Ghost in the Flames (16 page)

“Absolutely not. The Ashbringers are extinct, Countess. The Magisterium saw to that after the Saddai war, after Corazain himself was killed. And a good thing, too.” His eyes turned distant. “If our records are correct, the Ashbringers were…insane. Raving madmen. Men who killed at whim. But powerful, though. Corazain killed every last living thing in Rasadda to empower his final spell. The Ashbringers worshipped the Burning Flame, a god even more implausible than the gods of the Empire, and sought to set the world aflame at his command.”

“The Burning Flame?” said Caina. “I have never heard that name before. I thought the Saddai referred to their god as the Living Flame.”

“They do now,” said Kalastus, making a dismissive gesture. “From what I understand, it was a theological dispute among the Saddai. A schism of sorts. Some interpreted their god as the Living Flame, and others as the Burning Flame. Those who espoused the way of the Living Flame eventually won out.” He laughed. “Especially since the Magisterium slaughtered the Ashbringers and all others who favored the path of the Burning Flame.” 

“I see,” said Caina. “Master Kalastus, you set my mind at ease.” She let a little quiver into her voice. “So…there’s no way pyromancy could have been used in these terrible murders? I needn’t fear being burned to death in my sleep.”

“Absolutely not,” said Kalastus. “I have told you before, Countess. There are no more pyromancers.”

Caina, who had seen Ostros burn to death, knew better. 

“It vexes me to no end that people can even think that,” said Kalastus. “It merely proves that the Magisterium should rule the Empire.” 

Caina blinked. “The Magisterium did rule the Empire, once, and were overthrown, if I remember my history aright.”

“You do,” said Kalastus. “And the rule of the magi was a golden age.” Caina had read rather differently, but said nothing. “A time of unprecedented order and prosperity. And it can be so again. The Lords of the Empire are corrupt, blind fools. The Emperor is weak. The Empire of Nighmar needs better rulers. And who better than men whose minds have been trained to the pinnacle of reason, men who are steeped in the arcane sciences?” His eyes glittered. “We can reshape the Empire. We can even reshape the world.” 

Caina thought that a drunken pickpocket would make a better ruler than the masters of the Magisterium, but she said nothing. She wanted to find an excuse to leave. 

“You ought to marry a magus,” said Kalastus. He took a long drink of wine. 

Caina desperately hoped that Kalastus did not have himself in mind. “Oh? Why is that, learned master?” 

“The Magisterium ruled the Empire once before,” said Kalastus, “and it shall be so again. Sooner or later. As the wife to a magus, you would command great respect and power. Perhaps you even have skill for sorcery that you have not realized, hmm? Both men and women may join the Magisterium, though few women do so.”

“My father,” said Caina, “will have to make the final decision, of course.”

They ate in silence for a moment. 

“You are so lovely,” said Kalastus. 

“Thank you,” said Caina, disquieted. 

“I mean that truly,” said Kalastus. “You will see.” His fingers moved, and he began muttering under his breath.

Caina felt her skin begin to crawl, and felt a surge of alarm. He was casting a spell at her, and she reached for one of the knives strapped to her forearm. Then Kalastus moved his hand in a sweeping gesture, and a strange, placid calm fell over Caina. She settled back into her chair with a relaxed sigh, all the tension leaving her body. 

Something was terribly wrong, she knew, yet somehow it did not seem to trouble her.

“So lovely,” murmured Kalastus. He gestured again. “Stand.”

That seemed like a splendid idea. Caina stood.

“Come here,” said Kalastus, beckoning. Caina walked to join him, and Kalastus stood. He seized her shoulders and pulled her close, running hands up and down her.

Something was very wrong, but Caina still could not place it. 

“Yes,” muttered Kalastus, making another gesture. He stepped back. “Open your clothes for me.” 

That seemed like another good idea. Caina’s fingers worked at her bodice, undoing the laces, until she pulled the front of her gown open. Kalastus stared at her for a moment, smiling, then stepped forward and put his hands on her breasts. His pupils shrank, his breathing coming hard and sharp, and sweat stood out on his forehead. 

His concentration wavered, and some of the placid calm smothering her splintered.

In a horrified rush she realized what was happening. He had pushed his sorcery into her mind, dulling her thoughts, numbing her emotions, and making her susceptible to his commands. Kalastus pushed his face against hers and put a rough, wet kiss on her mouth. Caina wanted to pull away, tried to pull away, but she could not. Kalastus’s will held her mind fast, kept her from breaking away. 

But he had reached into her mind. That meant there was an excellent chance he could feel whatever she felt. It took every ounce of effort she could muster, but she dragged her hand to the right, till it hung over the table. 

Directly over one of the candle flames. 

“I can feel you struggling,” murmured Kalastus, still fondling her breast. “You shouldn’t. It will go easier on you.” A stab of pain shot up Caina’s hand. “Or it can be rough for you. It…ahh!” He wrenched his hand back and looked at it, stunned.

And the strange calm filling Caina’s mind vanished as Kalastus’s concentration broke.

He was standing right in front of her, so Caina slammed her forehead into his face. Kalastus’s head snapped back, and she heard his nose break. His hands flew to his face, so Caina punched him in the gut. Master of arcane science Kalastus might have been, but he knew nothing of hand-to-hand fighting. He doubled over, and Caina kicked his legs out from under him. Kalastus fell with a strangled groan, and Caina kicked him in the face. Again. And again. And again. 

Then Kalastus screamed a word and thrust out his palm. Caina just had time to feel her skin tingle before an invisible force slammed into her, throwing her back. It flung her the length of the room, smashing her into the opposite wall. She felt the invisible weight of Kalastus’s sorcery pressing down upon her, crushing her, her ribs creaking with the strain. Kalastus staggered to his feet, his face bloody, his eyes wild with rage.

“You dare to strike me?” he screamed. 

“I dared only to strike a craven fool!” Caina spat back at him, too furious to care. “A murderer and scoundrel and a liar, just like every other magus!” 

“You dare!” roared Kalastus. There was no hint of rationality in his face, only molten rage. He stalked towards her, He was not going to try and force himself on her, Caina saw. He was going to kill her. She could not pull away from the wall, but she jerked her leg up, her hand curling around the hilt of the dagger in her boot. If he came within reach she would ram the blade right through his eye. 

Kalastus began to snarl an incantation, pointing at her, and Caina’s skin began to tingle so violently it felt as if someone had jabbed needles into her arm. Kalastus moved closer, almost within reach, and Caina’s hand tightened around the dagger…

The door banged open. Ark stepped into the room, broadsword in hand, and looked back and forth between them. Kalastus froze, his hand still hooked into a claw, and the tingling against Caina’s skin began to subside.

“What’s going on here?” Ark said. 

Some hint of reason returned to Kalastus’s eyes, and he stepped back. The invisible pressure pinning Caina to the wall vanished, and she struggled to keep her balance, breathing hard. 

“What is this?” said Ark. He looked at Caina, saw the front of her bodice hanging open, and seemed shocked. 

“We’re leaving,” said Caina, still glaring at Kalastus, “now.” She tugged at the front of her gown, holding it closed. “Right now.”

Kalastus said nothing, his bruised face filled with enraged, poisonous hate. Caina thought he would raise his hand and began another spell, but he said nothing, did nothing.

She turned and left, Ark following her. 

Chapter 16 - Confessions

“What happened?” said Ark. 

Caina said nothing as she hurried into the night, still holding her gown closed. The coach was nowhere in sight. She pointed at one of the black-armored Magisterial Guards with her free hand. “You. Where is my coach?”

The Guard blinked. “It…ah, we it sent around to our stables, my lady…”

“Get it! Now!” said Caina, fumbling her bodice closed. “No, have it sent to the Inn of Mirrors. I’m not spending another minute in this wretched place.” The Guard gaped at her. “Are you deaf? Are you too stupid to understand me? Go!” 

The Guard bowed and hurried away. Caina stalked down the stairs, intending to walk the rest of the way back to the Inn. Ark hurried after her, hand still on his sword hilt. 

“What happened?” said Ark, again.

Caina did not answer. She did not trust herself to speak. Not since the night of her father’s death had any enemy gotten so far within her defenses. Kalastus had frightened her badly, and that filled her with choking fury. She kept walking, almost running, and had gotten nearly a hundred yards by the time Ark caught up to her. 

“Stop!” snapped Ark, his hand closing around her left arm. He dragged her into the shadow of a deserted alleyway. 

Caina wrenched away from him. “Don’t touch me.”

“Then tell me what happened.”

She turned away.

“You tried to seduce him, didn’t you?”

Caina glared back at him. “What?” 

Ark shook his head, voice full of disgust. “Do you think me a fool? You were standing there half-naked.”

“He tried to force me, you idiot,” said Caina. “He put a spell on my mind.”

“I’m sure,” said Ark. He looked angry, angrier than Caina had ever seen him. “We asked Halfdan for help, and he sent us you. You’re a liar and a charlatan, Countess.” He spat the last word like a curse. “Anyone with half a brain can see that Gaidan and the Sons of Corazain are behind these murders, and you’re wasting time chasing the Magisterium. The Ghost circle is slaughtered, and you’re trying to climb into bed with Kalastus.”

“I told you,” snarled Caina, “he tried to force me. And I told you that the Magisterium is a collection of arrogant and murderous fools, but you won’t listen to that, either.” 

“So you say,” said Ark, “but I’ve never seen any basis for it. Why do you hate them so badly, Countess? Hmm? Maybe they didn’t bow deep enough? Or they slighted you at a ball once? Perhaps they didn’t kiss your ring?” He sneered at her. “Maybe they…”

His tone made something in her snap.

“I told you!” screamed Caina, and shoved him. He stumbled a half-step, stunned. “What more proof do you want? They’re murderers!” She shoved him again. “They’d be tyrants if they could, and they kill people for enjoyment. You saw Ephaeron slaughter people, Ark.” She gave him another shove. “Or maybe you enjoyed that. You were in the Legions, maybe you enjoyed killing people, maybe…”

He caught her wrists in a grip like iron and pushed her away. “You’re mad. What did they do to you to make you hate them so badly?”

“They killed my father!” 

Ark let go her of her wrists. 

“Is that what you wanted to know?” said Caina. “That I watched my mother kill my father? Is that a good enough reason for you, centurion?”

“What?” said Ark. He seemed caught between confusion and horror.

Caina was not going to tell him anything. But the words flooded out of her, kept coming in a rush of rage and pain. “My parents were both of noble birth. My mother trained early as sister of the Magisterium, and had no wish to marry. But my grandfather forced her to marry my father. My mother hated me.” Her voice had turned flat, hard, hollow. “I didn’t understand it at the time. Now I know that she saw my father and me as hindrances, chains that kept her from reaching the pinnacle of arcane power. When she became frustrated, she would scream at me, hit me. So I spent more time with my father. He was more of a scholar than a nobleman. He taught me to read, to speak a dozen different languages. I loved the learning. I loved his library. I loved my father.”

Caina blinked. She was not crying. Her eyes just stung, that was all.

“Well, my mother was eager for more sorcery, more power. She fell in with a group of magi who practiced forbidden arts. Necromancy, to be precise. Blood magic. Sorcery that drew its power from blood and death and torment. My father found out. Tried to stop her, threatened to report her. So she put a spell on his mind, him and all his servants. Tried to make them into puppets. But she wasn’t as nearly as skillful as she thought herself. Instead of making them into puppets, she wiped their minds. Made them into vegetables. They would lie there and drool until they died.” 

Still Ark said nothing, his face frozen into something more brittle than its usual mask.

“I went to meet my father, and found him in his chair, his mind gone,” said Caina. She no longer recognized the sound of her own voice. “My mother found me as I tried to rouse him. She laughed at me, told me what had happened, told me that she would be free of her chains soon. I…went mad then, I think. There was a fireplace in my father’s study. A hot poker. I seized it and hit her. She lost her balance, fell, and broke her neck.”

Her mother’s eyes still filled her memory, still full of hatred. 

“So you see, Ark. A liar and a charlatan I may be, but I’m also a murderer. A matricide. The very first person I killed was my own mother.” 

“What,” Ark closed his eyes, swallowed, “what did you do then?”

“Nothing. But my mother’s teacher found me. You see, the magi, the necromancers, do not share their teachings without a price. And my mother had already made a payment.” Caina stared into the night. “She sold me to the necromancers in exchange for their teaching.” 

Ark still stared at her.

“Maybe my father found out about it, why he finally confronted her,” said Caina. “Not five minutes after my mother died, they came, and took me away to their lair. Do you want to know what they did to me?”

“I…”

“Surely you want to know,” said Caina, “what your magi, so learned and so noble, would do to a girl of eleven?”

“They forced themselves on you?” said Ark.

“I thought they would, at first,” said Caina. “They took my clothes. But they chained me to this metal table. It was so cold. They would…they would cut me. Across my belly and hips. Draw out the blood.” She remembered lying in the darkness, screaming into her gag as Maglarion approached, knife glittering in his hand.

“Why?”

“They were necromancers. And I was a virgin. The blood and heart of a virgin can be used to fuel potent sorcery. That is what they had in mind for me eventually, I think…to kill me and use my heart and blood to empower some spell. They…kept cutting, and healing the wounds, and cutting again.” She did feel the tears on her face now, but did not care. “They cut too deep, and made me barren. I shall never bear a child. Nor will I ever have a husband, or a home, for who would wed a woman who cannot bear a child?” Her voice dropped to a grating whisper. “Sometimes I see women with their children, and it is all I can do to keep from screaming.”

There was a long pause. 

“How did you get away?” said Ark.

“Halfdan,” said Caina, and she smiled for the first time since leaving the Magisterium’s chapterhouse. “He killed the necromancers. All nine of them.” 

“Nine?” said Ark. “He killed nine magi? By himself?”

“They were monsters,” said Caina, “but still mortal men. They ate and drank. And Halfdan was posing as a wine merchant, and he sold them poisoned wine. They all died choking and clawing at their throats. Halfdan hadn’t expected to find me, and he didn’t know what to do with me, so he brought me into the Emperor’s Ghosts. He trained me, and found others to train me.”

She stepped closer to Ark. “You wanted to know how I learned to throw knives? I learned from the best knife-thrower in the Empire. He made his living wandering from village to village, betting the local farmers that he couldn’t split an apple at fifty paces. How I learned to fight? I studied under a Kyracian master of the storm dance, and it was six months until I could block one of his punches. How I learned to disguise my voice, to speak in different accents? My father began it, but I spent a season with the Grand Imperial Opera. I was even on stage once. Though I didn’t sing. I never learned to carry a tune. I spent a year with an Imperial noblewoman, who taught me to dress and speak as a lady, since my mother had never bothered to show me. And Halfdan himself taught me how to move quietly, how to pick locks, and how to learn those secrets than men wish hidden. I learned it all quickly. I had a lot of rage, and it gave me the will to learn. And what I wanted to learn was how to stop people like my mother and her teachers.” 

Ark let out a breath. Caina scrubbed the tears from her face and glared at him. 

“So that is why, Ark, that I hate the Magisterium so much. I hope the answer satisfies you.” She turned to go.

“Wait.” 

Caina paused. 

“I am sorry,” said Ark. “I should not have pushed you like that. And I can see that you have good cause to hate the Magisterium. And I should not…I should not have implied that you tried to seduce Kalastus.”

“Why did it disturb you so much?” said Caina. 

“It’s just that…” Ark shook his head. “It is not important.”

“I think it might be,” said Caina. “I think you hated me from the moment you laid eyes on me. Is that it? Or are you jealous? Did you want me for yourself, was that it?”

“No,” said Ark, “and no. It…I do not wish to speak of it.”

“Too bad,” said Caina. “You know why I hate the Magisterium. Well, it’s time for payment, and I want to know once and for all why you hate me.” 

“I do not hate you,” said Ark. 

“Convince me otherwise,” said Caina. 

Ark sighed, closed his eyes. “Very well.” 

Caina waited. 

Ark opened his eyes, cold and empty and dead. “You have to understand,” he said, “that I am a monster. In the Legions, I…I did things that I am not proud of. I committed every crime it is possible for a solider to commit. I slew men in fair battle, yes. But I also butchered unarmed prisoners. I slaughtered those who begged for mercy. I put old men and women to the sword.” He could not meet her eye. 

Caina kept waiting.

“Some of the men in the Legions grow hard and cold,” said Ark. “I wished I could, but I did not. The guilt weighed on me. By the end of my term of service I was a centurion. Had I reenlisted, I would have made first centurion, almost certainly. But I could not. The guilt was too much. When my term ended I took my service bonus and left. I had no family, no purpose, and no reason to live. I decided to see the ocean one more time, and then fall upon my sword. I went through Marsis, and into Varia Province.” He blinked a few times. “Then I came upon a young widow. She was traveling to the market in Marsis, when she was attacked by bandits who wanted her cattle and her virtue. I found her, and that was the end of the bandits. Since I had nowhere else to go, I traveled with her to Marsis.

“Her name was Tanya.”

Caina nodded, understanding. 

“I traveled back with them to her father’s village. Her husband had been killed by Anshani slavers, and her father crippled in the same attack. That was why she had to go to market herself. They needed a strong man…and I needed something. Anything. A reason to live.” He smiled at the memory, one of the few true smiles she had ever seen on that grim face. “We were married four months later. I had never been a happy man, Countess. But for the first time, I was happy. All the men in the legions are trained in a craft, and I was trained as a blacksmith. I became the village smith, and Tanya didn’t have to grub in the fields any more. We had a child, a son. It was a good life.”

His story sounded like a dark mirror of her own. “And what happened?”

Something ugly kindled in Ark’s dead eyes. “I went into the woods to hunt. When I returned, I found the village burned to the ground, all the women and children gone, the men lying dead. Her father lived long enough to tell me what had happened. The Anshani slavers had returned. I followed them, but they had horses. They made it to their ship and got away with their captives. I tried to find a ship to follow them, and then I met Halfdan.”

“Halfdan?” said Caina, frowning. She worked out the dates in her head. “This was…what, three, four years ago?” 

Ark nodded. “He had come to bring down the slavers. Since I needed the help, I joined him. We found their base, raised a unit of local veterans, and destroyed it. Killed them all. But the slavers’ ship was not to be found. I was ready to chase it to hell and back. But Halfdan told me that it could have gone to twelve different ports, that I’d never find it without his help. So I joined the Ghosts, and he sent out word.” Ark closed his eyes and let out a shuddering breath. 

“What happened to the ship?” said Caina.

“I don’t know,” said Ark. “Nineteen different ports have slave markets in the western sea, and the Ghosts have agents in them. Halfdan checked with them. All of them. The ship never put in. It simply vanished. Most likely it sank in a storm. My wife, my son, and my stepson are all dead. They drowned.” His hands curled into fists. “They drowned, after enduring gods know what torments, because I failed to save them. I had a second chance, and I lost it, because of my folly, because I wasn’t there to protect them.” 

His breathing came hard and sharp, but no tears. Ark was not the kind of man to cry, Caina suspected. Instead he would drown his grief in blood. Not even the gods themselves could save those slavers if Ark ever found them.

“I’m sorry,” said Caina. She hesitated, and touched his shoulder. “At least…at least I know what happened to my father. Awful as it was. But not to know…” She shook her head. “I’m sorry. I should not have forced you to tell me.”

Ark barked a harsh laugh. “Why not? I forced you to tell me your secrets, didn’t I?” He laughed without mirth again. “But aren’t we a pair, though? The orphan and the widower. Does Halfdan only recruit the bereaved?” 

“We have more reason to fight tyrants than most,” said Caina. “But you didn’t answer my question.”