Ghost in the Maze (28 page)

And she was only seven or eight feet above the ground.

She had calculated correctly.

Caina released the rope, tucked her shoulder, hit the ground, and rolled. The impact shot through her with stunning force, but none of her bones broke, and Caina sprang back to her feet, forcing herself to breathe, and started running. The Immortals at the base of the tower were in disarray, with some of them sprinting after Caina in pursuit, while others kept up their assault on the tower door.

Caina needed to find a serious distraction, else they were going to kill her and Nasser and the others.

Fortunately, she knew just where to find one. 

She dashed into the gardens, avoiding the path and making straight for the courtyard. The path wound back and forth, but she took a straight route through the twisted plants. They stirred as she passed, their vines twitching, their pods starting to curl open, but Caina jumped over the tangling roots and dodged the coiling vines. 

The wooden racks still stood at the edge of the courtyard, the rockets resting in place. The Alchemists, in the panic over the Immortals, had abandoned their rockets before they could fire them all. In fact, one of the purple torches still blazed upon the ground. 

Caina spun one of the racks around and tipped it over, pointing the rockets into the garden. Then she seized the torch and lit the rockets’ fuses. More Immortals spotted her across the courtyard and started running, while the guests screamed and ran for the gates or the inner palace. Caina turned every rack she could, lighting their fuses, and then dashed into the chaos of the courtyard as the Immortals erupted from the gardens.

The first of the rockets went off a heartbeat later. 

Six of them flew into the gardens, exploding in brilliant bursts of green and crimson sparks. Several of the mutated plants went up in flames, their vines and roots lashing at the air as they burned. The charge of the Immortals came to a confused halt as they ducked for cover, taking shelter from the volley of rockets. 

Then the remainder of the rockets went off. 

Caina had feared aiming them into the courtyard, knowing that they might well burn innocent people to death. Of course, most of Istarinmul’s nobles and Alchemists were hardly innocent, but Caina was a Ghost, not a Kindred assassin, and she would not start killing indiscriminately. Fortunately, her hasty improvisation proved effective. The rockets hissed from their racks and slammed into the side of the palace, exploding in brilliant bursts of multicolored sparks. The explosions did little damage to the marble walls of the palace. Yet they shattered the windows, and Caina glimpsed fires starting within the inner palace. And the constant explosions threw tangled thickets of shadow across the courtyard.

And Caina was wearing a shadow-cloak.

She sprinted and wove through the crowds, dodging past the terrified nobles and their slaves. She shot a glance at the garden, and glimpsed the rope stretching from the tower to the outer wall. It was empty. Had Nasser and the others gotten away? 

Caina ran through the gates and into the street outside Callatas’s place. Merchants and emirs and Alchemists fled in all directions. At the base of the wall Caina spotted a piled rope, and there stood Nasser and the others, breathing hard from their rapid descent down the outer wall.

She ran to join them.

“You are mad,” said Kazravid, “absolutely, utterly mad.”

“Yet successful,” said Nasser, his white smile flashing over his dark face. “My friends, we have just braved the palace of the Grand Master himself and escaped alive. To remain that way, I suggest we go our separate ways and flee at once.” 

The others nodded. Azaces still cradled an unconscious Nerina in his arms. Kazravid hesitated, looking at Caina. 

“What?” said Caina, hands twitching toward her weapons. She wondered if he would try to kill her and claim the bounty.

“You’re a madman, Ciaran or Balarigar or whatever your name is,” said Kazravid, “but by the Living Flame and the Seven Emissaries, if you ever want help on a job again, I’m in!”

The others murmured their agreement. 

Perhaps here were some new allies Caina could recruit into the Ghosts. 

“Thank you,” she said.

“Very nice,” said Nasser. “Now stop talking and run!”

They sprinted into the streets, scattering in different directions.

Chapter 22 - Thick as Thieves

The rest of the night and most of the day had passed by the time Caina made it back to the Sanctuary. 

Istarinmul had gone into an uproar unlike anything Caina had yet seen. When she had robbed Ulvan, that had been a minor scandal among the nobles and a joke for the commoners. Even when the Widow’s Tower had been destroyed, that had been a story that grew more implausible with every retelling, forgotten after a few weeks.

But this was something else.

Caina had just robbed the most powerful man in Istarinmul. 

The city’s gates were placed under guard, and squads of Immortals questioned everyone attempting to leave or enter, searching every cart and wagon. Watchmen moved through the streets and the bazaars, hammering a decree proclaimed by the Grand Wazir to every door. For the benefit of the illiterate, heralds followed the watchmen, bellowing the contents of the decrees.

For the capture of the anjar Hormizid, suspected ally of the Balarigar, fifty thousand bezants.

For the capture of Lord Amazaeus Helvius, suspected ally of the Balarigar, fifty thousand bezants.

And for the capture or death of the notorious Balarigar himself, a reward of one million bezants was now offered, along with a noble title, lifetime remission from all taxes, and the friendship and gratitude of both the Grand Wazir Erghulan and the Grand Master Callatas. 

Caina considered the matter as she slipped into the deserted courtyard behind the House of Agabyzus, clad in a blue dress and headscarf from one of her safe houses, her shadow-cloak, weapons, and the pouch of Elixir Restorata slung into a satchel. Both “Lord Amazaeus” and “Hormizid” were men, and returning to women’s clothing had let her elude the Immortals and the Teskilati both. She hoped Nasser and Kazravid and Nerina and the others had gotten away.

She stopped before the dry fountain. 

Perhaps it was time to take a different approach to her efforts against Callatas and the wraithblood. The daring thefts had been effective, but her odds had finally run out. She would have died at Vaysaal’s palace, if not for the intervention of Nasser and Samnirdamnus, and they had only escaped from Callatas’s palace by the thinnest of margins. 

And the Teskilati might yet find them, if Nasser or Caina or the others had made a mistake. 

Caina made sure she was unobserved and then opened the secret door, letting herself into the Sanctuary. She would spend the night here, and then consider the mood of the city tomorrow. After that she would decide how to proceed against Callatas and his plots. She still did not know what the Grand Master intended to do, not truly. It somehow involved wraithblood and the lost relics of Iramis. It somehow involved the nagataaru, and the creature with the terrible voice that had spoken inside Caina’s head.

She didn’t know what he intended to do with his Apotheosis…but now she knew what he needed to accomplish it.

And using that information, she could stop him.

He needed a steady supply of slaves to produce wraithblood. He needed the aid of the Slavers’ Brotherhood and the cooperation of the emirs and the Grand Wazir to bring his slaves into the city. He needed his lieutenants, men like Anburj and Ricimer and Vaysaal, to carry out his will. And apparently he needed the Staff and Seal of Iramis, whatever they were, and the Star of Iramis, which he already carried. 

If Caina could deny him those things, if she could disrupt and undermine his operations, she could delay or stop halt his plans. 

It would not be easy, but it was not as if Caina had anything better to do. 

In her heart, she was tired of risking her life again and again. If she could have worked her will, she would have returned home to Malarae and run the House of Kularus, settling into the quiet life of a coffee merchant. 

But she could not go home again.

And she could not leave Callatas to continue his monstrous plans. 

The Sanctuary remained undisturbed. Caina emptied the contents of the satchel onto one of the tables, including the pouch holding the vials of Elixir Restorata. The gods knew what she would do with the damned stuff. Denying its use to Callatas had been enough. Perhaps Caina could use it to bribe some emirs. Or, in an emergency, she could use it to heal herself.

But the thought of deliberately using sorcery on herself made her skin crawl. 

Caina pulled off her clothing, her limbs and joints aching from the exertions of the last few days. Or, at least, she tried to pull off her clothing.

She could not get the damned pyrikon off.

Using it within the Maze seemed to have changed it, or perhaps activated it. If Caina concentrated, she could command the pyrikon to change to a ring or a bracelet and back again. Either in its ring shape or its bracelet form, Caina could take it off.

But the minute she turned around, the pyrikon reappeared on her left wrist or her finger. 

“What the hell are you?” muttered Caina.

The pyrikon gave no answer. Caina suspected the thing had a mind and a will of its own. Yet if it did, that will had no malice against her. It had helped her in the Maze. After concentrating some more, Caina found she could command the pyrikon to become an intricate bronze torque that encircled her left bicep. That at least would be easy enough to conceal. 

She washed herself as best as she could, lay down on a cot, and went to sleep.

###

And to her utter lack of surprise, Samnirdamnus waited in her dreams.

They stood on the lifeless gray plain of the netherworld, the sky writhing and crawling overhead, flashes of green lightning springing across the dark clouds. The golden rift sprawled motionless against the black sky, and again Caina saw the frozen echo of Iramis. Samnirdamnus wore the form of Corvalis this time, and he leaned against one of the upside down trees, an insouciant smirk on his face. 

“Is this really the netherworld?” said Caina, looking around in alarm, half-expecting nagataaru or phobomorphic spirits or worse to appear.

“It is,” said Samnirdamnus, “but a little pocket of it. A borderland, if you will. But it is safe enough. Just you and me.” 

“And that is safe?” said Caina, raising her eyebrows. 

“Not in the least,” said Samnirdamnus. He raised his head and gazed at the golden rift. “Just as your chats with the Moroaica here were not safe.”

Caina frowned. “You know about that?”

“You are the Balarigar,” said Samnirdamnus. “Or you became the Balarigar. Or you will become the Balarigar. One or the other. Certainly I hope the other.”

“That is as clear as mud,” said Caina. “Though I suppose I should expect no less from you by now.”

Samnirdamnus smiled. “Ah, good. You are learning.”

They stood in silence for a moment.

“Thank you,” said Caina at last. 

“For what?”

“The warnings,” said Caina. “You warned me against the carchomorphic spirits…”

Samnirdamnus sniffed. “Unpleasant vermin. They are as akin to me as monkeys are akin to mortals.”

“And against the nagataaru,” said Caina. 

“As I have said,” said Samnirdamnus. “You might be the one I have sought. Or you will become the one I have sought. Linear time…” He sighed and shook his head. “Linear time is so inconvenient.”

“But as you have mentioned,” said Caina, “I cannot become the one you have sought if the nagataaru kill me.”

“Then you understand,” said Samnirdamnus. “Or you will. Which is close enough for now.”

“Will you tell me why you have sought me?” said Caina. “Why you think I might be the one you have been looking for?” 

“You already know,” said Samnirdamnus.

“No, I really don’t,” said Caina. She considered for a moment. “Or do you mean it is something I already know, but haven’t realized?”

The djinni made no answer, but the smile widened across Corvalis’s face. 

“Very good,” said Samnirdamnus. “The mad locksmith has already told you.”

“The haze,” said Caina. “The shadow around me that the wraithblood addicts see. That is why you were looking for me?”

“Yes,” said Samnirdamnus.

It was the straightest and most direct answer she had ever had from the djinni.

“The shadow around me,” said Caina. Even in the dream, her throat was dry. “What is it? The scars Maglarion left upon me? The shadow of the Moroaica? The imprint of my visit to the netherworld?”

“Not at all,” said Samnirdamnus. “You are looking at it from the wrong direction, my darling slayer of demons.”

“The past, you mean?” said Caina. “Then the shadow is…my future?”

“A potential future,” said Samnirdamnus. “One that may come to pass, or it may not.” He pushed away from the tree and gazed across the plains. “But you will have to be careful now. You’ve made some enemies.”

“Callatas,” said Caina.

“Oh, he was already your enemy,” said Samnirdamnus. “But thanks to your little jaunt through the netherworld, you’ve drawn the attention of his allies.”

“The nagataaru,” said Caina. “That voice…”

“Their prince,” said Samnirdamnus. “Called Kotuluk Iblis in the legends of the Istarish mortals, though that is not truly his name. You see, my dear child of the Ghosts, you have only known half of your foes. Callatas is your foe, aye…but Callatas has allies.”

“The nagataaru,” said Caina. “What do they want?”

Samnirdamnus smiled. “You.”

“Me?”

“You, that glass-handed thief of yours, the coffee merchant, the mad locksmith, all your friends in Malarae, and everyone in the world,” said Samnirdamnus. “Every last one of them. Do be watchful, my dear Balarigar. You’ve drawn the notice of the nagataaru…and they will come for you.” 

Caina sighed. “Thank you for the warning. I don’t suppose you have any good news for me?” 

“You’re still alive,” said Samnirdamnus. “Do try to stay that way.”

The netherworld vanished, and Caina sank into a black and dreamless sleep.

###

The next evening, Caina walked into the House of Agabyzus, wearing the clothes of a Cyrican merchant. She did not want to use any of her other disguises. Anburj was dead, and the Teskilati might try to track down everyone he had spoken to in the last few months. All it would take was one Kindred recognizing her, one Teskilati agent, and Caina would be in trouble.

One million bezants was a lot of money. 

She found Damla speaking to a pair of cooks. “Pardon, mistress?”

“Yes?” said Damla. “How may I be of service, sir?” Caina stifled a smile. Damla did not recognize her. “We offer…oh.” Her eyes widened a bit, and then she nodded. “Oh, yes, I see. May I say I am very glad to see you here? After all the…upheaval in the city, I was not sure you would return.” 

“Well,” said Caina with a Cyrican accent. “I would miss the excellent coffee.”

“You are most kind, sir,” said Damla. “Come, come, I will show you to your room.” 

She led Caina up the stairs to a guest room on the top floor. Agabyzus sat at the room’s small desk, still wearing the disguise of a Sarbian nomad, frowning at a stack of letters.

“I am glad you are safe!” said Damla, catching Caina in a hug after she closed the door. “We heard the rumors of a great upheaval at Master Alchemist Callatas’s palace. Then the Immortals started guarding the gates, and I feared the worst.”

“I’m not dead yet,” said Caina. 

“Did you learn anything?” said Agabyzus. 

“I did,” said Caina. “And you both should hear it, in case something happens to me. I still don’t know what Callatas’s Apotheosis is. But I know he has a pact with the nagataaru, the dark spirits of the netherworld. And I know that the jewel he wears is called the Star of Iramis, and to work the Apotheosis he needs two other relics, the Staff of Iramis and the Seal of Iramis.”

Damla only nodded, but Agabyzus frowned. 

“You know what they are?” said Caina.

“According to the tales,” said Agabyzus, “the Star, Staff, and Seal were the royal regalia of the Princes of Iramis. The loremasters of Iramis created them in ancient times, even before the destruction of the Kingdom of the Rising Sun, and imbued them with potent sorcerous powers.”

“He used the Star to destroy Iramis,” said Caina.

“Presumably the Staff and the Seal were inside Iramis when he burned the city,” said Agabyzus.

Damla scoffed. “Then Callatas is not so clever. If he wanted these sorcerous relics, he should not have burned Iramis.”

“He’s looking for them,” said Caina. “That’s why he’s been sending so many slaves into the Desert of Candles. The mines are just a cover. He’s looking for the Staff and Seal of Iramis. They must have been outside the city when he destroyed it.” 

“You are the circlemaster,” said Agabyzus. “How do you suggest we proceed?” 

“Callatas needs wraithblood and the relics of Iramis to work the Apotheosis,” said Caina. “Therefore we shall deny him both. If we can disrupt the operations of the Slavers’ Brotherhood, cut off the supply of fresh slaves to Istarinmul, soon enough he won’t be able to buy slaves at any price. And if we can find and destroy the relics first, perhaps we can stop the Apotheosis entirely.” 

“A large task,” said Agabyzus.

Caina shrugged. “No larger than stealing from Grand Master Callatas and living to tell the tale.” 

Agabyzus nodded. “Then you wish us to disrupt and harass the slavers? To go into the shadows, as it were?” 

“Yes,” said Caina. “The fewer people who know about us, the more effective we can be.” 

“So you will stop these…bold and public thefts?” said Agabyzus.

“For now,” said Caina. “Unless we have need of one.”

“Oh, the Living Flame be praised,” said Damla. “Every time you went into the night, every time the khalmir of the watch posted the new bounty upon my door…I feared that you were slain.” 

“Not yet,” said Caina. 

“I will begin at once,” said Agabyzus. “I still have many informants in the city, most of whom do not know that I am a Ghost. I shall learn of the movements of the slavers, and present you with a plan to cause them the most harm.” 

“Good,” said Caina. 

“There is one other thing,” said Damla. “Sulaman the poet.”

“What about him?” said Caina.