Ghost in the Maze

by Moeller, Jonathan

  “Is this really the netherworld?” said Caina, looking around in alarm, half-expecting nagataaru or phobomorphic spirits or worse to appear.

  “It is,” said Samnirdamnus, “but a little pocket of it. A borderland, if you will. But it is safe enough. Just you and me.”

  “And that is safe?” said Caina, raising her eyebrows.

  “Not in the least,” said Samnirdamnus. He raised his head and gazed at the golden rift. “Just as your chats with the Moroaica here were not safe.”

  Caina frowned. “You know about that?”

  “You are the Balarigar,” said Samnirdamnus. “Or you became the Balarigar. Or you will become the Balarigar. One or the other. Certainly I hope the other.”

  “That is as clear as mud,” said Caina. “Though I suppose I should expect no less from you by now.”

  Samnirdamnus smiled. “Ah, good. You are learning.”

  They stood in silence for a moment.

  “Thank you,” said Caina at last.

  “For what?”

  “The warnings,” said Caina. “You warned me against the carchomorphic spirits…”

  Samnirdamnus sniffed. “Unpleasant vermin. They are as akin to me as monkeys are akin to mortals.”

  “And against the nagataaru,” said Caina.

  “As I have said,” said Samnirdamnus. “You might be the one I have sought. Or you will become the one I have sought. Linear time…” He sighed and shook his head. “Linear time is so inconvenient.”

  “But as you have mentioned,” said Caina, “I cannot become the one you have sought if the nagataaru kill me.”

  “Then you understand,” said Samnirdamnus. “Or you will. Which is close enough for now.”

  “Will you tell me why you have sought me?” said Caina. “Why you think I might be the one you have been looking for?”

  “You already know,” said Samnirdamnus.

  “No, I really don’t,” said Caina. She considered for a moment. “Or do you mean it is something I already know, but haven’t realized?”

  The djinni made no answer, but the smile widened across Corvalis’s face.

  “Very good,” said Samnirdamnus. “The mad locksmith has already told you.”

  “The haze,” said Caina. “The shadow around me that the wraithblood addicts see. That is why you were looking for me?”

  “Yes,” said Samnirdamnus.

  It was the straightest and most direct answer she had ever had from the djinni.

  “The shadow around me,” said Caina. Even in the dream, her throat was dry. “What is it? The scars Maglarion left upon me? The shadow of the Moroaica? The imprint of my visit to the netherworld?”

  “Not at all,” said Samnirdamnus. “You are looking at it from the wrong direction, my darling slayer of demons.”

  “The past, you mean?” said Caina. “Then the shadow is…my future?”

  “A potential future,” said Samnirdamnus. “One that may come to pass, or it may not.” He pushed away from the tree and gazed across the plains. “But you will have to be careful now. You’ve made some enemies.”

  “Callatas,” said Caina.

  “Oh, he was already your enemy,” said Samnirdamnus. “But thanks to your little jaunt through the netherworld, you’ve drawn the attention of his allies.”

  “The nagataaru,” said Caina. “That voice…”

  “Their prince,” said Samnirdamnus. “Called Kotuluk Iblis in the legends of the Istarish mortals, though that is not truly his name. You see, my dear child of the Ghosts, you have only known half of your foes. Callatas is your foe, aye…but Callatas has allies.”

  “The nagataaru,” said Caina. “What do they want?”

  Samnirdamnus smiled. “You.”

  “Me?”

  “You, that glass-handed thief of yours, the coffee merchant, the mad locksmith, all your friends in Malarae, and everyone in the world,” said Samnirdamnus. “Every last one of them. Do be watchful, my dear Balarigar. You’ve drawn the notice of the nagataaru…and they will come for you.”

  Caina sighed. “Thank you for the warning. I don’t suppose you have any good news for me?”

  “You’re still alive,” said Samnirdamnus. “Do try to stay that way.”

  The netherworld vanished, and Caina sank into a black and dreamless sleep.

  ###

  The next evening, Caina walked into the House of Agabyzus, wearing the clothes of a Cyrican merchant. She did not want to use any of her other disguises. Anburj was dead, and the Teskilati might try to track down everyone he had spoken to in the last few months. All it would take was one Kindred recognizing her, one Teskilati agent, and Caina would be in trouble.

  One million bezants was a lot of money.

  She found Damla speaking to a pair of cooks. “Pardon, mistress?”

  “Yes?” said Damla. “How may I be of service, sir?” Caina stifled a smile. Damla did not recognize her. “We offer…oh.” Her eyes widened a bit, and then she nodded. “Oh, yes, I see. May I say I am very glad to see you here? After all the…upheaval in the city, I was not sure you would return.”

  “Well,” said Caina with a Cyrican accent. “I would miss the excellent coffee.”

  “You are most kind, sir,” said Damla. “Come, come, I will show you to your room.”

  She led Caina up the stairs to a guest room on the top floor. Agabyzus sat at the room’s small desk, still wearing the disguise of a Sarbian nomad, frowning at a stack of letters.

  “I am glad you are safe!” said Damla, catching Caina in a hug after she closed the door. “We heard the rumors of a great upheaval at Master Alchemist Callatas’s palace. Then the Immortals started guarding the gates, and I feared the worst.”

  “I’m not dead yet,” said Caina.

  “Did you learn anything?” said Agabyzus.

  “I did,” said Caina. “And you both should hear it, in case something happens to me. I still don’t know what Callatas’s Apotheosis is. But I know he has a pact with the nagataaru, the dark spirits of the netherworld. And I know that the jewel he wears is called the Star of Iramis, and to work the Apotheosis he needs two other relics, the Staff of Iramis and the Seal of Iramis.”

  Damla only nodded, but Agabyzus frowned.

  “You know what they are?” said Caina.

  “According to the tales,” said Agabyzus, “the Star, Staff, and Seal were the royal regalia of the Princes of Iramis. The loremasters of Iramis created them in ancient times, even before the destruction of the Kingdom of the Rising Sun, and imbued them with potent sorcerous powers.”

  “He used the Star to destroy Iramis,” said Caina.

  “Presumably the Staff and the Seal were inside Iramis when he burned the city,” said Agabyzus.

  Damla scoffed. “Then Callatas is not so clever. If he wanted these sorcerous relics, he should not have burned Iramis.”

  “He’s looking for them,” said Caina. “That’s why he’s been sending so many slaves into the Desert of Candles. The mines are just a cover. He’s looking for the Staff and Seal of Iramis. They must have been outside the city when he destroyed it.”

  “You are the circlemaster,” said Agabyzus. “How do you suggest we proceed?”

  “Callatas needs wraithblood and the relics of Iramis to work the Apotheosis,” said Caina. “Therefore we shall deny him both. If we can disrupt the operations of the Slavers’ Brotherhood, cut off the supply of fresh slaves to Istarinmul, soon enough he won’t be able to buy slaves at any price. And if we can find and destroy the relics first, perhaps we can stop the Apotheosis entirely.”

  “A large task,” said Agabyzus.

  Caina shrugged. “No larger than stealing from Grand Master Callatas and living to tell the tale.”

  Agabyzus nodded. “Then you wish us to disrupt and harass the slavers? To go into the shadows, as it were?”

  “Yes,” said Caina. “The fewer people who know about us, the more effective we can be.”

  “So you will stop these…bold and
public thefts?” said Agabyzus.

  “For now,” said Caina. “Unless we have need of one.”

  “Oh, the Living Flame be praised,” said Damla. “Every time you went into the night, every time the khalmir of the watch posted the new bounty upon my door…I feared that you were slain.”

  “Not yet,” said Caina.

  “I will begin at once,” said Agabyzus. “I still have many informants in the city, most of whom do not know that I am a Ghost. I shall learn of the movements of the slavers, and present you with a plan to cause them the most harm.”

  “Good,” said Caina.

  “There is one other thing,” said Damla. “Sulaman the poet.”

  “What about him?” said Caina.

  “He recited here, the night you were…ah, attending the Grand Master’s banquet,” said Damla. “He requested that I ask Marius of the Imperial Collegium of Jewelers to speak with him as soon as possible…and he is reciting here again tonight.”

  ###

  Later that night Caina sat at a table in the House of Agabyzus as Sulaman finished reciting an epic to the crowd. This time he had chosen a tale of Nasser Glasshand, telling how a century past Nasser had raided the treasury of a cruel and brutal wazir, leaving the man impoverished and humiliated. Caina wondered how the crowd would react if they knew she had spoken to the hero of the tale two days ago.

  She wondered if it was the same man. Normal men could not live that long…but normal men could not punch through the steel helmets of Immortals, either. Well, Caina had her secrets and she could not begrudge Nasser his.

  Going into Callatas’s lair and escaping again was an excellent demonstration of good faith.

  Sulaman finished his recitation, and the crowd rose in applause. As usual, Mazyan sat at the dais, drum tucked between his knees, and held out the wooden bowl. The merchants came forward and threw coins into the bowl. Caina waited until the crowd had thinned a bit and dropped some silver coins.

  Mazyan scowled at her.

  “A fine recitation,” said Caina. “Is it true, I wonder?”

  Sulaman shrugged. His expression gave away little, but he seemed pleased to see her. “Who can say? No more than I can say if the tales of the Balarigar are true. Perhaps one day I shall recite poems done in his honor.”

  “I hope not,” said Caina. “They would be in poor taste.”

  This time Sulaman did smile. “I thought you would say that. I have a message for you.”

  Caina nodded.

  “A mutual friend,” said Sulaman, “wishes to meet you tomorrow night, in the same place you met him before.”

  ###

  The next night Caina donned the disguise of a common caravan guard and walked through the doors of the Shahenshah’s Seat. As before, caravan guards and teamsters and mercenaries packed the common room, though now they all discussed the wild rumors surrounding the Grand Master’s banquet.

  Laertes leaned against the wall in the same place, scanning the crowd.

  His eyes narrowed as she approached. She realized he did not recognize her, and she took a bit of pride in that. Caina leaned against the wall, folding her arms over her chest.

  “Move along,” said Laertes.

  “I was invited,” said Caina.

  Laertes looked at her, looked away, and then looked back again. “Ah…I see. You’re good at that.”

  “It comes in handy,” said Caina.

  “I can imagine,” said Laertes, pushing away from the wall. “This way.”

  He led Caina to the room where she had met with Nasser and his associates earlier.

  As she expected, Nasser awaited her.

  But to her surprise, Nerina Strake and Azaces sat at the table as well.

  “Ciaran!” said Nerina, smiling. “It is good to see you again.”

  Even Azaces inclined his head in greeting, though his scowl never wavered.

  “Master Ciaran,” said Nasser, rising with a polite bow as Laertes stationed himself on guard near the door. “I am glad you could join us.”

  “How is your leg?” said Caina.

  Nerina sighed. “Uncomfortable. I can walk on it, though, at about fifty-three percent of my usual walking speed. I compliment you on the accuracy of the cut.”

  “I am sorry I had to stab you,” said Caina. She considered that. “Which is not something I have often said.”

  “Do not reproach yourself,” said Nerina. “The nagataaru would have devoured my mind.” She shivered. “It…delighted in my pain, and wished to take my flesh for its own so it could slay you and the others. Though the ghostsilver dagger hurt it. For all that it lusted for pain, the nagataaru certainly had no appetite for enduring its own.”

  “It is fortunate you found that dagger,” said Caina.

  “Clearly, it was for my own good,” said Nerina.

  “Where are the others?” said Caina.

  “Oh, they are quite well,” said Nasser. “I bought their vials of Elixir Restorata for a fair price, and they have taken their money and fled the city. I promised to make them wealthy men, and I have. Nasser Glasshand keeps his word. But they have no further interest in opposing Callatas…and certainly no interest in remaining in Istarinmul until the Teskilati find them.”

  “Sensible,” said Caina.

  “But you and I, my friend, money was not our purpose,” said Nasser. “We wish to defeat Callatas, and we have aided each other most effectively. I purpose further ventures along those lines.”

  “I thought you would,” said Caina. “But I have two questions first.”

  Nasser flashed his white smile. “I expected no less. Ask your questions. Then Mistress Strake has a question for you, and I shall tell you what I propose.”

  “Very well,” said Caina. She lifted her left hand and concentrated, and the pyrikon appeared around her finger. “You told me I could remove this in the Maze. I can take it off now, but as soon as I turn my back, it reappears on my finger.”

  “Ah,” said Nasser. “I was afraid of that. The pyrikon has bonded with you.”

  “Bonded?” said Caina with disgust. “I have a sorcerous device Callatas made bonded to me?”

  “If it makes you feel better,” said Nasser, “Callatas did not make it.”

  Laertes frowned. “You will tell him…”

  “I shall,” said Nasser.

  “Fine,” said Caina. “Who made it?”

  “One of the loremasters of Iramis,” said Nasser. “The pyrikons were their badges of office.”

  “Weapons of sorcery?” said Caina.

  “No,” said Nasser. “A shield and a tool, as you saw in the Maze, but never a weapon. The loremasters swore the most solemn oaths to never harm another mortal with their sorcery, to never seek dominion over men, to use their powers for healing and protection. And, remarkably enough, for the most part they kept to those oaths. Each loremaster, as part of his final trial of office, created and enspelled a pyrikon. Callatas could no more create one than a sword can heal. It may comfort you that a pyrikon only bonds with those it finds worthy.”

  Caina looked at the pyrikon. “Then Callatas stole this from a loremaster and adapted it as a key?”

  “Essentially,” said Nasser. “I can see your hatred for sorcery, Balarigar. If you like, think of yourself as the pyrikon’s custodian. At the very least you will keep it out of the hands of Callatas and other sorcerers who would misuse it.”

  “Very well,” said Caina. She could accept that, though she would prefer to get rid of the thing entirely. “My second question. That book you found. What is it?”

  “It was a volume written by a woman named Annarah, one of the last loremasters of Iramis,” said Nasser. “After Iramis burned, Callatas hunted down and slew the loremasters who had been out of the city at the time. Annarah was the last, or almost the last. Possibly the pyrikon you bear even belonged to her. I believe that the Prince, before Callatas burned Iramis, sent Annarah out of the city with the Seal and the Staff and instructed her to hide them.” He l
ifted the book and tapped its leather cover. “And more to the point, so does Callatas.”

  “But the book can’t indicate where she hid the Seal and the Staff,” said Caina. “Else Callatas would already have them.”

  “I am afraid you have the right of it,” said Nasser. “The book is very cryptic, and I suspect Annarah encoded it somehow. But I am certain it records where Annarah hid the relics. It mentions a score of different locations in the Desert of Candles. Which, not coincidentally, are all locations where Callatas has sent gangs of slaves to dig.”

  “Then that is what you want to do,” said Caina. “To find the Seal and the Staff and keep them from Callatas.”

  “First,” said Nasser, “I do believe you should answer Nerina’s question.”

  “Of course.” Caina turned to the locksmith, who took a deep breath and ran a hand through her ragged red hair.

  “Will you let me join the Ghosts?” said Nerina. “Azaces, too, since he knows everything I know.”

  Caina blinked. “What?”

  “I have reasons, which I have organized mathematically,” said Nerina. “First, you saved my life in the netherworld. Second, I have earned the lasting enmity of Callatas, and therefore it is logical to take action against him. Third,” she took a deep breath, “he did this to me.”

  She pointed at her eerie blue eyes.

  “The wraithblood,” said Caina. “That was your father’s doing.”

  “But Callatas made the wraithblood,” said Nerina. “His drug did this to me, even if my father gave it to me and I kept taking it after he died. How many thousands of people have suffered like this? How many more take wraithblood even now? And, fourth, and finally,” she took another breath, “the nagataaru. It was…horrible. I cannot describe it. The best I can say is that it was…not mathematical. Only chaos. It wanted to kill everyone in the world. And if Callatas is allied with those creatures and summons more of them, the amount of killing will be…well, even beyond my abilities to calculate. I think you know that, Ciaran. You’re not a master thief or any of the other things you’ve pretended to be around me. You’re a Ghost nightfighter…and if you are fighting against Callatas, I want to help.”