Ghost in the Flames (6 page)

She also appreciated the large balcony that opened off the bedroom, looking down on the great square below Corazain’s pyramid. For someone with a rope and grapnel, it would make coming and going unseen all the easier. Especially at night. Dark and grim this city might be, but Caina’s cloak would blend well with the darkness.

“The rooms are superb, master innkeeper,” said Caina. “You have my thanks.”

“Simply call if you need anything, my lady, and I shall be at your side in moments.” Sairzan bowed and departed. 

“What will you do now?” said Ark. 

“I shall try to contrive a dinner invitation to Lord Governor Nicephorus’s table,” said Caina. “You can then find a way to contact Aulean without drawing suspicion.” 

“And how will you do that?” said Ark.

“I haven’t yet decided,” said Caina. “I…”

She frowned. Someone was shouting. In fact, a lot of people were shouting. She walked past Ark, into the bedroom, and onto the balcony overlooking the square.

People, thousands of people, were streaming into the square. For a moment Caina thought that the Saddai had risen up in revolt, but no one in the throng was carrying weapons. They walked towards the Basilica, all shouting the same thing in Saddaic over and over again.

Bread and justice. Bread and justice.

“Get off the balcony, now,” hissed Ark. “You’re too fine a target.”

“No,” said Caina. “None of them are even armed. And they’re all looking at the Basilica.” 

Ark glared at her for a moment, then strapped his shield to his left arm and joined her on the balcony.

The thunderous chant rolled on and on for some time. A figure in a red robe came to the head of the crowd. A woman, Caina saw, and an old one, to judge from her halting step and the cane in her left hand. 

“That robe,” said Caina. “Is that…”

“Aye,” said Ark. “She’s a priestess of the Living Flame. The Saddai commoners will do whatever she says.” His voice tightened. “In fact, I think that’s…”

“Hear me!” The woman’s voice, rich and strong, rolled over the square. The volume of it astounded Caina. “Lord Governor Anatsius Nicephorus, hear me! I am Tadaia, a Sister of the Living Flame, and I have been chosen to speak for the Saddai of Rasadda!” 

“You know her?” said Caina.

“Everyone knows her,” said Ark. “She is the eldest Sister of the Living Flame, the preeminent priestess in Rasadda, and much loved among the poorer Saddai.” He hesitated. “If not for her, the Saddai would have erupted in revolt years ago. But she’s never done anything like this before.” 

Tadaia’s great voice rolled on. “We come in peaceful petition as loyal subjects of the great Emperor of Nighmar. The people have been driven from their land so that cattle might graze where once wheat grew, and we are hungry. The grain dole is not enough, Lord Governor. Our men go hungry, our women suffer in silence, and our children go to bed with empty bellies. Give us justice, Lord Governor, and succor to those under your protection.” 

The crowd murmured approval to her words. 

Caina wondered how many of them had flame tattoos upon their chests. 

The doors to the Basilica swung open. A troop of militia marched out, Valgorix at their head in his plumed helm. The men gripped crossbows with nervous hands, eyes sweeping over the throng.

“Depart at once!” Valgorix’s voice seemed weak compared to Tadaia’s, but Caina could still hear it clear enough. “This is an illegal assembly, in violation of Lord Governor Nicephorus’s decree. If you depart immediately, no punishment will be leveled upon you, but should you linger, the consequences shall be dire!” 

An angry rumble went through the crowd. But Tadaia’s voice rang out once more. “The people hunger, and unless the grain dole is increased, we shall soon starve.”

“You will have to make do with the grain dole,” said Valgorix, his face pained. “Are you starving? Then find work, and purchase your own food.” 

“There is no work to be had, you know this,” said Tadaia. “These people were driven from their lands by the corrupt and wicked, and had no choice but to come to Rasadda. Shall we grow food from paving stones and courtyards?”

“Be off at once!” said Valgorix. “This is your final warning!”

“Look,” said Ark, his voice low and urgent. “Horsemen. There, there, and there, at the mouths of those streets.”

Caina nodded. “And crossbowmen there, and there, on the parapets of the Basilica.” 

Ark snarled a vicious curse. “If Tadaia refuses to leave, Nicephorus will slaughter them all. And if Tadaia is killed, the city will explode in revolt.” He shook his head, every muscle radiating tension. “And if this city goes up in revolt…it will drown in an ocean of blood before the end.” 

For a moment neither Tadaia nor Valgorix said anything. Caina saw more horsemen maneuvering in the streets, saw the crossbowmen wind and load their weapons. The tension in the air turned electric. 

Then Tadaia took a step backwards. 

“We wish for no blood to be spilled today,” she called. “And let every man and woman mark it well: we came in peace to our Lord Governor, and he threatened us with death. So be it! But we shall return in a week, and the week after that, until justice is done.” 

Valgorix said nothing, but his men raised their crossbows. And then Tadaia turned her back to them and faced her people. The sheer courage of it took Caina’s breath away. 

“Do not be bitter, my brothers and sisters!” said Tadaia. “Let us support each other in our sufferings. Remember what the Living Flame has taught us. Temporal suffering is the fire that refines us. Pain is the crucible that burns away our impurities, so that we might be made pure for our next lives, and may one day join the Living Flame in eternal light. Let us lean on each other, brothers and sisters, in this time of adversity.”

She limped from the plaza, head held high, the click of her cane against the ground loud in the silence. The mob followed her, draining back into the streets. The mounted militia moved aside to let them past.

“Gods, that was close,” said Ark. “If some fool had squeezed his trigger a little too tightly, we’d have had five years of war.” 

Caina watched the mob draining away. “It seems that she has legitimate grievances.” 

“Yet she did not mention the murders at all,” said Ark.  

“Perhaps she has bigger concerns,” said Caina. “Or maybe the victims were unloved by the Saddai.”

“Or, perhaps,” said Ark, “she wished not to draw attention to them.”

Caina frowned. “You think she is behind these murders?”

“Why not?” said Ark. “Her people are starving and desperate. And you yourself said that desperate men have more reason to murder than most. I assume the same would apply to women as well.” 

“It would,” said Caina. Her mother flashed through her thoughts for a moment, and her hand crept towards her father’s ring, hidden beneath her clothes. “It would.” She shook her head to clear away the memories. “But if this Nicephorus has let matters degenerate to this point, then he is a fool.” 

###

A short time later a knock came at the door.

Julia opened it to reveal a liveried messenger from Lord Governor Nicephorus. 

“Countess Marianna Nereide?” he said.

“I am,” said Caina. “Your business with me?”

“The Lord Governor has heard of your arrival in the city, and wishes to make your acquaintance. To that end, he invites you to a banquet, to be held tonight at the eighth hour in the Imperial Basilica.”

“Please convey to the Lord Governor my thanks for his gracious invitation,” said Caina. “I am honored, and shall be glad to attend.” 

The messenger bowed and departed. 

“That was quick,” said Ark.

“Yes,” murmured Caina. “It seems that Valgorix reported to Nicephorus. Perhaps we’ll finally have some answers tonight.” 

Chapter 6 - Lord Nicephorus's Banquet

It took a lot of work to get ready for the Lord Governor’s banquet. 

She started with a long soak in the black tub, the heat sinking into her muscles. She felt better with the sweat and grime of the road washed away. And the festivities in the alley had left blood under her fingernails. The clotted blood came loose and dissolved in the hot water.

Cornelia helped with her hair. For all her sharp tongue, the older woman did a splendid job. She arranged Caina’s hair into an elaborate braided crown, and did it faster than Caina herself could have managed. 

Two hours later she was bathed, shaved, coiffed, perfumed, and dressed. She chose an elaborate green gown with gold embroidery on the sleeves and bodice. It left, perhaps, a touch too much of her shoulders and chest exposed, but depending on the Lord Governor’s character, that could prove an asset. She wore her father’s ring on a chain hidden beneath her sleeve. The usual daggers remained hidden in her boots. The gown had large enough sleeves that Caina could strap an extra pair of knives to her forearms. She appreciated that. 

At last she emerged from the bedroom and into the sitting room. Ark sat in a chair, working nicks from his sword blade. He looked at her, and his eyes turned colder for a moment. 

“You look different,” he said. 

“As I’ve told you before,” said Caina, “that is the point.”

“Our lady looks as lovely as the dawn,” Julia told him with a hint of reproach. 

It came and went so fast that Caina thought she might have imagined it, but something like pain shivered through Ark’s icy eyes for an instant. “Indeed. Master Sairzan has lent us a coachman, and we may leave whenever you are ready.” 

“Then let us depart,” said Caina. She looked at her maids. “Thank you, all. You have liberty for the rest of the evening.” 

She followed Ark down the stairs, taking care to keep her balance. Damnable skirts! The coach waited in the courtyard, one of Sairzan’s servants in the driver’s seat. Ark opened the door for her, and Caina climbed inside. It seemed silly to ride the coach across the plaza, but an Imperial Countess would not walk to her destination. Besides, after the attack in the alley, Caina was glad for the extra protection the coach offered. 

After a ridiculously short ride, they arrived. Ark opened the door, Caina climbed out, and they walked into the Basilica. 

“My lady Countess,” said a servant, bowing to her, “this way, please.” 

Servants pulled open the doors, and Caina walked past a troop of armed militiamen and into the Basilica’s judgment hall. The immense groin-vaulted roof arched a hundred feet over her head. The floor had been done in elaborate, massive mosaics, depicting triumphs from the Empire’s past. One showed the Emperor Crisius defeating the Ashbringer Corazain. 

Dozens of glowing glass spheres sat on intricate bronze pedestals, throwing back the darkness. The Magisterium used their sorcery to enchant the spheres, Caina knew, imbuing them with a spell that would glow for years. The steady light glinted off the polished marble columns and the high ceiling. Dozens of men and women stood in the judgment hall, Lords and Ladies of the Empire, rich Saddai and Nighmarian merchants, all speaking to one another in low voices. There were even some Anshani and Alqaarin merchants from across the Alqaarin Sea, exotic with their dark skins and feathered turbans. Servants hastened to and fro bearing trays of wine and food, and musicians played gentle songs in the dark corners. 

The servant led Caina and Ark to a group of men standing near the judgment seat.

My Lord Governor,” said the servant, “may I present Countess Marianna, of House Nereide.”

Lord Governor Anatsius Nicephorus regarded her in silence for a moment, and Caina took the opportunity to size him up. He was a lean, wolfish man in his mid-forties, with deep-sunk eyes and silver-streaked black hair. He wore elaborate black finery, along with the crimson cloak and the polished ceremonial cuirass of his rank. Sword and dagger hung from his belt, but neither weapon seemed to have seen much use. At last he bowed over her hand and kissed her ring.

“And I,” he said, speaking in High Nighmarian, “am Anatsius, of House Nicephorus, Lord of the Empire, and Lord Governor of the Saddai Province.” Caina offered him a deep bow in turn. “You do us honor. I have never yet seen a scion of House Nereide in my province.”

“Our house is old in honor, my lord, but currently of small renown, alas,” said Caina, answering him in the same language. In fact, House Nereide had been exterminated during the War of the Fourth Empire a century and a half past, but Caina doubted that Nicephorus knew that. “Only recently has my father turned his hand to commercial pursuits, and he has sent me upon a tour of our Empire’s provinces.”

“Ah,” said Nicephorus, “your father has my sympathies. It is a crass and undignified age, is it not, when we of high birth must scrabble for coins like any commoner? Still, my affairs have certainly prospered since I came to Rasadda, and I hope your father’s do the same.”

“You are kind, my lord,” said Caina.

Nicephorus gestured to a man standing near him. “This is Septimus Romarion, a merchant of no little renown. We have managed to make each other a great deal of money over the years. Perhaps he can do the same for your father.”

Romarion. Caina recognized that name.

She had seen it in Publius Vanio’s ledger. The dead merchant had purchased rare artworks, possibly stolen, from Romarion. 

Now. How to pry some answers from him?

“An honor, Countess,” said Romarion, kissing her ring. He was about thirty or thirty-five, she guessed, with the sun-lined face of a lifelong sailor. He looked vaguely Saddai, but both his name and accent were Nighmarian. “It does me good to look upon your beauty, I confess, and to hear your accent. I grew up in the Imperial capital, but I made my fortune in the provinces. I do grow homesick from time to time, though.”

“I am pleased,” said Caina, “indeed, doubly so, to meet men of such courtesy so far from the capital.” She smiled at him. “I had heard that provincials were crass and undignified, and I shall have the servant who told me so whipped, for clearly he lied to me.” 

“Well, we are far from the lights and temples of Nighmar,” said Nicephorus, “and must dwell among a barbarous and uncouth people, but we carry on the best we can.” Two men in black robes moved behind him, speaking to each other in low voices. “Ah. Here is someone else I should like you to meet.” He beckoned to the black-robed men. 

Caina’s smile froze in place.

Two brothers of the Magisterium. No, not brothers, but masters. Both magi wore ceremonial purple hoods trailing down the back of their black robes, and purple sashes around their waists. One was short and lean, his head bald, his eyes bright blue. The other magus was tall and gaunt, his mouth set in a perpetual frown, his dark eyes moving back and forth, his graying hair unkempt. 

“We are honored to have two masters of the Magisterium among us,” said Nicephorus. “Countess Marianna Nereide, may I present Master Kalastus,” he gestured to the bald man, “the head of Rasadda’s Magisterium chapter, and his second, Master Ephaeron.”

“Learned masters,” said Caina. It shocked her, how her voice stayed calm and pleasant. “I am honored to meet you.” They both bowed and kissed her ring. Their touch made her skin crawl with revulsion. She could sense the presence their sorcery, like needles pricking against her skin. 

The price she had paid to gain the sensitivity was not something she wished to recall.

“My lady,” said Kalastus. “Truly, the tales of your beauty have been underestimated.” He had a sonorous, strong voice, a voice made for oratory. 

“Thank you, learned master,” said Caina. 

“Kalastus has been with us for some time,” said Nicephorus. “Ephaeron only just arrived from the Imperial capital.” 

“Yes,” said Ephaeron. He sounded tired, distracted. “I much would have preferred to remain in the capital, but the study of arcane sciences demanded that I travel here.” He took a flute of wine from a passing servant, drank, and fell silent. 

Kalastus smiled, whispered under his breath, and crooked a finger. The crawling tension in Caina’s skin increased. A flute of wine floated off a startled servant’s tray, drifted through the air, and stopped before Caina’s hand.

“A glass of wine, my lady?” said Kalastus, smiling. He was looking at her in a way that she did not at all like. For a panicked moment Caina wondered if he had used his spells to pry into her thoughts, to learn her real identity. But, no. There was no suspicion in his gaze, only lust. “You have not had anything to drink.”

“Thank you, learned one,” said Caina, taking the floating glass. “I fear that wine makes me light-headed. Though how could I refuse a glass brought to my hand by such extraordinary means?”

“I could have just carried it to you,” said Romarion. They all laughed, and Caina made herself laugh with them. A bell rang out, and more servants hurried into the hall. 

“Ah,” said Nicephorus. “Dinner is ready. Please, let us be seated.”

Caina sat at the high table, along with Nicephorus, Romarion, the magi, and the wealthier merchants. The servants placed tray after tray upon the table, laden with meats, vegetables, fruits, pastries, and more. It was ten times more food than everyone at the table could eat, and people were starving in Rasadda’s streets. It made Caina vaguely sick, but she made herself eat and make polite small talk. 

“I understand that you were attacked, my lady,” said Nicephorus, spearing a piece of beef with his dagger. “Ambushed on the streets, I understand?”

“A small matter, my lord,” said Caina, taking a sip of wine. “My captain of guard dispatched the attackers easily enough. Though, alas, my coachman was slain.”

Nicephorus’s eyebrows rose. “My Decurion told me that your captain of guard left eight corpses in his wake.”

“Oh, yes,” said Caina. Ark stood nearby, ostensibly watching over her. He murmured a few words to every servant that passed, and they answered him back. To judge from his annoyed expression, he was not getting good answers. “He has been in my father’s service for some years, and is most skilled with a sword.”

“It is well that he accompanied you,” said Nicephorus. “The vermin in the streets are getting out of hand. Soon, I fear, I shall have to take stern measures.” 

“There was one strange thing, Lord Governor,” said Caina. “All the dead men had a most curious tattoo, a flame upon their chests. Have you ever heard of such a thing?” 

Nicephorus looked at Romarion and the magi, and the other men laughed. Except for Ephaeron, who only looked distracted. 

“My lord?” said Caina. “Have I said something amusing?”

“Not at all,” said Nicephorus. “Forgive me. You ran afoul of the so-called Sons of Corazain.”

“Who are they?” said Caina.

“The local troublemakers,” said Nicephorus. He took a long drink of wine, and continued speaking. “Are you familiar with the history of the Saddai?” Caina shook her head. “You’ve heard the name of Corazain, no doubt. He is a hero to these Saddai rabble. He was their last king, before the Empire, and he was also utterly insane. A pyromancer. Or an Ashbringer, as the Saddai called them. The Emperor Crisius crushed him, the Magisterium slaughtered the pyromancers, and the Saddai kingdom became a province of the Empire. These ‘Sons’ of Corazain have the ridiculous notion that one day the Ashbringers will return, and they shall drive out the Empire.”

“A harrowing tale,” said Caina.

“A ridiculous one,” said Nicephorus. “Were the Saddai to rise, we would crush them utterly.” 

“I have heard the most fearful tales about Rasadda, I do confess,” said Caina. “One of my maids heard a story that people were being burnt alive in the streets.”

Nicephorus frowned, and both Kalastus and Ephaeron looked at her. 

“Surely it is not true, is it?” said Caina. “My maid told me…well,” she lowered her voice, “that sorcery was used in these burnings.”

Both Kalastus burst out laughing, while Ephaeron frowned.

“Countess,” said Ephaeron, “you should discipline your maid. The art of pyromancy is long extinct.” 

“Pyromancy?” said Caina. “I’ve never heard that word before.”

“It refers to the discipline of arcane science that deals with fire sorcery,” said Kalastus. “It is incredibly dangerous, both to the practitioner and any bystanders, but a man adept in pyromantic arts could achieve dreadful feats of power. The Ashbringers, of course, were the paramount masters of pyromancy in the world. But the Magisterium exterminated them utterly, and destroyed their books of lore. There are no pyromancers left in the world.”  

“Nor should there be,” said Ephaeron. “Pyromancy is an abomination, one of the arcane sciences forbidden by Imperial law. Countess Marianna, you may tell your maid that should some fool dare to practice pyromantic arts, the Magisterium will show him no mercy.” 

“I shall sleep the easier for it,” said Caina.

Nicephorus shrugged. “In truth, we have found a number of burned corpses scattered through the city, but the explanation is simple enough. You’ve seen those black pyramids, I assume, with the fires upon their tops? They are the tombs of old Ashbringers, and those damnable fires burn eternally through their sorcery. No doubt the murderers slew their victims, threw the bodies into the fire, and then dumped the corpses into the street to incite the rabble.” He shook his head. “And it seems to be working, too, from the way the populace seethes.”

“It is not hard to see why. The people are desperate and starving,” said Ephaeron. “Little wonder they place their faith in phantasms from the past.”

Nicephorus scowled. “Their miseries are their own fault, I have told you that before.” 

“Forgive me,” said Caina, “but I have seen more beggars in Rasadda than anywhere else in the Empire. Has there been some sort of famine, or perhaps a drought?”

“They are simply too lazy to find work,” said Nicephorus. “When I first received command of this province, my associates and I,” he waved his hand at the assorted merchants and lords seated at the high table, “perceived at once that the lands of the Saddai peasantry were underused. So we purchased their lands as cheaply as possible and converted them over to pasture land.” His mouth twisted with contempt. “But rather than take the opportunity to better themselves, the fools all drifted into Rasadda to beg, claiming that they could not support themselves.”