Ghost in the Cowl (25 page)

A half-dozen amphorae of Hellfire fell to the floor, cracks spreading across their surface. 

Agabyzus made a strangled noise of sheer terror.

Hot pain stabbed through Caina’s side, and she looked down and saw a small crimson flame dancing over her leather armor. One droplet of Hellfire had spattered here. In sudden terror she ripped off her armor and flung it aside. It erupted into flame as she threw it, and came to a stop next to Ricimer’s burning corpse. If Hellfire started leaking from the damaged amphorae…

Without a word, both she and Agabyzus ran for the Hellfire laboratory.

The great machine continued its work unabated. The acolytes toiled around the massive apparatus, casting spells and pouring strange fluids and powders into its pipes and boilers. The two Immortals stood guard at the door, and both drew their scimitars as Caina and Agabyzus approached. 

For a moment the acolytes and the Immortals stood stunned, staring.

“Run, you fools!” said Caina. “The Hellfire is burning. Run before it is too late!” 

They kept staring at her, and then a burst of hot wind came from the doorway to the storeroom, followed by a flare of blood-colored light. 

“Gods!” screamed one of the acolytes. “The storeroom's on fire! The storeroom's on…”

“Run for it!” bellowed another man. 

As one the acolytes fled toward the door. The crimson fire at the machine’s heart began to throb and pulse, as if the fire elemental saw an opportunity for escape. The Immortals hesitated, looked toward the storeroom, and then fled as well. 

Caina and Agabyzus followed them as a howling roar rose from the heart of the machine. The air grew hot, so hot that Caina’s eyes watered, and the sensation of sorcerous force against her skin redoubled. She suspected the spilled Hellfire was reacting to the air, and the gods only knew what the alchemical apparatus in the laboratory would do if left untended. 

They raced down the stairs. Screams and shouts rose from the courtyard, the sounds of panic echoing through the tower. They reached the great hall, and the acolytes and the Immortals joined the terrified slaves fleeing from the kitchens and the storerooms. Order had been abandoned, and every man fled for his own life.

Caina and Agabyzus reached the courtyard as the mercenaries ran from the walls, sprinting through the gate. Caina risked a look up, and saw the top of the laboratory tower wreathed in a crimson halo of bloody fire. Next to her a slave stumbled and fell, and Caina helped him up, urging him along with a push. They raced through the gate and into the darkened countryside, the slaves and the Immortals and the acolytes and the mercenaries fleeing in all directions.

“Which way?” gasped Agabyzus, his bare feet skidding and slipping against the ground. 

“Away from the Tower!” said Caina, shooting a glance over her shoulder. Crimson flames danced atop all three of the drum towers now, painting the sea around them the color of blood. A hot gale blew from the Widow’s Tower, so hot that sweat poured down her chest and shoulders. “Keep running!”

They sprinted forward another few steps, and then the earth dropped out beneath Caina’s feat. 

The world turned the color of blood. 

The titanic thunderclap hit her, so loud that it felt as if her ears had burst. A wall of dust and a screaming gale of hot air followed a second later, and Caina curled up into a ball, head buried in her knees, arms wrapped around her legs as the wind howled past. Still the ground shook and heaved, and she heard the sound of debris raining around her. For a terrified moment Caina wondered if the world was about to burn, that the Hellfire had reacted with the damaged Mirror of Worlds to create a sorcerous cataclysm that would devour all of Istarinmul.

Bit by bit the shaking stopped, and the thunderous roar faded away. At last Caina dared to open her eyes.

The Widow’s Tower was gone.

And so was a large portion of the finger of rock upon which it had stood. 

It its place rose a pillar of black smoke, lit from within by hellish flame. The sea around it boiled and hissed, a great plume of steam rising alongside the hellish smoke. Even from this distance, Caina felt the heat against her body. She grew lightheaded, and drew back her shadow-cowl and tugged off her mask, raking a hand over the sweaty stubble of her hair. 

“Gods,” croaked Caina at last. “If they could see me now.” Corvalis and Halfdan had teased her for setting fire to buildings, but she had never done anything like this. She giggled a bit at the thought, then got ahold of herself. Fear, exertion, and the sheer heat were making her giddy. She had to get away from the inferno. Everyone for a dozen miles had likely seen the explosion, and the Padishah and the Grand Wazir and the College and the Brotherhood and the gods knew who else would send men to investigate. Best to be well away by then.

Agabyzus. Had he survived? It would be a cruel fate to escape from the Tower only to have his head smashed open by a piece of shattered masonry.

But he stood staring at the pillar of flame and smoke, his mouth hanging open.

“You blew it up,” he whispered. 

“Not really,” said Caina. “I just spilled some Hellfire.”

Agabyzus opened his mouth again, closed it, shook his head. For the first time since she had met him, he seemed at a loss for words.

“We should go,” said Caina.

He looked at her, his eyes growing wide with astonishment.

Caina realized she had forgotten to use her disguised voice. And her tunic was drenched with sweat and sticking to her, and the hot wind had thrown her shadow-cloak back.

“You’re a woman,” he said.

“All my life,” said Caina.

“But…this entire time?” said Agabyzus. “You were a woman? The whole time?”

Caina scowled. “It’s not as if I just started, you know.” 

They stared at each other.

Then Agabyzus started to laugh, his eyes watering, his thin body trembling. The sight was so absurd that Caina stared to laugh as well, and soon they both stood shaking, laughing like lunatics. 

“I’m sorry,” said Agabyzus, wiping at his eyes. “I’m sorry. I…I don’t know why this is so funny. I thought I was going to die in the Tower.”

“It’s not,” said Caina. “It’s not funny at all.”

“It’s just…I thought Ricimer would kill me, or turn me into one of his pet monsters,” said Agabyzus. “I never thought I would be recused by a woman in a shadow-cloak.” 

For some reason that set them both to laughing.

“We really have to get moving,” said Caina once they calmed down. “Standing next to the wreckage of the Widow’s Tower is not a safe place for the only two Ghosts in Istarinmul.” 

“Yes, you’re right,” said Agabyzus. “Lead on. I owe you my life and freedom, it seems…and I shall do whatever you ask of me.” 

“First, let’s go home,” said Caina.

“Home?” said Agabyzus. 

Caina smiled. “I think I know someone who will be glad to see you.”

###

It was almost dawn by the time Caina walked through the door of the House of Agabyzus. The slaves were tidying up, preparing for the patrons who would soon come for their morning coffee. They talked as they worked, sharing rumors of what had happened last night. The Magisterium of the Empire and the Alchemists had dueled outside the city walls. No, the ancient Ashbringers of old had risen in wrath to rebuild their Empire. No, the Shahenshah had invaded with a vast force of horsemen and occultists from the south, and soon would lay siege to the walls of Istarinmul itself. 

Caina hurried Agabyzus through the common room before the slaves could notice their former master and into Damla’s office. Damla sat at the desk, making notes in her ledger, and shot to her feet when Caina closed the door behind her.

“Ciara!” she said. “You are alive. You said you were going into danger…by the Living Flame, half the city saw the explosion! The Widow’s Tower, burned to embers and glass! It had to have been you.” Her eyes passed over the dirty, half-starved man behind her, unrecognizing. “It was you?”

Caina nodded. 

“What did you do?” said Damla.

“I found someone you might know,” said Caina.

Damla looked at Agabyzus…and her eyes slowly widened.

“Sister,” said Agabyzus.

“Brother?” she whispered.

Agabyzus nodded, his ragged beard scratching against his scarred chest.

A moment later they embraced each other, weeping.

“Ghost,” whispered Damla. “I was wrong. You did bring me a second miracle. Thank you.” 

Chapter 22 - New Circle

Caina spent all that day and night in her bed in the House of Agabyzus. 

After the euphoria of escape faded, she was utterly exhausted. She had pushed herself hard, trailing Yunus and finding a way into the Widow’s Tower, and the day’s exertions had not helped. She pulled off her sweat-sodden clothes and paused long enough to clean the cuts she had taken from the flying glass. Bruises covered her hips and back from her falls, and it seemed as if every bone in her body ached. 

But she was still alive…and no one else would ever die in the Widow’s Tower. 

That was something, at least.

Caina collapsed into bed and fell asleep.

###

And as she expected, she dreamed once more of the burning city and the desert of crystalline pillars, the blue fire blazing in the hand of the cloaked man. 

Caina stood on the desert plain, the crystal pillars rising around her, and saw the man with the eyes of smokeless flame. This time he wore the form of the Emperor, tall and stark in his black robe. 

“Well, well, my darling slayer of demons,” said the Emperor in a sardonic drawl, “here you still are. I confess, I am quite amazed. I thought the Widow’s Tower would be the death of you. Yet here you are. Remarkable indeed. I suppose you have questions for me? It is your nature. So many questions, and so few answers.” 

Caina thought for a moment.

“Thank you,” she said at last.

For the first time, the Emperor looked taken aback.

“For what?” he said.

“For warning me about the daevagoths,” said Caina. “They would have taken me by surprise and killed me otherwise.”

“Ah,” said the Emperor. “I am surprised. You mortals are so intransigent in your ingratitude. Thankfulness is a rare quality among you.”

“Mortals?” said Caina. “Then you are a spirit?”

“We all have spirits,” said the Emperor with a smile. 

“Then who are you?” said Caina. 

“Suffice it to say,” said the Emperor, “that I am an exile. Like you, really. And like you, I want to go home.”

Caina said nothing.

“You could go home, you know,” said the Emperor. “Any moment you wanted. There is no one stopping you. Disguise yourself, take the fortune you have stolen, and create a new life for yourself in Malarae. Or even in Arretia, if you wish. Go back to the town of your birth and rebuild your father’s villa. Sit upon the terrace with wine and a book and watch the ships sail the Bay of Empire.” 

“You know a great deal about me,” said Caina.

“I simply read what I see,” said the Emperor, “what is written upon your aura like letters of blood scribed upon the pages of a book. Oh, but you have some shadows upon you, my dear child. Shadows from your past...and shadows yet to come. Little wonder you so frightened those poor wraithblood addicts.” 

Caina frowned. “That’s what happens to them? They can see my aura?”

“In a way,” said the Emperor, “and you, my darling demonslayer, have a rather more…frightening aura than most. But that need not concern you. Get on a ship and go home, and you will never again see a wraithblood addict.” 

Caina said nothing.

“But you won’t, will you?” said the man with the eyes of smokeless flame. “Because it is a mystery. An injustice. You can no more turn away from those things than a starving man from a banquet. All those slaves murdered, and to what end? The truth will compel you to find it.” He smiled. “And you will not be able to stop yourself from fighting it.”

“Why don’t you simplify matters,” said Caina, “and just tell me what is happening?”

“If you are truly the one I have sought,” said the Emperor, “if you are truly the Balarigar, then you will find the truth without my aid.”

“Damn it all!” said Caina in exasperation. “There’s no such thing as the Balarigar. It is a myth of the Szalds.”

The Emperor tittered. “Both Ricimer and the nagataaru that inhabited him might have something to say about that.”

Caina frowned. “That…thing inside Ricimer, the spirit. The nagataaru. Was it truly a demon?”

“What is a demon?” said the Emperor. “That is merely the word mortals use to describe spirits that wish them ill. And the nagataaru was a spirit, and it most certainly intended you ill. So ‘demon’ would be as accurate a term as any, I suppose.”

“How did it get inside him?” said Caina.

“By the simplest way possible,” said the Emperor. “He put it there deliberately.”

“Why?” said Caina. 

“You might find out soon,” said the Emperor. “You have impressed me, Caina Amalas the demonslayer, and that does not happen often. So I shall give you a warning. Beware Callatas.”

“I imagine the destruction of the Widow’s Tower irritated him,” said Caina.

The Emperor cackled. “More than you can imagine, and it inconvenienced him considerably. But it will not stop him. Oh, you have never fought a foe like him, not truly. The Moroaica was the most powerful sorceress in the world…but in her heart she was a wounded little girl, trying to create a perfect world to avenge her slain father. Callatas is something else. He has murdered hundreds of thousands without hesitation. He has enslaved generations beyond count, and he has great power. You have annoyed him, and he will come for you.” 

“If he can find me,” said Caina. 

“Ah,” said the Emperor. “That is the spirit. So to speak. Sleep well, my dear demonslaying child. You shall certainly need your rest.”

The dream faded into nothingness. 

###

Caina awoke with the sun in her eyes, blinked, and reached for Corvalis.

She stopped herself.

He was not there. He would never be there again, and she could hardly function if she spent the first hour of every day weeping. Sometimes she missed him so badly that it felt as if she were dying of thirst…but she could not afford to collapse the way she had that first night in the Sanctuary.

She had too much work to do. 

The strange words of the man with the eyes of smokeless flame echoed inside her head.

“Couldn’t they just write letters?” muttered Caina.

She sat up, rubbed her face, and got dressed. 

###

It was mid-morning by the time Caina descended to the common room, and most of the morning patrons had cleared out.

There was a new decree fixed to the door.

Caina examined it. The decree proclaimed that the criminal and assassin known as the Balarigar was wanted for the destruction of the Widow’s Tower. Apparently one of the escaping Immortals had indeed seen her shadow-cloak. At least they had not tracked Caina back to the House of Agabyzus. The decree also offered a reward for the Balarigar’s capture or death.

A quarter of a million bezants.

Dead or alive.

“I did indeed annoy him,” muttered Caina. In addition to the quarter of a million bezants, the decree also promised the favor of the Grand Wazir, Master Alchemist Callatas, and the Slavers’ Brotherhood for anyone who brought the Balarigar to justice. 

“You do have a knack for disguise,” said a man’s voice with a thick Sarbian accent. “I barely recognized you.” 

Caina whirled, reaching for one of the knives hidden up her coat sleeve. A tall, thin man in the robes of a Sarbian desert nomad came into the common room, his graying hair hidden beneath a turban. It took a moment, but Caina recognized him and relaxed.

“You also have a knack for it,” said Caina.

“Thank you,” said Agabyzus. “Not all my skills went to rust. Come. Let us have a cup of coffee, and speak of the future.”

“A sound plan,” said Caina.

They claimed a booth, and Damla came to join them, bearing a plate of food.

“Eat, eat,” she urged Agabyzus. “You are half-starved.”

He smiled. “You shall fatten me up.”

“Just as well. That would keep you out of trouble, I think,” said Damla. She smiled as she said it, but her eyes were sad. 

“Damla has told me,” said Agabyzus, “of everything you did for her. For my nephews. Thank you…Ciara or Marius or whatever I should call you. Among the Istarish, bonds of blood are sacred. Thank you for their lives.”

“And thank you for my brother’s life,” said Damla. “You could have left him in that horrible place, and I would have never known.” 

“Then I would have had to live with that for the rest of my days,” said Caina, “and I would prefer to avoid that.”

Though given the enormous size of the price upon her head and the powerful enemies she had made, she might not have many days left. 

“Will you be circlemaster once more?” said Caina. “It is your rightful place.”

“No,” said Agabyzus. “I failed. Nor will I take my own name, but I will live in disguise. Most likely Callatas and the Teskilati think I perished in the Widow’s Tower…but if they learn I survived, they will come for us. Damla and the boys would be in danger. No. Better to remain dead.” He looked her in the eye. “You are the circlemaster of Istarinmul now.”

“And what shall you do?” said Caina.

“I will be your nightkeeper,” said Agabyzus. “I have lived in Istarinmul all my life, and I know many things and many people. If you continue on your course, you shall need help, and I will gladly furnish it.”

“And as will I,” said Damla. “I always knew my brother had serious business in the shadows…but I know what it is now. I am neither a spy nor an assassin or…well, whatever it is you are, Ciara. But I hear many things, and I shall pass them on to you.” 

“Thank you,” said Caina, voice quiet. “But you needn’t put yourself at risk, either of you.”

“Yet we already are at risk, are we not?” said Damla. “These…these terrible things the Alchemists are doing…”

“I don’t think it’s all of them,” said Caina, glancing around. No one was close enough to overhear. “I think it’s just a faction, Callatas and his followers. They’re doing something, whatever it is, and they don’t want anyone else to know about it.”

“The nagataaru,” said Agabyzus.

Damla shivered. “Such a terrible thing. A children’s story. The warrior spirits of the Demon Princes of old. Sulaman could tell you an epic of their defeat, if you paid him enough.” 

“Why?” said Agabyzus. “Why summon evil creatures from the netherworld? Why bind them? And why create the wraithblood?”

“I don’t know,” said Caina.

They sat in silence for a moment. 

“But you intend to find out, don’t you?” said Damla at last.

“Yes,” said Caina. 

Perhaps it was merely a way to distract her from the grief. Perhaps the man with the burning eyes was right, and she was unable to turn away from a puzzle, a mystery. 

But she thought of the dead slaves upon the steel tables, their corrupted blood dripping into metal troughs. The bones and the rotting corpses strewn across the beach below the Tower.

Caina would not let that pass.

She could not. 

“Yes,” she said. “I do.”

“And we shall help you, if you will let us,” said Agabyzus, and Damla nodded.

Caina looked at them both, at her nightkeeper and her informant.

At her new Ghost circle. 

“I would be glad of it,” said Caina.

###

That night she sat in the common room and watched the crowds. Sulaman had returned to his dais and recited an epic of Istarr and the seven Demon Princes, Mazyan scowling as he kept a slow rhythm upon his drum. 

Caina accepted a cup of coffee from a slave and looked at the patrons.

There was something wrong in Istarinmul, and no one knew it yet. 

Only Caina and Damla and Agabyzus knew. 

But they would find the truth, she vowed.

Caina got to her feet and went to work.