Darkness hung over the tenement on Dockyard Street. Most of the men who lived here were at work, their wives and children sleeping. The street was deserted, and no lights shone in the tenement windows.
“I wonder if they’re still coming,” muttered Ark.
Caina waited with Ark and Radast atop a building across the street from the tenement. Radast knelt nearby, four loaded crossbows lying on the ground before him. He scribbled calculations onto a small slate, pausing every so often to squint at the street. Below them Ducas and a hundred men of his cohort lurked in the lightless alleys, ready to spring out and attack.
“Only one way to find out,” said Caina.
Ark smashed a fist against the hilt of his broadsword. “I wish they would simply show up already.” His face was cold, the muscles of his jaw tight. Caina knew that expression. It meant trouble. And it had been on his face ever since he learned that Tigrane had been at Hruzac.
Caina hesitated, and touched his shoulder. Ark looked at her, and she saw the anguish in his eyes. “You’ll get your chance,” she said.
“I’m going to kill him,” said Ark, voice low. “After he tells me everything that happened at Hruzac.” His breath came in a ragged rasp. “I’ve wondered what happened at Hruzac for years. I’ve thought of nothing else. If I could have done something differently, if I could have gotten back to the village sooner…”
“Please shut up,” said Radast.
Caina and Ark looked at him.
“Sound carries further by a factor of four from a rooftop,” whispered Radast, “and I think someone’s coming.”
“Get down,” hissed Caina.
They dropped low to the rooftop. A short time later Caina heard the rattle of wagon wheels. Four wagons came around the corner, each pulled by a pair of horses. The wagons carried armed men, and Caina saw Tigrane driving the first wagon.
Every man wore the rune-carved bracers.
Caina heard the leather of Ark’s sword grip creak.
The wagons stopped before the tenement. Tigrane swung down from the seat, the mercenaries following suit.
“Is this the place?” said a squat man with a ragged beard. Vardan, Caina recognized.
“Aye,” said Tigrane. “Only one way inside and out.”
The men made no effort to keep their voices down. And, after all, why should they? They had operated with impunity for years. Who would ever call them to account for what they had done? Caina found herself grinning beneath her mask.
They were in for quite a surprise.
“Get moving,” said Tigrane. “You’ve got the collars?”
“Aye,” said Vardan, tapping his belt. Slender loops of chain hung from his belt, glimmering oddly in the moonlight. Caina remembered Katerine’s story of the shining thing she had seen around her son’s neck. Caina saw neither chains nor shackles in the wagons. Odd, that. Even children and women needed more than slender loops of chain for restraint.
“Get moving,” said Tigrane. “We’ve got to get them to the house by dawn. His Lordship’s clients are getting restless.”
Vardan nodded and barked orders. A half-dozen men followed him into the tenement. Ark hissed through his teeth and stared to stand. Caina grabbed his shoulder.
“Wait for the signal,” she breathed.
They did not need to wait long. Ducas strode into the street, sword in hand, crimson Tribune’s cloak billowing behind him. Tigrane and the others stopped and gaped at him.
“Who the devil are you?” said Tigrane.
Ducas’s answering roar boomed over the street. The man had a superb battlefield voice. “Tigrane, servant of Lord Naelon Icaraeus! In the name of the Emperor and his laws I accuse you and your men of slave-trading, kidnapping, murder, and offering aid to an attainted traitor to the Empire! I command you to lay down your weapons and come peacefully, or you will be taken by force.”
Tigrane barked out a laugh, lifting up his arms to expose his bracers. “Oh, you will, boy? You have no weapon that can hurt us.”
That was Radast’s cue. In a single smooth motion, he came to one knee, lifted the nearest crossbow, and fired, muttering numbers all the while. The ghostsilver-tipped quarrel slammed into the throat of the mercenary next to Tigrane. The man fell without a sound, black smoke pouring from his throat.
Tigrane gaped at the fallen man, eyes wide with shock.
“Now!” boomed Ducas. “Take them all! Attack!”
The air echoed with the Legionaries’ answering roar, and they poured from the alleys. They did not bear swords or shields. Instead each man carried a thick oak quarterstaff, heavy enough to crack bone with a single blow. They waded into the mercenaries, striking right and left. Radast snatched up his next crossbow and fired, and another man fell, screaming, a ghostsilver-tipped quarrel buried in his side.
The slavers broke and ran. Some tried to flee into the streets, while others fell back into the tenement. It did them no good. The Legionaries swarmed over them, striking them down with two-handed swings from their heavy quarterstaffs. Tigrane hacked back and forth with his sword, and managed to cut down a Legionary. He leapt free, sprinting down the street.
“Now!” said Caina, springing towards the edge of the roof, Ark at her heels.
Radast snatched up another crossbow, a quarrel ready and loaded. This quarrel had been tipped with a small wooden ball. Radast took aim and squeezed the trigger.
The blunted quarrel smacked into the back of Tigrane’s left knee. His leg folded, and Tigrane fell on his face with a bellow of pain.
“Damn it,” said Radast, “I was aiming for his neck.”
Two coiled ropes lay at the edge of the roof, grapnels buried in the shingles. Caina seized the nearest rope and jumped, her cloak billowing around her. The rope played out, its length ending a few feet above the street. Caina kicked off the wall, hit the street in a roll, and came to her feet. She heard a grunt and a curse as Ark landed with less grace.
Tigrane staggered to his feet, favoring his right leg, as Caina sprinted at him. He snarled and lashed out with his sword. Caina caught the blow on her silver Kyracian dagger and sidestepped, launching a sideways kick as she did so. Her boot slammed into Tigrane’s bruised left knee, and he hopped back a step, growling in pain. Caina slashed her dagger across his shoulder, smoke rising from the wound, and Tigrane howled in pain. But he recovered his balance, drawing his sword back for a blow.
Just in time to meet the two-handed swing of Ark’s shield. The thick oak slammed into Tigrane’s face with all of Ark’s strength behind it. Both teeth and blood flew from the blow, and Tigrane fell back against the wall. Ark cast aside his shield, seized Tigrane’s wrist, and ripped the sword from his grasp. Tigrane fell to his knees, blood splattering from his mouth.
“Do it!” said Ark.
Caina pulled a cloth pad from a pouch at her belt, dripping with some vile concoction that Halfdan had brewed up. She pushed the pad over Tigrane’s bleeding nose and lips. Tigrane struggled uselessly against Ark’s grip for a moment. Then his eyes rolled back into his head, and he went limp.
Ark sighed and pulled a gag and a hood from his belt. “Well done.”
“You too,” said Caina. “Don’t hood him.”
“Why not?”
“He’s no use to us if he chokes on his own blood,” said Caina. “Just blindfold him and gag him. I’ll get Halfdan.”
Ark nodded and went to work. Caina hurried back to the tenement. The fight was over. Some of the slavers lay dead, their heads cracked by the heavy blows. The Legionaries were binding the rest, stripping them of their bracers and weapons. The soldiers avoided looking at her. Caina wasn’t sure what Ducas had told them, but none of them wanted to look too closely at the Ghosts.
“Well?” said Ducas, standing before the tenement’s door.
“We’ve got him,” rasped Caina in her disguised voice.
“Ah,” said Ducas. “Nice to know all this hard work wasn’t for naught.”
“My father?” said Caina.
Ducas jerked his head at the door. “Inside, second floor. Some of the slavers got inside. Said he found something that you’d find interesting.”
Caina nodded and waited for a trio of Legionaries to come down the stairs, dragging a pair of captured slavers between them. Then she hurried up the stairs herself, entering a gloomy hallway. A door stood open at the end of the hall, the faint glow of a lantern spilling across the floor. She saw Halfdan just within the door, masked and hooded, and walked towards him.
The tingle of sorcerous power rubbed against her skin, and she hesitated. Then she pushed into the room.
“I think,” said Halfdan, voice quiet, “that we’ve found out how Icaraeus smuggled slaves through the city.”
Two mercenaries lay on the floor, the blood from their crushed heads soaking into the boards. Three children and a woman stood against the wall, faces blank, eyes gazing at nothing. For a moment Caina thought that the horror of the scene had overthrown their reason. Yet their expressions seemed so very…empty.
They each wore a delicate chain collar around their necks, the links shining. Caina hesitated, and waved her hand in front the woman’s face. She blinked, once, but made no other sign. Caina brushed a finger against the chain links, and jerked it back as the buzzing, tingling sensation of sorcery surged up her arm.
“The collars,” said Caina. “It was the collars, wasn’t it? They’re enspelled to turn people into mindless puppets. Agria and Jadriga must have manufactured them. That’s how Icaraeus did it. He wasn’t smuggling anyone through the city. So long as he kept the collars covered, he could march his slaves through the city in broad daylight, and no one would look twice.”
“And he didn’t bother using them at the White Road Inn,” said Halfdan, “because he didn’t plan on leaving any witnesses alive. Probably the planned to force them to wear the collars once they arrived at Marsis.”
Caina peered at the woman’s collar, saw a small lock holding the links together. “And that’s why Jiri’s informers and Ducas’s men never saw anything.” She knelt and began searching the corpses. “They were looking for a reeking slave ship, a warehouse full of slaves. No one thought to look for groups of people moving quietly through the street. No one.” She found something cold and hard in a pocket and pulled it free. It was a small steel key, carved with runes.
“Though we still don’t know where Icaraeus and Agria are hiding the slaves,” said Halfdan.
“We will soon,” said Caina. “We got Tigrane.”
“You did? Good.” Caina heard the satisfaction in Halfdan’s voice. “He’ll tell us everything he knows, once I’m done with him.”
Caina unlocked the collar and yanked it away from the woman’s throat. She shuddered, took a deep breath, and began to shriek, backing away from Caina in fright.
“You’re safe now,” rasped Caina. “The slavers are dead and your children are safe.” She knelt and undid the collars around their necks. The children wailed and clung to their mother’s skirts. “They will not return.”
“We’re safe?” the woman whispered.
Caina nodded.
“Thank you,” said the woman. “But…who are you?”
“No one important,” said Halfdan.
They scooped up the collars and left.
###
“Well?” Halfdan asked Ducas.
“Twenty-six slavers dead, twelve captured,” said Ducas. He smirked. “Only one dead and a few minor wounds among my men. These dogs were used to terrorizing women and children, and not facing men of the Legion.”
“Make sure to destroy both the collars and the bracers,” said Halfdan.
Ducas grunted. “Sorcerous collars. Icaraeus is a clever bastard. I never would have guessed.” He lowered his voice. “You’ll be…ah, speaking with Tigrane?”
Caina nodded.
“Good,” said Ducas, eyes glittering. “Do let me know how it goes.”
###
An hour later Caina, Halfdan, and Ark stood in a half-circle around Tigrane, Jiri and Radast watching from a cot. The lights had been extinguished, and only a single dim lantern threw illumination upon their prisoner. Tigrane sat slumped in a wooden chair, face crusted with blood, his arms and legs bound with thick rope. The ugly charred cut from the silver dagger gaped through a tear in his tunic.
“I think you hit him too hard,” said Jiri.
Ark’s voice was cold. “I wanted to hit him harder.”
“It doesn’t matter,” said Halfdan, tapping a small amount of gray powder in a cup of water. “This will wake him up.”
He waved the cup under Tigrane’s nose. A moment later Tigrane shuddered, mouth working. He let out a long groan and lifted his head, looking around with bloodshot eyes.
“Ah,” he rasped. He coughed and spat out some half-dried blood. “I see I have been captured. Though…you’re not Legionaries, are you?” He frowned. “So…you must have snatched me off the street during the fight.”
Halfdan said nothing.
Tigrane’s bloodshot eyes wandered over them, looking at their masked faces. She saw the gears working behind his eyes. Despite herself, Caina felt a twinge of admiration. Not many men could retain the ability to think things through in such dire circumstances.
His eyes fell upon Caina.
“You,” said Tigrane. “I remember you, or at least that mask and cloak. You tried to kill His Lordship at the White Road Inn. That means…that means…” He swallowed, and a twitch of fear went over his face. “That means you’re Ghosts.”
“The Emperor has no Ghosts,” said Halfdan, his voice unrecognizable behind a thick Kyracian accent, “only those who watch from the shadows.”
“I’ll take that as a yes,” said Tigrane, licking his cracked lips. “So…one of you must be that locksmith His Lordship wanted dead.”
Caina frowned. Tigrane was a little too clever.
“I don’t suppose Icaraeus told you why he wanted the locksmith dead,” said Halfdan.
Tigrane shrugged. “He didn’t say. I didn’t ask. His Lordship has clients, and they paid him to do the deed. His clients didn’t say why.”
“Perhaps the locksmith offended Lady Palaegus in some way, hmm?” said Halfdan.
Tigrane blinked in surprise, and let out a long sigh. “You’ve been busy, haven’t you?”
“Shadows never sleep,” said Halfdan.
“So,” said Tigrane, “since you haven’t cut my throat, and since I’m not rotting in the Citadel…I guess you want something from me.”
“You’re a clever fellow, Tigrane,” said Halfdan. “Are you clever enough to tell us what we want to know?”
Tigrane barked out a laugh. “Do you know what His Lordship does to people who betray him?”
“A better question,” said Ark, voice full of anger, “is what we’re going to do to you.”
“I’m getting older,” said Tigrane, “and you hit me right hard. Might have cracked something important. Rough me up too much and I might die on you. Hard for me to tell you anything useful then.”
“Violence really ought to be a last resort,” said Halfdan. “I hope we can avoid it entirely.”
“Aye?” said Tigrane. “All right. Give me a thousand gold coins and my freedom, and I’ll tell you everything I know.”
“Do not presume to barter with me,” said Halfdan. “You are guilty of slave trading and taking service with a traitor to the Empire. Both crimes carry the death sentence. You are not of high birth, and to judge from that accent, not an Imperial citizen. So in your case, a death sentence means crucifixion. Your friends the Legionaries captured? They’ll get dragged before the Lord Governor, they’ll be found guilty, and they’ll end their days screaming on a cross as the crows peck at their faces. And if you annoy me too much, you might end up there alongside them. And I sincerely doubt Icaraeus will lift a finger to save you.”
Tigrane said nothing, but the muscles in his jaw kept trembling. Caina supposed he no longer found Vardan’s warnings about crucifixion quite so laughable.
“But,” said Halfdan, “if you cooperate, I’ll have you put on a ship and sent to Anshan. You’ll have no money, of course, but you’ll have your freedom. And your life.”
“Throw me penniless into Anshan?” said Tigrane. “At my age? I’ll end up a beggar.”
“Probably,” said Halfdan. “But, tell me. Which sounds better? A beggar? Or a crucified corpse?”
Tigrane sighed. “What do you want to know?”
“Where is Icaraeus?” said Halfdan.
“I don’t know,” said Tigrane.
Ark growled and started to draw his sword.
“I don’t know! But I know where he’ll be,” said Tigrane. “Once we had taken the slaves, we were to meet him tomorrow night at the usual place.”
“Which is?” said Halfdan.
“An old mansion,” said Tigrane. “At the base of the Citadel’s crag, overlooking the harbor. Lady Palaegus owns it, but she never uses it. We use it to hide slaves. It’s the best place. We’d sometimes hide them in Lady Palaegus’s cellar, but there was never enough room. Lady Heliorus’s mansion was too open, and Lady Chlorus’s just wasn’t large enough.” He shrugged. “I suppose you can ambush His Lordship, the way you ambushed me.”
“This mansion. What happens to the slaves after that?” said Halfdan.
“I don’t know,” said Tigrane.
Again Ark growled.
“I don’t know!” said Tigrane, a note of frustration in his voice. “His Lordship won’t tell us, and I’ve tried to figure it out. It makes no sense. Young men with strong backs, and pretty young girls who are still virgin, that’s where the money is. Yet we take old men and children and Lady Palaegus pays a high price for them. I thought maybe she was reselling the slaves, perhaps to mine owners in the mountains…but no one would pay that kind of money. She’d have to be selling the slaves at a loss.” There was genuine bafflement in his pained voice. “But why would she do that?”
“Perhaps she is using the slaves for sorcery,” said Halfdan.
“Maybe,” said Tigrane. “But between the three of them, we must have sold His Lordship’s clients two thousand slaves over the last five years. Surely she couldn’t have used them all for some kind of witchery…could she?”
“If she did,” said Halfdan, “it’s not the kind of sorcery you ever want to see.”
That was an understatement. Caina had encountered the kind of sorcery that drew its power from death before. It was nothing she wanted to see again.
“Icaraeus’s clients,” said Caina in her disguised voice. “The noblewomen. Tell me about them.”
“Them?” Tigrane shrugged. “Bored noblewomen who turned to sorcery. Bah. Look what comes of leaving women idle.”
“So Agria Palaegus and the others truly have sorcerous powers?” said Caina. She already knew the answer, but she wanted to see how Tigrane would answer.
“Aye,” said Tigrane, voice quiet. “I’ve seen all three of them cast spells. Palaegus seems like the strongest of the three. At least she’s the one usually giving the orders. The other two seem to listen to her.”
“What about their teacher?” said Caina.
Tigrane seemed to shrink into himself. “Their teacher?”
“Jadriga.”
Tigrane actually shivered. “I don’t want anything to do with her. Aye, Ghosts, I don’t doubt that you can take down Icaraeus and Lady Palaegus. But if you have the sense the gods gave a gnat, you won’t go anywhere near Jadriga.”
“Why not?” said Caina. “She’s just a woman. Sorcerous powers or not, she still can be killed.”
“Perhaps,” said Tigrane. “But not by you, Ghost. Not by any of you. I saw her use her powers, once. We’d captured a band of slaves from further up the river, brought them to Lady Palaegus’s mansion. They were bolder than most, managed to kill a bunch of my lads and make a dash for it. But they ran into Jadriga. She got this look on her face, started muttering under her breath…there was this flash. Like green fire. And when it cleared, all the slaves were dead. Thirty-seven of them, killed by one spell. And not just dead…they’d been ripped apart. Like they’d been mauled by wild beasts.” He shook his head. “I’ve never seen any sorcerer do anything like that, not even one from the Magisterium.”
“Power or not, she will be called to account for her crimes,” said Caina. Assuming they could figure out a way to kill her. “I have only one more question for you. Agria Palaegus is a widow.”
Tigrane frowned. “Aye?”
“Did she kill her husband and daughter?” said Caina.
“Ah,” said Tigrane. “You mean, did she pay us to kill them? No. They were both dead before His Lordship began supplying Lady Palaegus with slaves.” He grunted. “I do think that she killed them, though. Bet she enjoyed it, too. That all?”
Caina nodded, and glanced at Halfdan. He nodded back and touched Ark’s shoulder.
“Good,” said Tigrane. She saw the cunning glitter in his eye. He thought that he had gotten off easy. No doubt he would return to the slave trade as soon as he arrived in Anshan. “If we’re done with the questions, I could use some water. All that talking…”
Ark stepped forward and backhanded him.
“What’s this?” said Tigrane, sputtering. “I answered all your…”
Ark seized Tigrane’s gray hair, a dagger in hand. He held the point of the dagger below Tigrane’s jaw and leaned in close. “Listen to me. My friends, I think they went too easy on you. I want to cut off your fingers one by one and listen to you scream. So if your tongue doesn’t tell me what I want to know,” he jabbed the dagger against Tigrane’s throat, “I’ll pin it to the roof of your mouth. Understand?”
“But I told you everything I know about Icaraeus,” said Tigrane.
“No. Not that,” said Ark. Behind his mask, his eyes burned with rage and desperate eagerness. “You’re going to tell me about Hruzac.”
“Hruzac?” said Tigrane, baffled. “I don’t…”
“A seaside village north of here, in Varia Province,” said Ark. “You attacked it and enslaved its inhabitants.”
“We…we did,” said Tigrane. “But that was a Szaldic village, what do the Ghosts care about…”
Ark growled. “You will tell me what happened there. Now!”
“It was a disaster, that’s what,” said Tigrane, sweat pouring down his face. “It…it was one of the first jobs His Lordship took from Lady Palaegus. I heard them talking. Jadriga herself wanted everyone from that village.”
“Jadriga?” said Caina, startled. She had assumed that Icaraeus had targeted Hruzac at random. “Why?”
“Do you think I was dumb enough to ask her?” said Tigrane. “His Lordship didn’t tell us the details. But it was a strange job. We were to take every last woman of childbearing age and every last child under thirteen years. And if we missed even a single one, we wouldn’t get paid.” He grunted in annoyance. “Don’t ask me how Jadriga knew who lived in Hruzac.”
“What happened?” said Ark.
“We set up a base in a nearby cove and attacked,” said Tigrane. “Encircled the place, killed the men, rounded up all the women and children. We had Jadriga’s witch-collars, so keeping them docile wasn’t hard. His Lordship sent one of his ships, and we loaded them up.”
“And then?” said Ark. His voice had gone cold, colder than Caina had ever heard it.
“It all went bad,” said Tigrane. “The Ghosts figured out that we were there. They roused the local militia and attacked. It was bad. I barely got out with my head attached, along with Rhicon and a few other lads.”
“What happened to the ship?” said Ark.
“Don’t know,” said Tigrane. “I figured the Ghosts took it.” He snorted in disgust. “Gods of the brine know, I never got paid a single copper coin for that raid. So I figured the slaves never got to Lady Palaegus. His Lordship was furious for weeks, and I knew better than to ask him about it.”
Ark said nothing, still holding the dagger steady below Tigrane’s jaw.
“Jadriga,” said Caina. “Does she often give you specific villages to target?”
“No,” said Tigrane. “That was the only time. Wonder what was so special about Hruzac.”
So did Caina.
“When you were taking the villagers from their homes,” said Ark, his voice quiet, “did you see a woman named Tanya?”
“Tanya?” said Tigrane, incredulous. “What, you think I ask the merchandise their names?”
“A woman almost six feet tall,” said Ark, “with blue eyes, and black hair. She would have had a child, a boy, about a year old…”
“You know, I do remember that one,” said Tigrane. “We’d usually have killed the baby, but our orders were to take all the children. And that woman…she was a beautiful one. Had some fight in her, too. She gave Rhicon a black eye, broke another man’s jaw. So we had to beat the fight out of her. Couldn’t hurt her too bad, but she was still screaming like dog before we…”
Ark straightened up, reversing his grip on the dagger.
Tigrane looked at Ark, frowning.
And Caina saw Tigrane’s expression dissolve into horror as he figured it out. A sudden sharp stink flooded the warehouse. Tigrane’s bladder had let go.
“She was yours?” said Tigrane, his eyes wide, the words tumbling out in terror. “It…it wasn’t personal, it was just business, I didn’t know she was yours, it was His Lordship and Lady Palaegus, you can’t blame me for…what are you doing, no, don’t, don’t, no, no…” His voice rose to an incoherent, terrified scream.
Caina grabbed Ark’s arm. He glared at her, eyes wild and full of agony.
“We might need him alive later,” said Caina.
Ark let out a shuddering breath, and lowered the dagger.
“Listen to me,” he said to Tigrane. “You were promised safe passage to Anshan. That’s fine. But if I ever see you out of this chair, if I ever see you walking…I’m going to kill you. I’ll make you tell me everything you ever did to your captives, and then I’m going to do it to you. Over and over again. It will take days. Do you understand me?”
Tigrane managed to nod, weeping. Ark stalked away, glaring at the wall.
Halfdan looked at Caina. “This abandoned mansion he told us about. Go examine it. Make sure he was telling the truth.” He glanced at Tigrane. “I really hope you were telling the truth. Because if my scout hasn’t returned by dawn, I’ll let my large friend do with you as he pleases. You won’t enjoy that.”
Tigrane swallowed and looked at Ark.
“Anything else you’d like to add?” said Halfdan, voice mild.
The final wisps of defiance left Tigrane. “There are guards. Four patrolling the grounds, two more watching from the windows.”
“Take your time,” said Halfdan. He looked at Tigrane. “Remember, dawn.”
Caina wanted to talk to Ark, to try and calm him down. But she had her duty. For a moment she toyed with the idea of deliberately returning after dawn. But, no. As she had said, they might need Tigrane later.
And whatever his crimes, Caina did not want to see a man tortured to death. Or more precisely, Caina did not want to see Ark torture a man to death. Ark had enough on his conscience. Caina didn’t want him to scar his soul any further.
She gathered up her shadowed cloak and vanished into the night.
***