Jonathan Moeller - The Ghosts 08 - Ghost in the Mask by Jonathan Moeller

suppose, to cut off his head…”
    “Captain.” 
    One of the Magisterial Guards approached, a hard-faced man with a shading of gray stubble.
    “Aye, Nicias,” said Corvalis, “what is it?”
    “Men in the trees ahead,” said Nicias, pointing. “I’m sure of it.” 
    Corvalis grunted and touched his sword hilt. “Highwaymen, likely. Or farmers with a little side business in banditry.” He raised his voice. “Spread out! Shields raised, and watch for arrows. Mistress.” He turned to Caina. “You would be safer in the carriage.”
    Caina spoke in the cold, haughty voice of Rania Scorneus. “I will watch from the carriage, captain. If these churls think to impede the progress of a sister of the Magisterium, they will find themselves sorely mistaken.” 
    “As you wish,” said Corvalis. Caina crossed to the carriage, climbed inside, and closed the door. She watched as the Magisterial Guards continued down the road, shields raised, swords in hand. If bandits lurked in the trees, the sight of so many armed men ought to discourage them. 
    She hoped.
    The carriage continued, and then a dozen men stepped from the trees on either side of the road. They wore the long tunics, vests, trousers, and boots favored by the Caerish hill tribes. The men carried short bows and spears, weapons common among hill bandits.
    But most bandits did not have Maatish hieroglyphs tattooed upon their foreheads. 
    The carriage came to a stop, and the Magisterial Guards lifted their weapons.
    “Welcome, travelers!” said the lead bandit, a huge man with graying red hair, his forehead and jaw marked with Maatish hieroglyphs. “You seem lost!”
    “On the contrary,” said Corvalis with an easy, dangerous smile, “I know exactly where we are. We are on the Emperor’s road, going about the lawful business of the Imperial Magisterium, and you are blocking our path.”
    “We are,” said the bandit leader. “This might be the Emperor’s highway, but these lands belong to Anubankh.” 
    Caina frowned. Halfdan had said the Ghosts of Calvarium had reported a cult worshipping in the hills near Caer Magia. But Caer Magia was a long way away. Had the cult spread so far? 
    Or had these bandits simply decided to take advantage of the disturbance?
    “Anubankh?” said Corvalis. “Who the devil is Anubankh? Sounds like a kind of Anshani sausage.”
    The bandit leader sneered. “His prophet is in the hills, and he’s got power. The prophet says the world is going to burn, that the Emperor and the Shahenshah and all the other kings will fall, and the Kingdom of the Rising Sun will rule over the earth, just as it did in ancient days.” He grinned. “So, we’re Anubankh’s men, and you’re going to hand over your wealth to us. Think of it as a sacrifice to the gods.” 
    “No,” said Corvalis. “I’ll give you one warning, dog. Clear the road for the magus’s carriage, or we’ll teach you some respect.”
    The bandit laughed. “You want to die, fool? My archers are in the trees. Take another step and they’ll feather you.” 
    Corvalis spat. “I doubt your arrows can penetrate our armor.”
    “Care to find out?” said the bandit.
    An idea came to Caina, and she palmed one of the small glass vials hidden up her sleeve. Then she took a deep breath, steadied herself, and climbed out of the carriage.
    “What is the meaning of this?” she shouted, using the theatrical voice Theodosia had taught her, making certain to keep her words harsh and cold. 
    Every eye turned towards her, both bandit and Magisterial Guard. She glanced at Corvalis, saw his puzzled expression. Caina strode past him and stopped before the bandit chief. He stood head and shoulders taller than she did, his face full of amused confidence, but she saw a hint of wariness there.
    Good.
    “Identify yourself,” she said.
    The bandit offered an ingratiating smile. “Mistress, if you…”
    “Identify yourself,” said Caina.
    “Ah…Currat, my lady,” said the