The Tainted City (25 page)

Sure enough, even Stevan leaned forward with sudden, focused attention as I explained how Kiran had said the time of death lined up exactly with a confluence disturbance.

“Interesting, indeed.” Marten rubbed his chin. “That makes me wonder if the confluence disturbances are deliberate on the part of the killer, or merely a side effect of his or her method of spellcasting. Regardless, knowing the precise time of death will certainly aid in any spellwork we cast to trace the murderer.”

That ought to earn me my thousand kenets. For good measure, I said, “There’s something else you should know, if you don’t already. The way this guy died, the burned eyes and the clawmarks…it’s just like the tales of the Ghorshaba. That’s what had Torain so upset.”

“Ghorshaba…” Martennan’s head tilted. “I’ve heard the name—demons out of southern myths, aren’t they? I’m not entirely familiar with the legend.”

Yeah, I’d learned in the mines that most Alathians didn’t believe in either demons or the myriad southern gods worshipped in Ninavel. They held to some old religion from across the eastern sea that claimed only two gods existed: twins, neither male nor female, their true names unknowable by mere mortals, their purpose to hold the world in balance. A balance the Alathians believed the twins maintained only on a grand scale, through plagues, droughts, floods, and the like. No favors granted, no prayers for leniency answered, all joyless, impersonal austerity…much like the Alathian Council.

I told Marten, “The Varkevians say Shaikar created the Ghorshaba to guard his innermost hell, but a few got loose when Noshet broke in to rescue his guardians. They wander the world, and every now and then decide to descend on some poor bastard and recreate a little of their old fun. The stories differ on what draws their attention, but the result is…well, this.” I glanced at the corpse, then quickly away again, my stomach churning. “They’re thorough bastards, too. Insist on killing everyone who enters the house before the blood of their first victim is cleansed.”

“You actually believe this is the work of some demon from a story?” Stevan couldn’t have sounded more condescending if he’d tried. I indulged a brief fantasy of shoving him off the Aiyalen Spire.

“No.” Though damn, I had to wonder, after all this talk of intangible magic and the way Ruslan’s spell couldn’t show the killer. “Someone’s sure trying to make it look like a demon’s work, though. That means everyone who’s entered this house today could be a target. Maybe you mages aren’t worried, but by Khalmet, either give me some serious warding charms, or enough additional coin to get my own.” I made sure to emphasize the
additional
part. Warding charms hadn’t done the dead man any good, but coin or charms, either would serve as currency streetside, and I meant to squeeze as much of that from Marten as I could.

Marten said smoothly, “We’ll be happy to ensure you have protection, Dev. As for the imitation of demons…I think Ruslan is likely right. Our killer wants to incite fear in the city populace.”

Stevan was frowning. “These demon tales…do the demons drink blood?” He aimed the question somewhere above my head, like he couldn’t bring himself to look a streetside smuggler in the eye. Fine with me, since I didn’t much care to lock gazes with condescending, narrow-minded assholes.

“No,” I said. “Some stories say they eat their victims’ hearts, but no story I’ve heard says they do anything special with blood other than make a mess. Why?”

Stevan said to Marten, “Before you called Jenoviann in to heal the servant, she told me she didn’t think there was enough blood spilled given the man’s severe injuries.”

Not enough blood? Jenoviann had to be joking. Even after Ruslan’s casting, half the room was black with it. Talm grimaced like he was thinking the same thing, while Marten peered at Stevan like he wasn’t sure he’d heard him right.

“I know,” Stevan said, with a rueful glance at Marten that was the most human expression I’d yet seen from him. “I find it hard to imagine, myself, but Jenoviann said it’s suprising how much blood a human body contains. Given that Ruslan’s spell showed the slashes on Jadin’s body happened while he yet lived, Jenoviann thinks he should have bled in far greater quantity before his heart stopped beating. I find myself wondering if the attacker stored some portion of the blood and took it with him.”

As if the mutilated corpse wasn’t disturbing enough. I asked, “What, you mean the killer might want to use it later in a spell, like a blood mage would?”

Stevan looked down his nose at me. “Perhaps.” He turned to Marten. “One thing is certain. If Jenoviann is right, Ruslan would have realized this as well.”

I didn’t doubt Ruslan knew to the last drop how much blood a victim contained. He might’ve kept silence about the missing blood merely to gain advantage. Or maybe he had a darker reason.

Talm said slowly, “I know Halassian believes the attacks aren’t Ruslan’s doing. What if she’s wrong?”

Marten’s gaze rested on the corpse. “When we first entered, we felt no taint of blood magic.”

“We didn’t get the chance to search properly with a linked harmonic spell, not before Ruslan cast his own spellwork—which conveniently didn’t show the killer,” Talm said. “Now the whole room reeks of blood magic. We’ll never untangle the traces, and Ruslan’s mindburned the only possible witness. It strikes me as more than a little suspicious. I say either Ruslan murdered this man, or he’s allied with the mage who did.”

Yeah, Ruslan was as sly as they came, and while he might be friendly with Sechaveh, I didn’t think he cared a whit for anyone’s interests but his own. I could imagine him arranging the attacks in hopes they’d bring the Alathians running, and he’d get his hands on Kiran. Only one part of that didn’t quite fit.

“If Ruslan’s behind the attacks, why would he bother to continue them now?” I asked. “He’s already got what he wanted. Thanks to you.” I aimed the last straight at Marten, but if the bolt struck, he didn’t show it.

“Maybe Kiran isn’t all Ruslan wants,” Talm said. “Maybe he intends to bring Sechaveh down, in hopes he can gain release from the vow he made not to take revenge on us.”

Now there was an unsettling thought. Though if Talm was right, and we proved it to Sechaveh—maybe he could turn the confluence on Ruslan, without the need to trick Ruslan into vow-breaking. Hell, even if Talm’s theory wasn’t true, if Sechaveh thought it was—my mind whirled with new possibilities.

Marten said, “I’d swear Ruslan was as startled as any of us that his spell failed to show the killer. Yet if the killer were another blood mage, it might explain his or her ability to block Ruslan’s spellwork. Talm, the embassy keeps track of the powerful mages in the city, correct? Do you recall the number of blood mages residing in Ninavel from your time stationed here?”

Talm raked his hands through his curls. “It’s been five years since I was here last, so you’ll want to check with the Ambassador. But let’s see…besides Ruslan’s little group, there was Simon Levanian. But we all know what happened to him, and his apprentices were killed back when he first defied Sechaveh. He and Ruslan were always the flashy ones, and you know how blood mages are, they don’t share territory very easily. I know of only a few others…a female pair who only shows up every few decades, a solo woman who’s said to be positively ancient and live off somewhere in the Bolthole Mountains, and another man whose partner mage died some years back when a spell they cast went spectacularly wrong; he hasn’t cast channeled magic since. None of them have even close to Ruslan’s reputation.”

Thank Khalmet for that. One Ruslan was more than enough in my book.

Marten glanced at me. “Have you any knowledge to add?”

After a moment’s thought, I reluctantly admitted, “Not this time. People tell plenty of blood mage stories down streetside, but the stories never give names, and descriptions are no good—from the tales, you’d think every blood mage was a deformed monster. It’s like demon stories. You tell ’em for a good scare, and embellishment is half the fun.” Every streetsider knew blood mages were real, unlike demons. But it was pretty damn rare for mages so powerful to come streetside, and most of us hoped never to cross paths with one.

“I’ll set you the task of researching these other blood mages,” Marten said to Talm, who nodded.

“What of Ruslan’s partner mage?” Stevan asked. “Lizaveta, I believe the name is?”

Talm shrugged. “We know she came to Ninavel with Ruslan, and she’s never taken any apprentices of her own. She spends time on water duty as all resident mages do, but I’ve never heard of her casting powerful spells aside from that.”

Marten said, “I saw her in Kiran’s memories at his trial. It seems she and Ruslan were apprentices together under Ruslan’s master, the way Kiran and Mikail are Ruslan’s now. She apparently took a considerable interest in Kiran and Mikail, though Ruslan handled all their training.” He looked at me again. “Has Kiran ever spoken of her to you?”

“Not really.” Most of this talk of Lizaveta was news to me. The only time I remembered Kiran mentioning her was in the terrible conversation with Ruslan I’d overheard in Simon’s cave.
I thought she cared,
he’d said to Ruslan, bitter anguish in each word.
I should have known she’d be just as soulless as you.

Stevan said, “It’s obvious Ruslan chose his apprentices for more than their magical potential. Perhaps he learned to prioritize sexual appeal from his own master. In which case, this Lizaveta may be a blood mage, but her talents may lie more in the bedroom than the workroom.”

And here I’d thought Stevan had nothing but icy brine in his veins. Had he talked this way around Kiran, who flinched and blushed at even friendly teasing over his looks? No wonder Kiran had disliked him so much. I suspected Stevan wasn’t wrong about Ruslan, though. Which put Kiran’s discomfort in a whole new disturbing light.

“I doubt any master who chose and taught Ruslan would be satisfied with an apprentice of less than extraordinary ability,” Marten said. “Just because we haven’t heard of Lizaveta’s exploits the way we have Ruslan’s doesn’t mean we can safely discount her. Kiran believed she, not Ruslan, was the one who cast the binding he used to disrupt Simon’s spell and destroy him.”

A horrible thought struck me. “Wait. Ruslan’s vow bound himself and his apprentices, not this Lizaveta. She can cast whatever she likes against us—you threw Kiran to him, and for
nothing
—”

“Not for nothing,” Marten said sharply. “Channeled magic cannot be cast without two mages. Lizaveta can cast minor spells against us, yes—but those we have every hope of successfully defending against.”

“Ruslan’s vow means she can’t cast with him, Mikail, or Kiran, but what if she joins up with another blood mage?” I demanded.

“It’s no simple task for blood mages to cast together,” Marten said. “Their style of magic requires mental linkage at so deep a level they must train together for years to achieve it. Even if Lizaveta were to take apprentices of her own and mark-bond them as Ruslan has done, she cannot cast channeled magic against us any time soon.”

Fury took my tongue before I could stop it. “So you bought yourself, what, a few years? In exchange for a lifetime of hell for Kiran. Great bargain.”

Stevan snorted. “Hell? Hardly. I saw no suffering in him today. If anything, the opposite.”

My fists clenched. “You don’t know him,” I snarled at Stevan. “If you did, you’d know how desperate he was to escape, how terrified he was Ruslan would do exactly this to him—rip his mind apart, make him into someone else, someone he’d rather have died than be—”

“There’s hope for him yet, Dev.” Marten’s words were quiet but insistent. “From what you said of him, it appears his will is intact even if his memories aren’t. He can still choose to leave Ruslan. I will make that choice possible, but you must help him remember that Ruslan’s path isn’t one he wants to travel.”

I crossed my arms tight over my chest and choked back angry words. I didn’t buy Marten would
make the choice possible
. He just wanted me to turn Kiran back into a willing informant. But I still needed the access Marten could give me, now more than ever.

“Oh, I’ll help him,” I said. “But if Ruslan’s going to drag Kiran everywhere he goes, then you’ve got to bring me whenever you meet Ruslan, and do what you can to distract him.”

“Gladly,” Marten said. “But to call a meeting with Ruslan, we need a reason. I’d like to send you streetside today to find out what you can on these attacks. If magic won’t suffice to reveal the killer’s identity, perhaps more ordinary means will.”

“Sure. So long as you agree I’ve already given you something useful, and keep your end of our deal first.” I wasn’t doing any more work for him for free.

Marten gave me a weary smile. “Yes, of course. Take this back to the embassy and show it to Ambassador Halassian.” He slipped a thin gold disc inscribed with the Council’s seal from a pocket and handed it to me. “Talm, go with Dev, first to the embassy and then down streetside. If the killer decides to hunt us, he might believe an untalented man the easiest target. Your company will be better protection for Dev than any warding charms we could provide.”

Shit. I’d walked right into that one. But so long I had those thousand kenets in hand, I’d tolerate a watchdog. I could work around Talm’s presence, and I had to admit I wasn’t too keen on ending up slashed to shreds like the dead man on the floor.

I said to Talm, “Tell me you’ve got some different clothes. I’m not going anywhere streetside with you in that uniform.”

“Don’t worry.” A fleeting, sardonic grin touched Talm’s mouth. “The embassy has a few sets of streetside-style clothes and charms. Granted, when I was stationed here I didn’t go streetside often, but I know enough to play the part.”

“Well, that’s a relief.” I headed straight for the door. The sooner I put in that bid for Melly, the better.

* * *

(Kiran)

Kiran studied the channel pattern inscribed in the workroom floor. The spiraling lines were clean, shining silver, the air sunlit and scented with honeysuckle—a far cry from the stench of blood and death filling the murdered mage’s workroom that morning. Yet Kiran’s stomach fluttered with nerves. Ruslan had refused all their questions on the way back from Vaishala district, his expression dark and his manner distant. The moment they arrived home, he disappeared into his study, ordering Mikail to take Kiran through a progression of spellcasting exercises. Until now, Kiran had successfully shaken off thoughts of mangled corpses and mindburned servants. He’d performed each exercise without flaw under Mikail’s patient supervision.