Ghost Dagger (2 page)

"If he were still alive," said Halfdan. "Reorn is afraid the magi will dig up some horror from beneath his hall, and Reorn is a friend of the Ghosts. So we are going to help him." 

"How will we disguise ourselves?" said Caina.

Halfdan tugged at his threadbare robe. "I am Marcus Antali, a wandering merchant known among the clans of the Disali. And his daughter Talia, traveling with her father in hopes of securing a wealthy husband." 

Caina smiled. "Good. Masquerading as Talia Antali is less work than pretending to be Countess Marianna Nereide."

Halfdan grunted. "Cheaper, too. And it will be easier for you to move around if you have no noble rank and limited social prestige. Reorn is a good man, though his wife is a shrew. You can speak with their servants easily enough."

"And any servants the magi have," said Caina. 

"Precisely," said Halfdan. 

"When do we leave?" said Caina.

"Tomorrow," said Halfdan.

###

That night Caina dreamed of caverns beneath the earth. Burned corpses lurked in the dark crypts and burst into flames as they pursued her.

She awoke in a cold sweat.

Perhaps it was nothing. Perhaps the magi would dig up only dust and bones from beneath Riata...

Or perhaps they would find something worse.

If they did, Caina would stop them.

Chapter 2 - Blood Under The Door

They left the Vineyard the next morning, taking the narrow roads to the Imperial Highway. 

Halfdan walked at the front, wearing his blue merchant's robe, though now he carried sword and dagger at his belt. Behind him walked a train of thirty mules, loaded down with the sort of merchandise a man like Marcus Antali would sell. A half-dozen men in chain mail escorted the mules. All the men looked like caravan guards, but they were Ghosts, and knew how to keep their mouths shut. 

Caina felt a pang as she looked at them. She thought of Ark, the veteran Legionary turned Ghost who had saved her life in Rasadda. Would he ever find his wife?

She pushed aside the thought. 

Caina walked alongside the mules, wearing a simple dress of green wool with a leather belt. A dagger rested in a sheath at her belt, but she also carried a pair of daggers hidden in her leather boots, and throwing knives hidden beneath her sleeves. 

Her shadow-cloak lay safely concealed in one of the mules' packs. 

A half-day's journey brought them to the Imperial Highway. Broad and smooth, the Highway wound its way through the rocky, pine-cloaked hills of Disalia, clinging to the side of cliffs. Caina admired the skill of the long-dead engineers of the Imperial Legions who had carved the Highway from the crumbling rocks of the hills. 

They passed through small villages of Disali clansfolk. The houses were tall and narrow, clinging to the hillsides on narrow terraces. The Disali men wore long green tunics and trousers, bronze torques glittering on their arms, their hair and moustaches bound with bronze rings. The women wore dresses similar to Caina's, bracelets on their wrists and ornate brooches binding their cloaks. 

Halfdan spoke with the local headman in every village. They discussed innocuous matters - the weather, local marriages, the prospects for the grape crop. Yet every headman handed Halfdan a bundle of letters. The Disali provinces were one of the Empire's hinterlands, but the Ghosts had many friends here. 

A day west from the Vineyard, and the Imperial Highway split. The western branch continued towards the River Megaros and the Imperial capital of Malarae. The northern branch headed toward the Inner Sea and the provinces of Kagaricum. 

And Riata. 

"Have you ever been to Riata, daughter?" said Halfdan.

Caina laughed. "When would I have had the time, father?" The Highway wove its way along the lip of a deep, narrow valley. Far below, perhaps a thousand feet, she saw a churning white river. "You have kept me busy running your errands."

"Ah," said Halfdan. "Then you are in for quite a sight." 

###

They arrived at Riata the next day. 

"That is," Caina admitted, "quite a sight." 

The chasm rose in a five hundred foot cliff, a white waterfall roaring down the dark stone. Above the waterfall stretched a narrow, rocky gorge. The town of Riata had been built into either side of the gorge's walls. Narrow terraces served as the town’s streets, and the Disali had carved entire houses and shops and temples into the rock. Dozens of rickety rope bridges stretched over the chasm, connecting the two halves of the town. 

On the western side of the river, on a high crag overlooking both the town and the waterfall, stood the hall of a donnarch, a Disali clan chief. It was a built of stone and timber, with quarters on either side for the donnarch's family and servants. Around the hall stood a ring of jagged black boulders, glassy and sharp. 

"Obsidian," muttered Caina. 

Saddai ruins. 

"Reorn's hall," said Halfdan. "His clan does well mining gold and gems out of the northern hills. He made enough money to marry a noblewoman of Nighmarian birth, though she has such a rough tongue that I'm sure he regrets it."

"So I assume," said Caina, "that we shall present ourselves to the donnarch, offer our wares...and I will look around for anything interesting?" 

“Precisely,” said Halfdan. 

A stone ramp led from the Imperial Highway to Riata's highest terrace. The townsfolk paid no attention to Halfdan’s train of mules. Caina supposed they were used to merchant traffic coming to and from the provinces around the Inner Sea. 

They crossed one of the rope bridges, the guards urging the balky mules along, and Caina made sure not to look down. Then they reached the western side of Riata, and climbed the stairs to Reorn’s hall. Caina looked at the glistening chunks of black stone as they passed. Here and there she saw the broken bases of the strange, twisted statues the Ashbringers had made by encasing their victims in liquid stone.

A strong citadel had once stood here, no doubt the private sanctuary of a powerful Ashbringer. Kalastus’s book of pyromantic lore had come from such a long-abandoned sanctuary. 

Were any ancient horrors buried beneath this crag?

Two men with swords stood before the doors to the hall. Local militia, Caina supposed, but the men wore the tunics and trousers of Disali clansmen beneath their leather armor. Probably some of Reorn’s distant relatives. 

“Aye, strangers?” said one of the guards in Disali. “What’s your business here?”

“The name’s Marcus Antali,” said Halfdan, speaking Disali instead of his usual Caerish. “I am a duly licensed merchant of the Imperial Collegium of Merchants,” he produced a paper, no doubt forged, “and I’m friends with the donnarch. Old Reorn will want to see me, don’t you doubt.” 

One of the guards grunted, vanished through the hall’s double doors, and returned a few moments later to say they could enter. 

The hall was cavernous and dim, the air smelling of wood smoke and cooked meat. Elaborate carvings adorned the thick wooden pillars, and Caina’s boots clicked against the polished flagstones. An ornate wooden chair sat atop a dais, and long tables rang the length of the hall. No doubt the hall could hold hundreds of Reorn’s kinfolk when he feasted them.

“Marcus!” boomed a deep voice.

A giant of a man strode from a side door, his red hair shot through with gray. His clothes were the same as any other Disali townsman, though he had nicer boots, and a bronze diadem rested atop his head. Behind him hurried a pretty woman in a green gown that matched her eyes, her long wheat-colored hair brushing her shoulders. 

Halfdan bowed. “My lord donnarch.”

“Bah!” said Reorn. “Spare me that rot!” He thumped Halfdan on the shoulder. “It’s good to see you again, my friend. Did you bring some of that Caerish whiskey?”

Halfdan grinned. “As many as my mules could carry.”

“You’ll turn a profit on this trip, then,” said Reorn. He lowered his voice, just a tad. “And you got my…message, I trust?”

“I did,” said Halfdan. “Never fear, my lord donnarch, we’ll clear away your problems soon enough.” He put his hand on Caina’s back and guided her forward. “This is my daughter Talia. A clever young lady, as you’ll soon see.” 

Reorn gave her a puzzled glance. Caina didn’t blame him. After all, he only saw a short girl of nineteen, with black hair and blue eyes. He didn’t know the things that she had seen. 

The things she done. 

Reorn bowed over her hand and planted a kiss on her knuckles, the hair of his mustache brushing her fingers like wire bristles. 

“Well, my dear,” he said, “if you are as clever as you are lovely, then you should be clever indeed.” 

“And who is this?” said Halfdan, looking at the woman in the green gown, who was now giving Caina a suspicious glance. “I didn’t see her the last time I came through Riata.”

Reorn cleared his throat. “This is Maelana, the chief of my servants.”

Caina noticed the way his pupils dilated when he looked at her, the way he held himself straighter. The chief of his servants, and probably his lover. Well, Reorn wouldn’t be the first rich man to take a servant to bed. 

“Might there be a place,” said Halfdan, “where we can speak in private?"

“I trust Maelana completely,” said Reorn. “And she also…”

“Husband?” said a second woman’s voice, cold and imperious. “We have guests and I was not informed?” 

A tall woman swept into the hall with regal grace, the elaborate hem of her blue gown sweeping against the flagstones. She was five or six years older than Caina, with clear skin, large gray eyes, and black hair secured in an net of delicate silver chains. She looked at Reorn, and Caina saw the sheer loathing in her face. 

Reorn sighed. “You remember my wife, Helena.”

“That is the Lady Helena,” said the woman in High Nighmarian, “of House Tyrikon.” She cast a disdainful glance at Halfdan and Caina. “And does it befit a man of noble blood to personally greet a wandering peddler and his doxy?”

Reorn scowled. “I have told you before, woman. This is Disalia, not Malarae. We do not stand upon the pompous ceremonies of the Nighmarian lords here. And it befits a man of noble blood to greet guests beneath his roof with courtesy, not to have his wife insult them like a screeching barmaid.” 

“Oh?” said Helena with mock sweetness. “I am so sorry, my lord husband. When you came to greet guests with your whore, I thought we had settled upon a different level of acceptable behavior.” She gave a sneering look to Caina. “I assume this peddler brought the girl for your pleasure? Truly the hall of Reorn must have a reputation as a pit of debauchery and fornication.” 

“Wife,” said Reorn, voice hard. “Excuse yourself, now.”

Helena sniffed. “You will not always be able to speak so rudely to me, Reorn. Not once Tormalus finishes his work. Then I’ll see you beg, Reorn. You will get down your knees and beg.”

Reorn snorted. “Unlikely.”

“We’ll see,” said Helena, and she walked away without another word. 

“I apologize, Marcus,” said Reorn. 

“Unpleasant woman,” said Halfdan.

Perhaps she would be more pleasant, thought Caina, if her husband wasn’t carrying on an affair with a servant. Or perhaps Helena had always been so unpleasant, and had driven Reorn away. 

“You think me a great lecher?” said Reorn to Caina, as if he had read her thoughts. “Well, perhaps I am. I married Helena six years past. Her father negotiated access to the mines of my clan, and offered his sixth daughter to seal the bargain. I was smitten with her beauty…but I fear she thought to wed a man like her father, a proud lord of high Nighmarian blood. Not a Disali clan chief.” 

Maelana sniffed. “A donnarch should be honor enough for any woman.” 

“She invited Tormalus here,” said Halfdan, “didn’t she?”

“Aye,” said Reorn. He spat. “The damned magi are more trouble than they’re worth. Yet Lord Tyrikon is friendly to them, and Helena knows many. I ordered a new cellar dug below the southern wall. As soon as the workmen found those Saddai burial chambers, Helena called them off and sent for to the magi. Now that Tormalus villain has taken over my home, and sends servants digging through my cellars every day.” 

“We should not speak of these things here,” said Halfdan.

“Of course,” said Reorn. “We can speak in my study. This way.”

He led them to a narrow wooden door on the far side of the hall, while Maelana went in the opposite direction. Reorn took them into a wide hallway lined with doors, no doubt leading to the guest rooms and living quarters. The door at the end of the hall opened to a large room dominated by a desk and thick tapestries that depicted blue-painted warriors struggling against Ashbringers in black robes. The windows had a fine view of the waterfall and the churning river below. 

Maelana returned, leading a pair of servants bearing trays of wine and refreshments. She bowed and departed with the servants, leaving Caina alone with Halfdan and Reorn. 

“A good woman,” Reorn rumbled, lifting a flute of wine. “I should return Helena to her father and wed Maelana instead.” 

“Divorcing a Nightmarian noblewoman,” said Halfdan, taking a sip of the wine and nodding in approval, “will not make you any friends in the capital.” 

Caina looked at the wine in her flute. She detested wine, and preferred tea, though she doubted a Disali clan chief would serve tea to his guests, no matter how much he wished to fulfill the duties of a good host. The wine rippled in the light coming through the windows, looking like blood.

Blood…

Caina frowned, wondering why that bothered her so much.

"To hell with them," said Reorn. "I should never have wed Helena." He snorted. "I thought by marrying a noblewoman of Nighmarian birth I would elevate myself and my clan. Well, it has brought me nothing but trouble - and now it has brought me the damned magi." He leaned forward. "I know whom you really work for, Marcus. Your daughter too, I would guess. What will the Ghosts do about the magi in Riata?"

Halfdan took another sip of wine. "We might not need to do anything. The magi may not find anything but dust in those old Saddai chambers. Then they'll leave without any trouble. And if they find anything, some old relic of pyromantic sorcery, Tormalus could destroy it. There are honest magi."