Ghost in the Flames (23 page)

He made a compelling sort of sense, if not for the fact that neither Kalastus nor Ephaeron could have been behind the deaths. Caina doubted that Maltaer knew anything useful about the Sons of Corazain or the Ghosts of Rasadda. But Romarion had been a merchant captain, hadn’t he? Perhaps Maltaer knew something of him.

“Another question,” said Caina. “Do you know of a merchant named Septimus Romarion?”

Maltaer blinked.

He looked at his men.

His men looked back at him.

And they all burst into roaring laughter. 

“A merchant?” said Maltaer. “Is he calling himself a merchant?” 

“From what my sources have told me, yes,” said Caina. 

“Septimus Romarion the merchant,” said Maltaer, still shaking his head. “My dark lady, Romarion is a pirate. He likes to masquerade as a respectable merchant now, but he’s still turns quite a profit on stolen cargoes smuggled through Mors Crisius. He even has a full time agent there, a man named Vanio. Romarion used to ply the Alqaarin Sea, and has a price on his head in every port from here to Istarinmul. We worked together from time to time, and helped each other out when the Alqaarin got it into their heads to hunt us down.” He sighed. “Romarion was a fine pirate, generous with the loot, and wouldn’t do business with slavers. I liked him until he turned to a dishonest line of work.” 

“Why did he retire from piracy?” said Caina. She wondered if Romarion had known about Vanio’s slave-dealing on the side. 

“About five years ago, a storm drove him to an island about two hundred miles south of here,” said Maltaer. “Unmapped island. Off the charts. Probably no one had set foot on it for centuries. Romarion and his crew found a ruin there. Some old-time Saddai fortress, still intact. Apparently it was old Corazain’s secret retreat, and when Corazain burned down Rasadda, everyone who knew of its location perished with the city. Full of those ugly Saddai statues, and old books, too…”

His words hit Caina like a thunderbolt. 

“Wait,” said Caina. “Wait, wait just a minute. Did you say books?” 

Maltaer bowed. “That I did. The library of Corazain the Ashbringer himself. Even a couple of books written by old Corazain himself, from what I gather. Well, rich fools will pay a pretty penny for both old Saddai statues and old Saddai books, so Romarion and his crew made a killing. They all retired and went into business together. Poor fools.” 

“Those books,” said Caina. “Corazain’s books. Who did Romarion sell them to do?”

“Alas, I know not,” said Maltaer. “Some rich scholar, no doubt.” He laughed. “He got enough money for them, and those old statues, that’s for certain. I’m jealous.”

“Don’t be,” said Caina, her mind racing. “I can tell you right now that those books brought Romarion nothing but woe.” 

“Ah,” said Maltaer. “My answers have failed to charm you, I see.”

“Not at all,” said Caina. “You’ve been a tremendous help.”

Maltaer brightened. “Have I?” He bowed over her hand again, kissing the gloved fingers. “Then perhaps we might withdraw to…”

Caina opened her mouth to answer, and a breeze whispered through the alley. 

Her skin began tingling.

Caina stepped back in alarm, looking back and forth. She half-expected to see Maltaer, or perhaps Ark, erupt into raging flames. But the tingling was faint, distant, rather like the breeze itself. Maltaer looked up at the sky, his face troubled.

“You can feel that?” said Caina. 

“Aye,” said Maltaer. “That’s sorcery.”

“I can feel it too,” said one of the pirates. “Like a prickling in my bones.” 

Caina frowned. This did not feel nearly as violent as Ostros’s death, nor even the spell Kalastus had flung at her, yet it felt somehow…larger. Like the first hint of a mighty ocean swell.

Or the first few gentle drops of rain that heralded a storm. 

“Someone is working mighty sorcery,” muttered Maltaer. “Alas, my dark lady, I fear our courtship will have to wait until another time. Best to be indoors tonight, I think.”

“And I thank you for your answers,” said Caina. “But my business has become urgent.”

“One warning, my charming dark lady,” said Maltaer. “Your hulking friend. Someone is looking for him.” 

“Who?” said Caina. 

“Mercenaries,” said Maltaer. “The Black Wolves. A bad sort. They wandered past the Sign earlier today, and asked for someone who matched your friend’s description. And they were led by a strange fellow, wrapped up in a cloak with a hollow voice. I was sure they meant your friend harm, which means that they undoubtedly mean you harm. I would beware them, for they are dangerous men.”

“I know,” said Caina. “I thank you for the warning.” 

Maltaer bowed, and he and his sailors retreated back into the Sign, dragging the dead slavers after them. Caina whirled and ran to the street, Ark hurrying after her.

“What is it?” said Ark.

“I’m a fool, I’m a blind fool,” said Caina. “How could I have not seen it earlier?” 

“Nicephorus is a slaver,” said Ark. 

“I know, but that’s not important now,” said Caina. 

“What?” said Ark. “The man is a monster, and…”

“Listen to me!” said Caina, looking around. “I couldn’t figure out how someone had learned pyromancy. The Magisterium slaughtered all the Ashbringers and no doubt destroyed their books and scrolls. But Romarion got lucky, found an untouched ruin. I thought he had only plundered statues from the ruins. I never thought he might have found a book. How could I have been so blind?”

“What’s so important about these books?” said Ark.

“Because our pyromancer learned his spells from those books.”

Ark blinked, and then his breath hissed through his teeth. 

“That explains how the pyromancer learned his art,” said Caina. “And that’s how we’re going to find him, Ark. When Romarion tells us who bought those books, we’ll have our pyromancer. Think about it. The murderer knows that pyromancy is a forbidden art, so he starts by killing Romarion’s partners, everyone who knows he bought the book. And when the Ghosts start investigating, he kills them too. And if Tadaia is right and a pyromancer can devour stolen life force, he’s started killing the magi to steal their arcane strength. But we’ve got to find Romarion, now.” 

The breeze increased in strength for a moment, and the tingling against Caina’s skin pulsed.

“The breeze,” said Ark, his voice troubled. “It’s blowing in the wrong direction for this time of night.” 

“Remember Ostros?” said Caina. “There was a breeze right before the spell killed him. Whatever’s causing this can’t be good. We’ve got to get to Romarion at once.”

“How will we get into his mansion?” said Ark.

“Oh, we’ll find a way,” said Caina. “We’ll find a way even if I have to tear down his doors with my bare hands.”

Chapter 23 - Burning Swords

Maltaer had promised her charming gifts, so Caina stole his wagon.

It was a battered light wagon, harnessed to a pair of sturdy horses. No doubt Maltaer had planned to use it for convenient corpse transportation. Caina needed a fast way to reach Romarion’s mansion, and the empty wagon fit the bill. Ark swung into the driver’s seat, taking the reins, and Caina climbed up beside him. 

“This isn’t stealthy,” said Ark. The wagon creaked and groaned with every step of the horses. He drew his broadsword, gripping it in one hand while he held the reins with the other. 

“The time for stealth has passed,” said Caina. “Cover your face, though. If Romarion sees you, he might realize who I am.”

Ark nodded and tore a strip from his cloak, winding it about his face in a crude mask. Then he snapped the reins, urging the horses to a run. They surged forward, the wagon rattling. Every bounce and jolt made Caina’s hip and shoulder ache, but she didn’t care. The strange breeze still whistled through the streets, and her skin tingled and crawled with the presence of sorcery. 

She thought the pyromancer might have decided to rid himself of Romarion.

They passed a few knots of people. Some were Sons of Corazain, looking for trouble, torches and weapons in hand. Others were common Saddai peasants, drawn out by the strange breeze. Yet all looked fearfully at the sky as the flames of the torches danced and flickered. 

They came to Romarion’s home. The mansion lay silent and dark, the windows empty, the grounds draped in shadows. Ark reined in the horses, and the wagon creaked to a stop. 

“Ark,” whispered Caina, “look.”

The gate to the grounds stood open and unattended. 

Ark nodded and climbed off the seat, sword raised. Caina gripped a knife in either hand, and followed him. The mansion’s front doors lay in shattered ruin. Someone had taken an axe to them. 

The faint smell of burnt flesh drifted in the air. 

Caina hissed and stepped through the shattered doors. 

A crimson glow from the pyramid fires shone through the skylight, illuminating the cavernous atrium. Dark, huddled shapes lay motionless on the floor. Dead bodies, Caina saw. The burned smell was stronger in here, though not so overpowering as it had been in Vanio’s townhouse. 

“Guards,” muttered Ark, turning one of the corpses over. “Romarion’s guards.”

“That one was his cook,” said Caina. “They died fighting. All of them have weapons. But…there’s no blood.” Caina frowned, knelt, and tore open a dead guard’s tunic. “Look at this.”

A sword thrust between the ribs had killed the guard. Yet there was no blood. Instead the wound looked seared, the flesh around the cut charred and blackened. 

“It’s like he was stabbed with a red-hot iron,” said Caina.

“Who fights with a hot iron?” said Ark. 

“I don’t know,” said Caina. She took a quick look over the rest of the bodies. All of them had the strange wounds. “This is still sorcery, I’m sure…but different. Something new.” 

“Romarion is probably dead, then,” said Ark.

Caina felt a dead neck. “Still warm. They can’t have been dead for more than an hour.” She rose. “Romarion might be alive. We’ll check his…”

A boot clicked on the mosaic floor. 

Caina whirled, her blades coming up, while Ark lifted his sword. A man walked into the atrium, a sword dangling from one hand. His face was slack, expressionless, his eyes glassy. Caina had last seen that expression on the face of her father. He wore black armor, the sigil of an opened book with two eyes upon the pages enameled on the breastplate. 

A Magisterial Guard, one of the guards of the magi. 

“Name yourself,” said Ark. 

The Magisterial Guard took another step forward, lifting his sword. Caina felt a sudden crawling tingle against her skin, a wind whipping through the atrium.

And the sword’s blade erupted into snarling flame, filling the atrium with stark light. 

Ark raised his sword, and the Magisterial Guard ran at him. Caina flung her knife, aiming for his throat, but her blade dug a furrow along the Guard’s jaw. The Guard staggered for a half-step, but his blank expression did not change. The burning sword hammered at Ark, and he ducked and blocked, flinching away from the flames, squinting into the weapon’s glare. 

Caina yanked the dagger from her boot, darted forward, and drove the blade into a gap in the black armor. The Guard staggered again, but still showed no sign of pain. Ark took advantage of the opening and brought his sword down in a massive blow. The Guard’s sword hand fell to the floor, still clutching the burning blade. The Guard did not blink, did not even scream. Instead he merely ducked to reach for the burning weapon with his left hand. 

Ark’s sword came down on the back of his neck. 

The burning sword sputtered and went out. Caina stepped around the pooling blood and snatched up her throwing knife. Ark wrenched his sword free from the dead man’s neck with a crackling noise, the blade red and wet. 

“Gods,” said Ark, “what was wrong with him?”

“He was mind-controlled,” said Caina. “Sorcery. He had no will left of his own, was nothing but a puppet. The Magisterium does it sometimes.” 

“And that sword?” 

“Pyromancy,” said Caina. “That much is plain.” Ark reached for the weapon. “No! Don’t touch it.” She waved her palm over it, and felt a sudden, stabbing tingle in her fingers. “It’s been enspelled. I don’t know what it will do if you touch it. Maybe that’s how the Guard’s mind was enslaved.” 

“The magi want Romarion dead?” said Ark. 

“Or the pyromancer enslaved the Magisterial Guards and sent them to kill Romarion,” said Caina. She gritted her teeth in frustration. “Damn it. If he’s still alive, we’ve got to find him. Let’s…”

Harsh firelight flooded the atrium.

Four more Magisterial Guards stood in the doorway, their faces slack and empty, swords burning like the fires of hell. More Magisterial Guards stepped out of the doors leading to the dining room. They lifted their swords, the weapons ablaze with sorcerous fire. 

“The stairs!” said Caina. “Go!”

They raced for the stairs, and the Magisterial Guards followed in silent pursuit. Halfway up the stairs Caina whirled and flung a knife. It caught the foremost Guard in the throat. The man took another step, and another, and then fell to his knees, face expressionless as his life drained away. Ark sprang past her, sword meeting their burning blades once, twice, a third time. Then a Magisterial Guard tumbled down the stairs, crashing into the others. Another Guard’s clothes caught fire, but the man showed no pain as his tunic sizzled and smoldered beneath his breastplate. 

“Go!” said Caina. 

“We’ll be trapped!” said Ark, his sweat pouring down his brow. “We’ve got to cut our way out.” 

“No,” said Caina. “No, there’s too many of them.” 

“Out the windows?” said Ark. He crossed blades with a Magisterial Guard, tripped the man, and stepped back. The Guards hesitated for a moment as the fallen man clambered back to his feet, and then resumed their climb. “They’ll cut us down, or burn through the rope.” 

“I have a better idea,” said Caina. At least, she hoped it was a better idea. “Get ready to run.” 

She backed to the second floor landing. A tapestry hung from the wall there, thick and heavy, and Caina cut it free with her daggers. She took the heavy folds in both hands, ran past Ark, and flung the tapestry as hard as she could. The Guards raised their burning swords to block, and the heavy cloth settled over their blades.

And promptly caught fire. 

The Magisterial Guards thrashed, trying to tear free of the burning tapestry. Yet their faces remained eerily calm, and not one of them screamed, or even so much as grunted. 

“Go!” said Caina. “The third floor.”

She raced up the stairs, daggers still in hand, Ark following after her. She saw more bodies lying on the stairs, some in servants’ livery, others in the garb of Romarion’s hired guards. A dead Magisterial Guard lay over the corpses. Apparently Romarion’s men had gone down fighting. 

As Caina reached the third-floor landing, the Magisterial Guards cut their way free of the tapestry. She ran, boots hammering against the marble floor, and came to a locked door beneath an iron chandelier. Romarion’s study. 

“This one,” said Caina, shoving the daggers back into her boots and fumbling for her tools. “The lock…”

Ark bellowed a curse, shoved her aside, and hammered the pommel of his broadsword into the door. The wood shuddered, and he brought his pommel down twice more. The door splintered away from the handle and lock, and swung open with a groan.

“I should have brought you along the first time,” said Caina.

Firelight flooded into the hallway as the Magisterial Guards reached the top of the stairs. Caina kicked past the ruined door and into Romarion’s study. The shutters stood open, the strange breeze blowing into the room. Otherwise, it looked much the same as she remembered, with the simple furniture, the cutlasses and the mementoes of the sea dangling from the walls.

And the massive Strigosti trapbox sitting against the far wall. 

“Move that desk,” said Caina, hurrying to the trapbox. She yanked out a dagger and began prying at the carved plate covering the machinery. “Get it against the wall but leave enough room for us to fit behind it.”

Ark scowled at her, but he obeyed, dragging the desk towards the wall. Caina pulled on the dagger. The plate began to peel away from the chest. The sound of running footsteps in the hallway grew louder, and firelight began to leak through the open door. 

“This is a dead end,” said Ark. “What are you doing?”

“Get behind the desk,” said Caina. “Right now.” 

“That’s a Strigosti trapbox!” said Ark. “If you’re not careful it’ll go off in your face! What…” 

Caina wrenched away the plate.

“Oh, gods,” said Ark. He dove behind the desk. 

Caina stood and smashed her boot into the box’s mechanical innards just as the Magisterial Guards stormed through the door. The trapbox gave a horrid mechanical screech, and the exposed workings began to move, spinning faster and faster. Caina rolled over the top of Romarion’s desk and landed squarely on atop of Ark. 

A heartbeat later there was another screech, followed by a long series of clicks and hisses. The desk shuddered as something slammed into it. Caina waited until the noises stopped, and then levered herself up on an elbow to look. 

Empty black slits, dozens of them, now covered the Strigosti box. Gleaming razor blades, coated with green grease, quivered in the furniture and walls. The Magisterial Guards stood motionless, burning swords hanging loose in their hands. Their armor had stopped the storm of blades, but the razors had driven into their uncovered faces, their skin slowly turning black from poison. One by one they toppled, falling to the carpet, which caught fire. 

“What’s happened?” said Ark, trying to sit up. Caina stood, taking care to keep from touching any of the grease-smeared blades. 

“They’re all dead,” said Caina. “Don’t touch any of the razors.” 

Ark stood, his eyes a little wild. “It killed all of them?”

“I think so,” said Caina, hurrying to the Strigosti trapbox. The foot-long blades had sprouted from its sides again. Taking care to avoid them, she opened the massive lid and reached inside. The money and gems were gone. No doubt Romarion had taken them when he fled, but the papers and ledgers remained. Caina scooped them up and hurried to the door, leaping over the flames. 

Ark waited in the hallway. “I have said it before, Countess, and I shall say it again. You are an absolute madwoman.”

“Oh, yes,” agreed Caina, “but we’re still alive, aren’t we?” For now, anyway. She tied the papers into a bundle and tucked them under her arm. “We can look over these later. Let’s try to find Romarion, or his corpse, before the place burns down around us.” 

“Those Magisterial Guards,” said Ark, “who did this to them?” 

“I don’t know,” said Caina. They passed another dead servant lying on the floor. “You saw those swords. The pyromancer, probably. It wouldn’t surprise me if there were a lot of dead magi lying around the Magisterium chapterhouse.” 

“Unless the pyromancer is a magus,” said Ark. 

“Either way, we’ve got to stop him,” said Caina. She still felt the distant tingle, and knew that somewhere the pyromancer was summoning a tremendous amount of arcane force. “This isn’t like the other murders. I wonder if his reason has finally been burned away, and so…”

She heard a soft thump, not very loud. Caina turned, dagger in hand. She crossed the hallway and threw open a door. It opened into a bedroom, the same bedroom she had used to break in a few days ago. Caina caught a glimpse of motion, saw someone ducking under the bed. 

“Hold!” Caina shouted, disguising her voice. 

The dark shape froze, and Caina heard a terrified sob. 

Moving closer, she saw a young woman huddled in the corner, dressed in a soot-smudged nightgown. The face looked familiar, and Caina realized the young woman was one of Romarion’s cooks. 

“Don’t kill me,” sobbed the young woman, raising her hands to shield her face, “please, please don’t kill me, not like the others, not like the others…”

“Who are you?” said Caina. “Speak.” 

“My…my name is Lucia,” she said, “I’m a cook, I’m a cook in Master Romarion’s service. I don’t know anything, I swear I don’t, please, please don’t hurt me....”

“We’re not going to hurt you,” said Caina. “We have come to rescue your master.” It was close enough to the truth.

Lucia looked up. “You have?” 

“Tell us what happened here,” said Caina. 

Lucia nodded, began to speak, and sobbed again. She took a deep breath. “It…it…Master Romarion was scared, was planning to leave Rasadda before the week ended.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know properly, but I heard him speaking,” said Lucia. “All his business partners were being murdered, found burned to death, and Master Romarion was afraid they would come for him next. So he was going to sail for the Imperial capital.” 

“What happened here tonight?” said Caina.