Ghost in the Flames (7 page)

“Pardon my ignorance, for I know only a little of Imperial law,” said Caina, “but is it not illegal for a Lord Governor to purchase lands in his own province?” 

She thought he would take offense, or refuse to answer. But instead Nicephorus looked indulgently amused. Caina realized that he did not see her as an equal, and therefore not as an enemy, but only as a pretty, empty-headed Countess. Just as she had intended. 

“My dear Countess,” laughed Nicephorus, “of course it is illegal! But laws may be purchased, just like anything else. Our new pastures have proved productive beyond our wildest imaginations. We now dominate the markets for beef, cheese, and leather in the eastern Empire, and have even made contacts among the Anshani and Alqaarin.” He waved a hand at the foreign merchants. “Someday you will understand that a man must do whatever is necessary to make his own fortune.” His indulgent smile widened. “How else could a man hope to win the heart of a lady as fair as you?”

“Of course,” said Caina.

“I only wish the Emperor would relax the Imperial ban against slavery,” said Nicephorus. “The rabble choking Rasadda’s streets are fit for nothing else. I could dominate the Istarish and Alqaarin slave markets, become the wealthiest man in the Empire, and clear the streets of the rabble within three weeks.”

“Of course,” said Caina again. An icy knot of rage hardened her stomach. She thought of the daggers in her boots, and wondered how it would feel to slam one of those blades into his smirking face. Instead she took another drink of wine. Haeron Icaraeus was dead, and House Icaraeus disgraced, but it seemed that Nicephorus shared the late Lord Haeron’s views. 

The banquet wore on. Ark finished speaking to the servants and took up position against the wall, watching everything. Caina knew him well enough by now to see the angry glint in his cold eyes. She guessed that he had not been able to find Aulean. 

“Your bodyguard is most vigilant, my lady,” said Ephaeron suddenly, his eyes flicking back and forth between them. “He seems to have questioned every servant in the hall, and his eyes have left you only rarely. Such vigilance is to be commended.”

“It is, learned master,” said Caina. “He slew eight of the thugs, after all. I have no concerns for my safety while in his company.” 

“Come here, man,” said Ephaeron. Ark lifted an eyebrow, but crossed the room and bowed before the magus. “What is your name?”

“Ark, of Caer Marist.”

“Very good.” Ephaeron gestured, and a glass of wine floated from a tray to Ark’s hand. “Please drink, and help yourself to any food you desire. Valor is a rare thing, and ought to be rewarded.” Nicephorus looked affronted, but he remained silent.

Ark seemed puzzled, but he bowed again. “Thank you, learned master. You do me honor.” He helped himself to some meat and cheese, took a drink of wine, and retreated to his corner. 

The interminable banquet wore on. Caina’s mood darkened, and she said little, but she hardly needed to, as Nicephorus and Romarion continued to flirt with her. At long last the meal ended, and the servants began to take away the uneaten food. 

“It is my custom, my lady, to walk the balcony after a meal and take a glass of wine,” said Nicephorus. “I would be most honored if you would join me.”

Caina suspected that Nicephorus would invite her to his bedroom after the balcony. “Thank you, my lord, but I must decline. The wine has made me light-headed, and I shall need to lie down for a while.”

“Of course,” said Nicephorus. He looked disappointed, but hid it well. “Do feel free to call upon me at any time, should you feel the need.” 

“And you may call upon me, as well,” said Romarion, “for my door shall always be open to you.”

“And you must,” said Kalastus, “visit our chapterhouse ere you leave Rasadda. We have many wonders we could show you, Countess.”

“Indeed,” said Caina. She feigned grabbing at Ark’s arm for support, and Ark stepped into the ruse without missing a beat. “Truly, you all have been most kind to me. Thank you, my lord governor. I do hope to see you again soon.”

They bowed to each other, and Ark escorted Caina from the hall. 

“What a collection of fools,” said Caina, once they returned to the coach. She had drunk too much wine, and it had put her into a black mood. “Nicephorus is a thief, and an idiot to boot. A quarter of a million people must live in Rasadda. How is the city to feed itself if he illegally buys the peasants’ lands and converts them to pasture? That idiot is pushing the Saddai into the biggest revolt the Empire will see in our lifetimes, and he’s too blind and too greedy to see it.” 

“We may have a problem,” said Ark.

“I should hope that is obvious.”

“A different problem.” Ark settled his broadsword between his knees. “I think Ephaeron might have recognized me.” 

Caina blinked. “What?” 

“I told you I served in the Eighteenth Legion,” said Ark. His lip twisted. “Or, rather, you figured it out. But it is common practice for a detachment of magi to travel with a legion, to use their arcane sciences for the defense of the Empire. Ephaeron spent four years with the Eighteenth.”

Caina scowled. “Do you think he recognized you?”

“I don’t know,” said Ark. “We never spoke to each other. The magi dislike associating with common soldiers, even with lower-ranking centurions. But we must have seen each other a hundred times, and even took the field together.”

“He had to ask your name,” said Caina. “He must not have remembered you.” 

“And he did not seem upset when I told him my alias,” said Ark. “Still, it worries me. If he happens to look into the records of the Eighteenth Legion, he will see that I gave him a false name.”

“But only if he had reason to become suspicious,” said Caina. “And he has no reason to suspect that you are a Ghost. It’s not uncommon for a retired centurion to take service with a noble House.”

“You are right,” said Ark. “But mark me well. Ephaeron looks like a fussy old scholar, but he is both powerful and dangerous. We in the Legion were glad he was on our side. I once saw him slaughter a score of men with a single spell.” For a moment he looked haunted at the memory, and then shook his head. “If he learns that we are Ghost spies, he will kill us both out of hand. If we are lucky.” 

“Yes,” said Caina, “I know.” There was more venom in her voice than she would have liked. “I know just what crimes the Magisterium is capable of.” 

Ark frowned, but said nothing.

“Did you make contact with Aulean?” said Caina.

“No,” said Ark, his cold face turning even grimmer. “The servants all knew him, of course. They told me that he vanished without a trace three weeks ago. Just like Crastia and Narmer.” 

“Almost as if,” said Caina, “someone was targeting the Ghost circle in Rasadda.”

Ark nodded. 

“And if Ephaeron committed these murders,” said Caina, “and he knew that Narmer, Crastia, and Aulean were all Ghosts, he might realize that you were a member of the Ghost circle.” 

“Or he could be investigating the murders himself,” said Ark, “and if he realizes that Narmer and the others were Ghosts, he might track me down.” 

Caina rather doubted that Ephaeron would trouble himself, but she still saw the danger. She thought it over for a moment. “Do you have a list of the victims?”

“My circlemaster did,” said Ark, “but I could only contact him through Narmer or Crastia.” 

“That is where we shall start,” said Caina. “It is possible that these killings were random, but I doubt it. Our new friend Septimus Romarion, for instance. His name was in Vanio’s ledger.” Caina laced her fingers. “I suspect the victims are all linked, and if we follow the chain back far enough, we shall find the killer.” 

“Where will you get this list?” said Ark. His lip twisted. “Shall you charm it out of Nicephorus?”

“No,” said Caina. The coach rattled to a stop, and she felt one of the knives tucked into her sleeve. “Nicephorus is a fool. If I want to find anything, I shall have to find it for myself.”  

Chapter 7 - Night Hunting

“This is folly,” said Ark. 

“I know what I’m doing,” said Caina. 

They stood in their sitting room at the Inn of Mirrors. Caina had changed into the loose black clothes of a Ghost nightfighter, her weapons and tools belted about her waist. The shadow-woven cloak hung from her shoulders, darker than the night. 

“Do you?” said Ark. “Suppose you are captured. Think of how it will look if Countess Marianna Nereide is caught prowling around the Imperial Basilica at night.” 

“It would look bad,” said Caina, checking the knives in their sheaths. “I suppose I’ll have to avoid getting caught, then.” 

“How clever,” said Ark. “Are all your plans so cunning?”

Caina gave him a flat look, and resumed checking her tools. 

“It is too much of a risk,” said Ark. “Ephaeron may or may not have recognized me. But if you are caught, especially while wearing that cloak, they will realize that we’re Ghosts.”

“Of course it’s a risk,” said Caina. “Everything we do here is a risk. But we shall learn nothing if we sit here and hide.” 

“I ought to contact the other members of the Rasadda circle first,” said Ark.

“That is too risky,” said Caina. “If the circle has been compromised, they’ll have gone into hiding. Trying to find their hiding places could be dangerous, both for us and them.”

“This is a foolish risk,” said Ark.

“Perhaps,” said Caina. She looked up from her tools and met his eye. “But I have the higher rank and you do not. Therefore we are going to do it my way.”

Ark’s icy eyes seemed to boil for a moment, but he gave a curt nod.

Caina concentrated, and slipped into the voice she used while disguised. “Wait here.” Her voice hissed and snarled, and was scarce recognizable as female. “I shall be back by dawn.”

Ark stared at her. “How do you do that?”

“Practice,” said Caina. She tugged the mask over her face and pulled up the black cowl. “Perhaps I’ll give you lessons. If any of the maids wake up, tell them that I do not wish to be disturbed until morning.”

“And if you’re not back by morning?” 

“And if I’m not back by morning,” said Caina, thinking, “then tell them that Romarion seduced me. It ought to be worth it, just to see Cornelia’s expression.” 

Ark’s eye twitched, perhaps in amusement, and he nodded. Caina closed the bedroom door behind her, barred it, and crossed to the balcony. She pulled a steel grapnel and a coil of slim, silken rope from her belt. 

A short time later she crept through the nighttime streets. Thanks to Halfdan’s training Caina could move stealthily almost without thought. During her training, she labored from dawn to dusk under his tutelage, sometimes until she was so exhausted she could scarce put one foot in front of the other. 

But it had paid off. No one saw her as she left the Inn. 

Rasadda had no need of street lamps. The everlasting pyres atop the Ashbringers’ black pyramids provided adequate illumination. They also threw all matter of tangled shadows across the streets, shadows that blended with Caina’s cloak. The great plaza was too much open space, so she took the long way around, taking the streets behind the Inn and past the mansions of the wealthy. 

At last she came to the Imperial Basilica. The great judgment hall was the largest feature, but only part of a larger complex. It linked with the Lord Governor’s private mansion and the fortified barracks of the city’s militia. Guards strolled along the outer wall, crossbows cradled in their arms. Despite the tumult in the city, the militiamen did not look concerned, and Nicephorus had not bothered to post extra men.

Idiot. But it served Caina’s purpose. 

She settled into a shadow and watched the guards. They did not bother to alter their patrol, and more than once she saw them pause for conversation. Even better. Caina waited until the guards had gone around the corner, then raced across the street, the grapnel whirling in her right hand. She flung it, and it lodged in the stones of the rampart with a soft click. Caina scrambled up the wall, going hand over hand, and rolled onto the rampart. None of the guards had looked in her direction. She undid the grapnel, looped the rope, crept down the stairs to the courtyard, and pressed herself into a shadowy corner. 

Trying to keep her breathing quiet, she forced herself to count to sixty.

No one noticed her. No one even bothered to look into the courtyard. Caina grinned beneath her cowl and mask and started moving, keeping to the shadows beneath the ramparts. 

Ark was right, really. This was dangerous. But every barracks in the Empire was built to a common plan. Caina would not have dared it otherwise. And she knew exactly where she was going. 

She entered the barracks proper and slipped into the common hall. A long table ran the length of the room, but all the men were either sleeping or on duty. Caina took six steps across the room, and heard voices echoing down the stairwell. She looked left, and right, and seeing no better hiding place, ducked into the cold fireplace, wrapping the cloak around her. 

Eight militiamen trooped down the stairs, crossbows in hand. A shift change, then. Caina waited until they had exited the common hall, and sprang out of the fireplace and raced for the stairs. In the upstairs room she found rows of the soldiers’ bunks, stacked three high. Caina slid under one of the bunks, tugging her cloak tight around her so it would not show. 

A few moments later the militiamen from the wall came in and went to their beds. The bunk above Caina creaked, the thin mattress sinking down to within a few inches of her nose. The men grunted and sighed, settling down to sleep, and bit by bit silence fell. Caina counted to three hundred, and slid out from under the bed. The militiamen lay snoring, oblivious to the world. Caina crept past the beds and into the officers’ quarters. The common militiamen each had a bunk, but the officers rated a private room, and of course the Decurion had the largest room of all. Caina listened at the door for a moment, picked the lock, and let herself inside. 

Valgorix’s room had a comfortable bed, a few chairs, and a desk. The Decurion sat at the desk, scowling at a map of the city. Without his plumed helmet, he looked careworn and worried. 

Caina crossed the room with silent steps, sliding a knife from her belt. In one smooth motion she reached down and leveled the blade across Valgorix’s throat, her gloved hand clamping over his mouth. For an instant Valgorix struggled in sudden panic, but Caina pressed the knife harder against his skin. He went still, breathing hard through his nose.

“Do not scream,” hissed Caina in her disguised voice. “I have not come to harm you. Cooperate with me, and you will live through this night. Am I understood?”

Valgorix nodded, carefully. Caina withdrew the knife and stepped into the corner, cloaking hanging about her. Valgorix stood, looked to where his sword lay across his bed, and then looked back at her.

Caina shook her head.

“Have you come to kill me?” said Valgorix, voice thick.

“I have already told you that,” said Caina.

Valgorix took a tentative step towards her. “Gods,” he whispered. “What…what are you? A demon come to drag me down into hell, or…or some sort of ghost?”

“A ghost?” repeated Caina. “Yes. You could say that.”

Valgorix’s face went white, and he dropped back into his chair. “A Ghost. One of the Emperor’s spies.” 

“The Emperor has no spies.”

“Oh. Of…of course,” said Valgorix. Beads of sweat stood out on his forehead. “And should anyone ask me, the Emperor has no spies, is that it?”

Caina nodded. 

“What do you want from me?”

“As I said,” said Caina, “merely to talk.” 

Valgorix stared at her. “This…is about those murders, isn’t it?”

“What do you think?” said Caina, hoping to draw him out. 

“I told the Lord Governor this was going to be a problem,” said Valgorix, raking a hand through his hair, “but he wouldn’t listen.” 

“Perhaps,” said Caina, “you ought to start from the beginning.” 

“This business began a year or so ago,” said Valgorix. “Some burned corpses began turning up in the streets. At first we thought nothing of it. Most likely some common criminals threw the bodies into the fires atop the pyramids. It’s happened before. But more and more bodies kept turning up.” He shook his head. “The damnedest thing. You burn a man alive, it makes a hell of a mess. Ash, soot, smoke damage and the like. And it takes a big pile of wood and a lot of oil. But these bodies are always found without any sign of a fire, nor any sign that the bodies have been moved. Just a burned corpse, appearing out of nowhere.”

“How did you identify the bodies?” said Caina.

“With difficulty,” said Valgorix. “But the evidence added up. In about half the cases the features were roughly intact, though badly damaged. Often the corpses were found in their beds, yet with no damage to the beds. Sometimes family was able to identify the dead men.” He shrugged. “Six, though, we simply could not identify.” 

“The peasants say that sorcery burned those men to death,” said Caina.

“Sorcery?” said Valgorix, scoffing. “Oh, indeed. Sorcery. Never mind that the Ashbringers have been extinct since before my grandfather’s grandfather was born.” A touch of doubt came into his voice. “But…the way these burned corpses appear without a trace of a fire…I can see why the peasants might think that, yes.” 

“Who were the victims?” said Caina. 

“Merchants, mostly,” said Valgorix. “Some of Saddai birth, some of Caerish. No Nighmarians. And some random people of little importance: a cook, a kettle merchant, and the like.” 

Like Aulean and Crastia, perhaps, along with the rest of Rasadda’s Ghost circle. 

“Do you have a list of the names?” said Caina.

“I do,” said Valgorix, reaching for a paper on his desk. “Or most of them, anyway. A few were too badly burnt to be identified.” 

“Later,” said Caina. “I have a few more questions for you.”

“Oh.” Valgorix sank back into his chair. 

“Rasadda seems to have more than its fair share of beggars,” said Caina. “Why is that?” 

Valgorix scowled. “More folly on the part of our honorable Lord Governor.” 

“Folly of what sort?”

The words started pouring out of him. Valgorix, it seemed, had a lot of pent-up frustration. “This business with the farmers. It’s illegal for a governor to buy land in his province, everyone knows that, yet Nicephorus and his cronies have bought up half the farmland in Rasadda. That’s bad enough, but he’s kicked the peasants off their land and converted it to pasture. There’s hardly any food coming into the city. We’re just getting by on fish and grain shipped from Alqaarin, but the prices are steep. There’s a grain dole for the poor, but a fish will cost a man two days’ wages.” He shook his head. “It’s a wonder famine hasn’t struck yet. And when it does, we’ll all be murdered in our beds, mark my words.” 

“Why hasn’t there been a revolt yet?” said Caina.

“What? Oh. Sister Tadaia. She’s keeping a lid on things,” said Valgorix.

“Who is she?”

“Sister of the Living Flame. Ah…priestess of the Saddai god, you could say. She’s been helping to feed the poor, all the dislocated peasants who’ve wound up into the city. They all adore her, and she doesn’t want a revolt. She knows what will happen if the Saddai rebel.” He scratched at his jaw. “I don’t know how much longer she’ll be able to keep things together.”

“Why not?”

Valgorix looked around, and then lowered his voice. “The Sons of Corazain. It’s a brotherhood among the peasants. See, Corazain was this…”

“I know who Corazain was.”

Valgorix swallowed. “Well, they’re a revolutionary group. They haven’t done anything yet, at least not anything drastic. They tried to kill an Imperial Countess this morning, but her bodyguard killed seven or eight of them and the rest ran.” Caina smiled behind her mask. “But they’re getting worse, and Lord Nicephorus won’t bother to crack down on them. Especially since Gaidan joined them.”

“Gaidan?” Caina had not heard that name before. 

“A priest, Brother of the Living Flame. A lot younger than Tadaia. More hot-headed. He’ll give these speeches calling for the Saddai to rise up and throw out the Empire. No one listened to him at first, but more and more of the peasants are coming around to his way of thinking. Tadaia’s kept him under control so far, but when the food runs out…” He shrugged. “A lot of people are going to get killed.” 

“I doubt these burning murders have helped matters.”

“No.” Valgorix shook his head. “From what I hear, most of the Saddai think Lord Nicephorus is behind it.”

“And who do you think is behind it, Decurion?”

“I don’t know,” said Valgorix. “If I had to guess, I’d say Gaidan. I’d arrest the bastard if I could find any basis for a charge, but he keeps his hands clean. Besides, it’d set the Sons of Corazain off, and then we’d have an insurrection.”

“So you think Gaidan is behind these murders,” said Caina. “But I thought you said the Saddai blamed Nicephorus.”

Valgorix shifted in his seat. “They do. Or, at least most of them do. I’ve heard that Gaidan’s lot think the burning deaths are a sign, an omen that an Ashbringer walks among them. In the old times the Ashbringers killed people with fire spells. In the Battle of Rasadda, Corazain used his sorcery to burn an entire legion to ashes, or so I’ve heard. And I wouldn’t put it past Gaidan to play at being an Ashbringer.”

“Of if he is one in truth,” said Caina. “Do the priests of the Living Flame wield any sorcery?”

Valgorix shrugged. “Some, like most priests, but nothing significant. None of them could match of a magus of the Magisterium, though. And if they tried any pyromancy, they wouldn’t last a week before the Magisterium got them.”

“I see,” said Caina. She thought about it for a moment. “One final question. Have you ever met or seen a merchant from Mors Crisius named Publius Vanio? A fat man, of Caerish birth.”

“Aye, I have,” said Valgorix. “He came to the city every few weeks, usually did business with both the Lord Governor and another merchant named Romarion.”