Caina nodded and pushed her way through the crowd, Theodosia gliding after her with stately grace. After a few moments, she reached the edge of the Plaza, not far from the line of militiamen that kept the Plaza clear for the nobles. From here, they had a clear view of the festivities. Lord Corbould dismounted his horse and waited while his herald continued the stentorian recitation of honors and offices.
“Now,” said Theodosia, voice low. “What happened? Is Barius dead?”
“Probably,” said Caina. “Someone turned him to stone.”
It was one of the very few times Caina had ever seen Theodosia taken aback.
“Turned to stone?” said Theodosia. “That’s not possible.”
Caina shrugged. “Unless there is a reason Barius had a life-sized statue of himself in his back room. A life-sized statue sculpted with incredible detail and showing an expression of horror. A life-sized statue that also has an aura of sorcery.”
“That does seem unlikely,” said Theodosia. “But…turned him to stone? I’ve never heard of any kind of sorcery that can do that. There are the old stories about serpent-haired women, true, but those are just stories. Was there any indication how it happened?”
“I don’t know,” said Caina. “The door was open, and it looked like it was forced. There was a Kindred assassin waiting in the alley behind the shop. He got away before I could kill him. And there was another man in a cloak, watching everything. He fled before I could get a good look at him.”
“I suppose neither one of them were serpent-haired women,” said Theodosia.
“No,” said Caina.
“Well,” said Theodosia, “that’s a puzzle, then.” The herald kept droning through Lord Corbould’s honors. “Barius was going to be our contact with Cyrioch’s Ghost circle, tell us of any plots against Lord Corbould’s life. So did the Kindred do this to him? Or did he stumble into some other kind of trouble?”
“A very good question,” said Caina. She passed the charred scrap of paper to Theodosia. “Someone burned a book or a ledger in Barius’s stove. This was all that was left. Does it mean anything to you?”
Theodosia squinted at the paper and nodded.
“It might,” she said. “The Defender is a statue in a plaza a bit east of here. The Plaza of the Defender, they call it. We’ll be staying at the inn there. As for the Well…there is a place in the Palace of Splendors called the Gallery of the Well. I have never been there.” She grinned. “But if Lord Khosrau enjoys Nighmarian opera as much as the rumors say, I might get an invitation.” She looked at the paper for a while longer, and then handed it to Caina. “Keep that. It might not mean anything. But just in case…”
Caina nodded. “What will we do now?”
“I’ll have to contact Cyrioch’s circlemaster,” said Theodosia. She scowled. “Which I was hoping to avoid, because he’s a dreadful bastard. But we have no choice. We need his help.”
“And if someone is targeting the Ghosts of Cyrioch,” said Caina, remembering what Kalastus had done in Rasadda, “they’ll need to know.”
Lord Corbould’s herald wrapped up the recitation of honors, and Lord Governor Armizid’s herald stepped forward.
“Hearken!” thundered the herald. “Armizid, a scion of House Asurius, Lord Governor of the province of Cyrica, guardian of Cyrioch, keeper of the Palace of Cyrioch, and scourge of the Sarbian tribes, does bid his brother Lord Corbould welcome to the Shining City of Cyrica Urbana!”
Lord Governor Armizid Asurius stepped forward, and Caina got her first look at the man who governed Cyrica. He was about thirty, with a soldier’s lean build, and wore a gleaming white robe and turban in Anshani style, an elaborate jeweled sword and dagger at his belt. His expression was stern, his black eyes hard and cold.
“A humorless martinet of a man,” murmured Theodosia, “but his father Khosrau is the real power in Cyrica.”
Lord Khosrau followed after his son. The men had the same facial features and eyes, but Khosrau was enormously fat, so fat that his white robe and beard made him look like an ambulatory snowball. He walked with a limp, leaning upon an ivory cane in his right fist. Unlike his son, his expression was not a cold mask. If anything, he looked...amused. As if he was privy to some joke unknown to everyone else in the Plaza.
A man in a black robe with a purple sash trailed after Khosrau, a slave girl in a gray tunic following him.
"Who is the master magus?" said Caina.
"Ranarius, the preceptor of the Cyrioch chapterhouse," murmured Theodosia. "A cold one. Was a strong supporter of Haeron Icaraeus. Even the First Magus steps lightly around him."
Caina took a closer look at Ranarius. The master magus was in his sixties, with a gaunt, ascetic face and the perpetual squint of a scholar. The slave girl was perhaps a few years younger than Caina, with hair so blond it was almost white. A strip of black cloth covered her eyes, and an elaborate collar of carved jade rested around her neck. Caina wondered why Ranarius bothered keeping a blind slave. Perhaps she warmed his bed - Caina would not put it past a magus to keep a slave mistress or three. The suspicion was confirmed when she saw a jade bracelet of similar design on his left wrist.
Lord Armizid strode toward Lord Corbould, and a sudden memory struck Caina with the force of a blow.
She remembered standing in the Great Market in Marsis, taking Nicolai to see the grand arrival of Rezir Shahan aboard his ships. Lord Corbould had been there with his bodyguards and magistrates, coming to greet the Padishah of Istarinmul's Lord Ambassador. Yet the meeting had been a trap, and Istarish soldiers had stormed into the Great Market, killing and capturing slaves. The slavers had taken Nicolai captive. Dread rose up to choke her throat at the memory. She had to get him back! She had to find him before...
Caina shook her head. She had rescued Nicolai, had slain Rezir Shahan and outwitted the Moroacia's disciple Scorikhon. Nicolai was safe with Ark and Tanya. She had saved him.
Yet the dread did not leave her, and for a terrible instant she was sure that Istarish footmen would boil into the Plaza of Majesty, their khalmirs bellowing commands...
She heard a voice, hissing urgent words.
Caina blinked.
"Are you all right?" said Theodosia. "Because this is not the time to let your attention wander!"
"I'm fine," said Caina, but she knew it was a lie.
Theodosia's expression said that she knew it, too.
Then Lord Governor Armizid started to speak, and Caina pushed aside her memories and emotions.
"My lord Corbould," said Armizid in High Nighmarian with a thick Cyrican accent. "I bid you welcome to Cyrica Urbana, the Shining City."
The two men gripped hands briefly.
"I think you, my lord Armizid," said Corbould. "On behalf of our Emperor, I offer greetings, and thank you for your hospitality."
Armizid offered a thin smile, and Caina suspected that he did not like Corbould very much.
"All nations know the hospitality of the Cyricans," Armizid. "Truly, we are generous to our friends...and merciless to our enemies."
"Indeed?" said Corbould. "Then it is well that the Cyricans are friends and loyal citizens of our Empire. For our Empire is threatened by bitter enemies."
Armizid lifted an eyebrow below his white turban. "By the Kyracians and the Istarish, you mean? Perhaps they are your enemies, Lord Corbould, if they went to such efforts to seize Marsis from you. But for generations beyond count, the slaves who labor in our mines and plantations have come from the slavers' brotherhood of Istarinmul. The ships that carry our olives and rice and cotton to the ports of the world come from New Kyre. The Kyracians and the Istarish have been friends of Cyrica for centuries. Perhaps they are your enemies, my lord Corbould, but they may not be the enemies of Cyrica."
Corbould's face grew hard. "So you would rather side with enemies of the Empire than with your Emperor, my lord Armizid?"
"I wish to remain friends with the Emperor of Nighmar," said Armizid. "But if the Emperor makes himself into the
enemy of Cyrica, well, then he shall have to live with the consequences."
"I take," said Corbould, his voice tight, "a dim view of rebellion. As does our Emperor. You might try to recall the fate of the Kagarish tribes that rebelled twenty years past."
Armizid gave a brief laugh. "The Kagars? Savages living in grass huts and mating with their horses. We Cyricans have been civilized for centuries beyond count."
"And for most of those centuries," said Corbould, his voice hard as the marble flagstones, "you Cyricans were slaves of the Anshani. It was the Emperor of Nighmar who liberated you from the Shahenshah of Anshan, and it was the Emperor of Nighmar who graciously allowed you to keep your slaves, even after your provinces rebelled during the War of the Fourth Empire. And now you think to turn your back upon him?"
Armizid sneered. "If Emperor Alexius turns his back upon us, if he drives the Cyricans away from our friends in Istarinmul and New Kyre, then he is a fool, and he deserves whatever misfortunate falls upon him!"
"And if you are so foolish as to rebel against the Emperor," said Corbould, "then you will learn the fate of a traitor."
This was not going well.
Both Corbould and Armizid glared at each other, and for a moment Caina thought they would come to blows. The memories of that terrible day in the Great Market of Marsis flooded through her mind, and Caina stepped toward Theodosia, intending to get her away if the Plaza of Majesty erupted into violence...
Then a low, raspy voice rang out in laughter.
Lord Khosrau hobbled towards Corbould and Armizid, his ivory cane tapping against the flagstones.
"Armizid," he said, coming to a stop between the two lords. "You are badgering our guest! What sort of hospitality is this?"
Armizid's face went tight with annoyance. "We have grave matters of state to discuss."
"Bah!" said Khosrau, waving his cane. "The grave matters of state never end. When you get to my age - and to Lord Corbould's age - you will learn that it is best to take matters in stride. Wars come and wars go, and today's bitter foe may become tomorrow's ally."
"Honored father," said Armizid, and to Caina's astonishment the Lord Governor of Cyrica almost looked like a petulant child. "War threatens to devour the western half of the Empire! We must discuss these matters, now, before..."
Khosrau laughed. "If that is so, a few days either way will not make much difference, will it? Besides, I have told you time and time again, a lord acts with patience, not with rashness."
Armizid's face went dark with fury, but he said nothing else.
"Now, my lord Corbould," said Khosrau, turning to face his son's guest. "I have one very important question for you."
"Of course, my lord," said Corbould. "We can discuss anything you wish."
"Did you bring the opera singers?" said Khosrau.
A knowing smile crossed Corbould's face. "It is a poor guest who does not bring gifts to his host."
"Splendid!" said Khosrau. "Are they here?"
Lord Corbould beckoned, and one of the Imperial Guards turned and marched towards the opera company.
“Ah,” breathed Theodosia, arranging her dress. “Get ready. And take a good look at our friends, will you?”
Caina nodded.
The Imperial Guard approached them. “Singer. Lord Corbould requires your presence. You will stand before high nobility, so mind your tongue.”
Theodosia drew herself up, her bosom swelling against the red fabric of her gown. “My dear fellow, I am the very soul of courtesy, and I have brought men weeping to their knees with the beauty of my song.”
The Guard blinked, nonplussed. “This way.”
The black-armored soldier led Theodosia across the Plaza. Caina followed, making sure to keep her hands well away from her weapons. Theodosia was entitled to her bodyguard, but she had no doubt that the Imperial Guards would cut her down without hesitation if she looked even the slightest bit threatening.
“Well, now,” rumbled Khosrau, while Armizid looked on with flat disapproval. “Who is this lovely creature?”
Theodosia gripped her skirts and did an elaborate curtsy. “Theodosia of Malarae, my lord. I shall have the honor of singing for you.”
Khosrau’s white teeth flashed in his sun-weathered face. “I shall look forward to it. Very much. For if your voice is as lovely as your face, then your song shall be splendid indeed.”
Theodosia favored him with her sunniest smile.
“Father,” said Armizid. “This is unseemly. Fawning over a…a singer in public? This is behavior unbecoming of the Lord of House Asurius.”
Khosrau did not look at his son. “I am the Lord of House Asurius, and I shall decide what is seemly, my son. Besides, we Cyricans have been civilized for centuries, have we not? And what is the point of civilization, if not to enjoy the ornaments of culture?”
Armizid’s cold eyes shifted to Caina. “And who is this ragged dog that trails after the singer? Shall we allow armed renegades into our presence now?”
“Oh, my lord, don’t mind poor Maric,” said Theodosia. “His sister Marina looks after me, and Maric keeps me safe. Surely you would not expect a woman to visit a strange city without her bodyguard, my lord?”
Armizid’s expression darkened. “This impudence is…”
“Armizid,” said Khosrau.
Armizid fell silent, a vein twitching in his temple.
Khosrau looked at Caina. “You will watch over our lovely singer, will you not?”
Caina bowed deep. “Of course, my lord,” she said, keeping her voice rough and disguised.
“Splendid fellow,” said Khosrau.
“I commissioned the Grand Imperial Opera to visit Cyrioch,” said Lord Corbould, stepping into the gap, “in your honor, my lords Armizid and Khosrau, because I know how much you enjoy Nighmarian opera. And chariot races, as well, in Cyrioch’s hippodrome.”
“You are courteous, my lord Corbould,” said Khosrau. “And I have arranged gladiatorial games and feasts in your honor, though these poor amusements are no match for the splendor of the Grand Imperial Opera. But it is my hope that they will provide a civilized venue for…discussions.”
Corbould offered a smooth smile. “That is my hope as well.”
The two men walked away, Theodosia forgotten. Armizid stared after them, then shook his head and followed. Caina watched them go, thinking. Khosrau seemed like a genial, flirtatious old man, hardly the sort to hire Kindred assassins to start a war. Yet she had learned again and again that a smiling face could hide a murderous heart. Armizid certainly seemed capable of hiring the Kindred to kill Corbould, but Caina doubted that Armizid had the willpower to defy his father. If someone in Cyrioch had hired the Kindred, it had to be Khosrau.
Unless some other power had hired the Kindred, someone about whom the Ghosts knew nothing.
The same power that had turned Barius to stone, perhaps?
That seemed too much of a coincidence, and Caina hated coincidences. They usually indicated some underlying pattern she could not yet see.
“Well,” murmured Theodosia, once the nobles and their attendants began climbing the ramp to the Palace of Splendors, “what did you think?”
“Armizid is proud,” said Caina, “and I think he would like to break away from the Empire and join Istarinmul. Or to have Cyrica become independent.” She shook her head. “Khosrau…it is hard to tell. He knows how to hide what he’s really thinking.”
“A smooth one, isn’t he?” said Theodosia. “And with excellent taste in opera, I might add. What did you think of the preceptor?”
“Ranarius?” said Caina, and her lip crinkled in disgust. “He just watched the discussion. Stood there with that blind slave of his and listened.” She wondered if the girl had been born blind, or if Ranarius had blinded her for some infraction. “Which means he’s dangerous. He’ll watch, and wait, and act when he thinks it’s in his best interests.”
“Oh, yes,” murmured Theodosia. “He’s a dangerous one. The Ghosts tried
to kill him twice, you know. And both times he killed everyone we sent after him.”
“Why did we try to kill him?” said Caina.
“He killed too many Ghosts,” said Theodosia. “The Cyrioch chapter of the Magisterium has close ties with the Istarish slavers’ brotherhood, and Ranarius had been helping them kidnap common farmers. He used the profits to fund his experiments into various forms of battle sorcery. Whenever the Ghosts tried to stop the slavers, Ranarius would kill them. And when we sent nightfighters to stop him, he killed them, too.”
Caina loathed the magi, and Ranarius represented everything she hated about them. Yet it did seem unlikely that he had hired the Kindred to kill Lord Corbould. Ranarius made his money from the slave trade, and a revolt would disrupt that slave trade for years.
“What should we do now?” said Caina.
“I must send word to the local Ghost circle,” said Theodosia. “They need to know what happened to Barius. And we’ll need another contact.” She sighed. “I liked Barius. I hope we don’t have to deal with Cyrioch’s circlemaster. Vicious bastard, but effective. We should have word from him in a few days.”
“And until then?” said Caina.
Theodosia grinned. “Why, we prepare for a performance, my dear.”
Chapter 4 – A Frozen Assassin
The nobility of Cyrioch filled the Amphitheatre of Asurius.
One or another of Lord Khosrau’s ancestors had built the massive Amphitheatre. Rows of seats climbed the Stone's slope, rising in a wide half circle. The broad stage rested at the foot of the hill, surrounded by private boxes for the Lord Governor and his honored guests. The ancient engineer who had built the Amphitheatre had been an architect of genius – the acoustics were so perfect that a man sitting in the top row could hear a pin drop upon the stage. Furthermore, the sound reflected upon the city. Half of Cyrioch could hear the Grand Imperial Opera.
Caina stood in the tents besides the stage. She wore a pale blue dress with black trim, a scarf of a similar color covering her hair. She had thought the scarf would prove intolerable in the heat, but it reflected the sun's rays and kept sweat from trickling down her face.
The Ghosts Omnibus: The Kyracian War Page 36