Ghost in the Maze

by Moeller, Jonathan

  Would he ever be called to account for his endless crimes? And how much worse would he yet do if his plot with the wraithblood came to fruition?

  Caina didn’t know if she could stop him. But she would try.

  The slave led her to a broad inner courtyard, domes and towers rising around them. A knot of slaves stood in the center, overseeing the porters and carters that hauled goods through the palace. Caina spotted Tarqaz in his gray robe and silvered steel collar, his plump head beading with sweat.

  “The Seneschal of the Household, my lord,” said the slave, bowing.

  Caina stopped before Tarqaz, her hands upon her hips. “You, fellow! You are the seneschal?”

  “I am, my lord,” said Tarqaz with the ingrained politeness of the lifelong slave. “Forgive me, but your illustrious personage is not known to me.”

  “You do not know me? Egregious!” said Caina. “Your master should have you whipped for your ignorance! I am Amazaeus, a lord of House Helvius of Imperial Cyrica! By all the gods of the Empire, the slaves of Istarinmul are an ill-informed lot!”

  Tarqaz’s eyes widened, and she saw the hint of recognition flicker over his face. Before leaving the Shahenshah’s Seat, they had agreed that “by the gods of the Empire, the slaves of Istarinmul are an ill-informed lot” would be the phrase Caina would use to identify herself to Tarqaz. She felt a hint of pleasure that her disguise had fooled him so thoroughly.

  But, then, Theodosia had taught her well, and Caina had acquired a great deal of practice.

  “Yes, yes, of course,” said Tarqaz, sweating some more. “Do forgive me, my lord. The noble name of House Helvius is known to me. Ah…did you receive an invitation?”

  “An invitation?” said Caina. “How gauche! My lord uncle has sent me all this way to pay House Helvius’s respects to the Grand Master, and you require an invitation? This is egregious!” Her angry tirade had drawn witnesses, and she saw some of the slaves and porters staring at her. That would help establish her fake identity.

  “It is easily rectified, my lord,” said Tarqaz. He snapped his fingers. “Scribe!” Another slave hastened over, a portable desk hanging from a leather strap around his neck, a vial of ink and sharpened quills tucked into his belt. “Quickly, prepare an invitation for…ah…”

  Caina rolled her eyes. “For Lord Amazaeus of House Helvius, come to pay respects to Callatas in the name of House Helvius.”

  “Yes, of course,” said Tarqaz. The scribe went to work, moving with efficient speed, entering Caina’s false name onto a prepared document. “Please forgive the precaution, my lord. The Grand Master’s wisdom and power have gained him many enemies, and those of us who have the honor to be his slaves must remain ever vigilant against his foes.”

  “Yes, I’m sure,” said Caina. “Well, we do what we can. I myself have been the subject of many assassination attempts, as befits a man of my prestige and rank.”

  “We shall have many honorable guests attending the grand banquet,” said Tarqaz. “Why, Grand Wazir Erghulan himself, the strong right hand of the Most Divine Padishah, shall be in attendance. He is here even now, conferring with the Grand Master on the governance of the domain.”

  Caina nodded, sudden ideas tumbling through her head. Erghulan Amirasku was the Grand Wazir of Istarinmul, the second highest office in Istarinmul…and a close ally of Callatas. If anyone other than Callatas knew what the Apotheosis was, it was Erghulan Amirasku.

  Perhaps this was a chance to learn more about it.

  “I should pay my respects to the Grand Wazir,” said Caina. “Where is he?”

  Tarqaz hesitated. Caina speaking to the Grand Wazir was not part of the plan. “The…ah, forgive me, my lord, but the Grand Wazir is not holding court today. He would not welcome an interruption from the public.”

  “The public?” said Caina, feigning indignation. “The public? I am not the public, slave! I am Lord Amazaeus of House Helvius, not some stinking commoner or witless slave! I am simply greeting a fellow man of rank and standing, not that I expect you to understand such distinctions of noble protocol.”

  “Of course,” said Tarqaz, sweating more. “Forgive my ignorance, noble lord. The Grand Wazir is in the outer colonnade, discussing matters with his servants. If you wish to speak with him, you shall find him there.”

  “Very good,” said Caina. The scribe finished and sealed the invitation, and Caina took it. “Thank you for your assistance.”

  Tarqaz blinked in surprise. Caina suspected he was not thanked very often.

  She left the courtyard before Tarqaz could think to assign her an escort and made her way back into the grand hall of polished columns. Endless armies of slaves hurried back and forth on their errands. They all gave Caina a wide berth, scrupulously keeping their eyes downcast. For now, she had the freedom to act and move.

  She went back to the outer courtyard and strode along the colonnade encircling the palace, moving away from the gardens and the tower of the Maze. The colonnade consisted of slender Istarish columns, the capitals adorned with stylized flowers. Mosaics of battle scenes dotted the ground, and frescoes of hunting scenes covered the walls.

  Caina spotted Erghulan Amirasku standing near one of the columns, guarded by four Immortals. The Grand Wazir was in his middle fifties, yet still strong and tall, the very image of a proud Istarish warrior. Unlike many of the emirs, he disdained finery for chain mail and simple garb, his weapons ready at his belt. The Grand Wazir was talking with a lean, balding man, a man with a beak of a nose and the balance and poise of a hunting predator…

  Caina faltered in alarm.

  Erghulan was talking to Anburj.

  Evidently Callatas had not ordered the assassin executed for his failure at Vaysaal’s mansion. Pity, that.

  She felt one of the four Immortal guards staring at her.

  Caina stepped past the columns and into the courtyard, moving at an idle stroll. She craned her neck, taking in the high walls and towers like a minor rural noble come to gawk at the Padishah’s capital. Yet she moved closer to the Grand Wazir and the assassin as she did.

  And their voices came to her ears.

  “I imagine the Grand Master was displeased,” said Erghulan.

  “He was,” said Anburj. “As was the Elder of the Kindred family. But they are both realists. This Balarigar is a damned slippery foe. The last Ghost circle wasn’t nearly as clever. Taking them all in one swoop was easy. We won’t be so lucky this time.”

  “Do you think it’s the same man?” said Erghulan. “The one who killed Rezir Shahan in Marsis?”

  “I’m certain of it,” said Anburj. “Which is another problem we can lay at the Balarigar’s feet. Tanzir Shahan has proven far more stubborn than his late brother.”

  Erghulan snorted. “The fat pig has some backbone! Who knew? That trip to Malarae changed him.”

  Caina stifled a smile. She had saved Tanzir’s life in Malarae at the end of the war. Evidently the experience had changed him.

  “Rezir regularly sent slaves to support the Grand Master’s work,” said Erghulan. “Tanzir, once he became emir of the Vale of Fallen Stars, ceased the practice. The Grand Master and the Brotherhood are displeased with him. Your Kindred family may have to send men to deal with Tanzir, and put someone more tractable in his place.”

  “That is a matter for the Elder to decide, not me,” said Anburj. “I have my own task.”

  “The Balarigar,” said the Grand Wazir.

  “Aye,” said Anburj. “He has put the fear into the fat fools of the Slavers’ Brotherhood. They are now spending lavish sums on their own security and neglecting their tasks for the Grand Master. The flow of new slaves into the city has slowed to a trickle, and their price has tripled in the markets. Wraithblood production has been severely hindered.” Again Caina stifled a smile. “The Grand Master, as you can imagine, is displeased.”

  Erghulan snorted. “I don’t need to imagine anything. He has expressed his displeasure to me at length. Of course, it is his own
fault. He diverted so many of the slaves to the Desert of Candles that we have a shortfall here.”

  “Why the damned desert?” said Anburj. “There’s nothing out there but dust, more dust, and those useless blue crystals.”

  “Ruins,” said Erghulan. “The ruins of old Iramis. If you want my guess, he’s looking for the old royal tombs of Iramis. According to legend, there are all sorts of treasures buried in them. Their locations were lost when Iramis burned, but perhaps he seeks them now.”

  Anburj snorted. “If he wanted something from Iramis, perhaps he should have secured it before he burned the city.”

  “Perhaps,” said Erghulan. “Would you like to explain that to him?”

  “Certainly not,” said Anburj. “I…”

  “My lord Wazir,” rasped one of the Immortals. “Someone approaches.”

  Caina realized that she had loitered too long. Part of her mind wanted to turn and run. But if she did that, Erghulan and Anburj would realize that she had been spying. And worse, both Anburj and Erghulan had seen her without a mask. Anburj at the House of Agabyzus, in her guise as Marius, and outside of the Widow’s Tower when she had disguised herself as a tribesman of the steppes. Erghulan at Ulvan’s ascension, in her disguise as Natalia of the Nine Knives.

  Of course, Natalia of the Nine Knives hadn’t worn very much clothing. Perhaps the Grand Wazir had not focused upon her face.

  There was only one thing to do. Caina put on an obsequious smile and strode into the colonnade, ignoring the Immortals and Anburj both.

  “My lord Grand Wazir,” said Caina, concentrating on keeping her voice disguised. “It is a tremendous honor to meet you at last, and I bring greetings from my illustrious uncle.”

  She bowed deeply, and she glimpsed Anburj’s lip crinkling with disgust.

  “Yes, of course,” said Erghulan, annoyed. “And you are?”

  “Amazaeus of House Helvius,” said Caina, straightening up. “My uncle Lord Helvius is a loyal friend of the Slavers’ Brotherhood and a great admirer of Grand Master Callatas, and so dispatched me to express his respects to the Grand Master.”

  “Yes,” said Anburj, his cold eyes scrutinizing Caina. The Kindred assassin was damnably clever. If he saw through her disguise, she would not make it three steps before the Immortals cut her down. “Your uncle must hold the Grand Master in high esteem indeed, if he sends a witless nephew as his emissary.”

  Caina bristled. “I am a son of House Helvius, high in honor. Grand Wazir, you must indeed be a generous and kindly man to let your servants speak with such disrespect to their superiors.”

  Anburj’s eyes narrowed, but Erghulan roared with laughter.

  “I suppose I am at that,” said Erghulan. “Well, do send my best wishes back to your uncle. Istarinmul needs friends in many lands, even friends among our former enemies in the Empire.”

  He strode away, the Immortals trailing him. Anburj followed the Grand Wazir, but glanced back at Caina, his eyes still narrowed. Clearly he suspected that something was amiss.

  “My lord Grand Wazir!” shouted Caina, hoping to throw off Anburj’s suspicions. “One more question, if I may.”

  Erghulan scowled. “What?”

  “It was a long road from Cyrica,” said Caina, “and, well…a man has needs. What’s the best whorehouse in Istarinmul?”

  Erghulan laughed again. “I like you, Amazaeus. Perhaps we shall go hunting together. The Gilded Throne in the Masters’ Quarter has the most beautiful slave girls in Istarinmul, if you can afford them.” Likely Kazravid had availed himself of the opportunity. “If you can’t afford the Gilded Throne, I suggest the Rose of Seven Petals in the Old Quarter. Not as opulent as the Gilded Throne, true…but any port in a storm, eh?”

  Anburj rolled his eyes, and Caina saw him dismiss her as a potential threat.

  She resisted the temptation to sigh in relief.

  “Thank you, my lord,” said Caina. “I look forward to following your counsel.”

  Erghulan snorted. “There is something I rarely hear.”

  He left without another word, Anburj and the Immortals escorting him.

  Caina let out a long breath, and then departed from the palace as fast as she dared.

  ###

  Laertes and Strabane and Anaxander awaited her outside the palace’s gates, the endless stream of porters and slaves going back and forth.

  “Were you successful?” said Laertes. “My lord?” He managed to add it without it seeming like an afterthought.

  “Yes,” said Caina, tapping the rolled invitation against her palm. “Let us depart at once.”

  She left with Anaxander and Laertes and Strabane before she could think of something else foolish to do.

  Chapter 13 - Foresight

  The next week passed in a blur of activity.

  And Caina put on a show.

  She used the false identity of Lord Amazaeus Helvius constantly, visiting the coffee houses and shops of the Masters’ Quarter and the Old Quarter. Lord Amazaeus needed to be a real person, not a fiction that Caina had created. So Caina complained to shopkeepers and placed orders for cloth and coffee and wine and Anshani silk. She did everything she could to create the impression of a spoiled, arrogant noble come to enjoy himself in the city.

  She even visited the Rose of Seven Petals in the Old Quarter, though she did not hire any of the establishment’s prostitutes. There were limits to how far she would carry her masquerades.

  And as she visited the city’s inns and coffee houses, she noticed them filling up with foreigners and emirs from the hinterlands. Callatas’s celebration was coming, and those who wanted to curry favor with the Grand Master flocked to Istarinmul. She began to feel a bit more confident about their odds. Thousands of guests would fill the Grand Master’s palace, and two minor noblemen and their retainers would not stand out. In the crowds, they had an excellent chance of reaching the Maze unseen.

  Unless, of course, they were walking into a trap.

  Unless they were betrayed.

  ###

  Five nights before the day of the banquet, Caina sat alone with Nasser in the anteroom of Kazravid’s suite at the Gilded Throne. Nerina had set up a worktable against one wall, spending her time practicing upon the style of locks found in Callatas’s palace, but she had at last worked herself to exhaustion and gone to bed. Dim moonlight leaked from the skylight overhead, and the palatial inn was quiet around them.

  “You have,” said Nasser, “been making quite a stir.”

  They sat on the edge of the fountain, a plate of food between them. Caina popped a breaded mushroom into her mouth and chewed, savoring the taste. The cooks had stuffed the mushroom with cheese and crumbled bacon before rolling it in bread crumbs and frying it in oil, and the result was delicious. Given the amount of time Caina had spent hiding in cellars and eating jerky, she could appreciate the difference.

  “That is the point,” said Caina. “Our friend Lord Amazaeus needs to be a real man. There are thousands of guests coming to the palace, true…but the Teskilati and the Immortals will exercise extra vigilance. And if we live through this, I may wish to make use of the alias in the future. Easier if it already has a history.”

  “You are a wise man, my friend,” said Nasser.

  “I’m not,” said Caina, eating another mushroom. “I am just very good at pretending to be one.”

  “Is that not the same thing in the end?” said Nasser. “If others believe it to be so?”

  “The fact that people believe I am the Balarigar,” said Caina, “does not make it so.”

  “No,” said Nasser, “but at the right time and the right place, the illusion of strength can be as effective as strength itself. A bluff is a potent weapon.”

  “I suppose so,” said Caina. Nasser reached for one of the mushrooms, and she felt the faint aura of sorcery around his gloved left hand. “I wonder something.”

  “What is that?” said Nasser.

  “When did you command men in battle?” said
Caina.

  Nasser smiled his gleaming smile. “Never.”

  “Liar,” said Caina.

  “I am,” admitted Nasser, “but what makes you think I am lying about this?”

  “The way Laertes talks to you,” said Caina. “He was in the Legion, and I suspect he attained some rank.”

  “One of the lower grades of centurion, I believe,” said Nasser.

  “Centurions are hard men,” said Caina, taking another mushroom, “and once they leave the Legion, they only follow men they respect. Laertes listens to you like he was still a centurion and you were the Lord Commander of his Legion. You brought Kazravid to heel easily enough, and both Anaxander and Azaces obey you. And you are good in a fight. I saw you deal with those Immortals in the Alchemists’ Quarter.”

  “Perhaps I am simply charismatic,” said Nasser.

  “Certainly,” said Caina. “A bluff is almost as good as strength…except when your life depends upon lifting something heavy. In a crisis, they’ve heeded your commands. You knew what to do when we summoned Samnirdamnus. You let Nerina and me deal with him. As if you had experience delegating to your lieutenants in a crisis. Such as during a battle.”

  Nasser let out a long sigh. “A long, long time ago. Yes. I did command men in battle.”

  “Then you were a nobleman,” said Caina.

  “Of what nation?” said Nasser.

  “I don’t know,” said Caina. “In appearance, you could either be Anshani, Istarish, Cyrican, Sarbian, or Alqaarin, though if I had to guess I would say you look Istarish.” She rubbed at the stubble of her hair for a moment. Odd that it helped her think. “Your accent, though…I can’t place it.”

  He grinned. “I change accents as readily as you do.”

  “But in your unguarded moments, when you’re angry…I can’t place your accent,” said Caina. “It sounds a little like Callatas’s accent. Which makes me wonder how you know him.”