Ghost in the Vision

By Jonathan Moeller

Caina only intends to make a brief stop in the city of Istarinmul before taking the necromantic Sword of the Iron King to the safety of the Towers of Lore.

But the Padishah of Istarinmul needs her help, and since Caina put him upon his throne, she cannot turn him away.

And the enigmatic Countess Kalthane, the woman who has been financing the Empire's war against the vile sorcerers of the Umbarian Order, needs a favor from Caina.

Because Countess Kalthane has a secret.

And if that secret falls into the hands of the Umbarians, they will use it to destroy the world...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jonathan Moeller
• Release date: Nov 1, 2020
• ISBN: 9781005081447

Jonathan Moeller

Standing over six feet tall, Jonathan Moeller has the piercing blue eyes of a Conan of Cimmeria, the bronze-colored hair of a Visigothic warrior-king, and the stern visage of a captain of men, none of which are useful in his career as a computer repairman, alas.He has written the "Demonsouled" trilogy of sword-and-sorcery novels, and continues to write the "Ghosts" sequence about assassin and spy Caina Amalas, the "$0.99 Beginner's Guide" series of computer books, and numerous other works.Visit his website at:http://www.jonathanmoeller.comVisit his technology blog at:http://www.jonathanmoeller.com/screed

Book preview

GHOST IN THE VISION

Jonathan Moeller

***

Description

Caina only intends to make a brief stop in the city of Istarinmul before taking the necromantic Sword of the Iron King to the safety of the Towers of Lore.

But the Padishah of Istarinmul needs her help, and since Caina put him upon his throne, she cannot turn him away.

And the enigmatic Countess Kalthane, the woman who has been financing the Empire's war against the vile sorcerers of the Umbarian Order, needs a favor from Caina.

Because Countess Kalthane has a secret.

And if that secret falls into the hands of the Umbarians, they will use it to destroy the world...

***

Ghost in the Vision

Copyright 2020 by Jonathan Moeller.

Smashwords Edition.

Cover design by Clarissa Yeo.

Ebook edition published November 2020.

All Rights Reserved.

This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination, or, if real, used fictitiously. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the express written permission of the author or publisher, except where permitted by law.

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Chapter 1: Istarinmul

Caina Kardamnos stood near the prow of the Imperial warship and watched the city of Istarinmul draw closer.

A peculiar feeling of familiarity swept through her as she watched the domes and spires of the city, the polished marble glinting in the bright morning sunlight.

Which wasn’t surprising. She had done this before.

But things had been different then.

The last time Caina had approached Istarinmul on a ship from the Cyrican Sea had been over four years ago, after the day of the golden dead and the end of the war between the Empire and New Kyre. She had been exiled from the Empire, sent to serve as the Ghost circlemaster of Istarinmul. Caina had been half out of her mind with grief from the deaths of Halfdan and Corvalis Aberon, and she had found herself alone and friendless in the capital of the Padishah’s domain.

Caina took a deep breath, the salt-scented wind tugging at her hair and clothes, and she remembered the heavy despair that had shrouded her like a wet cloak the last time she had come to Istarinmul.

Of course, a few things had changed since then.

A boot creaked against the quinquereme’s deck, and Caina turned to see the most significant of the changes approach.

Kylon of House Kardamnos was taller than Caina and much wider in the shoulders. His eyes were the color of amber, and he kept his brown-hair close-cropped, partly for comfort and mostly to prevent an enemy from getting a handle on his head in a fight. Today he wore a tunic, trousers, and leather armor with steel rivets. The jeweled saber he had taken from an undead warrior in northern Ulkaar rode on his right hip. There was no sign of his valikon, but that didn’t mean anything, given that Kylon could summon it at will.

He stepped to her side, and Caina leaned up and kissed him.

You seem cheerful this morning, she said. Her normally grim husband had been in a good mood since they had left Malarae. But while Caina was indifferent to sea travel (it was quicker than land travel, at least) Kylon actively enjoyed it. But he had been a Kyracian Archon, had commanded New Kyre’s fleets in battle, and had spent far more time aboard ships than she had.

And you seem thoughtful, said Kylon.

I’m always thoughtful, said Caina.

He grunted. More than usual, anyway.

I remembered the first time I came to Istarinmul aboard a ship, said Caina.

I don’t remember how old I was, said Kylon. Thirteen or fourteen, probably. I was sailing with the ships of House Kardamnos, protecting our merchant vessels. We stopped in the Cyrican Harbor to take on water and supplies and then passed through the Starfall Straits the next day. He frowned. I suppose the first time you visited Istarinmul would have been…

After the day of the golden dead, yes, said Caina.

Kylon said nothing, but he squeezed her hand. For all his stoic demeanor, he understood emotions well, and hers especially. Some of it was his abilities with water sorcery, which had allowed him to sense the emotions of those around him since he had been a child. And some of that had come from loss – like Caina, he had lost a great many people that he had loved.

I suppose some things have changed since then, Kylon said, Caina Amalas Tarshahzon Kardamnos.

Caina laughed. One or two things. She squeezed his hand back. I suppose we had better prepare the others. The magi would already have sent word, so Lord Martin knows that we’re coming, and so does the Padishah.

Kylon nodded. I suppose none of them have ever been to Istarinmul before.

Well, Morgant has, said Caina. He’s lived in Istarinmul longer than either of us has been alive, more or less.

Kylon grunted. He doesn’t count.

Caina laughed again and followed Kylon to the ship’s center deck. She walked carefully, lest she entangle her legs in her long skirt. There would be a welcoming party awaiting her arrival at the dock, and she very well might see the Padishah and the Grand Wazir today.

So best to dress the part.

Today she wore a long blue gown with black trim, the sort of garment suitable for a Countess of the Empire. Her pyrikon had shifted to its diadem form and rested on her blond hair (which was shifting back to black as it grew out the dye), and she had woven it into an elaborate crown of braids. Over her hair, she had donned a blue headscarf since the Istarish viewed a woman who uncovered her hair in public as a prostitute. The one incongruity in her dress was the sword belt, from which hung a sword in a leather scabbard. The pommel of the sword held an emerald that had been carved into a sigil of a dragon.

It was the Sword of Rasarion Yagar, one of the five relics the ancient necromancer-king had imbued with his power, and until Caina reached the Towers of Lore in Iramis, she would not let the damned thing out of her sight.

By the Divine, she was tired of carrying it everywhere with her.

Kylon grunted again as they stepped down from the foredeck.

What? said Caina. The stairs leading from the foredeck to the main deck were narrow, and she took care not to tread on the hem of her skirt.

I still think it’s strange to find myself on an Imperial warship, said Kylon, glancing at the central mast and its rigging.

The ship was a quinquireme, a massive warship with five banks of oars and siege engines mounted along its railing. Right now, the oars lashed at the water in a steady rhythm, propelling the ship towards the Cyrican Harbor of Istarinmul. Three masts rose from the ship for when additional speed was needed. Right now, the sails were furled, and sailors moved over the deck under the first mate’s stern eye, attending to the many tasks necessary to keep the ship moving and from sinking. The ship still smelled of sawdust and tar. It was new because Kylon had sunk most of the Empire’s western fleet years ago.

So it was indeed strange that Kylon Shipbreaker would find himself on an Imperial warship.

A man stood at the railing next to one of the ballistae, his black coat rippling around him in the wind of their passage. Beneath the coat, he wore a stark white shirt, a black waistcoat, black trousers, and dusty boots, a sword belt wrapped around his waist. A scimitar and a black dagger with a red jewel in its pommel rested in their scabbards on his belt. With his left hand, he held open a small notebook against the stock of the ballista. With his right, he scribbled something with a small pencil. A few of the passing sailors gave him odd glances but otherwise ignored him.

By now, they were used to the eccentricities of the man who called himself Markaine of Caer Marist.

Caina wondered how the sailors would react if they knew Markaine really was Morgant the Razor, assassin of legend.

Drawing again? said Kylon.

Morgant didn’t look up from his notebook. Caina glimpsed a sketch of the domes and towers of Istarinmul. I have the energy for it, Kyracian. Caina wondered what barbed remark would follow. But, then, I didn’t spend all night trying to satisfy the appetite of an insatiable woman.

There it was.

As always, your wit is deeply appreciated, said Caina.

Morgant grunted, closed his notebook, and made it disappear into a pocket of his coat. You shouldn’t stay long in Istarinmul.

No, said Caina, feeling the weight of the Sword in its scabbard on her hip. I want to leave for Iramis as soon as possible. But I need to speak with Claudia and Martin, and with the Padishah and the Grand Wazir. They will want to hear the news from the Empire from someone who saw it firsthand.

Saw it firsthand, said Morgant, or arranged it from the shadows. I suppose when Valerius Hadrazon and Kutal Sulaman Tarshahzon meet in person, they can talk about how you put them upon both their thrones.

Caina shrugged. There are worse things for a ruler to discuss. But I would like to leave for Iramis tomorrow or the day after if it all possible.

Yes, said Morgant. Just as you intended to leave Artifel and Malarae as soon as possible. Instead, you wound up putting a new First Magus and a new Emperor in office.

We know, said Kylon. We were there. Do you need to remind yourself? Is your memory finally succumbing to your advanced age?

Ah, said Morgant. You’re getting better at that. He grinned at Caina. The Kyracian does get cleverer once you’ve made sure all the blood goes to his brain, doesn’t he? His smirk faded as he looked at the approaching city. Though you should get ready for something to go wrong.

Why? said Caina. Do you know something?

In the last few months, we’ve been to Risiviri, Artifel, and Malarae, said Morgant, and something’s gone wrong in every single city. Why the hell should Istarinmul be any different?

He had a point.

And, continued Morgant, you might be the Padishah’s adopted sister and the Liberator of Iramis, and there are quite a few people happy that you put Sulaman on his father’s throne and wiped out the Slavers’ Brotherhood…

I didn’t wipe out the Slavers’ Brotherhood, said Caina. Cassander Nilas did that.

So what? Most people think you did, said Morgant. There are a lot of people who lost a lot of money and power when Cassander destroyed the Brotherhood and Sulaman banned the buying and selling of slaves. They might want to take it out on you.

He’s right, said Kylon. For once.

We’ll be careful, said Caina. On the surface, nothing ought to go wrong. Kylon and Seb were dangerous fighters, and so was Morgant. And Caina was a valikarion, and if anyone attempted a sorcerous attack, she would see it first.

Yet she knew from bitter experience that anything could go wrong.

That would be a first, said Morgant.

Boots thudded against the deck, and Sophia Zomanek hurried to Caina’s side. A few of the sailors cast covert glances of admiration when she passed. She was a very pretty girl, and Caina had made sure she was never alone with any of the sailors. Caina might have been an Imperial Countess and Sophia her sworn follower, but sailors were still sailors, and for that matter, Sophia was flesh and blood herself.

When Caina had met her in the frozen wilds of northern Ulkaar, Sophia had been wearing a heavy coat and cloak of leather and fur. If she tried to wear that under the harsh sun of Istarinmul, she would die of heatstroke in about an hour, so Caina had bought new clothes for her before they left Malarae. Today Sophia wore a green gown and matching headscarf with a leather belt and boots, a sheathed dagger on her hip.

Caina saw the faint aura of arcane power around Sophia. It was better controlled than it had been when they had left Kostiv all those months ago. Seb and Kylon had been teaching her well.

My lady, said Sophia. Do you need anything?

No, said Caina. We’re almost there. She glanced east at the approaching city. In fact, here comes the boat for the hakim of the Cyrican Harbor.

Hakim? said Sophia, and then she blinked her dark eyes as she remembered the lessons Caina had given her in the Istarish tongue. Ah…a magistrate of Istarinmul, technically appointed by the Padishah, but in practice usually appointed by one of the wazirs under the Grand Wazir.

Very good, said Caina.

Morgant snorted. A long-winded way to say harbormaster.

You lived in Istarinmul long enough, said Kylon. You ought to know the hakim of the Cyrican Harbor will take offense if you call him a mere harbormaster.

Go check on Ilona and Seb, said Caina to Sophia. Then get the baggage ready. We’ll head into the city as soon as we dock. Based on the messages the magi had sent, Lord Martin and a deputation of Imperial Guards would await Caina at the quay. Then they would head for the Golden Palace, where she would speak with the Padishah and the Grand Wazir.

And Caina wanted to leave for Iramis as soon as possible, to put the Sword of Rasarion Yagar forever out of Talmania’s reach. Admittedly, it would be harder for Talmania to claim the Sword in Istarinmul than it would have been in Malarae. The Umbarian Order had suffered significant defeats over the last year, chief among them the loss of the city of Arzaxia. Their ability to put a fleet onto the Alqaarin Sea had been diminished.

For that matter, the Umbarian Order was hated in Istarinmul. Caina might have received the praise (and the blame) for the destruction of the Slavers’ Brotherhood, but Cassander Nilas had nearly destroyed the city. Caina and Kylon had stopped him, but Cassander’s attack had driven a permanent wedge between the Istarish and the Umbarians. The Sword of Rasarion Yagar was probably safer from Talmania than it had ever been.

Still, Caina wanted to secure the Sword in the Towers of Lore in Iramis as soon as possible.

Sophia hurried off and vanished below the deck.

That girl, said Morgant, is entirely too enthusiastic.

Kylon shrugged. She’s frightened. Caina looked at him. And hopeful. In another week, you will present her to the loremasters at Iramis, and she will begin her training. Something she regards with fear and anticipation.

The grand adventure of youth, said Morgant. Everything is new and exciting.

As opposed to your age, when everything is dull and tedious and requires sarcastic remarks, said Kylon.

Precisely, said Morgant. He looked towards the city. They were close now, and the quinquereme had slowed, waiting for the boat sent by the hakim of the harbor. But I’m reasonably certain that visiting Istarinmul will not be tedious.

Sophia returned, and Sebastian Scorneus and Ilona of Risiviri followed her. Seb wore his black armor, the armor of a battle magus of the Imperial Magisterium. The armor ought to have been excruciating under the Istarish sun, but the magi made the metal stronger and lighter than normal steel, and consequently, it would be more resistant to both heat and cold. Ilona wore a simple blue dress, headscarf, and leather belt. Since all her hair had gotten chopped off during their escape from the Vault of the Moroaica, she had no trouble fitting the scarf to her head. Her dark eyes were enormous in her pale face, and she walked a little gingerly. Ilona, like Sophia, had spent all her life in Ulkaar, which had the coldest winters in the Empire of Nighmar. Unlike Sophia, Ilona had not adapted well to the heat south of the Argamaz Desert. Ilona looked a little unsteady and paler than she should have been.

At least, Caina thought, she was no longer trying to masquerade as the Bronze Witch of Ulkaar. Well, she was the Bronze Witch, the inheritor of the mantle of Ulkaar’s defender, but she had disguised herself using stage makeup and heavy clothes. They would have been intolerable beneath Istarinmul’s harsh sun.

So, said Seb. His voice was quiet, thoughtful. This is Istarinmul. He looked a great deal like Caina, and it was always a little unsettling to see a face that looked so much like hers shaded with beard stubble, though his jaw was heavier and his brow thicker.

A large city, said Sophia. But not quite so large as Malarae.

No, said Caina. She watched as the pilot from the hakim of the harbor came aboard. The captain met him, and the two men exchanged greetings. About three quarters of a million people. Probably fewer now.

Definitely fewer, said Morgant. The Padishah seized the estates of all the emirs who fought against him during the civil war. He’s been parceling them out as small farms to freedmen who swear personal loyalty to him and agree to provide one son to serve in his army. A great many people have left Istarinmul to settle in the countryside.

I imagine the remaining nobles are not pleased about that, said Ilona.

They are not, said Morgant. He grinned at Caina. And guess who they blame for it?

Which, I suppose, said Seb, is why the Imperial Guard is meeting us at the quay.

Aye, said Caina.

Ilona raised an eyebrow. Aren’t you supposed to be a spy? Spies aren’t greeted by the Lord Ambassador and the Imperial Guard when they arrive in a city.

I used to be a spy, said Caina.

That had been before half the Empire’s nobility had seen her on the day of the golden dead in New Kyre. The other half had seen her a few weeks ago during Valerius Hadrazon’s election as Emperor, which had turned out to be far more eventful than anyone had expected. For that matter, all the high magi had seen her in Artifel when Decius Aberon had tried to arrest her, and a significant number of the magi thought that Caina had arranged for Valron Icaraeus to become the new First Magus.

Caina was still a Ghost, still believed in defending the commoners of the Empire from corrupt lords and sorcerers.

But a spy? She had become too notorious to serve as a spy.

And now you’re a… said Ilona, drawing the question out.

A dignitary, said Morgant.

The Divine save us, said Caina. But keep your eyes open. Istarinmul isn’t nearly as dangerous as it used to be. But a lot of people have grudges against me…

Now there’s an understatement, said Morgant.

Caina kept talking over him. And if they try to get at me, you might get in the way.

Ilona snorted. Or we’ll watch Lord Kylon cut them all down.

Kylon gave her a flat look. He didn’t like oracles or seeresses or prophetesses, and the revelation that Ilona had been the Bronze Witch had annoyed him a great deal. He didn’t quite mistrust Ilona, but he wasn’t fond of her, either. Caina, for her part, knew that Ilona’s confidence had been shattered by her experience in the Vault of the Moroaica and that everything she had done since had been an effort to overcome her fears. And she was definitely afraid of Kylon.

Or maybe Ilona was simply overheated from the Istarish sun, and Caina was thinking too hard.

The pilot departed, his boat rowing back to the harbor. The quinquereme continued towards Istarinmul, and Caina gazed at the Cyrican Harbor. The Starfall Straits connected the Cyrican Sea and the Alqaarin Sea, and Istarinmul occupied the land overlooking the Straits. Half the world’s commerce went through the Straits, and the Padishahs of Istarinmul had grown wealthy from the trade passing through their realm.

Hundreds of ships filled the harbor. Most of them were merchant ships, but a few were Istarish war galleys, their prows equipped with an elaborate apparatus for spraying alchemical Hellfire at enemy vessels. The city rose like a hill in the distance, the land sloping upward through the Cyrican Quarter to the Emirs’ Quarter and the Tower Quarter and the Golden Palace beyond. Caina smelled the familiar odors of a harbor – salt, tar, rotting fish, and the faint scent of excrement.

And yet…

Caina smiled.

I didn’t think you would be that pleased to come back to Istarinmul, said Kylon.

The first time I came here, said Caina, you could smell the slave ships from a mile off. Not anymore.

Aye, said Morgant. It seems someone called the Balarigar killed off the cowled masters of the Slavers’ Brotherhood.

Caina frowned. That was Cassander Nilas.

She stared across the harbor at where the Brotherhood’s fortified dock complex had once stood. It had been a small fortress within the Cyrican Harbor, a place where the cowled masters met in security and unloaded especially valuable cargos. After killing the cowled masters, Cassander had worked his mighty spell to destroy Istarinmul from within that stronghold, and the resultant explosion after Caina interrupted the spell and Kylon killed him had leveled the building.

To Caina’s surprise, a new structure rose where the Brotherhood’s stronghold had once stood. It looked like a small mansion built in the Nighmarian style, with whitewashed walls and a roof of fired clay tiles overlooking a dozen private docks. Caina wondered who would want to build a mansion where the stronghold of the Slavers’ Brotherhood had once stood. Perhaps a Nighmarian noble who had fled the upheaval in the Empire and settled in Istarinmul.

The warship maneuvered towards one of the quays. Under Ilona’s and Sophia’s supervision, some of the sailors brought up their baggage. Caina had sealed messages she was to deliver to Lord Martin, who would present them to the Padishah and the Grand Wazir. Additionally, she had arrived in Malarae with only the clothes on her back, but now she had a wardrobe brought from her townhouse in the Imperial capital. The warship would stay docked long enough for the sailors carrying the luggage to return, and then the ship would leave for Malarae. Emperor Valerius intended to invade the Umbarian-held provinces of the eastern Empire, and the effort needed every ship. The new Emperor wanted to attack simultaneously from Nova Nighmaria while a seaborne invasion landed in the Saddaic provinces and struck Rasadda. It was an audacious plan, and Caina could think of any number of things that could go wrong. Likely Valerius could as well. But perhaps recent setbacks had weakened the Umbarian Order enough that a heavy attack would succeed.

My lady, said Sophia, cutting into Caina’s thoughts.

She shook off the musings of the war. There was little Caina could do to affect the outcome from here. But keeping the Sword of the Iron King out of the hands of Talmania Scorneus would go a long way towards ensuring an Umbarian defeat.

Yes? said Caina.

I think we’re about to dock, said Sophia.

The quinquereme eased forward, pulling into its spot alongside the long stone quay. The captain and the first mate shouted orders, and the sailors scrambled over the ship, securing lines and racking the banks of oars that jutted from the sides of the vessel.

And it doesn’t appear, said Morgant, that anyone is waiting for us.

The quay was deserted, saved for a few empty barrels that had no doubt been left behind by previous vessels. Caina looked up and down the docks. The quays connected to a broad stretch of paved ground, which was currently full of stacks of cargo and gangs of porters working to load and unload ships. A steady stream of wagons headed from the docks and into the city, forcing their way past an equal stream of carts hauling goods to the ships. Caina was pleased to see that far fewer of the porters were slaves than when she had first arrived in Istarinmul.

But there was no sign of any Imperial Guards or of Martin and Claudia.

I thought the Imperial Guard and the Lord Ambassador were supposed to await you, said Seb.

Caina shrugged. Maybe something went wrong. Or perhaps a wagon wheel cracked and blocked a street, and they were delayed.

Or maybe the magi had only claimed they had delivered the message. Most of the remaining magi of the Magisterium were behind the new Emperor and First Magus. But many of them remembered that Caina had been a Ghost nightfighter, and perhaps they sought revenge.

We should go to the Lord Ambassador’s mansion in the Emirs’ Quarter, said Kylon. Or to the House of Agabyzus in the Cyrican Quarter. If something strange is going on in Istarinmul, either Lord Martin or Damla will know about it.

Agreed, said Caina.

And then, said Morgant, we should leave for Iramis. Promptly.

Yes, agreed Caina, thinking it over. Maybe the smart thing to do was to leave Istarinmul at once before she even spoke with anyone. She still had some safe houses hidden around Istarinmul from her shadow war against the Slavers’ Brotherhood and Grand Master Callatas. Caina and the others could go to one, disguise themselves as caravan guards or merchants, and then leave for Iramis. She could disappear and reappear in Iramis to present the Sword to the loremasters.

With some reluctance, Caina dismissed the idea. Ilona was right. Caina was no longer a spy, and she could not simply disappear without consequences. She had promised to deliver messages from the new Emperor to his Lord Ambassador to Istarinmul. For that matter, she was the adopted sister of the Padishah and the Liberator of Iramis. If Caina disappeared after she was supposed to have been on an Imperial warship, that would cause problems between Istarinmul and Iramis and the Empire, and the Empire needed the support of the Padishah and the Prince of Iramis to defeat the Umbarians.

The quinquereme came to a halt, and some of the sailors jumped over the railing, tossing down ropes and tied them to the quay. Caina watched the work for a moment and then turned to look at the rest of the docks. They remained busy as ever, but there was no sign of the Imperial Guard. Maybe it wasn’t anything sinister. Messages got lost or misunderstood. Sometimes things just went wrong for no reason at all.

Upon reflection, Caina supposed, things usually went wrong more often than not.

Let’s head for the Emirs’ Quarter, said Caina to Kylon as the sailors began wrestling the gangplank into position. We can find Claudia and Martin at the Lord Ambassador’s mansion.

Or if they’re not, the servants will know where to find them, said Kylon.

Aye, said Caina. Everyone ready?

They descended the gangplank and came to the quay. Caina took careful steps, her left hand grasping her skirt, her right hand held out for balance. She didn’t want to tumble off the gangplank and land on the quay or the water. For one, she was the Padishah’s adopted sister, so it wouldn’t do for her to fall on her face. For another, while the slavers’ dock might have been destroyed, the water of the harbor still wasn’t terribly clean.

Caina stepped onto the quay. Another wave of recollection went through her, and she remembered coming here for the first time. Caina had been half out of her mind with grief, which later manifested itself as her war against the Slavers’ Brotherhood. Slaves had toiled to load and unload the ships filling the quays. The streets near the Cyrican Harbor had been lined with wraithblood addicts, their eyes like eerie blue flames. Now there were no more wraithblood addicts. There were still beggars on the streets, but not nearly as many. A substantial portion of the porters working to unload the ships were still slaves, but Caina saw many more freedmen.

Istarinmul was still Istarinmul, but things had changed.

Much like Caina herself, she supposed.

The others descended the gangplank. Morgant’s voice, unsurprisingly, was the first one to cut into Caina’s thoughts.

We could stand here looking pensive for a few more hours, said Morgant, but the sailors might get tired of holding the baggage. Six sailors trooped down the gangplank, carrying the wooden chests holding their luggage.

Right, said Caina, looking back at him and then towards the docks. We…

A flicker of motion caught her eye.

There was movement everywhere on the docks as men worked. Porters carried more goods onto the ships while scowling men with clubs and crossbows guarded the unloaded cargoes against thieves. Not far from the warship’s quay stood several stacks of crates. They must not have been particularly valuable because no one stood guard over them.

Yet Caina was sure she had seen someone duck behind those crates when her eye had turned in that direction.

Kylon, she said.

Her husband was scanning the docks, looking at nothing in particular, which meant that he was watching everything at once.

Someone just ducked behind those crates, said Caina.

Aye, said Kylon. To the vision of the valikarion, Kylon flickered with silver-blue light. He was using the sorcery of water to sense the emotions of those around him. Some of the reason for his frequently grim demeanor was the losses he had suffered over the years. But much of it, Caina had come to understand, was the effort of learning to master his water sorcery as a child, to keep the emotions he sensed from overwhelming his mind. Just one man. And…he’s terrified.

Terrified? said Caina.

Like someone about to go into battle, said Kylon.

He lifted his right hand. Shards of silver light appeared out of nowhere and assembled themselves into his valikon, his fingers closing about the hilt. The Iramisian sword resembled a falchion, thought it had been forged of ghostsilver, not steel. Iramisian glyphs shone with white light along the blade, obscured by the freezing mist that sheathed the sword.

At the same moment, a man leaped from behind the crates.

He looked unremarkable. Details flashed through Caina’s mind. He was