Ghost in the Flames (4 page)

“Halfdan told you that.”

“No,” said Caina, “your accent is constant, whatever language you speak, and you seem unable to rid yourself of it. You used to be in the Legions.”

Ark blinked, and then tapped his weapon. “The sword, of course.”

“Only legionaries and veterans use that style of broadsword. And I can see the scars on your left arm from your shield. You lied about your age to get into the Legions, didn’t you?”

Ark flinched.

“You’re in your middle thirties,” Caina continued, “and you must have served your full twenty year term of service. Desertion in the Emperor’s armies is punishable by crucifixion, after all. And if you had deserted and escaped, Halfdan would not have let you join the Ghosts. He hates deserters. Incidentally, Halfdan himself recruited you into the Ghosts, didn’t he? He only tells his proper name to those he recruits individually.” Caina tapped her lips with a finger. “The age of admission to the Legions is sixteen. So I would suppose you lied about your age and joined at fourteen or fifteen. Probably fourteen.” 

Ark scowled and turned to go. “You’ve made your point, Countess.”

Caina stepped in front of him. “Don’t you want to know more, my captain? Surely you can keep secrets from some silly frivolous noblewoman.” Something warned her to stop, but Ark had irritated her, so she kept talking. “You were in the Eighteenth Legion. That Legion tattoo on your right bicep? You should do a better job of concealing it. And I would guess you made at least centurion rank, perhaps even the first centurion of a cohort. You snapped out enough commands at the teamsters during our departure. Which explains why you are so annoyed that you have to take orders from some silly Countess.” 

Ark kept walking. 

“You’ve been out of the Legions for at least three or four years,” said Caina, following him. “That armor is making you uncomfortable, though I doubt you’ll ever admit it. Oh, and you’re a widower.”

Ark stopped. He turned towards her, his eyes wide and wild and full of a terrible pain, and Caina felt a sudden stab of fear. Had she pushed him too far? 

“Halfdan told you,” he hissed, his voice full of fury, “Halfdan told you, he promised, he swore that he would never tell a soul…”

“He didn’t,” said Caina, voice quiet. “You talk in your sleep. A woman’s name, over and over again. Tanya.” She pointed. “And you keep fiddling with that ring on your left hand.” 

Ark stared at her, breathing hard, and bit by bit he mastered himself. 

“Perhaps, Countess,” said Ark, his voice toneless and dead, “I may have misjudged you.” 

Caina nodded. 

“But do not speak of Tanya again. Not ever. Not to anyone,” said Ark. “Do you understand me?”

Caina heard the threat in his words, and did not like it. But there was no reason to push him any further. She had made her point. So she nodded again.

“We should return to the caravan,” said Ark. “They will begin to whisper, if you keep disappearing with your captain of the guard.”

“Let them,” said Caina. “Silly, frivolous Countesses are rarely known for their chastity, after all.” 

###

The eastward journey wore on.

Ark spoke to her very little, and Caina soon grew weary of conversation with the maids, so she took to speaking with the teamsters and the peddlers. A few of them spoke Caerish, but most of them spoke only Saddaic. Caina took the opportunity to practice the tongue, and discovered to her delight that one of the peddlers had some books in his inventory. 

Caina bought three. The first was a typical history of the Empire, the second a collection of poetry and songs from the Empire’s long-ago wars against the Sea Kings of Old Kyrace. The third, though, described the Battle of Rasadda, when the Emperor Crisius threw down Corazain, the last and mightiest of the Ashbringers. Caina hoped it might have some insights into her current situation. 

Cornelia looked shocked that her lady would read in public, but Caina did not care.

Later that day she saw the first abandoned village. It sat athwart the road, the houses crumbling, weeds growing in the streets. The village had once been surrounded by cultivated fields, but the grasses of the Saddai plains were returning. The place could not have been abandoned for more than five or six years, Caina guessed. 

“What happened here?” she asked Cornelia. “Plague?”

“No, my lady, no plague,” said Cornelia. “This was a village of Saddai farm folk. Lazy and shiftless people. The cattle men have been buying up all their lands and converting them to pasture.” She nodded with approval. “They’ll finally have to work to fill their bellies.”

Caina frowned but said nothing. A mile later she saw the first cattle herd. Hundreds of cows and steers, perhaps even a thousand, wandered across the plains. A few men on horseback tended them, cracking whips and shooting suspicious glares at the caravan. 

“What happens to the farmers, once they’re forced off their lands?” said Caina.

Cornelia stared at her, then laughed. “Surely my lady doesn’t care about some filthy Saddai commoners.”

“I am merely curious,” said Caina.

Cornelia shrugged. “I’m sure I don’t know. They go to the cities, I expect, and try to find work. Probably to Rasadda.” She made an exaggerated shudder. “Dirty people, the lot of them.”

Caina felt her patience leave her. “My legs are cramped. I think I shall walk for a while.”

“Amongst the teamsters?” said Cornelia. “Surely my lady would rather stay in the coach.”

“She would not,” said Caina, closing the book about Corazain the Ashbringer. “Fear not. My captain will escort me, and if anyone offers impertinence, well…I’m sure he’ll know what to do. You may remain here.”

Cornelia wilted onto the cushions with relief. 

Caina swung out of the coach’s door and onto the road. Her skirt and heeled boots made it rather tricky, but she kept her balance. Ark walked alongside the carriage, hand resting on his broadsword, and glanced at her. She beckoned, and he fell into step alongside her, silent and grim. 

“Tell me,” said Caina. “When did the farmers start getting forced off their lands?”

Ark blinked, but answered the question. “A few years ago. Shortly after Lord Nicephorus became governor in Rasadda. The Imperial nobles began buying the land at cheap rates and giving it over to pasture. Apparently they can make a greater profit with meat, cheese, milk, and leather instead of grain.” 

“Is that not illegal?”

“Yes, it is,” said Ark. He paused. “Why does this concern you?”

“Men do not kill without reason,” said Caina. “And desperate, starving men have more reason to kill than most.” 

“So you think the Saddai peasantry might have something to do with these burnings?”

“Perhaps,” said Caina, “but I don’t see how.” There was a Magisterium chapterhouse in Rasadda, she knew, and if some Saddai peasant had set himself up as an Ashbringer, the magi would have slaughtered him long ago.

“I have had similar thoughts myself,” said Ark, “but…”

He stopped, his cold mask hardening further.

“What?” said Caina.

“The donkeys,” he said.

Caina looked at the nearest pack donkeys. She knew only a little about animals, but she thought they looked restless. The drivers walked back and forth down the lines of animals, cursing and cracking their whips. 

Ark’s hand shot out and seized her arm, fingers like iron.

“Don’t move,” he muttered. “Look, over there. Past the third donkey.”

Caina did, and saw the lioness.

She crouched motionless in the grasses, her eyes like twin pools of golden fire. Caina just had time to draw breath, and then the lioness sprang forward. Her leap drove one of the donkeys to the ground, the beast bleating in terror. One of the drivers stumbled back, shrieking in fear, and the lioness whirled to face him, muzzle pulling back from yellowed fangs.

Then Ark moved.

One moment he stood at Caina’s side. The next he was springing over the fallen donkey, his broadsword a steely arc. And the instant after that the lioness sprawled prone on the road, her blood gushing into the dirt. 

Caina blinked in astonishment.

Ark had just killed a full-grown lioness. With nothing more than a broadsword. 

The caravan exploded into pandemonium. The teamsters were all shouting, the drivers running back and forth. It took Rendower the better part of an hour to get everyone back in line.

“Well done, sir, well done,” he said, giving Ark a vigorous clap on the shoulder. “The gods alone know how many of my pack animals that beast would have killed.”

“None,” said the driver, “because it would have been feasting on my flesh. You saved my life.”

“It was happy fortune, Countess, that you joined our caravan,” said Rendower. “Your man acquitted himself quite well, quite well indeed.” Ark sketched a short bow. “I’d never seen a sword move so fast.” 

“Is it so surprising, master merchant?” said Caina. “Do you think my father would assign my protection to a sluggard or a craven?”

“Indeed not, my lady,” said Rendower. 

A short time later the caravan renewed its journey, and Caina and Ark walked back to the coach.

“You know, we might work together quite well,” said Caina. “If I can find this murderer, clearly you shall have no trouble striking him down.” 

For the first time, Caina saw Ark grin, and he looked far more dangerous than the lioness.

###

Black mountains came into sight the next day, looming out of the haze like giants. Rasadda sat at the foot of those mountains, Caina knew, old volcanoes that still sometimes spurted with liquid fire. Rendower squinted at them, and pronounced that they would reach Rasadda by the next day. 

That night, before Caina went to bed, she saw a glow to the east. She stepped out of her tent and frowned. The sun had gone down, and there were hours yet before dawn, yet a reddish glow flickered over the eastern horizon. Had the grasses of the plains taken fire? Or had one of the volcanoes burst into flame?  

“That?” said Rendower, when she asked. “Oh, that. That’s merely Rasadda, my lady. One can see the light of the city from a far way off.”

“Surely there must be more lanterns there than in all the rest of the world put together,” said Caina dubiously.

“In a way, my lady, in a way,” said Rendower. “But I shan’t wish to spoil the surprise for you.” He grinned. “The first sight of Rasadda is always…something.”

“Indeed,” said Caina, annoyed, and went to bed.

The next day she rode on the coach’s front seat besides Lasko, the book about Corazain the Ashbringer cradled on her lap. The air inside the coach had become close, and she had grown weary of listening to the maids chatter. So instead she watched the scenery roll by, and read about Corazain with interest. The Empire and the Ashbringers had been locked in battle for centuries, and entire cities had been laid waste by the sword and the Ashbringers’ sorcery. At last the Emperor Crisius had invaded Saddai itself, intent on bringing the Ashbringers down…

Ark walked past. Caina looked up, saw Ark staring at something off the road. A horseman sat atop one of the nearby hills, gazing down at the caravan. Even as she looked, the rider snapped the reins and galloped off. 

“Watch my book,” said Caina. Lasko grunted an acknowledgement. She pushed off the seat and walked to join Ark. “Trouble?”

“Perhaps,” said Ark, his hard eyes glinting. “That rider.”

“A herdsman,” said Caina. “We must have ridden past ten thousand cows in the last day.”

“But none for the last hour,” said Ark. “So either that fellow was looking for a missing steer, or…”

“Or he was scouting for someone,” said Caina. “Bandits?”

“Maybe,” said Ark, scowling. “There’s no place to hide on the Saddai plains, so the bandits hole up in the mountains. They swarm down every so often.”

“This is a large caravan,” said Caina. “They’d be fools to attack.”

Ark gave her a sidelong glance. “What did you tell me yesterday? Desperate men have more reason to kill than most, was that it?”

Caina said nothing.

But they saw no bandits.

###

“My lady,” said Ark.

Caina looked up from the book, blinking. 

“This is your first visit to Rasadda?” said Ark.

Caina frowned. “You know that it is.”

There was something almost like amusement in his face. “Then you’ll want to see this.”

Caina closed the book and climbed down from the seat. She walked to the head of the caravan, past the drivers and the donkeys and creaking wagons full of fish. 

And then she saw it.

“Gods,” muttered Caina.

A few miles to the east rose black walls, gleaming in the sunlight. Beyond those walls stood towering black pyramids, their peaks crowned with raging flames.

Chapter 4 - Rasadda

Caina stared at the black city. 

“That’s Rasadda?” she said, after a moment.

Ark nodded. 

She saw at least thirty of the great pyramids, all of them topped with flames. The smallest rose about two hundred feet tall, while the tallest stood at least four times that. Their sides gleamed black, reflecting the light of their burning crowns. As the caravan drew closer, Caina saw the houses, mansions, and shops of Rasadda clustered around the feet of those pyramids. 

“The pyramids,” she said. “What are they?”

“Tombs, my lady,” said Rendower, who had joined them. “Ancient tombs. Built to house the Ashbringer kings of old.”

“Clearly the Saddai hold them in great reverence,” said Caina. “The cost of keeping those fires lit must be enormous.”

Ark shook his head.

“Ah…no, my lady,” said Rendower. “Those are no natural fires. They require no fuel.”

“No fuel?” said Caina. “Explain.”

“He means,” said Ark, “that those tombs house dead Ashbringers, and the Ashbringers’ sorcery lit those fires. Some of those fires have been burning for thousands of years.”

“And the Magisterium let those fires burn?” said Caina. “I know little of the magi, you understand, but my father said that they hate rival sorcerers.”

Ark looked at Rendower.

“Well,” said Rendower, “the official story is that the Magisterium let the flames stand as a gesture of respect to the Saddai people.”

It took Caina every bit of self-control she had to keep from laughing aloud.  

“But I’ve heard,” said Rendower, dropping his voice, “that the Magisterium can’t put the fires out. They’re not strong enough. Those old-time Ashbringers, they were mighty sorcerers, or so the stories say, and no living magus as the power to undo the spell.” He looked around with sudden anxiety. “And don’t go repeating that, mind. I don’t have any truck with sorcery, and the magi…the magi are not kindly.” He reddened. “Forgive me if I have spoken too bluntly.”

“Not at all,” said Caina with a gracious wave of her hand. “I have heard much the same from others.” Rendower bowed and hastened away to take charge of his teamsters. “Ark. Was he telling the truth?”

Ark shrugged. “As far I know. All the tales and rumors I’ve heard say the same thing.”

Caina stared at the pyramids.

Sorcerous fire.

And charred corpses kept appearing in Rasadda. 

“Could this murderer…be dragging the corpses to the fire?” said Caina. “Throwing them into the flames, and then abandoning them?”

“We thought of it,” said Ark. “But the bodies never show signs of having been moved.”

“And that wouldn’t explain Publius Vanio, besides,” muttered Caina. Everlasting sorcerous fires and a charred corpse lying upon an untouched bed. Too much of a coincidence, and Caina detested coincidences. They were usually signs of a pattern she could not yet see. 

“The fires hardly matter,” said Ark. “They have burned for a thousand years. Yet it is only in the last year that people have burned to death.”

“Yes,” said Caina. “Perhaps you’re right.” But it still it troubled her. She shook her head and walked back to the coach. She needed to act like a noblewoman of the Empire, and no Imperial noblewoman would walk through the gates of a provincial city. 

“Open the windows,” said Caina, settling into her seat. 

“My lady?” said Cornelia, sounding affronted, while Anya and Julia stared at her.

“Do it,” said Caina. “I’ve come all this way to see Rasadda, and I can’t see it if the windows are closed and the curtains drawn.”

She watched as the Imperial highway rolled up to Rasadda’s gates. The walls stood at least sixty feet high, built of basalt and fronted with gleaming black marble. The coach clattered through the gates and an expansive square below the walls, at the foot of one of the smaller pyramids. Looking closer, Caina saw that it was not so much a pyramid as it was a ziggurat, its terraced sides linked by stairs and steep ramps. The flames burned at its crown, bright even in the daylight.

“We part ways here, my lady,” said Rendower, looking through the coach’s window. “I’m for the East Bazaar, to meet with the brokers. Will you be joining us?”

“No,” said Caina, “I sent on a man ahead, to prepare rooms at the Inn of Mirrors. But I wish you good business, master merchant, and I thank you for your hospitality.”

“It was our honor, Countess,” said Rendower. His face brightened when Caina passed him a few coins for his trouble. After he left, she slid open the front window and looked out at Lasko. “Do you know the way to the Inn of Mirrors?”

Lasko grunted. “Aye, my lady. Across from the Imperial Basilica, below the Great Pyramid of Corazain.”

“The Great Pyramid of Corazain?” said Caina. Her fingers brushed the book lying on the seat. “Is that the big one?” She looked at the colossal pyramid looming over the lesser pyramids, rising over the city like a black mountain.

“Aye, my lady,” said Lasko. Ark swung up onto the running board, hand on his broadsword. Lasko snapped the reins, and the coach clattered into the streets of Rasadda.

Caina gazed at the alien city around her. It was a dark place, a grim place, and yet had its own solemn beauty. Most of the buildings had been faced with dark basalt, no doubt quarried from the nearby mountains, while the larger houses gleamed with black marble. The Saddai themselves seemed to favor garments of bright red and orange, and went about their business on the basalt-paved streets. 

There were a lot of beggars, though, leaning against the walls, ragged and gaunt. Caina had visited many of the Empire’s great cities, and all of them had beggars. But she had never seen so many in one city. 

“Quite a lot of beggars, aren’t there?” said Caina.

“It’s very sad, my lady,” said Anya. “They’ve all been driven off their lands, and there’s no work to be found, so they come here to live on the Lord Governor’s grain dole.”

“Very sad,” murmured Caina. And desperate, starving men had more reason to kill than most. 

“Oh, humbug,” said Cornelia. She gave the beggars a disdainful sniff. “Look at them. They’re all Saddai. Lazy and shiftless to a man. No doubt they’re too lazy to find work, and so come here to grow fat and indolent on the grain dole.”

“Perhaps there is no work to be found,” said Caina. 

Cornelia smiled. “My lady, forgive me for speaking so, but you are young, and quite innocent. A woman my age has seen much of the world, and I can say beyond a doubt that these Saddai are lazy and deceitful.”

Cornelia sounded so like her mother that Caina felt again that furious, choking wrath, and she found her hand twitching towards the knives hidden in her sleeves. She hid the gesture by smoothing her skirts. “Yes. An innocent.”

The coach jolted to a stop.

“You there!” shouted Lasko, his voice furious. “Get out of the way!”

Ark’s colder voice rang out. “Clear the way at once!”

Caina twisted around in her seat and looked out the window. 

The coach filled most of a narrow alley between the windowless backs of two sagging, grim houses. This looked like a bad part of town; the houses were not built of basalt but black-painted brick. A dozen men blocked the street. They looked like beggars, but they had weapons. Some of them had clubs, others had swords, and one hefted an enormous steel warhammer. 

“Move,” said Ark, voice deadly cold, “or get run down. Your choice.” 

The man with the hammer spat and began speaking in Saddaic. “Aye? Well, this is our street. You want to pass, you’ll deal with us. You’ll pay our toll.” 

“How much?” said Ark, drawing his broadsword a foot from its scabbard. 

“Bah!” said the man, spitting again. “We don’t want your gold. You high-and-mighty Imperial scum, strutting about our streets as if you own them.”

“We do,” said Ark.

The beggar’s lips pulled back from his teeth. “What we want is blood, fool. You give us the highborn bitch in the coach, and we’ll let you go. Otherwise we’ll kill you all.”

Caina’s heart beat faster.

“Dear gods,” said Cornelia, horrified, “those men are criminals, they’re…”

“Shut up,” said Caina. Cornelia fell into a shocked silence. 

“No,” said Ark. “Out of my way, now.”

The beggar with the warhammer laughed. “Aye? Or what? You took the wrong street today, you Empire-worshipping fool.” The other men raised their weapons. 

Ark’s sword blurred from its scabbard so fast Caina could scare follow the movement. “Move. Last chance.”

The beggar laughed again and lifted his hammer. “I think not. Kill him and take the…”

In the next instant the beggar was on his knees, the hammer ringing against the street, blood pouring from the ghastly wound in his neck. Then Lasko slammed back into his seat, shrieking in pain, a crossbow bolt buried in his chest. Men were bellowing and shouting, and Julia and Anya were screaming in fear. Ark had somehow gotten his shield onto his left arm, and his broadsword sent a spray of bloody drops into the air. 

More men burst from the nearby house, bearing clubs, and rushed for the coach.

Caina cursed under her breath and looked up. There was a little trapdoor in the ceiling, opening onto the roof. She pushed open the trapdoor, gripped the edges, and lifted herself up. 

The first man stuck his head through the coach’s door. “Well, what have we…”

Caina swung down, shoving with her arms, and her heeled boots slammed hard into the man’s face. Bones cracked, the man’s head snapping back, and he toppled onto the street. Caina fell to one knee, her right hand dipping into her left sleeve. 

Another man reached into the coach, seized her arm, and began to yank her out. Caina gave no resistance, so it was the easiest thing in the world to slam her hidden knife into his throat as he pulled her close. The man stumbled backwards with a gurgling scream, wrenching the knife out of Caina’s hand. She fell out of the coach, tucked her shoulder, and rolled into the street. 

“Marsaidan?” said one of the men, looking down at the man choking on his own blood. “Marsaidan? What the hell…”

Caina disliked her boots, but they added a useful weight to her foot as she whipped her leg around, driving a kick into the nearest thug’s knee with all the strength she could manage. Again she heard the snapping crackle of damaged bone. The thug fell with a howl of pain, club rolling from his fingers. Caina scrambled back to her feet, reaching for the knife hidden in her other sleeve. 

A hand seized her hair, yanking her back, another arm coming up to reach for her throat. Again Caina offered no resistance, adding the momentum to her own as she spun around. Her palm strike smashed into a man’s unshaven face, and he stumbled back with a grunt. But his fist lashed out and plunged into her stomach, knocking the breath from her. Caina struggled to keep her balance, and the man kicked her legs out from beneath her. She hit the street with a painful grunt, a jolt of pain shooting through her limbs. The thug took a step towards her, snarling curses as he reached for a dagger at his belt.

Then his head seemed to collapse on itself as Ark’s broadsword swept past in a spray of blood and brains. The thug’s face twisted weirdly, and he fell into a twitching heap on the basalt-paved street. 

Silence fell. Caina heard nothing but the rasp of her breath and the pounding of her heart. 

“Excellent timing,” she managed to say at last. 

Ark grunted and held out his hand. Caina took it, and Ark pulled her to her feet. She looked around and saw the bodies carpeting the street. Ark had killed four or five men, at least. The man she had kicked in the face lay dead. He must have broken his neck against the street. The man she had stabbed in the throat also lay still, his mouth forever open it a final, futile attempt to draw breath. Caina watched the blood pooling across the basalt flagstones, and again she saw the men lying motionless on the floor of her father’s library, her mother’s face twisted with insane fury. Nausea stabbed into her aching belly, and it was all she could do to keep her breakfast down. 

She looked at Ark, and for a brief moment glimpsed the same sort of thing in his face. It was more desolate, more despairing, yet she saw the same pain in his eyes. They looked at each other for a moment, and then Ark shook his head and turned to the side. 

“Look,” he said, pointing with his sword. Blood slid from the tip of the blade. 

Caina frowned. The man she had kicked in the knee lay against the black house, dead of a sword thrust through the chest. He looked like an average Saddai of unremarkable birth; pale, gaunt, black eyes now glassy and empty.

“My lady!” Anya peered through the coach’s windows, wide-eyed with fright. “My lady, are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” said Caina. “Stay there and don’t move.” Anya vanished back into the coach. 

“Look,” said Ark, again. “What do you see?”

Caina stared at the dead man, but saw nothing remarkable. “What of it?”

“We’ve seen him before,” said Ark. “Remember the horseman outside the city? This is him, I would swear to it.” 

“Then they were waiting for us,” said Caina.

“Robbers, most likely,” said Ark. He knelt beside the corpse, ripped open its tunic, and began to clean his sword on the torn cloth. “This fellow was the lookout. When he saw us, he rode back to the city, to let his fellows know that an Imperial noblewoman was traveling with only one guard.”

“Wait,” said Caina, frowning. “Wait. Tear his tunic open the rest of the way.”

Ark looked at her, then shrugged and tore open the red cloth. The dead man had a tattoo on his chest, a stylized image of a flame done in swirling reds and yellows. Blood dripped across the image, but it remained bright and clear against his pallid skin.

“Have you ever seen this before?” said Caina.

“No,” said Ark. He shook his head. “I’ve seen this symbol before, though. It’s the Living Flame, the sigil of the Saddai god. But I’ve never seen it worn as a tattoo.”

Caina crossed to the man she had stabbed in the throat and wrenched the knife free. There was quite a lot of blood. She cleaned the blade on the dead man’s clothes and then cut open his tunic.