Free Ghost Light by Jonathan Moeller

Ghost Light

    Caina wondered how many men had died where she
stood.
    The ruined mansion loomed out the darkness, charred
pillars and broken walls raking the night sky like the fingers of a
dying man. Ten years ago a sorcerous fire had raged through the
mansion, killing every last man, woman, and child. The ruins still
stood, a half-crumbled mountain of marble and broken statues, a
tangled maze of shadows and yawning doors. The nobles of the
capital of the Empire considered the spot accursed, and dared not
rebuild over the ruins.
    Which made it a perfect spot for a clandestine
meeting.
    Caina glided from shadow to shadow, her Ghost
shadow-cloak and clothing merging with the darkness. She had spent
a great deal of time practicing stealth, much of it under great
duress, and her boots made not a whisper of sound against the
cracked marble of the floor.
    She could not say the same, alas, of the man she had
come to meet.
    Karsat Qassar stood under a cracked pillar, one hand
resting upon the hilt of his scimitar, the other wiping against the
side of his fine blue robe. He looked much like any other Istarish
merchant - proud, prosperous, and plump.
    Yet few Istarish merchant wore expressions of such
terror.
    Caina stepped into the pale moonlight, letting her
boots click against the stone floor.
    Qassar spun with an oath, scimitar flying into his
hand. The tip trembled in his grasp, the rings on his fingers
glittering.
    "The Living Flame protect me!" he spat. "Who the
devil are you? What are you? Speak. Speak!"
    His fear did not surprise her. She had seen it
before. Wrapped in her cloak, her face hidden beneath a mask, she
must look like some sort of specter risen from the netherworld.
    "You sent for me, Karsat Qassar," she said,
disguising her voice with a rasping hiss. "You appealed to the
Emperor of Nighmar for protection."
    "You," said Qassar, his voice rising half an octave,
"you are one of the Ghosts? But...no, no, the Ghosts are only a
myth, a legend..."
    "Do I look like a legend?" said Caina. Most people
considered the Ghosts, the Emperor's spies and assassins, to be
fanciful tales, stories spun by ambitious fools to cover their
failures. "You appealed to the Emperor for protection. Will you
have it? Speak!"
    Qassar stared at her for a moment, his throat
trembling beneath the point of his oiled black beard. Then he gave
a sharp nod, flung his scimitar to the ground at her feet, and
dropped to his knees.
    "I will pledge my life, fortunes, and sacred honor to
the Emperor of Nighmar," said Qassar, "and this I swear by the
light of the Living Flame."
    Caina's eyebrows rose behind her mask. She had not
expected this.
    "And what," said Caina, "do you ask of the Emperor in
return?"
    "Save me," said Qassar.
    And before Caina could ask, the story came pouring
out of Qassar.
    "My fortunes prospered, and the Grand Wazir of
Istarinmul craved my lands and wealth. So he framed me for horrid
crimes, and seized my lands. I fled to the Empire with my family,
but even that was not enough. The Grand Wazir sent assassins after
us." Qassar's face had gone gray with fear. "He sent Cynoshard
after me. Cynoshard took my wives and children, one by one. And now
he has come for me."
    Caina said nothing. The assassins of Istarinmul had
evil reputations. Men whispered stories about their exploits. But
the tales told about Cynoshard made the other assassins look like
virgin priestesses.
    If Cynoshard was after Qassar, he was lucky to be
alive.
    And sane.
    "Come with me," said Caina. "We'll take you to a
safehouse, as soon..."
    Nausea stabbed into her gut, and a wave of crawling
tingles, like needles jabbing into her skin, washed over her.
    Caina stepped back in alarm, drawing a dagger in
either hand.
    "What?" said Qassar, looking back and forth. "What is
it?"
    As a child, Caina had been the captive of a
necromancer and his students. They had done things, bad things, to
her, but she escaped. Yet ever since, the presence of sorcery
inspired a physical