by Unknown
Caina nodded.
She knew the name. Every Ghost did. Sicarion murdered for money, and he did it well, specializing in the murder of rulers. He had assassinated a dozen Lord Governors, a score of Imperial magistrates, Arthag kings, Kyracian princes, Carthian emirs. And numerous Ghosts who had gotten in his way. No one had ever caught him. No one had ever come close.
"Gods," muttered Ark. "We are overmatched."
"Yes," said Caina. "But it is still up to us."
"Very well," said Ark. A hard grin flashed across his face. "I'd follow you into hell, if need be. You figure out who needs killing, and I'll do it. Just like the old days."
"Yes," said Caina, smiling back. It was absurd. They might both die within the next few hours. Yet Ark's support cheered her more than she could say. "Let's go. The Emperor will greet the Kyracian Princes at the Praetorian Basilica. We need to get there before sundown."
"How are we going to get in?" said Ark.
Caina shrugged. "We'll lie. How else?"
"Ah. Just like the old days, then."
* * * *
Ark had supplies on hand, and Caina made use of them. A dagger in either boot, and knives strapped to her forearms, hidden beneath her sleeves. She changed to the flowing gown of an Imperial noblewoman, dark green cloth with black-slashed sleeves. While she prepared, Ark dressed as her man-at-arms. He had a coach and horses, and together they rode through the broad streets of the Imperial capital, past temples and mansions and the monuments of Emperors long dead.
"How will Sicarion do it?" said Ark.
"I don't know," said Caina. "Whatever method he thinks is appropriate, I suppose. He used a crossbow on the Lord Governor of the Pale. He poured ground glass into the dinner of an Arthag king. He...may even have access to some level of sorcery."
Ark scowled. "How do we find him?"
Caina didn't know.
At last the coach stopped before the towering edifice of the Praetorian Basilica, a massive stone pile of arches and buttresses and crenellated towers. Imperial Guards stood before the doors, imposing in their black armor, purple cloaks, and gleaming silver shields. Caina strode towards the doors, Ark trailing after her.
One of the Guards blocked her path. "A moment, my lady."
"What?" said Caina, speaking in the accents of a highborn noblewoman. "What insolence is this? Do you not know who I am?" She extended her ring for the Guard to kiss. "I am Countess Marianna Nereide, and my lord father will be most displeased with this."
"Pardons, my lady," said the Guard, "but when did you leave the Basilica?"
"Leave?" said Caina. "What are you babbling about, man? I just arrived, as you can plainly see."
The Guard looked at her, at Ark, and back at her. "Ah...forgive me, my lady. I must have been mistaken. Please, enter at once."
The Guards pulled the doors open, and Caina swept inside without sparing them another glance. Inside the cavernous hall other lords and ladies stood under the vast arches, speaking to one another in low voices. An empty throne sat on the dais as the far end of the Basilica, alongside three slightly smaller thrones for the princes. Caina hooked her arm through Ark's and guided him to a darkened alcove where they could talk.
"What was that about?" said Caina. "Why did he think I had already entered the Basilica?"
"There are numerous young noblewomen in the city," said Ark. "Perhaps he mistook you for someone else."
"By name?" said Caina. "There's no such woman as Countess Marianna Nereide." It meant something, and Caina did not like that the Guard had asked after her. She looked over the Basilica, trying not to scowl. Each of the nobles had brought their own guards, but Imperial Guards stood at the base of every pillar and in every arch, watching the lords and ladies through their black helms.
"There is a Ghost among the Imperial Guard," said Ark, following her eyes. "A centurion named Tylas. I will speak to him, have him urge the Guard to greater vigilance."
"Good," said Caina. "Look. What do you see?"
Ark frowned. "Lords of the Empire, high magistrates, Imperial Guards..."
"And no magi," said Caina. "They always attend when the Emperor holds court."
She did not like that, either.
Ark's mouth twisted. "So they do not come, lest they are implicated."
"Or," said Caina, "they don't want to get caught in the chaos."
"That," said Ark, "or Sicarion is going to do something that will kill everyone here."
Caina liked that even less.
"Go warn Tylas," said Caina. "I'm going to have a look around."
"Will the Guard let you wander?" said Ark.
Caina shrugged. "What threat is one unarmed woman? They will not care. Go."
Ark nodded and walked towards the Guards. Caina stepped after him, her skirts whispering against the marble floors. She wandered among the pillars, making a show of looking at the ancient carvings while scanning every nook and cranny.
Where would Sicarion hide?
She could not guess how the assassin planned to kill the Emperor and the three Kyracian princes. According to the letter from the magi, he would kill them all at once. Caina did not see how that was possible. No one with a drawn weapon could get anywhere near the Emperor. An archer would get only one shot before the Imperial Guard covered the Emperor with their shields. Sorcery? It would take potent sorcery to kill four men at once, and Caina doubted Sicarion had access to that kind of power.
Poison, perhaps?
Or did Sicarion plan to kill the Emperor and the princes before they even reached their thrones? The Basilica's roof rose four hundred and fifty feet over the plaza, with a narrow balcony running above the clerestory windows. A man perched there would have a clear view of the plaza and streets below.
Along with a clear shot. A barrel of stones pushed from the balcony at the right moment could wipe out half the Imperial court.
She looked for Ark, but he was deep in conversation with a centurion of the Imperial Guards. Tylas, no doubt, and Caina didn't dare show herself to another Ghost. She slipped around a pillar and walked to the base of the Basilica's northern tower. An Imperial Guard stood before the steps, watching the nobles with a blank expression. His eyes shifted to her, and widened a bit in surprise.
"You there," said Caina. "Has anyone come this way?"
"Yes, my lady," said the Guard. "Your sister said she had a headache, and went up to take some fresh air."
Caina hid her surprise. Sister?
"Yes, thank you," said Caina. "I had best bring her back. My lord father will be wroth if we miss the Emperor's arrival."
The Guard stepped aside. "Hurry, my lady. His Imperial Majesty will arrive at any moment."
"Hurry," murmured Caina, "yes."
She took her skirts in both hands and started climbing, cursing the long gown with every step. Damnable skirts! Four hundred feet later the stairs ended in a narrow wooden door, light leaking through the gaps between the boards. Caina pushed it open, the hinges groaning.
The wind hit her at once. The long balcony stretched along the Basilica's side, offering a splendid view of the city and the Imperial Palace on its high crag. Statues of long-dead Emperors stood atop the railing at regular intervals, gazing over the city.
A lone woman rested pale hands on the marble rail, her black hair billowing like a banner, the skirts of her rich green gown rippling. She seemed sad, haunted by some heavy grief. The woman looked up as Caina approached, blue eyes narrowing.
Caina stopped, shocked.
The woman was her exact double in every way, down to the smallest feature.
"Well, well, well," said the woman in Caina's voice. "We've worn the same face to court, haven't we? How dreadfully embarrassing! But don't worry, I'll take care of that..."
The double's hand blurred, steel flashing. Caina dodged as the throwing knife whirred past her head, spinning so close that she felt it brush her hair. She went to one knee, yanked the dagger from her right boot, and leapt up just in time
to deflect a second throwing knife. Caina lunged at her foe, dagger leading. The double caught her wrist in both hands and twisted. Caina growled with pain, but slammed the heel of her free hand into the double's face.
Her palm struck wood, not flesh. The double staggered with a grunt, a mask of polished black wood clattering against the wall. And then the double vanished. In her place stood a lean man in dark leathers, weapons at his belt. Hideous scars crisscrossed his shaven head, making his face look as if it had been stitched together from leathery scraps. Either he had been mauled or someone had taken a knife to him with vigor.
Sicarion.
A heavy locket of red gold hung from a chain around his neck, bouncing against his chest.
His knee came up and slammed into her stomach. Caina stumbled back, wrenching her wrist free from his grasp. Sicarion drew daggers in either hand and backed away six or seven steps, watching her. Caina slipped a throwing knife into her free hand and held it ready.
"Strong, for a woman," said Sicarion. His voice rasped and hissed; perhaps one of the scars had damaged his throat. "Though perhaps overly proud."
"Overly proud?" said Caina. "This from a man who calls himself 'of the dagger' in the ancient tongue?"
"Recognized that, did you? I've earned that name," said Sicarion, daggers tracing slow designs in front of him. "Did you like my disguise?" He gestured at the mask lying between them. "The magi enspelled it for me. Part of my advance payment. A useful little toy, no?"
"Oh, very useful," said Caina, mind racing. If she shouted, would anyone hear her? She didn't think she could take Sicarion in a straight fight. Damn it all, but she shouldn't have come up here alone. "Right up until I saw you. What do you think would have happened if someone had seen us together?"
Sicarion laughed. "The magi told me that they killed you. So disguising myself as you seemed safe enough. That's what I get for trusting a band of sorcerers. They can't do anything right. Which, of course, is why they had to hire me."
"They shouldn't have hired a money-grubbing incompetent," said Caina.
"Money? Money is meaningless. Do you want to know why I like to kill kings?" said Sicarion. "Or princes, or emirs, or Emperors, whatever they like to call themselves. I've killed more people than I can remember. Every last one of them deserved to die screaming and sobbing in terror. But there are so many more of them. I'm only one man with a dagger. I can't kill them all by myself. But kill a king, kill a king at the right place and at the right time...thousands of people die. Maybe tens of thousands. Sometimes for generations. And all of them will have died by my hand." His eyes kindled as he spoke, filling with glee. "All from one thrust of a dagger."
"Are you insane, or merely wicked?" said Caina, keeping her eyes on him. Madman he might be, but he was talking for a reason, she knew, to throw her off balance or to distract her.
"Neither. This world deserves to die screaming. And I'm just the man to do it."
"You'll meet death firsthand if you don't lay down your weapons," said Caina.
Sicarion smiled and slid his daggers back into his belt.
Caina blinked in surprise. He had no defense now. One quick flick of her wrist and she could bury her knife in his throat.
But he had to know that, didn't he?
"You want to know how I'm going to kill your Emperor and those princes?" said Sicarion.
"You won't kill anyone," said Caina. "You'll have to go through me first."
"If you wish," said Sicarion. He lifted the strange locket hanging from his neck. "Another payment from the magi. The mask's just a toy. But this...this is different. It's a mirror for mind. The sorcery laid upon it is such that whosoever looks upon me will see their mind's blackest fears and worst regrets reflected back upon them. They often die, or go mad. Sometimes their hearts burst within their chests from the terror."
"Sorcery can be fought," said Caina, making up her mind. She tightened her grip of the knife, ready to throw.
"No. Not this kind," said Sicarion, opening the locket. Within Caina glimpsed something like a ruby ablaze with its own inner flames.
And then Halfdan stood between her and Sicarion.
Caina flinched, her throw freezing halfway through. Blood oozed from a wound in Halfdan's neck, another from a gash across his chest. His eyes were glassy and empty, his mouth pulled back in the rictus of death. He looked just as he did on the horrible day when the magi had seized control of his mind, forcing him to attack her.
"You killed me!" he screamed at her, the words thundering inside her skull. "You killed me, I loved you as the daughter I lost and you killed me!"
"No!" said Caina. "No, no, I didn't, I tried to save you, I would have saved you if I knew how, I..."
"Your fault!" shrieked Halfdan, blood bubbling from his lips. The words plunged into her mind like knives. "You could have saved me. If only you had been smarter. If only you had been braver! You could have saved me, but instead I am screaming down in hell because you killed me!"
"No!" repeated Caina. Some small part of her mind insisted that something was wrong, horribly wrong, but the sorrow and guilt strangled her. "No...I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I..."
And then Sicarion rushed forward and seized her by the neck and shoulder. Too late Caina remembered, and she yanked back her dagger for a stab. But Sicarion shoved her, and Caina tumbled backwards over the railing, the plaza rushing up to meet her.
The dagger fell from her grasp. Caina just had time to scream before her head struck something hard, and darkness swallowed her.
* * * *
Caina awoke to the taste of blood in her mouth, the world spinning around her. The plaza rotated above her, painted red with the sunset. Was she still falling? Her hands flailed above her head...or were they below her head?
After a moment she realized that she was hanging upside down.
Caina spat out a mouthful of blood and looked up. She had only fallen thirty feet or so. A statue stood upon a ledge, brandishing an upraised spear, and Caina's skirt had caught upon it. She felt the seams straining, but the gown had been well-made, and the fabric held.
Well. Heavy skirts had some use after all.
She peered up at the balcony and saw no trace of Sicarion. Why hadn't he finished her off? He needn't even have bothered with a weapon; a dropped brick would have done the job.
Caina grinned.
Sicarion had erred. He should have just stabbed her and hidden the corpse, rather than playing with his sorcerous trinkets. It might have taken weeks to discover her body. But if the Imperial Guard saw a mangled corpse lying before the Praetorian Basilica, they would take the Emperor to safety, and Sicarion would miss his opportunity to strike.
Her grin faded.
If Sicarion realized that his cover had been blown, he would move to strike at once. And Ark, the Emperor, and the Imperial Guard would have no defense against that damnable locket. Little wonder the magi had not attended. The locket's power would drive everyone in the Basilica mad with terror, and Sicarion could butcher the Emperor at his leisure.
But only if Caina didn't stop him first.
She swung up, trying to catch a grip on the statue. Twice her hands slipped. On the third try she felt her skirt start to tear. She threw herself forward, her arms clinging to the statue's ankles, her legs wrapping around the spear. Bit by bit she climbed the statue, until she could lever herself onto the ledge.
Her head hurt, and her limbs ached. But that didn't matter. She knew how to be hurt. She had been hurt worse than this.
What mattered was stopping Sicarion.
She looked around. The clerestory windows were twenty feet below the ledge, and she had no way to reach them. That meant she had to go up. The stonework here was weathered and cracked, the mortar crumbling away. Caina slid off her boots, shoved her remaining dagger into her belt, and started to climb.
The wind lashed at her, tugging her hair and tattered skirt. Caina gritted her teeth and kept climbing, fear driving her faster. For all she knew Sicari
on had slain the Emperor and the princes already. Inch by inch she climbed, trying not to look down. At last she heaved herself over the marble railing and collapsed onto the balcony, breathing hard.
The wooden mask was gone. No doubt Sicarion had taken it to resume his disguise. Caina wished that she had thought to kick it over the railing. She hurried down the stairs, bare feet slapping against the worn steps. Music drifted up from the Basilica, the sounds of drums and the blaring of trumpets.
The Emperor had arrived.
She had just reached the Basilica proper when a centurion of the Imperial Guard stepped before her, leveling a dagger against her throat. Caina twisted in his grip, intending to drive her knee into his groin. But he anticipated her move and sidestepped, ramming her into the wall. Caina gasped, stunned, and the Guard pinned her in place, dagger returning to her throat.
It was Tylas, the Ghost that she had seen with Ark.
"What is this?" demanded Caina. "I am the Countess Marianna Nereide, and you will release me at once or my father..."
"So old Ark was right," breathed Tylas. "Someone was coming to kill the Emperor after all."
"You're a Ghost," said Caina. "Listen to me. I..."
Tylas pressed the blade against her throat. "You murdered Halfdan, and the magi sent you to murder our Emperor. What did they promise you? Gold? A title? Lands? Or did they just break your mind?"
Caina blinked. Ark had done just as she had instructed. He had warned Tylas of the assassin without mentioning her. And Tylas knew of her death mark, and so assumed that she was the assassin.
Perhaps Sicarion was not the only one who had erred.
Caina scanned the hall, trying to think. All eyes were on the Emperor and the Kyracian princes. They stood on the dais, the Emperor in black armor and purple cloak, the princes outlandish in their blue robes and silver diadems. One by one the lords and ladies processed to the dais and bowed, paying their respects. She spotted Ark a third of the way down the line. Sicarion stood besides him, again wrapped in the mask's illusion, the locket resting against his chest.
Caina hoped she did not really look like that when she smirked.
"Look," said Caina. "Look. Just look at Ark."