Smoke and Iron

Chapter 10-To Catch a Ghost

                    Andreas

After leaving Tara with her new trinket, I head back to the courtyard to retrieve my gear. Of course my way is constantly blocked by patrolling Blades, forcing me to take alternate routes over walls and fences. Leaving me with aching legs and arms. Eventually I reach the bronze gate, the small groan of the bars is a welcoming sound. Closing the gate I reach into the hidden gap in the wall, and extract my sack filled with my Reaper gear.

Quietly I head to the wall and push on the cold stone, opening the passage into the hidden tunnels below.

I look behind me, checking to make sure that I'm alone. When I'm satisfied I step into the passage, the door closing with a groan of stone against stone. Safely hidden from view, I put on my gear including the leather gloves and mask. My leather jacket goes in the sack, and is replaced by my black cloak.

By the light of the single torch in the wall, I take out a thick leather folder with a raven stamped on the cover. Breaking the wax seal, I open the folder and flip through the many papers of reports, schematics and maps. All covering the many robberies and sightings of the Ghost. Information vital to pinpoint this thief's next move.

After scanning the papers with agonizing deliberation, I begin to see a pattern within the many pages of parchment. Each robbery was in the Gold Quarter, a total of twenty residences in the past four months. Items that all came from the same source, a shipwreck recently found on the very edge of the Black Swamp. The ship's origin is still unknown, and the only thing it held within its rotten hull was a chest filled with gems, mirrors, and coins. Objects that possessed a sinister silver glow.

The trove was gathered, and the items sold and scattered across Valdev. The nobles gathered vast quantities of them, just for the sake of owning such rare and unique objects. Now they have become the target for a thief with an acquired taste for their otherworldly valuables. Leaving three possible targets left for the Ghost to take, and I know exactly where they are. Now all I have to do is guess which one the Ghost will target next.

Putting away the leather folder, I start down the spiral steps and into the tunnel beyond. My route takes me back under the river, and to the intersection of the separate passages. I take the one on the left, the one that will take me to the Gold Quarter and my quarry. Time goes by slowly as the ground beneath becomes dry and cracked, the walls of mossy stone giving way to pillars of granite. The roar of the river now replaced by the hollow silence of the tunnel.

But it gives me the quiet I need to put my thoughts in order from the past few hours. From the enlightening talk with my father, to the discovery that free mages still exist in Talvos. It has given me a major headache, along with aching ribs, knuckles, and a very sore nose. All from being forced into that bloody ring. So that Mark, a boy that had less sense than a fish, would not be beaten to a pulp. A boy that was no doubt part of the same gang that Tara was.

Tara, a girl who has brought endless trouble whenever she appears. The girl who stole my pendant, blackmailed me, and saved my hide. Whose kiss that I dreamt of last night, along with the scent of wood smoke and cold iron that enveloped her warm skin. Her chapped but soft lips brushing across my own. A dream that was gone as soon as it came. Leaving me shaken and suddenly cold, despite the well heated rooms of the Reaper Quarters.

An eerie cold that reminded me of the palace halls after my mother had passed. The cold of my father and his soldiers watching me at all times. A feeling that returns whenever I have a fleeting glimpse of what freedom could be. The freedom of last night, and how I tried to keep it from myself. Lest those cold watchful eyes see it, and drag me back into that house of empty promises, lies, and betrayals.

That's why I must keep these thoughts at bay, however different and enticing they are. How I long to be like Ren with no worries that ever cross his mind, and Merrick always calm and silent but sure. However fleeting my encounters with Tara and her band of friends are, even sometimes dangerous. I long for more of it after seeing their world only a couple times. 

But I can't as long as I'm a Reaper, and an unwitting royal. Not to mention the cost not only for me, but for them if I was discovered. Prison most likely and for the ones with magic, b*****e most definitely. As for me, it would be a permanent residence in the palace. A fate that I will not allow to come to fruition.

At last I reach the end of the silent passage. This time a simple ladder is what leads me to the surface. I climb the metal rungs with quiet but fast precision, going up to the top of an old well. Long strands of moss hang from its sides, the strands scraping across my cloak. Thin tree branches cover the top, an intricate web of thin dead limbs.

I brush away the limbs with my hand, sending them to the ground in a blur of dead wood and moss. I pull myself up onto the lip of the well, and jump down onto the leaf littered ground. This time I have entered a less vibrant courtyard, one left to rot even though the mansion attached to it is still in decent shape. A mansion owned by Talber, and set in the middle of the Gold Quarter. 

 Granite walls surround the barren garden of weeds and vines of ivy. Ivy that covers the leaf litter and the many stone statues that line the courtyard's walls. Statues that remain intact despite the obvious neglect of their surroundings. Seven life sized statues that cast shadows under the rising moon's light. Yet another homage to the Raven King, but this time he is joined by his fellow gods.

To my left stands The Flower Maid, draped in a veil of spring blooms with her head bent and hands resting on her heart. Beside her is her sister, The Winter Crone, holding a staff while seated on her throne of ice. Opposite them are their brothers, The Autumn Lord gripping his sheathed sword with a cloak of leaves upon his shoulders, and The Summer Lad clad in a tunic of summer grass with his lyre in hand.

In front of me stands their mother Lady Green. A crown of leaves encircles her head, strands of flowers twine through her tresses, and icicles decorate the hem of her dress as she stands in a field of summer wheat. Beside her is the Raven King still hooded and accompanied by his winged servant, and The Sea Matron perched on a coral throne while swathed in her gown of fish scales and shells. 

Gods that used to be revered in temples that dotted the seven kingdoms. Temples now forgotten and left to the elements as the kingdoms became divided through war and the fight over the control of mages. The ones who can control the elements of nature, the mind and the body. Powers believed to be bestowed by these powerful immortals, gifts that soon became viewed as a danger to the rest of the world. Their fear turning to hate, hate that made them turn their backs on the old ways of reverence to the gods. Now only the ones not tethered by loyalty to a nation or crown, know their names and the traditions.

A faith that was my mother's, and one of the few things I have left of her. A faith then banned by my father in his grief, but it still exists. We Reapers practice it, many finding peace in doing so, for extinguishing a life can weigh heavy on one's conscience. These statues, the fountain, the mural, and the altar are well kept secrets thanks to Talber. Hot tempered he maybe, he has respect for these forgotten gods, and a kind heart beneath his formidable exterior for us Reapers.

Thinking about it at times calms my mind, knowing that he has trust in me makes each day bearable. Now I must prove to him again that I deserve that trust. My boots crunch over the leaves and vines as I head not to the stone of the courtyard wall, but to the fine brick of the mansion itself. Stopping a yard away from the wall, I pull out my crossbow and grappling hook. With deft fingers I load the bow and aim at the roof above. Steading the butt of the crossbow with one hand, I squeeze the trigger and send the hook soaring.

The metal hook then hooks itself onto the iron railing with a clang of metal. I test the rope to check that the hook is secure and when I'm satisfied I begin my ascent up. My boots find purchase against the brick, as I climb hand over hand up the rope. By the time my hand touches the roof, only a small drop of sweat dampens my brow. I pull myself up the rest of the way, my leather boots creaking as I bend into a crouch and pull up the rope and then securing it and the hook on my belt.

I slowly rise up and settle my weight onto the balls of my feet. Rolling my shoulders I breathe in the fresh air, air not riddled with the choking cloud of fumes that seems to encompass the rest of the city. Here the streets are not choked with wagons and people, instead finely paved stone roads snake between the manicured fenced lawns of mansions. Lawns that host a riot of flowers, shrubs, and hedges, and are patrolled at night by guards with their wolves by their sides.

Wolves shipped in from the icy wastes of Jormungand, and this particular breed has a very gruesome bite. A bite that can break skin and turn the blood to ice. Giving them the name Isvar, Icetooth, which suits these hulking hundred pound white furred beats.

Tall iron lamps line the stark white sidewalk, the oil making golden pools of light on the stone. And only in the Gold Quarter, are there parks filled with fresh grass, towering trees, and in some large ponds of clean water. Where the nobility can sail on their flimsy made boats of pine and cedar. Also thin shallow canals surround each three story residence, the marble bottoms filled with colored glass stones, as shiny as new minted coins. Such luxury and decadence leaves a foul taste in my mouth. 

For the past fours years I have reveled in the plain and simple ways of the common folk. Including the strict and purposeful rules of the army. Nothing is wasted and nothing is made for looks, everything has a purpose unlike these displays of sequestered wealth. If I had my way I would let this thief continue on his road of pilfering, but it would cost my freedom and Talber's life. 

My fists clench in rage at my father, the one that set such a high price. He thinks to make a fool of me, to show he holds all the cards in this twisted game of his, but I will prove him wrong. As an icy gust blows past, chilling my legs and arms, I head off at a sprint across the roof. Adrenaline fills my blood as I head closer and closer towards the edge, heart pounding in sync with the thumping of my boots. As I touch the edge I push off, my cape flapping behind me as I soar to the other side.

I land in a crouch, and then I'm off again running as fast as a lion, in search of its prey. My trek across the Quarter takes me near to its western side, and where the front gate to the Quarter keeps the undesirables out. Except for one very determined thief, and the Reaper hunting him. As I jump over to the next roof, I tuck into a roll and come to a bone shaking stop. I then climb down into the back garden, and make myself invisible in the dark leafy foliage of the tall hedges. 

This mansion is home to Count Dolan of Trival and his wife the Countess Silara. One of the nobles who bought an item from that cursed chest. According to the reports all of the robberies have happened close to the western wall. His is the last one that can fit this pattern. A pattern that includes the missing object, wolves and guards being knocked out but alive, and doors and windows that seem to have opened by themselves. Work that can only be done by a ghost, or a mage. Meaning that the king will want this thief alive. 

Time seems to tick by slower than my walk through the tunnel. The wind begins to blow harder, making the leaves shake from the tree limbs. Large drops of rain begin to pour down, pounding the earth and finding its way through my hood, the raindrops dripping onto my leather mask. The water soon soaking my head and shoulders. A haze of fog then appears, the small waves of it rolling into the garden. As it does, my nose fills with the cloying scent of iris and sage. Making my eyes water, the scent so strong I use my cloak to cover my mouth and nose, to keep the smell at bay.

My ears prick as I hear the thump of something falling on the ground, followed by a low groan. More thumps and groans soon follow, the sounds barely audible beneath the pounding torrent of water. The Ghost has just announced his presence, now where is he hiding. I turn my sight to the paned glass windows and iron railed balconies of the mansion. On the left side I see a small almost indiscernible spot where the rain seems to pour at a slower pace. 

With rapt attention I watch as a gray cloaked figure appears within the small circle of light rain, scaling down the brick side and then dropping onto the balcony below. Thunder cracks as the doors swing open, and the figure walks into the room beyond. I wait with baited breath as the figure disappears into the mansion. Slowly I walk across the wet ground, I forgoe my crossbow and instead climb up the wall. The slick surface making it hard to find handholds in the fine cut stone. I climb up the railing and wrap both my hands on the metal rungs, and I then pull myself up and over the railing. 

Another rumble of thunder pierces the sky as I land on the hard tiled floor. I then head into the dimly lit hallway, my steps slow and measured as I walk across the dark wood floors. Flashes of lightning briefly shine on the white paneled walls, and the dark oil paintings framed in oak wood. Suits of armor lining the hall cast shadows on the floor, their shields emblazoned with that same white lion inked on my flesh. 

At the end of the hall I head up a set of marble stairs, my steps still slow and quiet. Lest the Ghost hears me and makes off before I can grab him. As I reach the last step, I hear the shuffling of feet down the hallway. The hall is identical to the one down below, except for a set of oak double doors that have been pulled wide open. I slowly draw my sword from its scabbard, as I approach the doors. 

Placing myself behind one of the doors, I glance through the space between it and the wall. Through that small slit, I see him, his long cloak almost brushing the floor as he takes down a mirror of glowing silver. The sight of the object alone almost brings me to my knees, but then he pulls back his hood. Making my teeth clench as I see a spiral of silver hair fall down the Ghost's back. The hair is the same color as the stars and moons on the Ghost's thin muscled arm.

Oh the irony of it all, I wonder how mad my father will be when I tell him a woman is behind this. It almost brings a smile to my face, well almost. I slowly breathe in and out as I make my way around the door, and into the room.

"Nice trick back there with those guards, too bad you missed one," I drawl. As I hold my sword before me, the metal tip pointed at my quarry.

The Ghost twists around, her gray eyes widening behind the silk mask. Another bout of lightning brightens the room, and sends light glinting off an array of blades strapped to her chest and belt. One exceptionally long one is clasped between her gloved fingers. The light showing the sleeveless tunic and those bare arms and silver tattoos. Her pants hugging her curves like a second skin, and boots encasing her calves in gray leather.

But it's her pale skin, finely sculpted cheekbones, thin nose, full lips, and oval face that gives me pause. Her face is as flawless as a statue and unnerving as the grave. I feel her eyes slowly assess me from my hood and boots, to the tip of my deadly sharp sword. Eyes that change into slits like a cats', as she prowls towards me.

"Oh that was no trick little Reaper, but if you want I can do a trick right here and now," she says in a sickly sweet voice.

She lunges straight for my gut, but I'm already moving as she breezes by. Our boots skid across the floor as we turn to face each other. I see her tuck away the glowing mirror into the bag at her side, before lunging at me again with another dagger in hand. 

Our weapons clash as thunder rolls, the Ghost then trying to twist my sword from my grasp. A futile move costing her, deftly I twist it myself and send her daggers to opposite sides of the room. My sword comes to a stop barley an inch from the exposed flesh of her neck.

"Now that is a trick little Ghost and now you will listen very closely," I say with detached calm.

"And how closely should I listen," she says as her hands try to go for her other blades.

I then bring the tip closer, almost grazing her skin.

"Very closely, now if you move again without me telling you to, I will send my sword into your arm. But don't worry it will only be a scratch, I'll let the titanium coating do the rest."

Her brows draw together as her mouth puckers in anger. Gotcha, no mage can withstand titanium in any form. The rare metal will strip her down to size, making her just as vulnerable as any other human.

"You don't have the guts, just like every other lacky of the king," she sneers.

"Well I'm not like the others thief, I have no qualms about teaching you a lesson."

"You teach me a lesson," she chuckles, "oh that's rich coming from you. You're nothing but his bloodhound, sent to track down prey, come back quarry in hand and accept a meager reward like a measly bitch."

My hands shake with rage and I feel my blood boil as she gives me a wolf's smile, teeth bared and lips wide. I feel my teeth clench as I control the urge to slit her throat.

"I am no one's b***h little girl, so you better shut that mouth or I won't continue to be nice."

"That's funny," she drawls, "I'm the one who has been nice, until now."

The wind comes out of nowhere, throwing me sideways and sending my sword skittering into the wall. My breath whooshing out of my lungs as I hit the floor. My lungs aching as I roll onto my back, slowly drawing in air as the Ghost unsheathes another dagger and places the tip against my windpipe. 

Her legs pressing onto my hips, as ice encircles my wrists and ankles. The ice is so thick that I can't even move. s**t, not only is she a mage she's a Shifter, magic so powerful that these mages have been exiled or killed just for existing. With their seemingly endless supply of magic and the ability to use different types at once, they are a force to be reckoned with.

"Now you listen to me," she whispers, her face inches from mine.

"I will be leaving with the mirror, and you will not follow if you want to keep those pretty eyes of yours."

My breath comes in ragged angry bursts, as I glare into hers. Just who does this girl think she is to order me around. As she draws her blade away and begins to stand, I suddenly feel the ice begin to give. My ankles break free first, enabling me to bring them up as my wrists come free. I push myself backwards, bracing myself as I land in a crouch, my boots skidding to a stop. In seconds I have my sword back at my side as I rush for the Ghost. 

She goes for my right side, forcing me to twist out of her reach. Again she attacks, but I'm ready for her. I bring my blade up blocking her's, then I'm striking again to parry the other. Back and forth we go, my sword clashing against her daggers. Our boots scuffing across the floor as our weapons swish through the air. Our shadows dancing across the walls, elegant and graceful but the source deadly and fearsome.

Our fight leads into the hall, the tension between us growing thicker as she tries to make for the balcony. Again I bring up my sword to block, but another wind gust blows me back. The doors flying open behind me, on instinct I reach out my hands and grab hold of the balcony rail. My sword falling onto the ground below. The Ghost whizzes past the doors and up the side of the mansion as I pull myself up and over the rail. 

I rush up the wall, just a couple feet behind her. The rain now striking my back with a vengeance. Now she runs across the roof with me in pursuit, and just as she reaches the edge I fling two serrated blades at her. The metal sinks into her cape, just as she jumps off. It brings her to a jarring stop, just as I skid to the edge of the roof. I see her swiftly unclasp the cloak, and then grab onto the shingled edge.

Water streams down her face and arms. The rivulets of water shining as the clouds above slowly part. Revealing the moon full and shining, bathing the tops of the building and us in its silver glow. Drawing my own set of blades from my belt, I gaze down at my infuriating foe.

"Why the mirror Ghost, why all the other treasures you could have taken, and yet this one you chose. Just like the other trinkets you've taken these past months."

My breath shaky from exertion as I speak.

"They are not what they seem Reaper," she drawls.

"They are meant to be held not by pampered nobles, but by the ones who will use them for the good of others."

"You have no idea how dangerous they are in the wrong hands. Especially by the nobility and their king."

"You lie, everyone knows King Renard despises magic," I say.

"Oh really," she says, laughing bitterly.

"Then how come just a week ago, the Duke of Rindhall was seen carrying in a small chest into the palace. A chest with silver light shining through the cracks."

"The only silver object that will go into the palace will be you weighed down with chains," I drawl.

"That's funny," she says, "I didn't realize the king would want my kind in there, and while I would love to see that beautiful place I unfortunately am expected elsewhere."

Before I can stop her, she lets go of the edge and her body plummets towards the ground. Suddenly wind blows into my face sending me reeling back. Somehow I keep my footing, and then my jaw nearly drops as I see the Ghost rise into the air. 

Wind and leaves whirl around her, making her hair flutter in the air. The cloth of her cloak and pants flaps from the gusts. Then thick clouds form around her, the gray mists encompassing her as she winks at me. The clouds soar high into the air disappearing from sight, the sky then darkening again with those ever present gray clouds. 

As my breath slows to a normal pace, I feel the weight of my failure fall on my shoulders like lead. I have learned about this thief though, how she fights, her powers, and of course what she looks like. The reports only had descriptions of a shadowy figure running off into the night. She will not escape me again, I will see to that.

"You can run Ghost, but you can't hide from a Reaper. No matter how much you try, you will not escape the grasp of the Hunter," I vow to the dark night.