Ghost in the Maze (16 page)

Caina nodded, sudden ideas tumbling through her head. Erghulan Amirasku was the Grand Wazir of Istarinmul, the second highest office in Istarinmul…and a close ally of Callatas. If anyone other than Callatas knew what the Apotheosis was, it was Erghulan Amirasku. 

Perhaps this was a chance to learn more about it.

“I should pay my respects to the Grand Wazir,” said Caina. “Where is he?”

Tarqaz hesitated. Caina speaking to the Grand Wazir was not part of the plan. “The…ah, forgive me, my lord, but the Grand Wazir is not holding court today. He would not welcome an interruption from the public.”

“The public?” said Caina, feigning indignation. “The public? I am not the public, slave! I am Lord Amazaeus of House Helvius, not some stinking commoner or witless slave! I am simply greeting a fellow man of rank and standing, not that I expect you to understand such distinctions of noble protocol.” 

“Of course,” said Tarqaz, sweating more. “Forgive my ignorance, noble lord. The Grand Wazir is in the outer colonnade, discussing matters with his servants. If you wish to speak with him, you shall find him there.”

“Very good,” said Caina. The scribe finished and sealed the invitation, and Caina took it. “Thank you for your assistance.”

Tarqaz blinked in surprise. Caina suspected he was not thanked very often.

She left the courtyard before Tarqaz could think to assign her an escort and made her way back into the grand hall of polished columns. Endless armies of slaves hurried back and forth on their errands. They all gave Caina a wide berth, scrupulously keeping their eyes downcast. For now, she had the freedom to act and move. 

She went back to the outer courtyard and strode along the colonnade encircling the palace, moving away from the gardens and the tower of the Maze. The colonnade consisted of slender Istarish columns, the capitals adorned with stylized flowers. Mosaics of battle scenes dotted the ground, and frescoes of hunting scenes covered the walls. 

Caina spotted Erghulan Amirasku standing near one of the columns, guarded by four Immortals. The Grand Wazir was in his middle fifties, yet still strong and tall, the very image of a proud Istarish warrior. Unlike many of the emirs, he disdained finery for chain mail and simple garb, his weapons ready at his belt. The Grand Wazir was talking with a lean, balding man, a man with a beak of a nose and the balance and poise of a hunting predator…

Caina faltered in alarm.

Erghulan was talking to Anburj. 

Evidently Callatas had not ordered the assassin executed for his failure at Vaysaal’s mansion. Pity, that.

She felt one of the four Immortal guards staring at her.

Caina stepped past the columns and into the courtyard, moving at an idle stroll. She craned her neck, taking in the high walls and towers like a minor rural noble come to gawk at the Padishah’s capital. Yet she moved closer to the Grand Wazir and the assassin as she did.

And their voices came to her ears.

“I imagine the Grand Master was displeased,” said Erghulan.

“He was,” said Anburj. “As was the Elder of the Kindred family. But they are both realists. This Balarigar is a damned slippery foe. The last Ghost circle wasn’t nearly as clever. Taking them all in one swoop was easy. We won’t be so lucky this time.”

“Do you think it’s the same man?” said Erghulan. “The one who killed Rezir Shahan in Marsis?”

“I’m certain of it,” said Anburj. “Which is another problem we can lay at the Balarigar’s feet. Tanzir Shahan has proven far more stubborn than his late brother.”

Erghulan snorted. “The fat pig has some backbone! Who knew? That trip to Malarae changed him.”

Caina stifled a smile. She had saved Tanzir’s life in Malarae at the end of the war. Evidently the experience had changed him. 

“Rezir regularly sent slaves to support the Grand Master’s work,” said Erghulan. “Tanzir, once he became emir of the Vale of Fallen Stars, ceased the practice. The Grand Master and the Brotherhood are displeased with him. Your Kindred family may have to send men to deal with Tanzir, and put someone more tractable in his place.” 

“That is a matter for the Elder to decide, not me,” said Anburj. “I have my own task.”

“The Balarigar,” said the Grand Wazir. 

“Aye,” said Anburj. “He has put the fear into the fat fools of the Slavers’ Brotherhood. They are now spending lavish sums on their own security and neglecting their tasks for the Grand Master. The flow of new slaves into the city has slowed to a trickle, and their price has tripled in the markets. Wraithblood production has been severely hindered.” Again Caina stifled a smile. “The Grand Master, as you can imagine, is displeased.”

Erghulan snorted. “I don’t need to imagine anything. He has expressed his displeasure to me at length. Of course, it is his own fault. He diverted so many of the slaves to the Desert of Candles that we have a shortfall here.”

“Why the damned desert?” said Anburj. “There’s nothing out there but dust, more dust, and those useless blue crystals.”

“Ruins,” said Erghulan. “The ruins of old Iramis. If you want my guess, he’s looking for the old royal tombs of Iramis. According to legend, there are all sorts of treasures buried in them. Their locations were lost when Iramis burned, but perhaps he seeks them now.”

Anburj snorted. “If he wanted something from Iramis, perhaps he should have secured it before he burned the city.”

“Perhaps,” said Erghulan. “Would you like to explain that to him?”

“Certainly not,” said Anburj. “I…”

“My lord Wazir,” rasped one of the Immortals. “Someone approaches.” 

Caina realized that she had loitered too long. Part of her mind wanted to turn and run. But if she did that, Erghulan and Anburj would realize that she had been spying. And worse, both Anburj and Erghulan had seen her without a mask. Anburj at the House of Agabyzus, in her guise as Marius, and outside of the Widow’s Tower when she had disguised herself as a tribesman of the steppes. Erghulan at Ulvan’s ascension, in her disguise as Natalia of the Nine Knives.

Of course, Natalia of the Nine Knives hadn’t worn very much clothing. Perhaps the Grand Wazir had not focused upon her face. 

There was only one thing to do. Caina put on an obsequious smile and strode into the colonnade, ignoring the Immortals and Anburj both. 

“My lord Grand Wazir,” said Caina, concentrating on keeping her voice disguised. “It is a tremendous honor to meet you at last, and I bring greetings from my illustrious uncle.”

She bowed deeply, and she glimpsed Anburj’s lip crinkling with disgust. 

“Yes, of course,” said Erghulan, annoyed. “And you are?”

“Amazaeus of House Helvius,” said Caina, straightening up. “My uncle Lord Helvius is a loyal friend of the Slavers’ Brotherhood and a great admirer of Grand Master Callatas, and so dispatched me to express his respects to the Grand Master.”

“Yes,” said Anburj, his cold eyes scrutinizing Caina. The Kindred assassin was damnably clever. If he saw through her disguise, she would not make it three steps before the Immortals cut her down. “Your uncle must hold the Grand Master in high esteem indeed, if he sends a witless nephew as his emissary.”

Caina bristled. “I am a son of House Helvius, high in honor. Grand Wazir, you must indeed be a generous and kindly man to let your servants speak with such disrespect to their superiors.”

Anburj’s eyes narrowed, but Erghulan roared with laughter.

“I suppose I am at that,” said Erghulan. “Well, do send my best wishes back to your uncle. Istarinmul needs friends in many lands, even friends among our former enemies in the Empire.”

He strode away, the Immortals trailing him. Anburj followed the Grand Wazir, but glanced back at Caina, his eyes still narrowed. Clearly he suspected that something was amiss. 

“My lord Grand Wazir!” shouted Caina, hoping to throw off Anburj’s suspicions. “One more question, if I may.” 

Erghulan scowled. “What?”

“It was a long road from Cyrica,” said Caina, “and, well…a man has needs. What’s the best whorehouse in Istarinmul?”

Erghulan laughed again. “I like you, Amazaeus. Perhaps we shall go hunting together. The Gilded Throne in the Masters’ Quarter has the most beautiful slave girls in Istarinmul, if you can afford them.” Likely Kazravid had availed himself of the opportunity. “If you can’t afford the Gilded Throne, I suggest the Rose of Seven Petals in the Old Quarter. Not as opulent as the Gilded Throne, true…but any port in a storm, eh?” 

Anburj rolled his eyes, and Caina saw him dismiss her as a potential threat. 

She resisted the temptation to sigh in relief. 

“Thank you, my lord,” said Caina. “I look forward to following your counsel.”

Erghulan snorted. “There is something I rarely hear.”

He left without another word, Anburj and the Immortals escorting him.

Caina let out a long breath, and then departed from the palace as fast as she dared.

###

Laertes and Strabane and Anaxander awaited her outside the palace’s gates, the endless stream of porters and slaves going back and forth. 

“Were you successful?” said Laertes. “My lord?” He managed to add it without it seeming like an afterthought. 

“Yes,” said Caina, tapping the rolled invitation against her palm. “Let us depart at once.” 

She left with Anaxander and Laertes and Strabane before she could think of something else foolish to do.

Chapter 13 - Foresight

The next week passed in a blur of activity. 

And Caina put on a show.

She used the false identity of Lord Amazaeus Helvius constantly, visiting the coffee houses and shops of the Masters’ Quarter and the Old Quarter. Lord Amazaeus needed to be a real person, not a fiction that Caina had created. So Caina complained to shopkeepers and placed orders for cloth and coffee and wine and Anshani silk. She did everything she could to create the impression of a spoiled, arrogant noble come to enjoy himself in the city. 

She even visited the Rose of Seven Petals in the Old Quarter, though she did not hire any of the establishment’s prostitutes. There were limits to how far she would carry her masquerades. 

And as she visited the city’s inns and coffee houses, she noticed them filling up with foreigners and emirs from the hinterlands. Callatas’s celebration was coming, and those who wanted to curry favor with the Grand Master flocked to Istarinmul. She began to feel a bit more confident about their odds. Thousands of guests would fill the Grand Master’s palace, and two minor noblemen and their retainers would not stand out. In the crowds, they had an excellent chance of reaching the Maze unseen. 

Unless, of course, they were walking into a trap.

Unless they were betrayed.

###

Five nights before the day of the banquet, Caina sat alone with Nasser in the anteroom of Kazravid’s suite at the Gilded Throne. Nerina had set up a worktable against one wall, spending her time practicing upon the style of locks found in Callatas’s palace, but she had at last worked herself to exhaustion and gone to bed. Dim moonlight leaked from the skylight overhead, and the palatial inn was quiet around them. 

“You have,” said Nasser, “been making quite a stir.” 

They sat on the edge of the fountain, a plate of food between them. Caina popped a breaded mushroom into her mouth and chewed, savoring the taste. The cooks had stuffed the mushroom with cheese and crumbled bacon before rolling it in bread crumbs and frying it in oil, and the result was delicious. Given the amount of time Caina had spent hiding in cellars and eating jerky, she could appreciate the difference.

“That is the point,” said Caina. “Our friend Lord Amazaeus needs to be a real man. There are thousands of guests coming to the palace, true…but the Teskilati and the Immortals will exercise extra vigilance. And if we live through this, I may wish to make use of the alias in the future. Easier if it already has a history.”

“You are a wise man, my friend,” said Nasser.

“I’m not,” said Caina, eating another mushroom. “I am just very good at pretending to be one.”

“Is that not the same thing in the end?” said Nasser. “If others believe it to be so?” 

“The fact that people believe I am the Balarigar,” said Caina, “does not make it so.”

“No,” said Nasser, “but at the right time and the right place, the illusion of strength can be as effective as strength itself. A bluff is a potent weapon.” 

“I suppose so,” said Caina. Nasser reached for one of the mushrooms, and she felt the faint aura of sorcery around his gloved left hand. “I wonder something.”

“What is that?” said Nasser. 

“When did you command men in battle?” said Caina.

Nasser smiled his gleaming smile. “Never.”

“Liar,” said Caina.

“I am,” admitted Nasser, “but what makes you think I am lying about this?”

“The way Laertes talks to you,” said Caina. “He was in the Legion, and I suspect he attained some rank.”

“One of the lower grades of centurion, I believe,” said Nasser.

“Centurions are hard men,” said Caina, taking another mushroom, “and once they leave the Legion, they only follow men they respect. Laertes listens to you like he was still a centurion and you were the Lord Commander of his Legion. You brought Kazravid to heel easily enough, and both Anaxander and Azaces obey you. And you are good in a fight. I saw you deal with those Immortals in the Alchemists’ Quarter.”

“Perhaps I am simply charismatic,” said Nasser.

“Certainly,” said Caina. “A bluff is almost as good as strength…except when your life depends upon lifting something heavy. In a crisis, they’ve heeded your commands. You knew what to do when we summoned Samnirdamnus. You let Nerina and me deal with him. As if you had experience delegating to your lieutenants in a crisis. Such as during a battle.”

Nasser let out a long sigh. “A long, long time ago. Yes. I did command men in battle.”

“Then you were a nobleman,” said Caina. 

“Of what nation?” said Nasser.

“I don’t know,” said Caina. “In appearance, you could either be Anshani, Istarish, Cyrican, Sarbian, or Alqaarin, though if I had to guess I would say you look Istarish.” She rubbed at the stubble of her hair for a moment. Odd that it helped her think. “Your accent, though…I can’t place it.”

He grinned. “I change accents as readily as you do.” 

“But in your unguarded moments, when you’re angry…I can’t place your accent,” said Caina. “It sounds a little like Callatas’s accent. Which makes me wonder how you know him.”

“Well, we did grow up together,” said Nasser, taking a sip of wine. “We both loved the same woman and had a falling out. He went into the arcane sciences, while I became a master thief without equal. Present company excluded, of course.” 

“Unlikely,” said Caina. “Callatas is over two hundred years old. You could not be a day over forty, unless you are secretly a necromancer who has used the blood of the innocent to sustain his life.”

“Alas,” said Nasser, “nothing so prosaic.” He offered her the carafe. “Wine?”

“I hate wine,” said Caina, “but it’s too late for coffee, so yes.” She poured herself a cup. 

“I have seen battle,” said Nasser, “but so have you.”

“And what makes you say that?” said Caina, taking a sip of the bitter Istarish wine. Halfdan had been right. Caerish wine was superior to anything produced in Istarinmul. She wondered what he would say about this wine.

The thought made her sad. 

“You keep your head well in a crisis,” said Nasser. “Not everyone can do that. Often men freeze when faced with mortal danger for the first time.”

“Perhaps I commanded men in battle, too,” said Caina.

“I think not,” said Nasser. “You are too young, for one. In the Empire, men only become centurions in their middle thirties. And you are too short, too small. I suspect you were a sickly child.”

“I’m sure that was it,” said Caina. She was both amused and relieved that the fact she was a woman had simply not occurred to him. “So, if I am not a Legionary and I did not command men in battle, how did I come the Ghosts?”

“If I had to guess,” said Nasser, “I suspect you come from an impoverished noble house. You turned to theft to support yourself, and eventually the Ghosts caught you. Rather than killing you, they recognized your skills, and brought you into their circle.”

“Some of that is correct,” said Caina, “and some of it is not.”

“Just as some of what you guessed about me is correct,” said Nasser, “and some of it is not.”

“I suppose you won’t tell me which is which?”

Nasser smiled. “That would ruin our fun.”

“This is fun?” said Caina, raising her eyebrows. 

“There’s no need to lie on this matter,” said Nasser. “You enjoy our game as much as I do.”

He was right about that. Nasser did not remind Caina of Halfdan at all, but their mutual lying reminded Caina of the games she used to play with her mentor. 

“This is too serious for a game,” said Caina.

“The most enjoyable games of all,” said Nasser, “are always deadly serious. When your life is on the line, and your wits and mind and muscles are engaged to the fullest. That is when you are most alive. And speaking of staying alive, have you figured out if we shall be betrayed yet?”

Caina gazed into her wine for a moment. 

“I don’t know,” she said at last. “I don’t know enough about them yet. Any one of them would have motive to betray us. Including you and me.” Nasser inclined his head. “But I intend to find out.”

###

The next evening Caina donned the disguise of Marius of the Imperial Collegium of Jewelers and walked into the House of Agabyzus.

Damla’s coffee house, like every other business that rented rooms in the city, was packed. The high lords and the emirs and the wealthy merchants preferred the Masters’ Quarter and the Emirs’ Quarter, and the Alchemists might lodge in the College itself, but the powerful men had guards and slaves and porters and servants and clerks, and they all had to stay somewhere. To judge from the large number of mercenaries and gray-clad slaves filling the booths and tables of the House, Damla’s guest rooms had been rented by the guards and scribes of some emir or another. 

Damla herself hurried over as Caina entered. As always, she looked poised and calm, though her eyes were bloodshot. 

“Master Marius, welcome,” said Damla.

“Business has been brisk, I see,” said Caina.

“Most brisk indeed,” said Damla. “With all the guests arriving for the Grand Master’s celebration, the city is full to bursting. I have had to hire on extra help.” She lowered her voice. “Free men, not slaves.”

“Good,” said Caina. 

“I am glad you have come,” said Damla. “We have not seen you for over a week.”

Caina shrugged. “I have been busy with the business of the Collegium.”

They both knew what that meant. 

“Do you wish to see him?” said Damla.

Caina nodded.

“He is upstairs, in the third room,” said Damla. “Crowds make him nervous.” 

They both knew what that meant, too. If one of the Teskilati happened to realize that Agabyzus had survived the destruction of the Widow’s Tower, that would be very bad. Though with so many foreigners and strangers in the city, not even the Padishah’s spies could be everywhere. 

Caina thanked Damla, climbed the stairs to the second floor, and knocked on the door to the third room.

“Who is it?” came Agabyzus’s rough voice. 

“Marius,” said Caina. 

The door swung open a few inches, and Caina saw Agabyzus standing behind it, a loaded crossbow in his hands. He was dressed as a Sarbian nomad, his face and head concealed behind a false beard and turban. 

“Ah, good, you’re alone,” he said, lowering the weapon and pushing the door all the way open. “Come inside.” Caina followed him into the small room, which had a bed and a desk for furnishings. Agabyzus sat upon the bed, while Caina took the desk chair. “I’ve had to lie low. There was a Teskilati informer in the common room for most of the day, likely watching the guests for any undesirables. The man knows me on sight, so it seemed best to keep a low profile.”

“A sound plan,” said Caina. “Have you received any letters from the Empire?”

“I fear not,” said Agabyzus. “I have heard the same rumors of insurrection and civil war within the Magisterium, but no solid news.”

Caina sighed. “Did you have a chance to speak to your informants with my questions?”

“I did,” said Agabyzus. “We need to work out a way for me to leave you messages. I’ve had the information for two days, but no way to reach you.” 

“I’ve been busy,” said Caina. “Once this business with Nasser is over, we can set something up. What did you find out about Nasser’s associates?”

“Several things,” said Agabyzus. “Kazravid. It seems he slept with one of his father’s concubines, and had to flee Anshan for Istarinmul. Ever since he has eked out a living from gambling, hunting, and occasional mercenary work, and since he prefers to live far beyond his means he owes large sums to several different moneylenders.” 

Caina nodded. “That matches what I have observed.” And it also made Kazravid susceptible to bribes. If he learned that Caina was the Balarigar, he would almost certainly try to kill her to claim the bounty.

“The eunuch Tarqaz has been the property of Callatas for almost fifteen years,” said Agabyzus. “One of my informants at the Slavers’ Brotherhood passed me the record of the sale. Callatas bought both Tarqaz and his sister. Tarqaz has risen high in Callatas’s service, and is well-known within certain circles of the city. His sister disappeared years ago, and no one seems to know what happened to her.”

“I think we can make a guess,” said Caina, remembering the corpses she had seen in the wraithblood laboratories. Tarqaz’s story, too, seemed accurate. Yet if they stole the Elixir Restorata from Callatas, Tarqaz would become a fugitive. Perhaps the eunuch would not prefer to give up his comfortable life as one of Callatas’s high-ranking slaves. 

“As for the magus Anaxander,” said Agabyzus, “I was not able to find out very much about him. He was once a brother of the Magisterium in Artifel, but ran afoul of the First Magus. From what I can tell, he researched how to summon and control spirits from the netherworld, a practice the Magisterium forbids.” 

Caina frowned, remembering Ranarius and his research into elementals. “The First Magus tends to look the other way.”

“Unless the magus in question uses his forbidden research to conspire against the First Magus,” said Agabyzus. “I suspect Anaxander was involved in a plot against the First Magus, and Decius Aberon is not a forgiving man.”

“I’ve heard that,” said Caina. 

“The First Magus has a death writ on Anaxander’s head,” said Agabyzus, “and since coming to Istarinmul, Anaxander has supported himself by selling his talents to the highest bidder. He appears to spend most of his money on drinking himself to death.”

Caina nodded. Anaxander could be easily bribed in so many ways – by Callatas himself, by the First Magus, or by simply collecting the reward for the Balarigar. 

“And Strabane?” she said. 

“From the Kaltari Highlands,” said Agabyzus. “He was a free man, not a slave, and came to Istarinmul and voluntarily enrolled in the gladiatorial schools. Some free men do that, as the rewards are high, though they often come to a bad end. Strabane was an effective fighter – brutal, even. I saw him fight once, and he dominated his opponent. Eventually he killed a gladiator owned by one of the more prominent cowled masters, and was forced out of the gladiatorial games. Since then he has worked as a mercenary and an enforcer for various criminal groups.” He scratched at his fake beard. “And acquired a reputation as a thief, most likely from working with Nasser.”