Agabyzus bowed and began gathering up his papers. “I will return as soon as I know more.”
“One question, though,” said Martin. “You are Istarish.”
“I am, my lord,” said Agabyzus, tucking away his documents.
“Why are you a Ghost, then?” said Martin.
“Because I fear for my countrymen,” said Agabyzus. “I started upon this path because my brother was a Ghost, as our father had been before him. Later, as Nahas Tarshahzon’s health declined and ambitious men did as they pleased, only the Ghosts stood up to them. And I have seen the interior of a wraithblood laboratory, my lord. Callatas shall spread the evils of his wraithblood laboratories across all of Istarinmul, maybe even all of the world. That is why I remain a Ghost. No one else is fighting Callatas. No one else even knows. The Teskilati, the emirs…all those who should have been defending the Istarish people instead serve Callatas. Only the circlemaster opposed him, and now she has been slain. So we must carry on her work in her stead.”
“Very well,” said Martin. “Good fortune, Agabyzus.”
“If the Living Flame wills it,” said Agabyzus, “I hope to return soon with news.”
He bowed and left the study. The Imperial Guards let him pass, and Claudia watched through the window as he crossed the grounds and disappeared into the street.
“Do you think we can trust him?” said Claudia.
“I believe so,” said Martin. “The loyalty in his voice when he spoke of Caina…either it was authentic, or he was an actor of superb skill. And she did have the ability to inspire that kind of loyalty.”
“Aye,” said Claudia. “Look at us, after all.”
She sighed and closed her eyes, trying to ignore the throbbing in her ankles and lower back.
“How are you feeling?” said Martin.
“Not well,” said Claudia. “My back hurts, my ankles hurt, and…the baby, Martin. The child is going to come any day.” She shook her head, her eyes stinging as she opened them. “Any day. This city is a pile of dry kindling, and Cassander is running towards it with a torch. And I am about to have a child in the middle of this war.”
“I wish,” said Martin, “that I had left you in Malarae.”
Claudia laughed a little and took his hand. “Then I would spend all my time worrying about you. That would not be an improvement, husband.”
“I suppose not,” said Martin. He lifted her hand and kissed it. “Still, the mansion is well-stocked and well-fortified. If Cassander attacks the city or unleashes some spell, we should be secure enough here.”
“I hope so,” said Claudia. “I wish we did not have to put it to the test.”
She looked out the window at the splendid domes and soaring towers of the Emirs’ Quarter. The sun was setting to the west, and the white marble of the palaces seemed to absorb the harsh light.
For an instant, it seemed as if the towers and spires burned.
Claudia shivered. She hoped it was not a premonition.
Chapter 9: Pyromancy
Cassander sat at the head of the table in the embassy’s dining hall, tapping the fingers of his right hand against the gleaming wood of the table. The metal of his black gauntlet clicked against the table, again and again, like the drumbeat of a marching Legion.
There was so much work to be done.
Slaves and soldiers alike hurried through the dining hall, carrying out their tasks. Cassander had executed a few of the slaves since his return, burning them alive as the others watched, and he found it had inspired a marvelous new diligence in the survivors.
The fact that he had enjoyed the deaths had been a bonus. Or it might have been the main point. Before Rumarah, before he had used necromancy upon himself, he would have considered such deaths wasteful. Slaves were not cheap.
Now he wished to kill more.
The metal fingers of his gauntlet tapped his impatience against the table.
Soon. Very soon. He would kill until he was sated.
Maria Nicephorus approached his chair and bowed, the golden medallion of the Umbarian Order sliding against the black leather of her greatcoat.
“Well?” said Cassander, lifting his eyebrows. Or his remaining eyebrow, anyway.
“The Brotherhood of Slavers has responded to your invitation, my lord,” said Maria. She kept a calm face and voice, but he saw the muscles twitching near her eye. “They will gather at their dockside compound this evening and await your arrival.”
“Indeed?” said Cassander. “They do not fear to be seen with a man banished from the city?”
Maria shrugged. “They wish to stay on good terms with the Umbarian Order, for we are both a supplier and a purchaser of slaves. They…ah, likely they know the Provosts will dispatch another ambassador to the city once you depart.”
“Oh, of course,” said Cassander. “How very prudent of them. I’m sure they will want to maintain good relations with the Padishah, wherever his bloated carcass might be hiding.”
Maria shifted, her face a bloodless mask. Cassander wondered how she would react if she knew the truth, if she knew that within a few days the Umbarian Order would never need to send another ambassador to Istarinmul again.
Well, she would find out soon enough.
“Of course, my lord,” said Maria at last.
“What of the other preparations?” said Cassander.
“Underway,” said Maria. “The additional Adamant Guards have been quartered throughout the circle, and undead forces and cataphracti have been housed with them. We shall be ready whenever you give the command.”
“Good,” said Cassander, watching her.
She met his gaze, trembling only a little. He could tell his new scars unsettled her, but she did her best not to show her fear. Maria Nicephorus was a lovely young woman. Cassander had forced her to sleep with him more than once, though she never complained, of course. Complaining about one’s superiors in the Umbarian Order was not a route to advancement. Cassander still found her attractive, and yet…
He found the thought of killing her more exciting than the thought of sleeping with her.
Death excited him more than the carnal appetites of the flesh.
Perhaps that should have worried him.
“Tell me,” said Cassander. “Have you figured out what the plan is yet?”
“Obviously,” said Maria. “We have gathered a force to seize the Towers of the Sea. Once we do, we can use the Hellfire stocks within the Towers to keep the Istarish at bay long enough for the fleet to traverse the Straits.”
“I see,” said Cassander. That wasn’t a bad plan. He had considered it himself before deciding upon his current course.
The door to the dining hall boomed open. Cassander looked away from Maria and saw a ripple of fear go through the soldiers and the slaves. A red-masked form moved through them, a shadow-cloak hanging from her shoulders, a scimitar slung over her back and a ghostsilver short sword and a dagger at her belt.
The Red Huntress had returned.
“Leave us,” said Cassander, raising his voice. “All of you. I shall speak with our guest alone.”
Maria bowed and withdrew, and the others followed suit. After a moment Cassander was alone with Kalgri. She drew back her cowl and tossed her steel mask upon the table. It left a little scratch in the wood, which would have annoyed Cassander, but since the table was going to be destroyed in a few days, it hardly mattered. She stared down at him with cold blue eyes, so similar to the eyes of Caina Amalas, and Cassander smiled and stared right back.
The grafted skin upon the left side of his face felt tight and cold.
“I am surprised,” said Kalgri at last, “that you are still alive.”
“An Umbarian magus is difficult to kill,” said Cassander.
“Very few people have spoken that rudely to Callatas and lived to tell the tale,” said Kalgri. “Most of them are standing in this room.”
“Callatas,” said Cassander, “has his hands full. Half of Istarinmul is rising in
rebellion, if you hadn’t noticed. Killing me would earn a reprisal from the Order. It would be difficult to make his wraithblood and work on his precious Apotheosis while fighting off both the rebels and the Order.”
“He summoned me,” said Kalgri, “soon after you provoked Erghulan Amirasku to that little tantrum. I suspect he’s rather displeased with you, and would prefer it if you suffered a fatal accident of some kind.” The purple fire and shadow twisted behind her eyes.
“Have you come to arrange that accident?” said Cassander. The prospect of fighting her no longer daunted him, now that he had seen the extent of her abilities. Still, she was dangerously clever, and he wasn’t sure he could win a fight with her.
“Perhaps,” said Kalgri. “I haven’t yet decided.”
Cassander smiled. “And on what basis will you make your decision?”
She sat at the edge of the table and leaned closer to him, her eyes glittering like chips of ice. “Death.”
“Any death?” said Cassander. “I could kill one of the slaves, if that would entertain you.”
“You promised me death, Cassander Nilas,” murmured Kalgri. She leaned closer. Any closer and he could have kissed her, though he knew that would have been a tremendously bad idea. “Death on a titanic scale, the death of all Istarinmul. Instead I see you shuffling troops about the city and hiding them in houses purchased under false names.”
“That will end up killing a lot of people,” said Cassander.
“Boring,” murmured Kalgri. “You promised me the death of the entire city. And a girl so hates to be disappointed.”
The shadow and purple fire pulsed behind her eyes, and Cassander could feel the malevolent attention of her nagataaru.
“You want death, Huntress?” said Cassander. “What if I told you that before the week is out, all Istarinmul will die?”
“How?” said Kalgri.
“Istarinmul will burn,” said Cassander.
“How?” repeated Kalgri. “You do not have the power.”
“I’ll show you,” said Cassander.
He stood up abruptly, just to see what Kalgri would do.
She jerked back so fast she became a blur. The ghostsilver short sword appeared in her right hand. Cassander’s coat was armored with spells to turn aside blades and sorcerous attacks, and he kept more wards active around him at all times, yet that ghostsilver sword could have torn through them like paper. Idly he wondered where she had found the thing. Likely from some long-dead Ghost nightfighter.
The sight of the Red Huntress with sword in hand should have alarmed him, yet Cassander only felt a peculiar, vicious thrill. Kalgri, too, understood the joy of killing.
She would appreciate what he was about to do.
“There is no need for alarm,” said Cassander. He beckoned with his armored hand. “Come. I shall show you.”
Kalgri’s eyes narrowed, but she sheathed the blade and followed him across the dining hall. Cassander reached the doors to the cellar, disarmed the wards upon them, and produced a set of keys to undo the three locks.
“Tell me,” he said as he worked, “what do you know of the Second Empire?”
Kalgri gave an indifferent shrug. “Ancient history does not interest me.”
“Indulge me,” said Cassander.
“You are the Umbarian magus,” said Kalgri. “You tell me.”
“The scholars call the current Empire of Nighmar the Fifth Empire,” said Cassander, undoing the last lock. “The Second Empire was a predecessor to the current Empire. Smaller, weaker, and due to the necessities of survival far more martial. The Second Empire’s final enemy was the dominion of the Saddaic people, ruled by a caste of sorcerer-priests who called themselves the Ashbringers.”
He pushed open the doors, revealing a set of stairs descending into the earth.
Kalgri let out a nasty laugh. “That name I do know. They were pyromancers. Worshipped the Burning Flame, and sought to burn all the world in his name. The old Emperors wiped them out.” She laughed again. “Except they didn’t, did they? Your Order began as the remnants of the old Ashbringers.”
“It did,” said Cassander, starting down the stairs, Kalgri following him in perfect silence. “In time, the Umbarian Order cast aside the false superstitions of religion, and instead embraced the pure study and mastery of the arcane sciences, the pyromantic science among them. The Emperors believed that they had destroyed the Ashbringers, and we let them believe that, for the Umbarian Order remained hidden in the shadows, concealed within the Magisterium, until the time was right. We therefore kept safe many of the relics and books of the old Ashbringers. Do you know the name of Corazain?”
“No.”
“He was the last king of the Saddai…and the last and greatest of the Ashbringers,” said Cassander. “When the Emperor’s armies encircled Rasadda, at the brink of his defeat, he drew upon his powers and unleashed a firestorm that destroyed himself, Rasadda, and the combined armies of the Empire. The Second Empire fell into chaos and civil war for a century until the Third Empire arose.”
“So what?” said Kalgri.
“The Order does not have all of Corazain’s relics,” said Cassander. “The Book of Corazain, the tome that contained his spells and teachings, was lost. No one knows what happened to it. But we do possess some of his more powerful relics. And I brought one of them to Istarinmul with me.”
They reached the cellar. Cassander had converted it to a laboratory and a workshop, with long wooden tables holding a variety of bronze and glass instruments useful in the working of sorcery. An elaborate summoning circle marked a portion of the floor. Cassander had summoned the Sifter there, and bound the ifrit to hunt down and kill Caina Amalas. In way, he mused, the spirit’s failure had led him to this day.
To the thing that waited behind the door on the far side of the laboratory.
“And what relic is this?” said Kalgri. “His sword? His staff?”
“His throne,” said Cassander, unlocking the door.
“His throne?” said Kalgri with derision. “What good is that? Shall you take your ease upon it? I…”
Cassander threw open the door, and had the satisfaction of seeing Kalgri shocked into silence. The room beyond was a large vault, the walls marked with warding sigils to deflect and obfuscate arcane observation. Another ring of warding symbols had been carved upon the floor, glowing with a pale blue light. A fiery glow marked the walls and ceiling, and a blast of hot air came from the door as Cassander opened it.
Both the fiery light and the heat came from the object in the center of the circle.
It was a massive throne fashioned from a single jagged piece of obsidian, its back rising like a spiked shield, its arms jutting forward like claws. The fiery glow blazed within its depths, ribbons of fire dancing within the black stone like ropes caught within a wind. Even without using a spell, Cassander could feel the titanic power the Ashbringers of old had bound within the relic.
“Behold,” said Cassander, “the Throne of Corazain.”
Kalgri prowled around the Throne, though she kept well away from the warding circle upon the floor. She tilted her head to the side, listening to her nagataaru.
“What does it do?” she said at last.
“It was designed to summon elemental spirits,” said Cassander. “Specifically, fire elementals. Ifriti.”
“How many elementals?” said Kalgri.
“Why,” said Cassander, “as many as you like. It depends upon the amount of power fed into the Throne, of course. But there is no upward limit.”
Kalgri spun, her eyes narrowed. “You have no means of controlling the elementals.”
“Of course not,” said Cassander.
“Or the power to summon that many,” said Kalgri.
“I told you I know how to get it,” said Cassander. “The day of the golden dead left cracks in the walls between the worlds, weak spots where spirits and sorcerous power seep from the netherworld and into the material world.”
&n
bsp; “I know,” said Kalgri.
“And it occurred to me,” said Cassander, “that if one were to link the Throne with such a weak spot, tremendous power would flow into the Throne. Enough to summon millions upon millions of fire elementals. They would not stay in our world for long, of course, no more than a few moments. Since the elementals would be impossible to control, the ifriti would rage, destroying and consuming everything in their path. Such a firestorm would only last a few moments, but I imagine it would be enough to…oh, destroy an entire city in the blink of an eye.”
Kalgri stared at him, her gaze as intense as the fire within the Throne.
“You’re going to burn Istarinmul,” she whispered.
“Like chaff upon the threshing floor,” said Cassander. “Every building, every house, every palace and temple, every man, woman, and child. Istarinmul shall be smoking rubble and its people shall be ashes. The entire world shall look to at smoking rubble and tremble at the power of the Order, and our fleet shall sail past the charred shells of the Towers of the Sea to assail Malarae.” He smiled. “Would that be enough death to suit you?”
Kalgri kept staring at him, but he saw the fierce eagerness in her face. The idea had caught hold in her mind.
“It would,” she said, “be a start.”
“So,” said Cassander. “Will you run to Callatas with news of my treachery? Will you strike me down as the Grand Master wishes?”
Kalgri snorted. “If Callatas did not wish to make an enemy of you, he should have killed you a year past. As for warning him, you don’t need me to tell him anything. A spell on this scale will draw his attention almost at once. It will draw the attention of anyone in Istarinmul with even a flicker of arcane ability. Once it does, Callatas will blast your mansion to ash, and that will be the end of your plan.” She circled the Throne once more and let out a harsh laugh. “For that matter, you cannot control that many elementals. The ifriti will burn you with everything else.”
Ghost in the Throne (Ghost Exile #7) Page 14