find proof that Haeron Icaraeus was involved.” 

“That would be sweet,” said Riogan, lifting his spear. “Perhaps we’ll have the proof we need to burn the fat old bastard ourselves.”

###

They reached the town of Kaunauth the next day.

Caina had thought that Koros was disreputable, but the fishing village was tidy compared to Kaunauth. Ships from a dozen different nations crowded the lagoon, pulled up to rough stone quays. Ramshackle wooden buildings ringed the lagoon in no discernable pattern, forming a wild maze of narrow, stinking alleys. Hard-eyed men walked those alleys, hands near their weapons, and more than one cast acquisitive glances in Caina’s direction.

She was very glad she had not come here alone. And even gladder of the knives hidden beneath her sleeves. 

“This is the place,” said Riogan, stopping before sagging wooden building that might have been a house, or a barn, or perhaps a tavern. 

“You know it?” said Halfdan. 

“Oh, aye,” said Riogan. “Been here once or twice before, doing your little errands. Watch yourself. This is a rough place, even for Kaunauth.” 

But the inside of the tavern was almost deserted. The only light came from burning peat piled in a central fire pit. Six men sat on benches, nursing clay cups of beer. Five of them looked like common thugs, but the sixth…

Caina stared at him, fascinated.

The sixth looked like a killer. He rose from the bench with fluid grace, glanced at Caina once, and then his cold eyes returned to Halfdan and Riogan. His hands never strayed far from the sheathed sword and dagger at his belt.