Jonathan Moeller - The Ghosts 08 - Ghost in the Mask (13 page)

“There have been a few,” admitted Claudia.

“Any you preferred?” said Corvalis. 

For some reason, she found herself thinking of Lord Martin, and pushed the thought aside. She was beneath his notice. 

“None,” she said.

“Just as well,” said Corvalis. “I would hate to have to kill the man if he was unworthy of you.”

Muravin laughed.

“You are joking,” said Claudia, “aren’t you?”

He grinned. “Mostly.” 

Claudia decided to change the subject. “Do you think this banquet is a good idea?”

“Most likely,” said Corvalis. “I suppose it’s possible that Anashir might go berserk and summon shadows to kill us all, or Lady Maena will take her soldiers and storm the town. But it’s in everyone’s best interests to play along nicely. For Anashir and Lady Maena, so they can keep looking for whatever it is they want to find. For Lord Martin, so he can keep the peace. And for us, so we can find out what Maena and Anashir are doing.”

“Actually,” said Komnene, “you and I can go as well, Claudia. I cured one of Lord Martin’s men of a snakebite before you arrived, and in gratitude I have a standing invitation to any events he holds in his capacity as Lord Governor.”

Claudia frowned. “Do you think Caina wants us to come?”

“I do. The more eyes we have, the better.” 

Claudia almost jumped out of her seat, and Corvalis reached for his sword. A man leaned against the door, a man with leather armor and ragged blond hair, his eyes cold and blue in his pale face…

Then Claudia recognized Caina. “Oh.”

Corvalis barked his harsh laugh and released his sword. “How did you do that?”

“Sorry,” said Caina, seating herself next to Claudia. “Stealth is a difficult habit to unlearn.” 

“Did you find anything useful in Jurius’s rooms?” said Komnene. 

“Not particularly,” said Caina, taking a cup of beer for herself. “Rotting food, and clothing that has never been washed. He did have a shrine to Anubankh in the closet. The same sort of Maatish hieroglyphs we saw on the bandits.”

“Then he truly believed,” said Komnene, “else he would not have a hidden shrine to a forgotten god.”

“I agree,” said Caina. “I searched every inch of the place. No papers, no hidden compartments, no secret journals detailing his plans. Whatever else he might have been, he was smart enough not to write anything down. Tomorrow night, we’ll have the chance to learn more.”

Chapter 9 - The Exile

The next evening, Caina prepared for Lord Martin’s banquet. 

It did not take long. Her black magus’s robe was unflattering, and Rania Scorneus would not wear jewelry. Nor would she trouble herself with makeup. The end result made Caina look stark and forbidding, a woman of ice robed in black. 

Though Caina found she missed the gowns and jewels she wore as Sonya Tornesti. She liked wearing them…and, more, she liked wearing them when Corvalis could see her. 

What was she doing, masquerading as a magus in Calvarium? She had a life that suited her in Malarae, and…

But she remembered Jurius laughing as Dust Shadows rose from the corpses of his victims. That was reason enough. 

Caina nodded to herself, pushed aside her doubts, and went to join Corvalis and Muravin.

###

The carriage came to a stop in the central square of Calvarium, and Caina climbed out and looked at the magistrates’ hall. 

It resembled an ancient Caerish chieftain’s hall, likely because it had once actually been a Caerish chieftain’s hall. In most towns of the Empire, the local magistrates conducted business in basilicas built in the Imperial style. The magistrates’ hall of Calvarium had been constructed of towering stone slabs, its roof fashioned from wooden beams and thatch. Dozens of skulls grinned down from the archway over the doors, explaining why the Lord Governors had not torn the thing down and built a proper basilica. The hall looked wild and barbaric, and Caina half-expected to see ancient Caerish warriors standing along the walls, chests marked with blue war paint, the skulls of their enemies dangling from their belts. 

“Ugly place,” muttered Corvalis. 

Caina drew herself up, settled her face in its haughty mask, and strode towards the hall. Komnene and Claudia awaited them near the doors. The physician wore her usual blue robe, while Claudia had changed her blue dress for one of green wool that matched her eyes. She had done up her hair, and had even put on makeup. 

Caina wondered who she intended to impress. 

“Mistress Rania,” said Komnene with a bow. “I trust you are feeling better.”

“I am, physician,” said Caina. “I thank you again for your services. I am surprised that the Lord Governor would invite you. Such gatherings are usually only for the influential.”

Komnene shrugged, the tip of her cane rattling against the flagstones. “Alas, I fear Calvarium lacks the sophistication of Artifel or Malarae. We are simple, modest folk here, and thrill to see a visitor as illustrious as a magus of the Magisterium.”

“Indeed,” said Caina. “Well, I have no wish to keep the Lord Governor waiting.” 

Both Komnene and Claudia offered tiny nods. They would keep watch while Caina spoke to Anashir and Lady Maena.

She took a deep breath and entered the magistrates’ hall.

The interior looked like the grand hall of some barbarian king. A firepit crackled in the center of the hall, smoke rising through a square hole in the ceiling. A high table stood on a dais at the far end of the room, before the Lord Governor’s ornate chair of office. Merchants stood in knots around the hall, speaking in low voices. Servants circulated with trays of food and drink.

Lord Martin stood near the firepit, speaking with a man and a woman.

The woman was about eighteen, and stunningly beautiful, with long red hair, bright green eyes, and flawless skin. She wore a rich, gold-trimmed green gown that accentuated the curves of hip and bosom, cut low to the point of immodesty in front. The woman looked at Caina, and for just a moment, hatred flashed across her face.

The woman knew Caina.

But Caina had never seen her before. 

The man was middle-aged, tall and proud with dark eyes and a hooked nose, his black beard lined with gray. He wore an elaborate robe of red and black, a jeweled turban resting upon his head. Behind him waited a giant of a man, nearly seven feet tall, naked save for a white linen kilt, sash, and leather sandals. A maze of vicious scars crisscrossed the skin of his chest and arms. A khopesh, a hooked Anshani sword, hung from his sash, and a strange bronze mask and helmet covered his face. The mask showed a serene, emotionless face, and Caina found it disquieting.

She felt the faint tingle of active spells surrounding both the robed man and the masked man. 

“Ah,” said Lord Martin. “Our guest has arrived. Lady Maena Tulvius, Master Anashir, may I present Rania of House Scorneus, a sister of the Imperial Magisterium.” 

“Oh, indeed?” said Maena, her voice throaty. “A magus? Why, how impressive! I am certainly honored.” She fanned a hand in front of her face. “I am so honored I may simply faint.” She gave a small, tittering laugh. 

She looked at Corvalis for a moment, her lip twisting with contempt, and she did an elaborate bow.

“A pleasure, my lady,” said Caina, keeping her tone curt.

“And this,” said Martin, “is Master Anashir of Anshan.”

The man in the ornate robe bowed, the jewels in his turban flashing in the firelight. “A pleasure, Mistress Rania, to meet you at last. I have heard a great deal about you.” His voice was deep and resonant. Had Theodosia met him, she would have tried to recruit him as a baritone into the Grand Imperial Opera. 

“Indeed?” said Caina. “I am curious. I did not know anyone had advance warning of my arrival.” 

Anashir smiled, white teeth flashing in his dark face. “We did not. But it became plain the Magisterium would send someone to investigate the disturbances from the cultists. Despicable rabble, the lot of them. No doubt their prophet is some failed novice of your Magisterium, impressing the vermin with a few minor spells and the name of a long-dead god. I pray that the Living Flame grants swift success to your efforts, Mistress Rania.”

Maena laughed, her eyes flashing. “That would not be a problem, if Lord Martin were a competent Lord Governor.”

Martin offered a thin smile. 

“Thank you, Master Anashir,” said Caina, ignoring Lady Maena. “I confess, it is curious to find you both here, especially during such unsettled times. The lands around Caer Magia do not have a good reputation.” 

“Even before the arrival of those cultists,” said Maena with another titter. 

“True. But the risk is warranted, I deem,” said Anashir. “I trust you have heard of the Seventh Battle of Calvarium?”

“Of course I have,” said Caina. “All magi are conversant with the history of our Empire.” Again Maena snickered. “It was during the Third Empire, when the Emperor warred against Old Kyrace. The Shahenshah sent a great army into the Empire, hoping to seize Malarae while the Legions were occupied against the Kyracians. But the Emperor won a great victory below the walls of Calvarium, the Shahenshah himself was killed, and the remnants of the Anshani host fled south.”

“An admirable summary,” said Anashir. “The Shahenshah’s body was never recovered, and his regalia was lost, jewels and armor and scepter sacred to the Living Flame. Replacements were made, of course, but they have not the great antiquity of the originals. If I found them and laid them before the Shahenshah’s throne, my prestige would be great…perhaps even enough to challenge Yaramzod the Black himself.”

“That, too, is why I am here,” said Maena. “To find some dusty old relics from a long-forgotten battle. Father is ever so keen on finding the long-lost signet ring of House Tulvius from the Third Empire. If I can find and it and bring it to him…perhaps he will find me a husband who neither fat nor impotent.” She looked at Martin and grinned. “A fit, handsome fellow like you, my lord.”

“Ah…thank you, my lady,” said Martin, a hint of disapproval on his face. The high nobility of the Empire had more than its share of villains and scoundrels, but they valued courtesy and polite speech. Maena employed neither.

Caina wondered if Maena was drunk. And she wondered why Maena seemed to recognize her…and hate her. Caina had never seen the young noblewoman before. Yet something about her seemed familiar.

“You will forgive me,” said Caina, “if I ask you some questions. My duties from the First Magus require it.”

“My all means, mistress,” said Anashir with another smooth bow. “I am at your disposal.” He smiled at her, and Caina wondered if he intended to seduce her. 

Maena sighed. “If I must.”

“Do either of you,” said Caina, “know a man named Jurius?”

Maena scowled. “I do. Little ragged scarecrow of a man. He used to come around my camp constantly, whining and begging for work. I sent him away.”

“I know him,” said Anashir, “and I did business with him. I suspected he was a bit of a rogue, but he had contacts among the local merchants, and my efforts require a steady supply of workmen and tools. Jurius was able to arrange them. Though I fear he has proven unreliable. He disappeared some time ago, and I have not seen him since.” 

“Unsurprising,” said Caina, “since just a fortnight past, he arrived in Malarae and tried to assassinate the Magisterium’s preceptor in Malarae.”

Anashir’s dark eyebrows rose, and behind him his strange bodyguard’s hands twitched towards his sword. Maena lifted a hand to her mouth in an exclamation of surprise. Caina could not tell if she was hiding her reaction or mocking Anashir. 

“Truly?” said Anashir. “I am surprised. I had marked Jurius as a thief, not a potential assassin.”

“Did he kill the fat old bastard?” said Maena.

Caina frowned. “You know the preceptor?”

“Septimus Rhazion?” said Maena. “Of course I know him. I met him when I was younger.” She smirked. “Pompous, fat old bastard. Pity that Jurius didn’t kill him.”

“Lady Maena, this is unseemly,” said Martin. 

“Do not mind her, my lord,” said Anashir, like a man indulging a spoiled daughter. “Let her speak out. Let Mistress Rania see Lady Maena for…who she really is.”

Maena opened her mouth, and then closed it again. 

“And it is distressing, is it not,” said Anashir, “how men of prestige and power must defend themselves against assassination attempts from their inferiors?” He shook his head. “Time and time again we see it played out in history. An orderly, peaceful society is overthrown and destroyed by the rank jealousy of inferiors. A man must protect himself.” 

He beckoned, and the masked figure stepped forward. Both Corvalis and Muravin tensed, but Caina remained motionless. A crawling tingle brushed her skin.

The active spell upon the hulking warrior was powerful.

“Your bodyguard, I presume?” said Caina.

“Precisely so,” said Anashir. “But of a sort. He is my seset-kadahn. The term is Maatish. Are you familiar with it?”

“I fear not,” said Caina. “After all, Imperial law forbids the study of necromancy.”

“And wisely so,” said Anashir. “Necromancy is too potent of a power for the hands of mere mortals to wield. But a seset-kadahn is a bodyguard bound to me by bonds stronger than blood, stronger that loyalty. So long as I live, he lives as well, and therefore he will fight to defend me to the bitter end.”

The bronze mask turned to face Caina. She saw nothing but darkness through the mask’s eye holes. 

“A strong, strapping man,” said Maena with her little laugh. “I would like one to follow me around and do my bidding.”

“A peculiar coincidence, is it not?” said Caina. 

“Oh?” said Anashir.

“A cult worshipping an old Maatish god arises in the hills of Caeria Inferior,” said Caina, “and you choose to keep a bodyguard in the old Maatish fashion.”

“Ah,” said Anashir. “And so you naturally wonder if I am a follower of Anubankh myself.” He spread his arms and struck a pose. “Or perhaps I am the high priest and the prophet of the cult myself, and will lead the hill tribes across the Empire in a trail of blood and conquest.”