Ghost in the Flames (11 page)

Ark said nothing, but his eyebrows creased. 

Caina rubbed sweat from her forehead. “And how does Romarion tie into all of this?”

“Are you sure he’s involved?” 

“I’m certain he’s involved,” said Caina. “His name was in Vanio’s ledger, and you know what happened to Vanio. We need more information. Or we have too much information, and nothing to bind it together.” She shook her head, and took a quick look around. “We’d better get out of here. I’m exhausted. We were lucky only a small group came along.”

“It was my fault,” said Ark. “I should not have led us here.”

“I should have kept my wits about me,” said Caina. “I’m supposed to be the clever one.”

“You had just seen a man burn to death,” said Ark. “That was a horror. It would scramble anyone’s wits.”

“Horror. I ought to be used to horror by now,” said Caina. All at once her knees felt weak, and her hands started to shake. The memories stormed through her mind, finding her father in his study, her mother’s mocking laughter, and what had come afterwards. For a moment the memories flooded so vividly through her mind that she could not move. Except in her mind’s eye she saw her father burst into flames, screaming horribly, while her mother laughed. 

“Countess?” said Ark. “Countess!” He shook her shoulder, and Caina looked at him. She could only imagine what her expression must have looked like. Her eyes stung. Was she crying? No, she would not cry. She would not cry! It must have been the smoke from Ostros’s corpse, which was even worse. 

“We all have our horrors to remember,” he said. His face was haunted, bleak. He had been in the Legions for twenty years, and cried out the name of a woman in his sleep. Caina knew her horrors. She wondered what horrors Ark carried with him. 

“Yes,” whispered Caina. She closed her eyes, collected herself.  

“Damnable luck, though,” said Ark, steering her towards the street. “These men finding us here.”

“Oh, it wasn’t luck, I’m sure,” said Caina. “You saw how Gaidan was staring at me. He might have seen us run off. He probably sent a few of his followers to trail us, and they must have found us when we were running from Ostros’s body.” 

“But why kill you?” said Ark. “You only just arrived here.”

“Because they hate the Empire,” said Caina, “and Lord Nicephorus is too well guarded. I’m just a helpless woman with one guard. How does that Anshani proverb go? Kill the chicken while the monkey watches? But we’ve lingered too long. Let’s go.”

Ark held up a hand. “Wait. Someone’s coming.” He pressed against the wall. “Militia.” 

“Valgorix must have seen us running after Ostros, sent someone after us,” said Caina, tugging her sleeve to hide the knife sheaths strapped to her forearms. “We’ll tell him what you thought up, that Ostros tried to rob me and we chased him.”

“I hope he believes it,” said Ark. “We’ve run a long way.” 

He was right. It was a long way to run down a thief over a piece of stolen jewelry. And an Imperial Countess would not chase a thief.

“Carry me,” said Caina.

Ark looked shocked. “Excuse me?”

“We’ll tell them that we ran into the Sons of Corazain. They knocked me down and tried to kill me, but you drove them off. I am too frightened and shocked by the experience to move, so you gallantly decided to carry me. That will win their sympathy, and they’ll believe our story.”

“Ridiculous,” grumbled Ark. But he put one arm around her shoulders and the other below her knees, and lifted her as if she weighed nothing at all. “But after a few streets you’re going to feel better and insist that you can walk. You’ll say it’s beneath the dignity of an Imperial Countess to be carried through the streets like a bag of potatoes or some such excuse. Because I am not carrying you all the way back to the damned Inn, understand?”

“Agreed,” said Caina. She did feel ridiculous. But the ruse worked. When Valgorix himself hurried into the courtyard, at the head of twenty militiamen, he looked at the corpses, and then at her, and he yanked off his helm and walked over, swearing all the while. 

“What the hell are you two doing here?” he said. “I told you to stay off the streets, Countess. And now I find you surrounded by corpses in the middle of the slums!” 

“Watch your tone,” said Ark. 

Valgorix’s tired face reddened, and he looked as if he was about to order Ark arrested then and there.

“I’m sorry, Decurion,” said Caina, letting her voice tremble. “It’s just that after we looked at that dead body, a man knocked me down and took my brooch, and that brooch belonged to my mother. Ark chased him, and I followed, but…but I don’t know my way around the city, and I got lost. Then those…those men found me,” she glanced at the corpses and shuddered, “and they said I was Imperial swine and had no business in their city. Then they hit me and knocked me down and started kicking me. I was sure I was going to die. But Ark came and saved me.” 

Valgorix looked at the corpses. “You killed…all these men?” 

“My duty is to protect the Countess,” said Ark. “So I did what was necessary.” 

“They all have the tattoo, sir,” said one of the militiamen, kneeling by the bodies. 

“Gods,” said Valgorix. “Remind me not to get between you and your duty. We’d best get you back to the Inn. There’s been another burning murder, and word’s gotten out already. We’ll have a riot on our hands if we’re not careful.” 

“You mean the body by the Inn?” said Caina.

“No,” said Valgorix, shaking his head. “Another one. Found it just a few minutes ago, on the edge of the slums. It was still smoking. The poor fool had been cooked alive.” He gestured to his men. “Enough talking. We have work to do. We’ll escort your back to the Inn, Countess, but quickly. We’ll be needed to keep order on the streets soon enough.” 

###

It was almost dark by the time they returned to the Inn. Valgorix bid them a hasty farewell and left at once. Even during the walk back to the Inn of Mirrors Caina had seen Saddai men gathering on street corners, muttering to one another. She wondered how many of them had flame tattoos on their chests. 

When they came to the plaza below the Great Pyramid of Corazain, Caina saw that a crowd of several hundred people gathered before the Imperial Basilica. For a moment she thought that a riot had broken out, and Valgorix and his men readied their weapons. But Sister Tadaia stood on the steps of the Basilica, preaching. 

“Suffering is the very lot of all who live,” she called, her strong voice ringing over the plaza, “and we all suffer, aye, I deny it not. But suffering is the refining force of the Living Flame, to purify our souls for our next lives, and the next, until at last we can be one with the Living Flame for all time. But if you would ease your suffering, do not do so by creating more suffering. Stand with one another. Aid one another in your trials. Ease one another in your burdens, for by these acts you can refine your soul for the Living Flame.”

Many Saddai in the crowd nodded at her words. But more looked sullen, and quite a few looked downright angry. 

“She’s not going to be able to restrain them for much longer, is she?” Ark muttered.

Caina shook her head.

When they returned to her rooms, she told her maids what had happened, and they began to fuss over her. Caina made Ark go get something to eat and drink for himself, and let the maids draw a bath. She had a nasty purple-green bruise down her left hip and thigh, her legs were covered with scratches from rolling in the dirt, and every muscle in her body ached. She hoped she had broken no bones. 

A long soak in the hot water drained some of the ache away, and the dried blood dissolved from her fingers and nails. Afterwards Caina refused food and drink, wrapped herself in a heavy robe, and barred the door to her bedroom.

She sat with her head in her hands for a long time, trying not to weep, before she at last went to bed.

Chapter 11 - Ashbringers

Caina had nightmares. 

She had nightmares quite often, usually the same six or seven. Halfdan had once told her that while flesh carried scars, the mind carried nightmares, and some scars lingered longer than others. Caina had believed him. 

Her mind had a lot of scars.

In one nightmare she stepped over the men lying on the floor of her father’s villa, their glassy eyes staring at nothing, and she tried to race to her father’s study, but it kept getting farther and farther away. In another she stood in her father’s library, reaching for his chair. She knew the horror that would greet her when she turned his chair around, but she could never stop herself. In another she heard her mother’s final, shrill laughter over and over again. Sometimes she dreamt that she was alone and naked in the dark, while Maglarion and his necromancer students reached for her bare flesh with cold hands. 

But, tonight, a new nightmare. 

In this dream she walked through her father’s library, but the men on the floor were charred husks. Yet their eyes remained intact, and stared up at her. And when she entered her father’s study, her mother was waiting for her.

“You meddlesome little brat!” she screamed, and burst into flame. She lunged at Caina, opening wide her burning arms. Caina shrieked, but she could not move, and the flames reached out to consume her.

###

Caina sat up with a scream caught in her throat, the blankets falling away. She looked around in a wild panic, half-expecting to see the room on fire. But she only saw the morning sunlight coming through the balcony doorway. The Inn. Of course. Caina’s mouth compressed into a hard line, and for a moment she felt such fury that she could not think straight. 

Whoever had killed Ostros and the rest of the Rasadda circle would pay dearly. One did not do such things and live. Not while Caina yet drew breath. Caina stood, stretched, and her arms flowed into the opening stance of the Ghosts’ open-handed fighting style. She moved through the forms Halfdan and his various associates had taught her, the movements fluid and graceful with long practice. At first her arms and legs remained stiff and sore, but as she moved from the high blocks to the palm strikes to the stabbing elbows, the ache worked itself out. A second time she started, moving faster, her arms and feet a blur. 

When she finished, breathing hard, a thin sheen of sweat on her forehead, she felt better. Her mind was clear, and she knew what she must do. She washed her face and hair, put on a robe, and sat down to write two letters, sealing them with the signet ring of House Nereide. After they were written, she unbarred the door and went into the sitting room. 

Ark sat in a corner, facing the door, his broadsword on his lap and a whetstone in his hand. The stone made a grim, rasping noise as it slid down the blade. Anya hurried over, face expectant. 

“My lady,” said Anya. “Do you wish some breakfast?”

“Yes,” said Caina, “but have Julia or Cornelia do it. I need you for something else, and Ark as well.”

Ark rose, sheathed his sword, and crossed the room to join them. 

“Put on your finest clothes,” said Caina, handing Anya the letters, “and deliver these. Ark will accompany you, since I don’t want you wandering the city alone.”

Ark frowned, but Anya asked, “Where should the letters go, my lady?”

“Take the first to the house of Septimus Romarion, a merchant of the city,” said Caina. “You will take the second to the chapterhouse of the Magisterium. Both are nearby, and Sairzan can give you directions.” 

“Of course, my lady,” said Anya. 

Ark lifted an eyebrow.

“Both Romarion and the masters of the Magisterium graciously invited me to dine with them,” said Caina, “and it would be churlish to decline, would it not?” Ark looked puzzled, even a bit annoyed, but Caina was not going to explain herself in front of the maids. They had seen her do too much already.

Anya left with Ark, and Cornelia brought a plate of bread, bacon, and fruit, with a pitcher of mixed wine. Caina retrieved the book she had purchased from the peddler about Corazain and the Battle of Rasadda, and sat down to read while she ate. Cornelia seemed shocked that Caina would read at the table, but at least she kept her mouth shut. 

Caina had only given the book an idle glance on the road, but the experiences of the last few days had added meaning to the words, and she read with interest. The Emperor and the Magisterium, the book claimed, had waged war against the sorcerer-kings of the Saddai for centuries, driving the Ashbringers back step by step even as their pyromancy turned the plains to ash and the forests to charcoal. Entire cities were put to the sword, or devoured in storms of raging, spell-driven flame, their citizens transformed into living, shrieking candles.

She remembered Ostros’s death, and shuddered.

At last the Emperor Crisius besieged Corazain, King of the Saddai and last of the Ashbringers, within Rasadda. Corazain, it seemed, had already raised his great tomb, anticipating defeat at the hands of the Empire. Even as Crisius broke down the gates, Corazain withdrew to the pyramid’s apex, his followers gathered around him.

“Hear me well, my children,” the book recorded him as saying. “For the Empire is upon us, and all is lost. But by the wrath of the Burning Flame, we shall have our revenge. You shall see the unveiled fury of an Ashbringer, and tremble! Defeated we may be, but we shall have revenge. For I shall return from death one day, and bring ruin upon the Empire, and lead the Saddai people to glory.” 

And Corazain cast his final spell, devouring himself in the flames of his pyramid’s funeral pyre. But death unleashed the full fury of his arcane power, and his wrath exploded in a firestorm unequaled by any before. Flames erupted from the earth, and fire poured from the very sky itself. Two-thirds of Rasadda burned, Caina read, and most of the city’s population perished in the holocaust. Her mouth twisted in contempt. The great hero of the Saddai had roasted most of his people alive. Over a hundred thousand Imperial legionaries died in the flames, along with most of the Magisterium’s masters, and Crisius died of his burns soon thereafter. The Empire fell into a century and a half of civil war as the noble Houses squabbled for the Imperial throne, but the Ashbringers and their pyromancy had been destroyed, never to rise again. 

Caina closed the book, unsettled. Corazain had possessed the power to kill a quarter of a million people? Men had been dying one by one in Rasadda, but suppose the murderer grew stronger? She crossed to the window and looked at the great black bulk of Corazain’s pyramid. In her mind’s eye she saw it wreathed in flame, tens of thousands of men screaming as Ostros had screamed. The image disturbed her, and she looked away. 

She doubted Corazain had the power to return, after so long. Caina knew that a necromancer could use his black and forbidden science to cheat death –she had seen Maglarion do it with her own eyes- but she doubted an Ashbringer could do the same. Yet suppose some Saddai priest had rediscovered the secrets of pyromancy, and now presented himself to the Saddai peasants as Corazain reborn? Brutalized by Nicephorus’s tyranny, they would be easy prey for his lies. 

But where would a Saddai priest have learned fire sorcery? Pyromancy, Ephaeron and Kalastus had said, was a magical science forbidden to the Magisterium. But so was necromancy, and all the necromancers Caina had ever encountered or heard about had been former brothers of the Magisterium. 

“You seem distressed, my lady,” said Cornelia. The older woman sat in a corner, embroidering. She was quite good at it, actually.

“I am,” said Caina. “There is much wrong with this city, and it troubles me.”

“A husband would do much to ease your mind.”

Caina chose to ignore that. “Tell me. How long have you lived in Saddai Province?”

Cornelia’s needle hesitated for a bit, then resumed. “Most of my life. My husband was a discharged veteran from the legions, and I followed him to Mors Crisius. Unfortunately, the fever took him ten years ago, poor man.”

“In your time here,” said Caina, “have you ever heard the Saddai refer to their god as the Burning Flame?”

“My lady shouldn’t concern herself with the customs of these uncivilized folk.”

“I am curious,” said Caina. “Indulge me.” 

Cornelia frowned, her needle slowing. “You know…I’m not certain. They’ve always called their god the Living Flame, at least in my hearing. But from time to time I’ve heard about religious squabbles among the Saddai. It may have had something to do with the title of their god, I suppose.” 

“Thank you,” said Caina. She sat back down to finish her breakfast and resumed paging through the book. A short time later Anya entered the room and did a curtsey.

“It’s done, my lady,” said Anya. She handed over two formal letters. “Both Master Romarion and the magi sent back word. Master Romarion hopes to dine with you tomorrow evening, and the masters of the magi the night after that.”

“Very good,” said Caina, looking around for Ark. 

“I’d never seen a place so strange as the inside of the Magisterium chapterhouse, my lady,” said Anya. “All those lights…are they truly magical?”

“They are enspelled, yes,” said Caina. “The magi use their arcane science to make the lights glow.”

“Unnatural folk,” muttered Cornelia. For once, Caina found herself in complete agreement with the older woman. 

“I thought they were pretty,” said Anya.

“Thank you, Anya,” said Caina. “Where did Ark get to?”

“Oh,” said Anya, “he left.”

Caina blinked. “He made you walk back here alone?” 

“Oh, no, my lady,” said Anya. “He brought me back to the Inn, and then went about his business.”

“Business?” said Caina.

“He said you had given him tasks, and that he would return once they were accomplished,” said Anya. She wilted a bit. “Did…did I do something wrong, my lady?” 

“No,” said Caina, “you did well. Thank you again.”

She stared at the book for a moment, puzzled. What was Ark doing? Had he decided to strike out on his own? He disliked her, she knew, but so far he had always listened to reason. Or had Ostros’s death upset him more than she had thought? 

He had been adamant in his belief that Gaidan and the Sons of Corazain were behind the murders. Had he gone to take justice into his own hands? Maybe Ark was right, and Gaidan was really guilty. Yet Caina doubted it. It just did not feel right. Perhaps Gaidan was involved, but Caina suspected the truth was deeper, darker, than just a disgruntled rebel with some skill at sorcery. And if he was innocent, and Ark killed him, his murder might very well touch off a revolt.

Or had Ark been killed? Might his burned corpse now lie smoldering in an alley?

Damn him. Not for the first time, Caina wished that Halfdan had sent her alone, or given her a different contact in Rasadda. But all the other Ghosts in Rasadda had been murdered. And Ark had saved her life, twice. She sighed again, and wished that she knew what to do.

“Is my lady upset?” said Anya.

“No,” said Caina, “merely tired.”

She resumed reading, paging through the book, turning the facts over and over in her head. A few hours later a knock came at the door. Julia opened it, and Sairzan the innkeeper entered, bowing in Caina’s direction. After him came a Saddai peasant clutching a roll of paper in one hand. 

“Begging your pardon, my lady,” said Sairzan, “but this man here claims to have a message for you.” 

“Do you?” said Caina. “Come here.”

The Saddai peasant came closer, looking nervous. His loose shirt and vest hung open in the front, and Caina saw no sign of a flame tattoo on his chest. He made a quick bow and set the roll of grimy paper on the table. “Your guardsman gave me a coin to bring you this, my lady.”

“So he did,” said Caina, unrolling the paper. The message was in High Nighmarian, written in hard, blocky script.

“Countess,” read the message. “For haughtily the stag runs, yet the wolves watch unseen from the shadows. The Pyramid of Arzaidanir. The Lane of Ashes. The Ninth House. Midnight. Your servant, Ark.” 

“Thank you,” said Caina. “Give the man a coin, Cornelia, and see him on his way.”

“Was the message from Ark, my lady?” said Anya after Sairzan and the peasant left.

“It was,” said Caina. “He did what I sent him to do.” Or, at least, she hoped that he hadn’t done anything rash. 

She spent the rest of the day in the sitting room, reading, while her maids attended to minor tasks and amused themselves with gossip. Shortly after dinner, Caina stood and said, “Tomorrow will be a long day, I think, and I am still weary from yesterday. I will go to bed early.” Caina bid them good night, refused their offers of help, and barred the bedroom door behind her. 

She lay down and went to sleep for a few hours. Whatever Ark had in mind, Caina suspected, was bound to be exhausting.

When she awoke it was dark outside, save for the endless funeral pyres atop the black pyramids. Caina rose and dressed in her loose black nightfighter garb, slipping the mask around her face and pulling the cowl of her shadowy cloak low. She felt better with the knives strapped to her forearms, and the belt of weapons and other useful tools around her waist. The weight of steel felt reassuring. 

Once she was ready, Caina strode onto the balcony, hooked one of her grapnels to the stone railing, slid down the slender rope, and vanished into Rasadda’s shadow-choked night. 

Ark’s message had been in code. “For haughtily the stag runs, yet the wolves watch unseen from the shadows.” That was a line of Nighmarian poetry from the earliest days of the Empire. The Ghosts used it when they planned to spy upon a target. The Pyramid was the tomb of Arzaidanir, one of Corazain’s predecessors, and stood in the heart of Rasadda’s slums. The Lane of Ashes, Caina presumed, was a street that ran below Arzaidanir’s pyramid, and she assumed that Ark wanted to meet there.

Unless the message had been faked, of course. Or if Ark had indeed become a traitor to the Ghosts, though Caina doubted it after seeing Ostros’s murder. Her gloved hand dipped into her cloak, brushing the throwing knives sheathed at her belt.