Ghost in the Maze (17 page)

“What about Laertes?” said Caina.

“A Legion veteran,” said Agabyzus. “Reached one of the lower ranks of centurion in the Seventeenth Legion, saw fighting against the barbarian tribes of the Imperial Pale. From what I have learned, he took his discharge bonus and tried to open an inn at one of the towns along the Bay of Empire. The inn failed, and he wound up working with Nasser. He lives in the Alqaarin Quarter. Married with six children, five of them daughters, and his wife thinks he works as a captain of guards for a minor emir.”

“Six children? Truly?” said Caina. “Finding dowries for five daughters would be challenge.”

“And the bounty on the Balarigar,” said Agabyzus, “would provide the funds.” 

“So,” said Caina. “Any one of them has the motivation to betray us.”

“That is so,” said Agabyzus. “Nerina Strake might do so as well.”

“I doubt that,” said Caina, but she was not certain. “She needs distractions, something to occupy her mind…”

“Like you do?” said Agabyzus. For all his ragged appearance, for all the suffering he had endured, he was still quite perceptive. 

“Something like that,” said Caina. Corvalis was always in her thoughts…but for weeks she had been so busy that she had simply not had the time to dwell upon his death, to brood to the point of despair as she had during her first night in Istarinmul. Work, Halfdan had always said, was the best medicine for sorrow…and she had certainly put his advice to use. 

“And Nasser himself, of course,” said Agabyzus.

“I doubt that,” said Caina. 

“Why?” said Agabyzus. “You seem very quick to trust him. Too quick, I fear. Forgive my questioning, but as your nightkeeper it is my duty to advise and counsel you.”

“There is nothing to forgive,” said Caina, “and there are very few in whom I can confide. You are one of them.” 

“Thank you,” said Agabyzus. “That is most kind.” He smiled. “Nor does it answer the question.” 

Caina laughed. “That is true.”

“This could all be an elaborate plot to capture you,” said Agabyzus. “Nasser Glasshand is famed for his cunning and boldness. Creating a ruse of this complexity would be exactly the kind of plot he would employ.” 

“You are right,” said Caina. “But there are two arguments against that. The bounty upon Nasser’s head?” Agabyzus nodded. “A great deal of it comes from Callatas himself, personally, and it’s a substantial sum. He hates Nasser for some reason. And Nasser, in turn, hates Callatas.”

“Why?” said Agabyzus.

“I don’t know,” said Caina. “But it is plain enough. Why steal from Callatas? Surely other Alchemists can create Elixir Restorata. And the things he has said to me…he wants to stop Callatas and the Apotheosis, whatever it is. I don’t know why, but Callatas is his enemy.” She shrugged. “Or I am a fool, and he is a very skilled actor.” 

“Then you intend to see this through?” said Agabyzus.

“Yes,” said Caina. “One way or another. Searching Callatas’s laboratory…this is the best chance I have to learn what he intends, to discover what the Apotheosis really is.” She rubbed the ring upon her left hand, feeling the tingle of its latent sorcerous power. “And I am really tired of wearing this damned thing. Disguising myself is hard enough. Having to wear the same ring in every disguise makes it far harder.” She shrugged. “What do you think?”

“It is probably the best available choice,” said Agabyzus. “It is very risky…and you do have a knack for taking insane risks. But I cannot object to that. If not for your boldness, I would be dead or still locked in the Widow’s Tower, and Callatas would have murdered my nephews to create wraithblood.” 

“That is why I am taking a risk,” said Caina. “To stop that from ever happening again.”

Agabyzus nodded. “Then may the Living Flame be with you.”

###

That night Caina sat in the common room of the House of Agabyzus and drank coffee.

In truth, it was nice to relax a little. Not that she could ever completely relax, not while pretending to be Marius of the Imperial Collegium of Jewelers or any of her other aliases. She had to constantly be aware of her posture, her voice, her stride, her mannerisms. Even the slightest thing could give her away. But Marius was known here, and Caina liked the House of Agabyzus, so she could relax a little here.

But her guard never went down completely.

Part of the reason her guard never down stood upon the dais, reciting poetry as Mazyan kept time on his drum.

Tonight Sulaman gave the crowd an epic of Nasser Glasshand, the legendary master thief. In the poem Nasser went to the Vale of Fallen Stars to rob the emir in his palace, armed with nothing but his wits and his silver tongue. Nasser spun an elaborate web of lies, and soon walked away with most of the emir’s wealth. To judge from the name, the emir would have been the grandfather of Rezir and Tanzir Shahan, which meant the story had taken place eighty or ninety years ago. 

It must have been only a tale. Nasser could not have been older than forty-five at the most. Perhaps Sulaman had concocted the story himself. Or perhaps it was based on the truth, something that Nasser had done recently. Or maybe the Glasshand was a title, an identity passed down from thief to thief over the generations. 

One more mystery in the maze of mysteries that surrounded her.

At last Sulaman finished his recitation, and the crowd erupted with applause. The Istarish enjoyed their poems, and they especially delighted in the stories of the thieves and assassins who had brought the powerful and the haughty low. Many of the merchants and guards and even some the slaves moved forward, throwing coins into the wooden bowl at Mazyan’s feet. Caina got to her feet and dropped some silver coins in the bowl, and she felt Sulaman’s solemn eyes upon her, dark and deep in his lean, ascetic face.

“A moment, courier,” growled Marius. “The poet wishes a word with you.” 

Caina waited until the crowds had thinned. Mazyan scooped up the coins as Sulaman thanked Damla for her hospitality. The poet turned to go, Mazyan beckoned, and Caina followed them outside as she had before. The Cyrican Bazaar was dark and closed for the night, and in the distance Caina saw the domes of the Golden Palace and the towers of the College of Alchemists, agleam with their own sorcerous lights.

And beyond that, she glimpsed the domes and spires of Callatas’s own palace.

“A fine story, master poet,” said Caina.

Sulaman inclined his head. “I am pleased that you think so.”

“Was it true?” said Caina.

“Poetic license is always taken for the sake of the tale,” said Sulaman. “But did such events happen? They did.”

Caina frowned. “Rezir Shahan’s grandfather has been dead for decades. Nasser is not old enough to steal from him.”

“Many things are lost in the mists of history,” said Sulaman. “Including many things that should not have been.”

“For the gods’ sake,” said Caina, and Mazyan scowled at her tone. “I know you have aided me. I know you sent me to Nasser to aid him. But can you not give me a single straight answer? Something that isn’t couched in riddles and poetic flourishes?”

To her surprise, Sulaman smiled. “You have your secrets. Nasser has his secrets. And I, too, have my secrets. Your secrets protect you, Master Marius, and if your secrets became known, you would die and anyone who knew your secrets would be in danger.” The poet spread his hands. “So it is with my secrets.”

“What kind of enemies does a poet have?” said Caina.

“The duty of the poet is to speak to the truth that lives in the hearts of all men,” said Sulaman, “and there are many who would prefer that truth remained hidden.” He hesitated. “There is one thing I can tell you.” 

“Sir,” said Mazyan, “this is unwise.”

“Perhaps,” said Sulaman, “but the choice is mine to make. Listen to me well. Among certain families of Istarinmul, there is both a gift and a curse that is passed from heir to heir, bound in the blood.”

“And what is this cursed gift?” said Caina.

“Foresight,” said Sulaman. “Time is a tapestry, and every man weaves a thread as he walks through life. The gift allows us to see those threads, and to behold glimpses of the past and the shadow of the future that may yet be.”

“Then you are a prophet?” said Caina, dubious.

Sulaman’s smile was sad. “You do not believe me? This may persuade you otherwise.”

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath…and Caina felt the faint prickle of sorcerous power.

She hissed in alarm and yanked a dagger from her belt, and Mazyan growled and drew his sword.

“You’re a sorcerer,” said Caina.

“No,” said Sulaman, and his voice had an eerie resonance to it. “No. I know nothing of the arcane sciences, and can command no spells. This gift, this curse, is in my blood, as it was in my father’s blood, and his father’s before him. They squandered it, but I have vowed to put it to better use.” He opened his eyes, and a faint gray light glimmered within them, similar to the light from a Mirror of Worlds. “Put away your weapons. We wish for the same things.”

Mazyan lowered his blade, and Caina hesitated and returned her dagger to its sheath. 

“Heed me, I beg,” said Sulaman. “Many fates lie before you.” The gray light started to fade from his eyes. “And most of them end in death and worse than death.”

“I already knew that,” said Caina. 

“But there is a path to victory,” said Sulaman. “To free yourself, you must retreat. You must go again to the place where you lost everything. Only there do you have a hope of regaining your life.”

“I don’t understand,” said Caina.

Sulaman sighed. “Neither do I. I told you my gift is much curse as blessing. Often I can see terrible fates before people, and I can do nothing to save them. But your fate is in your own hands. As are the fates of countless other lives, slayer of demons.”

Caina felt a chill. “You know who I am, then?”

“No,” said Sulaman. “Not truly. But I know who you might become. And that gives me more hope than I have known in many years.” To her astonishment, he bowed to her then. “May the Living Flame go with you. For you labor for the good of Istarinmul and its people, even if you know it not.”

“I’ll do my best,” said Caina. 

Sulaman departed without another word, Mazyan following.

Caina stared after them and shook her head. Mysterious prophecies and ominous foretellings of the future would not save her. 

She had work to do. She was going to find what Callatas kept in his laboratory, what he intended to do with the Apotheosis.

One way or another.

Chapter 14 - The Banquet

At last the night of the banquet came.

The palanquin’s bearers stopped and pulled open the curtains, and Caina got to her feet, keeping her expression fixed in arrogant disdain. In Malarae nobles and wealthy merchants rode in horse-drawn carriages. In Istarinmul, men of influence traveled by slave-borne palanquin. Caina disliked doing so, but it was necessary to maintain her disguise. She straightened her clothes – a long, loose black coat over a white shirt, black trousers, and gleaming black boots, a jeweled short sword and dagger on her belt. She had abandoned the turban for a cap adorned with a gleaming gold badge, and she had retrieved the fake beard and mustache. To all appearances, she looked like yet another minor noble come to praise Callatas’s crimes in hope of gaining influence and power. 

And from the look of things, she would fit right in.

Hundreds of palanquins filled the street outside of the palace’s outer wall, and throngs of nobles, merchants, and Alchemists made their way to the gates. A squad of Immortals stood guard, checking the invitations and watching for any intruders. The domes and towers of Callatas’s palace gleamed with sorcerous light, and Caina felt the faint tingle of power radiating from them.

She looked at the two men standing near the palanquin. Laertes again wore the armor and livery of a guard in the service of House Helvius. Anaxander waited at his right hand, solemn and dark in his red-trimmed black robes. He was neither suffering from a hangover nor drunk, yet his nervousness was plain to see. That would have been a problem, but many of the men and women making their way into the palace looked nervous themselves. 

Few loved Callatas, but many held him in terror.

“Ready?” said Caina.

“By your command, my lord,” said Laertes. Anaxander managed a shallow nod. Laertes would masquerade as Lord Amazaeus Helvius’s captain of guards, while Anaxander would be Lord Amazaeus’s magus advisor. 

“Come along, men,” said Caina, keeping the cold, arrogant voice of Lord Amazaeus in place. “We had best not keep the Grand Master waiting.”

She adjusted her coat and strode toward the gate, her expensive boots clicking against the street. They joined the crowd of lesser dignitaries thronging the gate. The truly powerful men, the wealthier emirs and merchants and Master Alchemists, would have entered already, escorted by their Immortals. The minor nobles and poorer merchants filtered through the gate one by one, grumbling about the delay. A eunuch in a gray robe stood with a trio of Immortals. Caina presented the invitation that Tarqaz had written. The eunuch scrutinized it, nodded, and waved them through the gate.

The courtyard beyond looked as Caina remembered, with the gardens and the slender tower marking the entrance to the Maze rising to the left, and the broad courtyard and colonnade stretching away to the right. The guests filled the colonnade, speaking in low voices, while gray-clad slaves circulated through the crowds, bearing trays of food and drink. Immortals stood guard in the colonnade, as motionless as statues cast from black steel. 

Her eyes strayed to the tall white tower, to the gleaming door of brass in its base, and she resisted the urge to feel the cold bronze of the pyrikon against her finger. Thankfully, Nighmarian nobles often wore leather gloves in public, allowing her to cover the distinctive ring. 

“Now what?” muttered Anaxander, his eyes following the Alchemists in their robes of white and gold.

“Now what, my good magus?” said Caina. “Now we socialize. This is a celebration, after all.” Laertes gave a soft little snort, his stern mask never wavering. “And we find my good friend Hormizid of Anshan.”

She accepted a glittering crystal glass of wine from a slave and strolled into the crowd, making small talk with her fellow guests. Fortunately, she had invented a backstory for Lord Amazaeus in order to keep her lies consistent. The roads from Istarinmul to Imperial Cyrica and Cyrioch were in bad shape, infested with deserters from the Padishah’s army who had turned bandit. Why, Amazaeus had nearly been robbed twice. The price of slaves in Cyrica had trebled in the last year, as it had in Istarinmul. Rumor had it that the Grand Master himself was buying every slave he could find. Amazaeus had heard the tales of the Balarigar, but dismissed them as the talk of ignorant commoners eager to create a champion against their betters. 

Caina listened to rumors, especially those from the Empire. There were many stories of civil war in the Empire. Some said that the Magisterium had seized control of the Empire for themselves, as in the days of the Fourth Empire. Others claimed that the Magisterium had splintered into two factions and was fighting itself, ignoring the Emperor and the lords of the Imperial Curia. Still others whispered that the eastern provinces of the Empire had risen in revolt against the Emperor, or that the Ashbringers of old had returned to lead the rebellion, their pyromantic sorcery turning entire Legions to ash. 

The news filled Caina with disquiet. The Emperor had told her that he feared civil war in the aftermath of the golden dead. Caina had many friends among the Ghosts, and she feared what had become of them if the rumors were true. But they were on their own. She could not help them.

Just as they could not help her.

She spotted the flash of a red cloak among the guests and headed toward it. Kazravid stood near the outer wall, clad in a fine new robe of patterned crimson and black. A jeweled scimitar rested at his belt, alongside a fine hunting bow and a quiver of arrows. A flute of wine waited in his hand, but like Caina, he had not drunk any of it.

They would need their wits tonight. That, and a considerable amount of luck. 

“My lord anjar,” said Caina. “How good to see you again.”

“Ah, my lord Amazaeus,” said Kazravid with a smirk. “I see you braved the roads.” 

“And you as well, Hormizid,” said Caina.

“Bah,” said Kazravid. “A warrior and hunter of Anshan fears nothing. And I had my trusty Sarbians to keep me safe.” 

He gestured at the four brown-robed figures standing near him.

Azaces always wore the brown robes of his homeland, but Nasser, Nerina, and Strabane had donned similar costumes. Nasser, with his dark skin, looked the part, though Nerina and Strabane wore heavy turbans and false beards to conceal their paler faces. Strabane managed to pull it off, but Nerina, with her slight frame, looked mildly ridiculous, and she kept staring at everything around her. Still, a Sarbian nomad come to the city for the first time might react like that. 

“Doughty warriors all, I’m sure,” said Caina. 

Nerina gazed at the immense domes of the palace, her lips moving as she performed silent calculations.

“Yes, doughty indeed,” said Kazravid. “If it comes to a fight, I’m buggered.”

Azaces scowled, while Strabane only looked amused. 

“My lord anjar,” said Nasser in Istarish with a perfect Sarbian accent, his voice almost unrecognizable, “please forgive my presumption, but it is most uncouth for a noble anjar to argue with his humble guards. It might draw unwelcome attention to my lord’s activities.” 

A pair of Immortals walked past, their masked helms regarding the crowds. The guests stayed well away from them. 

“Yes, of course,” said Kazravid. “Though if you’d simply agree with me, we wouldn’t need to argue.” 

Strabane rolled his eyes.

“Might I suggest,” said Nasser, “that my lord anjar seek out the Seneschal of the Household? It might be advantageous.”

“Of course,” said Kazravid. “Lord Amazaeus, care to walk with me? We can discuss business on the way.”

“It would be my pleasure, my lord anjar,” said Caina. “So good to see a friend in this foreign land.”

“Ha!” said Kazravid. “For we are both foreigners here in Istarinmul, are we not?” For a moment his voice took a melancholy tone. “One day I shall see the pillars and temples of Anshan once more.” Like Caina, he had been exiled from his home. “Meanwhile, this wine is quite good, and you must try the sugared dates. They are delicious, and so therefore Anshani.” 

They moved through the crowd, speaking in idle trivialities. Caina laughed at Kazravid’s jokes and made jests of her own, but her eyes never stopped moving over the guests. More and more men and women came through the gates, and the black-armored Immortals were everywhere. If this went bad, if someone recognized her or Nasser, they could not escape before the Immortals took them. 

They were committed now. This would either end with their deaths, or with the stolen Elixir Restorata and riches beyond imagination. 

And, Caina hoped, the secret of the Apotheosis and Callatas’s plans. 

They followed a steady stream of gray-clad slaves to a narrow door further down the courtyard, discreetly out of sight of the guests. Tarqaz stood there, sweating in his gray robes, his silvered collar glinting in the sorcerous light of the domes. 

“You there!” said Kazravid, pointing at the eunuch. “Are you in charge?”

Tarqaz scurried over and bowed. “My lord, how may I be of service?”

“I am an anjar sworn to the service of the great Shahenshah himself!” thundered Kazravid. A few of the other guests glanced their way, but quickly lost interest. A nobleman venting his temper at a slave, Caina noted with distaste, was hardly remarkable in Istarinmul. “It is outrageous that I was forced to wait for nearly a quarter of an hour outside the gate!”

“Do forgive me, noble anjar,” said Tarqaz, bowing again. “Very many men have come to honor my wise and noble master on the anniversary of his greatest triumph.”

“But I should not have been made to wait!” said Kazravid as Caina stepped to his side.

Tarqaz bowed again and stepped closer. “Forgive me, noble lord…but would you have made the Grand Wazir wait? Or perhaps one of the Master Alchemists, yes? They would be most displeased if you forced them to wait…and it would grieve me if you suffered their wrath, my most honorable lord.”

“Well,” said Kazravid, “perhaps you have a point.” 

He took a sip of his wine, and Tarqaz leaned closer.

“You are all here,” he said. “Are we ready?” 

“Yes,” murmured Nasser in his normal voice, “we are ready. Have you made the preparations?”

“I have,” said Tarqaz, pointing across the courtyard. “There, near the edge of the gardens, do you see?” Wooden racks stood there, supporting odd cylinders of wood and paper. “The College has sent fireworks to celebrate the master’s triumph.” 

“Fireworks?” said Caina. She had heard of them, but never seen them used. 

Kazravid grunted. “You’ve never seen fireworks?”

“Truly?” said Nerina. “You are in for a pleasant surprise. The geometric progression of the explosions is mathematically pleasing.”

Kazravid rolled his eyes. “The Alchemists make them. A tiny amount of Hellfire suspended within a smoke bomb and some other powders. Useless, and not too dangerous, but pretty.” He smiled. “Rather like that one slave girl at the Gilded Throne.” 

“Back to the business at hand,” said Nasser, gesturing for Tarqaz to continue.

“I have sabotaged one of the fireworks,” said Tarqaz. “It will not ignite properly, but instead will throw out a large cloud of thick smoke. It will dissipate quickly, but that shall give us time to reach the tower and the entrance to the Maze.” 

Nasser nodded. “An excellent distraction. You have done well, Tarqaz.”

“Thank you,” said Tarqaz. “And our deal still holds?”

“Of course,” said Nasser.

“Wait, what deal is this?” said Kazravid. 

“In addition to his share of the vials,” said Nasser, “I am also paying Tarqaz enough to allow him to set up a new identity somewhere far from Istarinmul.”

Kazravid scowled. “And will you pay us this additional money as well?”

Nasser raised an eyebrow. “Imagine how a man like Grand Master Callatas would respond to betrayal.” 

Strabane grunted. “Good point.” 

Kazravid opened his mouth to complain further, but Nasser shook his head, and Kazravid sighed and fell silent.

“Come,” said Nasser. “We will want to be near the rockets. I trust you can produce an excuse?”

“Of course,” said Tarqaz. He straightened up, mopped the sweat from his shiny brow, and raised his voice. “I beg your forgiveness, my lord anjar, my lord Amazaeus. Please, if you come with me, I will ensure that you will have a fine seat for viewing the fireworks.”

“Very well,” said Kazravid with a grudging wave of his hand. “Lead on, then.”

Tarqaz scurried across the courtyard, and Caina and the others followed him. The slaves took one look at the Seneschal of the Household and stepped to the side. The nobles and Alchemists and merchants ignored him, but Tarqaz proved adept at finding his way through the crowd. Soon they reached the edge of the garden, where white-robed Alchemists fussed over the rockets and argued in low voices. Caina took a closer look at the wooden racks, and felt the tingle of sorcery within the long paper tubes. The droplets of Hellfire, no doubt. That alarmed Caina, given what she had seen Hellfire do to the Widow’s Tower. 

“Here, my lords,” said Tarqaz, “you shall have an excellent view of the fireworks.”

“Actually,” said Nerina, “we will likely have our view obscured by the smoke. Based upon the expected trajectory of the launch, I calculate the optimal viewing point would be…”

Kazravid sighed and rubbed at his temples. He did that a lot when Nerina talked. 

“But an optimal viewing experience,” said Nasser, “is not the main point, is it?” 

“True,” said Nerina. “Always important to consider the end of an equation.”

Kazravid rolled his eyes. “I couldn’t have put it better myself.” 

“Be silent,” said Tarqaz, his voice urgent. “The master is about to speak. Look!”

A balcony jutted from the wall over the inner gates leading to the palace, about fifty feet above the courtyard proper. A pair of Immortals stepped onto the balcony and moved to the corners. Various emirs and Master Alchemists followed the Immortals, Grand Wazir Erghulan Amirasku among them, and one of the nobles moved to the railing and took a deep breath. 

"Behold!" thundered the noble. "He comes! He who is the Grand Master of the Alchemists! He who is the Most Divine Padishah’s trusted advisor and counsellor! He who is the Destroyer of Iramis and the master of all the mysteries of sorcery! Callatas comes!"