Ghost in the Maze

by Moeller, Jonathan

  Caina stared for a moment, considering the sight.

  “A useful place for a private conversation,” said Nasser. “The noise makes it impossible to hear anything said upon the balcony.”

  Caina nodded, staring at the city.

  “Something has caught your attention,” said Nasser at last.

  “The city,” said Caina, her voice quiet. “It looks…almost beautiful at night.”

  “Almost beautiful enough to let you forget what Istarinmul is really like,” said Nasser.

  “Almost,” said Caina, “but not quite enough.”

  “Tell me,” said Nasser. “What do you think of our new associates?”

  Caina considered for a moment. “Tarqaz’s motivation is clear enough. He wants revenge. That will drive a man to do mad things. Anaxander has nowhere else to go, and is seeking enough money to drink himself to death. Strabane is bored.”

  “And Kazravid?” said Nasser.

  “An abrasive bastard,” said Caina.

  Nasser chuckled. “True. But very good at what he does. He slept with one of his father’s favorite mistresses, and so Kazravid got himself banished from the Shahenshah’s realm. He turned to burglary simply because it would annoy his father.”

  Caina took a deep breath. “One of them is probably going to betray you.”

  “Oh?” said Nasser.

  “The stakes are too high,” said Caina. “I don’t know how large the bounty on your head is, but it’s got to be a lot of money. The sort of money that would make men betray their own mothers. And the gods know how they’ll react if they find out I am the Balarigar.”

  “Anaxander would likely do nothing, simply out of sheer sloth and fear of your reputation,” said Nasser. “Strabane is Kaltari, and the Kaltari, like their Caerish cousins in the Empire, are quite fond of legends and tales. He would do nothing against you.”

  “I’m not a hero,” said Caina. “I’m a spy and a very good liar.”

  Nasser smiled. “True. But the Balarigar, the legend that has grown around you like a pearl around a grain of sand…well, that is something else, is it not?”

  “Kazravid, though,” said Caina. “Kazravid would try for the bounty.”

  “Almost certainly,” said Nasser. “And do you trust Mistress Strake?”

  “No,” said Caina. “But as you said, trust is not required.” She remembered something Halfdan had told her once. “I understand her. She doesn’t care about money. She cares about puzzles, about equations and machines and locks. She needs distractions from everything she has lost.”

  In a way, she was a great deal like Caina.

  “And, of course, a distraction from the wraithblood,” said Nasser.

  “That, too,” said Caina.

  “She did well, standing up to Kazravid,” said Nasser. “But it was hard for her. You could see it, could you not?” Caina gave a reluctant nod. “We shall have to keep an eye on her. She wishes to avoid wraithblood, yes…but every man has a limit beyond which he cannot resist temptation.”

  Caina nodded again. “The knowledge that wraithblood was made from the blood of murdered slaves will likely help.”

  “Aye,” said Nasser. He looked at the moon and shook his head. “A grave crime, is it not? You Ghosts often have tender consciences. But you may rest assured that you can steal from Callatas without qualm.”

  “If it is within my power,” said Caina, voice soft, “I intend to do much more than steal form him.”

  She remembered a balcony like this, years ago, where she had killed the Lord Governor of Rasadda. He had been kidnapping the citizens of Rasadda and selling them to slavers from Alqaarin. Caina had killed him without the slightest twinge of remorse…and Callatas’s crimes were far blacker.

  “But we have wandered far afield of the question,” said Nasser. “Which of them do you think will betray us?”

  “Any one of them,” said Caina. “Callatas is held in dread, and fear is a powerful motivator. Or they might realize that I am the Balarigar and try to claim the bounty. Or they might turn us over to Callatas in exchange for a reward.” She shrugged. “Laertes says he has daughters. Perhaps his fear of what Callatas or the Teskilati might do to them will turn him against you. Tarqaz could quail at the last moment and tell everything to his master. But if I had to guess, I would say that Anaxander is the most likely.”

  “Why is that?” said Nasser.

  “He’s a magus. Or he was.”

  Nasser smiled. “You are not fond of the Imperial Magisterium, I take it?”

  Caina stifled a curse. Again she had revealed more to Nasser than she had intended. She would have be more on her guard around him. “I do not regard them with any great affection, no.”

  “Perhaps that explains where you acquired your sensitivity to sorcery,” said Nasser.

  “The magi are proud and cruel and crave ever greater arcane power,” said Caina. “Any one of the others might betray us for fear or money or personal vengeance. Anaxander has one additional motivation. Callatas can teach him arcane secrets, forms of sorcery unknown within the Empire. A hard temptation for a magus to resist.”

  “Anaxander is a drunkard,” said Nasser, “who primarily wants enough money to be left alone and continue his researches into the nature of the netherworld.”

  “That won’t end well,” said Caina, who had been to the netherworld twice, and had regretted it both times.

  “Likely not,” said Nasser. “Still, for the present his skills are useful. And all mortal men are flawed and have weaknesses. We must do the best we can with the tools we have at hand. You and I, of course, wish Callatas stopped for our own reasons. The others are primarily interested in money or distractions or their personal grievances. But for now, this produces a useful confluence of interests. Someone may betray us…but someone might always betray us. Vigilance is required.” He grinned. “I suspect a Ghost nightfighter knows that already.”

  “Your plan has roles for all the others,” said Caina. “I assume you have a task for me?”

  “Yes,” said Nasser. “We may have a small problem.”

  “Just one? Your optimism cheers me.”

  “Concerning the defenses of the Maze,” said Nasser. “The pyrikon you stole from Vaysaal will allow you, and anyone you invite with you, to bypass the transmutation spell upon the air. However, Callatas has another layer of defense around the Maze. Tell me…how familiar are you with the spirits of the netherworld?”

  She remembered the Defender, the earth elemental that had been bound within the flesh of the slave girl Nicasia. Or the lesser earth elementals that Ranarius had conjured up. Or the Stone of Cyrioch, the great elemental sovereign hibernating beneath Cyrioch’s Palace of Splendors. The elementals were indifferent to mortals, but some of the netherworld’s denizens were far more malicious. The phobomorphic spirits, for one.

  Or the nagataaru.

  “More than I would like,” said Caina.

  “There are as many different nations and tribes of spirits as there are nations and tribes of men,” said Nasser. “Once such group of spirits are known as the djinn in the legends and histories of Istarinmul and Anshan. They are elemental spirits of wind and storm, uninterested in the affairs of men. Yet a sorcerer with the correct spells can summon them…and unlike many spirits, they are interested in commerce.”

  “Commerce?” said Caina. “Surely not gold or silver?”

  “The needs of spirits are more esoteric than ours,” said Nasser. “They trade in knowledge, or power, or memories, or spells. A djinni can be summoned, and if the sorcerer is sufficiently powerful or clever, he can bind the djinni to a pact. For the djinn love to negotiate and haggle. And they scrupulously adhere to the letter of their agreements while utterly ignoring the spirit. Every story you have heard about a slave boy or an impoverished virgin who found a golden ring containing a wish-granting djinni has at least some basis in truth.”

  “I’ve have also heard stories,” said Caina, “where the djinni’
s wishes carry a curse – the sultan who turns everything he touches to gold, including his wives and concubines, the man who wished to live forever but can never die from his wounds, the girl who wished for a beautiful singing voice but lost the power of speech when not singing.”

  Nasser grinned. “The djinn keep to the letter of their agreements, not the spirit.”

  “Since we are having this conversation,” said Caina, “I assume Callatas has djinn defending his palace.”

  “One, specifically,” said Nasser, “defending the Maze and the laboratory within. The spirit’s name is Samnirdamnus, and he is a powerful djinni of air and storm. From what I understand, he carries high rank among the djinni, and is something of a lord or nobleman among them. Callatas bound him in a pact shortly after the destruction of Iramis, and he has guarded the Maze ever since.”

  Caina waved her left hand, the bronze ring cold against her finger. “Won’t the pyrikon let us past?”

  “No,” said Nasser. “There is an obvious question you have not asked me, Master Ciaran.”

  The answer clicked in Caina’s mind. “Callatas ordered Vaysaal’s assassination, and the Kindred and the Immortals almost caught me at his palace.” Nasser nodded. “Which means that Callatas almost certainly knows that Vaysaal's pyrikon has been stolen…yet we are planning to rob the palace anyway. That means Callatas has other defenses around the Maze.” She sighed. “What can this Samnirdamnus do, exactly?”

  “He provides a twofold defense to the Maze,” said Nasser. “First, if anyone steps within the Maze, he knows immediately. No spell or enspelled device is powerful enough to block his awareness, and his pact obliges him to inform Callatas at once. Second, if he manifests, anyone standing in his presence will die after exactly one thousand and one heartbeats.”

  Caina felt a chill. “What?”

  “I gather you have encountered such a spell before,” said Nasser.

  “Yes,” said Caina. The mighty magi of the Fourth Empire had tried to create an Ascendant Bloodcrystal in imitation of the necromancer-priests of the Kingdom of the Rising Sun, and they had succeeded. But they had destroyed themselves in the process, and the bloodcrystal had remained dormant in Caer Magia for centuries, sucking away the life from anyone that ventured within its aura.

  After exactly one thousand and one heartbeats.

  “Where did you encounter such a spell, if I might ask?” said Nasser.

  “Never mind,” said Caina. “The effect…is it necromantic in origin?”

  “I do not believe so,” said Nasser. “From what I understand, Samnirdamnus can command the wind and the storm. So he commands the air around him to kill after the one thousandth and first heartbeat of anyone who sees him.”

  “So in essence he is a watchman,” said Caina. “One who never sleeps, whose eyes never blink…and if we set foot in the Maze, he will warn Callatas at once, who will then come to kill us. Assuming Samnirdamnus’s sorcery does not kill us first.”

  “You grasp the problem admirably,” said Nasser. “Now let us turn our attention to how…”

  “No,” said Caina.

  Nasser raised an eyebrow. “Pardon?”

  “No,” said Caina. “You know far too much. You knew what a pyrikon was. You knew who Nerina was before I brought her into the room. You knew that wraithblood was manufactured from the blood of murdered slaves, and obtaining that knowledge nearly killed me. You know a great deal about the djinni and the creatures of the netherworld. And you know far, far too much about Callatas and his designs.” She stared at him for a moment. “Who are you?”

  “Ah,” said Nasser. “You think, perhaps, that I am the traitor. That perhaps this is all an elaborate trap to snare the Balarigar.”

  “That is one possible explanation,” said Caina. “Or you might desire to supplant Callatas, and claim the Apotheosis for your own. You might be his apprentice, hoping to capture or kill me to gain his favor. Or you are an agent of the Teskilati playing a very deep game.” She pointed with her left hand at his left hand. “And your hand. I can feel the sorcery on it, and I know there’s something…wrong with it. A normal hand of flesh and blood cannot crush an Immortal’s helmet.”

  Nasser grinned, his eyes glinting. “But did you ever consider that you might be a trap for me, Balarigar?”

  Caina snorted. “Truly?”

  “I have outlived many enemies,” said Nasser, “and those I have not outlived I have evaded. I have done that through caution. I have worked against Callatas for years, and I do not think it will surprise you to learn that he greatly desires my death. For years I have worked against him…and then you appear like a bolt out of the blue, terrorizing the cowled masters and disrupting Callatas’s supply of slaves. And then you conveniently require rescue…and, ah, for years I have sought men of skill to aid my work, and you are skilled and talented. A master thief able to assume any disguise, to outrun and outthink Immortals and Kindred assassins alike, a man able to change his voice and accent and appearance almost at will. Even better, you are not a mere crass thief, but a nightfighter of the Ghosts! A man on a crusade from his Emperor, come to free the slaves and terrorize the Brotherhood and overthrow the evil sorcerer Callatas! What better ally could I find? And what better way to craft a trap for me?”

  “If I’m not a Ghost nightfighter or a master thief, then what am I?” said Caina.

  Nasser shrugged. “A Kindred assassin, perhaps, playing a deep game. Or a simple hunter seeking to claim my bounty. Or a madman carrying out a one-man war against the Brotherhood until death takes him.”

  “No,” said Caina. “I told you that much of the truth. I am a Ghost nightfighter.” Technically she was the circlemaster, but Nasser didn’t need to know the distinction. And it wasn’t as if anyone else with a nightfighter’s skills currently belonged to Istarinmul’s Ghost circle.

  “But that is only part of the truth, is it not?” said Nasser. “Everything I have told you is the truth, Balarigar or Ciaran or whatever I shall call you, but I freely admit I have not told you the entire truth. But come! Let us make a bargain. I shall tell you the entire truth…but only if you tell me the entirety of your truth.”

  Caina did not even consider it for a moment. If she was wrong about Nasser, telling him the truth would put her at his mercy. Worse, it would put Agabyzus and Damla and her sons in danger.

  “You hesitate,” said Nasser, “because you cannot. Because you know that telling me everything would people in danger? Perhaps people you care about?”

  “Yes,” said Caina.

  “The same is true of me, Ghost,” said Nasser. “We are both men of many secrets…and lives depend upon keeping those secrets, do they not?”

  Caina said nothing for a moment, listening to the constant uproar from the tavern below.

  “For a thief,” she said at last, “you are a very good orator.”

  Nasser laughed. “I am a man of many talents, Master Ciaran. Now. Back to the matter at hand.”

  “How to bypass Samnirdamnus,” said Caina.

  “Your shadow-cloak would let you evade his vision,” said Nasser, “but you would still be subject to his command over the air. Unless you managed to clear the Maze in under one thousand and one beats of your heart, you would die. Quite painlessly, I should point out, but you would still die.”

  “Then how do we get past Samnirdamnus?” said Caina.

  “We summon him and make a pact of our own,” said Nasser.

  Caina frowned. “What, we’ll find some slave child and offer up a blood sacrifice?”

  “Do not be trite,” said Nasser. “The djinn are not like the nagataaru. Such an offering would only convince Samnirdamnus that we are idiots. No, the djinn deal in knowledge, in memories, in spells and secrets. We shall have to offer Samnirdamnus a secret.”

  “And you have some?” said Caina.

  “Many,” said Nasser. “And I imagine you have a few, if it comes to it. The djinn may also challenge us to riddles, or to another intellectual gam
e.”

  “Won’t his pact with Callatas keep him from speaking with us?” said Caina.

  Nasser laughed. “Have you ever gone to the halls of the magistrates and watched the wazirs and the hakims haggle endlessly over a fine point of the law? The law is a wax arrow that can be twisted to point in whatever direction a man with sufficient power and money desires. While the djinn keep to the letter of their pacts, they care nothing for the spirit.”

  “Then you will summon Samnirdamnus,” said Caina, “and negotiate a pact with him that will let us enter the Maze while keeping to the letter of his agreement with Callatas.”

  “You have the right of it,” said Nasser.

  “Where will we find a sorcerer to summon Samnirdamnus?” said Caina. “They are not exactly…wait. You’ll have Anaxander do it, won’t you?” She remembered Nasser clapping the magus on the shoulder. “You gave him a note, telling him to stay behind.”

  “As ever, your observational prowess impresses me,” said Nasser. “We should go to Anaxander now. It is growing late, and from what I understand midnight is the best time to work such summoning spells.”

  “We should bring Nerina,” said Caina.

  Nasser frowned. “The djinn are subtle and clever with words. Mistress Strake, despite her formidable talents, is not the woman to negotiate with a djinni.”

  “Not to negotiate,” said Caina. “If Samnirdamnus asks us a question with a riddle or a mathematical component, her abilities will prove useful.”

  “True,” said Nasser. “I should have thought of it myself. Come.”

  He led the way back to the dining room on the second floor. Azaces remained on guard by the door, his scowl unwavering. Nerina scrutinized the food on the table, humming to herself.

  Anaxander sat upon his cushion, his face tight and drawn. He looked up as Nasser and Caina entered.