“The top floor,” whispered Caina, and the men nodded. If anything valuable was to be found, it would be up there. They moved to the second floor, then the third, the corridors silent and deserted.
Then she heard someone thundering down the stairs. Caina raised her weapons, as did Corvalis and Muravin.
The fat landlord, Cornan Bascaii himself, ran around the landing and came to a halt, his eyes wide with alarm. He held a heavy leather sack over one shoulder. No doubt it was filled with valuables.
“You,” growled Muravin, “you harbored these murderers.”
He raised his trident.
An instant of fear flickered over Bascaii’s bearded face, followed by a flicker of calculation.
Then he started to bawl like an infant.
“Oh, thank the gods!” he said. “Thank the gods you have come. Oh, I thought this nightmare would never end. The Kindred and the Bostaji threatened me, they…”
“Shut up,” said Caina. “I’m not interested in killing you. I’ll let you surrender to the militia outside, but only if you answer some questions.”
Bascaii stopped crying. “Very well. What do you want to know?”
“Where is Nalazar?” said Caina.
“Nalazar?” said Bascaii. “That name is not…”
“Play dumb,” said Corvalis, “and I’ll cut out your tongue.”
“He’s upstairs,” said Bascaii at once. “In the best room. He kept all his weapons and equipment there. Some papers, too, locked in a strongbox. I think he’s planning to burn them.”
“Go,” said Caina.
“And thank you,” said Bascaii, “for saving my life. It has been an ordeal, simply for ordeal…”
“For the gods’ sake,” said Caina. “Save it for the magistrate. Go.”
Bascaii hastened down the stairs and vanished.
“You should have killed him,” grumbled Muravin.
“Why?” said Caina. “If he lives, he might know something useful.” Muravin had no answer for that. “Let’s go.”
They crept up the remainder of the stairs and came to the top floor. It looked much as Caina remembered. But the door to the room where she had heard Nalazar stood open, light spilling into the gloomy corridor. She heard the sounds of metal clanking and muttered curses from the room.
Caina peered around the edge of the opened door, gesturing for the others to wait.
The room beyond had a shabby carpet and a sagging bed against the wall, a pair of heavy, tarnished bronze lamps hanging from ropes. A long worktable ran the length of the room, holding tools, weapons, and several different glass jars of chemicals. A hearth crackled in one wall, and a man in leather armor stooped over it, throwing handfuls of paper into the flames. Another man in similar armor stood at the table, gathering the weapons. Nalazar himself waited by the window, his thin face hard with a scowl as he stared at the street below.
“Hurry,” he snapped to the other two Kindred. He held a crossbow loaded with an odd combination of a winch, a grapnel, and a coiled rope. Caina realized that he intended to fire the grapnel at a nearby building and escape over the rope to an adjoining rooftop.
A bold plan, but one that might well work.
After all, no one ever looked up.
“I am hurrying,” said the Kindred by the fireplace.
“The damned militiamen will be here any moment,” said Nalazar. “Those Bostaji fools will fight to the death for their precious Shahenshah, but I have no wish to die in the name of our client. But if you don’t burn those papers by the time the militia arrives, the Elder of Istarinmul will have our heads.”
“Just burn the building down,” said the Kindred at the table. “Let the Bostaji and the Ghosts burn together. Perhaps their precious Shahenshah and Emperor will save them.”
Nalazar shrugged, turning from the window. “Why not? Bascaii will tell the Ghosts everything if…”
Then he saw Caina, and his eyes widened.
“The Ghosts!” he snarled, yanking his scimitar from its scabbard. “We…”
A bellow filled Caina’s ears, and Muravin stepped next to her, flinging his trident. She had thought it an impractical weapon, but he threw it with such force that the tines buried themselves in the chest of the Kindred at the table. The man toppled backwards and did not move.
Caina flung her throwing knife at Nalazar, but the Kindred raised his scimitar and deflected the blade. The assassin at the fireplace vaulted over the table, his scimitar as a blur as he attacked Muravin. The former gladiator fell back on his heels, driven back by the assassin’s furious attack. Corvalis leapt into the fray, sword in his right hand and dagger in his left. The Kindred danced back, avoiding Corvalis’s attacks.
Muravin roared, and the assassin raised his sword to block. But instead of stabbing or slashing, Muravin punched the younger man with his free hand. The assassin’s head snapped back with a spray of blood, and Corvalis struck.
The assassin collapsed, a dagger in his heart. Caina drew another throwing knife, hoping to line up on Nalazar…
Instead she saw that Nalazar held a second crossbow, the tip of the weapon’s bolt gleaming with poison.
“That’s quite enough,” said Nalazar, gesturing with the crossbow. “Leave and close the door behind you, and you might live through this.”
“Are you so sure of that?” said Caina, the crossbow turning in her direction. “You have one shot, and there are three of us.”
“Oh, you can count. How impressive,” said Nalazar. “So which of you shall die? Are the Ghosts as eager to die for their Emperor as the Bostaji are for their Shahenshah?”
“You will die here, Kindred dog,” spat Muravin. “You will pay for the blood on your hands.”
“You are one to speak, gladiator,” said Nalazar. “Oh, I recognize you, even with that helmet. How much blood stains your fingers?”
“Much,” said Muravin, “but I never slew a pregnant woman.”
“Semantics,” said Nalazar. He grinned, his black eyes flashing above his graying beard. “But that was the point. Our client wanted your daughters because they were pregnant. He wanted them for his precious Elixir. He cut the children from their wombs and burned them to ashes, and let your daughters bleed to death. The women meant nothing to him. They were only the carriers for…”
Muravin stepped forward, and Nalazar pointed the crossbow at him, but Caina lifted a hand.
“This need not end in any death,” she said.
“You want to bargain then, Ghost?” said Nalazar. “Information in exchange for my life?”
“Precisely,” said Caina. “Tell us who hired you to take Muravin’s daughters, and I will let you go.”
“He killed my daughters and grandchildren, Ghost!” said Muravin.
“He did,” said Caina, “but he was just a tool. A weapon wielded in the hand of another man. I want to know the name of that man, Nalazar.”
“Do you?” said Nalazar. “Very well. Ibrahmus Sinan.”
Caina had suspected as much.
“Sinan?” said Muravin. “But why? He bore me no ill will.”
“He doesn’t,” said Nalazar, “but he’s an Alchemist, and he wants to live forever. And to live forever, he needs to be a Master Alchemist…”
“And to become a Master Alchemist,” said Caina, “he needs to brew a vial of Elixir Rejuvenata.”
“You understand,” said Nalazar. “I don’t know the process or the formula. But the spell involved apparently requires the ashes of unborn children. Specifically, the ashes of three unborn children taken from three sisters. Most Alchemists purchase families of slaves and ensure that three sisters are pregnant simultaneously at the appropriate time. But our Sinan, you see, is unpopular and despised for associating with that Anshani woman.”
“Tanzir Shahan’s mother,” said Caina.
Nalazar nodded. “But Ashria is fond of her pet Alchemist, so she loaned him the money to hire us. And,” he gestured with the crossbow, “here we are. Sinan hired us, a
nd Sinan is the one you want. Information for my life. A good bargain, no? If I had any intention of allowing you to live.”
He seized a glass bottle from the table, a dark fluid sloshing within, and flung it against the floor.
But Caina had recognized the liquid the stagehands of the Grand Imperial Opera used to create smoke.
“Eyes!” she shouted, closing hers, and she felt the flash even through her closed eyelids. She opened her eyes and saw that the roomed had filled with gray smoke, that Corvalis and Muravin had thrown themselves against the walls. Through the haze she glimpsed Nalazar, saw him taking aim with the crossbow…
Caina threw herself over the table, weapons and glass bottles clattering around her, and her boots slammed into Nalazar’s gut. The assassin staggered back with a gasp, and the quarrel hissed from his crossbow and slammed into the wall. Caina surged to her feet and lunged at him with a dagger, but Nalazar swung his crossbow like a club. The heavy weapon slammed against the blade and wrenched the dagger from her hand. Caina stumbled, and Nalazar dropped the crossbow and threw a punch at her head. She deflected the blow, but he was strong, and the sheer force numbed her arm. Nalazar snatched his scimitar and stalked after her, drawing the blade back for a lethal thrust.
And then Muravin smashed into him like a falling mountain.
Muravin seized Nalazar’s wrist and wrenched, bones snapping and crackling. Nalazar screamed and tried to pull away, but Muravin had a grasp like iron. The former gladiator’s hands clamped onto Nalazar’s throat and groin, and Caina heard a gristly tearing noise as Muravin raised Nalazar over his head, the assassin screaming.
“Nalazar!” roared Muravin. “When you land in hell tell the devils that I sent you in the name of Ardaiza and Ranai!”
He flung Nalazar out of the window.
Nalazar’s scream terminated in a final-sounding crack.
Caina looked out at the street below, saw a ring of surprised militiamen surrounding what remained of Nalazar.
“Good throw,” said Corvalis.
Muravin closed his eyes and let out a long breath. “My daughters are avenged. But this is not over. Not until Sinan has paid for what he has done.” He turned towards the door. “As he soon shall.”
“Stay right there,” said Caina. “If you go after Sinan by yourself, you’ll get killed.”
“He is but one man,” said Muravin, “feeble from long study.”
“He is a sorcerer,” said Caina, “and the gods only know what kind of powers he can bring to bear against you. The Alchemists turn their foes into statues of crystal, or so I have heard. Is that how you want to end? Have you ever fought a sorcerer before?”
“No,” admitted Muravin.
“I have,” said Caina, “more often than I care to remember. So heed my counsel. Do not go after him alone. We will strike before he leaves Malarae.” She gestured at the table, waving away some smoke with her other hand. “In the meantime, help me gather up these papers.”
“To what use?” said Muravin. “We know Sinan is my enemy.”
“But Sinan may have other allies,” said Caina. “Other associates. The Malarae Kindred helped Nalazar, and perhaps we can find their Sanctuary. You want more vengeance, Muravin? Think of the blow we could deal the Kindred if we find their Sanctuary.”
“Very well,” said Muravin. “I suspect you are accustomed to having your way in the end.”
“Wise man,” said Caina, gathering up the papers that the Kindred had not managed to burn. She leafed through them. Most of the papers were notes Nalazar had written to his various spies monitoring the Lord Ambassador’s residence, telling them to watch for Tanzir Shahan. One was a letter written to the Elder of Istarinmul, explaining reasons for the delay in fulfilling their contract with Ibrahmus Sinan. Nalazar, Caina noted, blamed all his difficulties upon the Ghosts.
She glanced out the window. He hadn’t been wrong.
One note was in a different hand. It was a letter from Sinan, dated from this morning. In it, Sinan instructed the Kindred and the Bostaji to remain at the Serpents’ Nest. In fact, all available Kindred should gather together, since Sinan would have need of them.
Caina frowned behind her mask, a suspicion growing in her mind. Did Sinan plan some grand attack tomorrow?
“This doesn’t make sense,” said Caina.
“What is it?” said Corvalis.
Caina held out the letter.
“I don’t read Istarish,” said Corvalis.
“I don’t read,” said Muravin.
Caina shook her head. “It’s a letter from Sinan, telling the Kindred and the Bostaji to gather here tonight and await his instructions. Why would he do that? It makes no sense.”
Corvalis shrugged. “He knows that both the emir and Mahdriva are in the same place. Maybe he wanted to send the Kindred and the Bostaji to strike at once, use them to kill the emir and kidnap Mahdriva.”
“That is a good plan,” said Caina. “But why write it down? It’s a huge risk. Why not send a verbal message, or tell Nalazar in person?” She stared at the letter. “The Istarish nobles are more brutal than those of the Empire, but it’s still illegal to hire Kindred assassins.”
“Or to hire Kindred assassins and get caught,” said Muravin. Some of the fury had faded from his expression, replaced by puzzlement. “Both the nobles and the Alchemists employ the Kindred on a regular basis. That is how I knew Nalazar – he often came to the College to arrange contracts with the Alchemists. But they were never foolish enough to put anything into writing.”
“Then why did Sinan do it?” said Corvalis.
Caina stared at the paper, thinking hard. “He’s not stupid. Not stupid enough to make a mistake like this, so he had to have done it deliberately. But why? To gather the Kindred and the Bostaji, obviously. And why do that? Why do it in writing? Why risk the consequences?”
She tossed the letter back on the table.
“He risked the consequences,” said Caina, “because he didn’t care about them. And he wanted to gather the Kindred and the Bostaji together, not to prepare them, but to…”
“To do what?” said Corvalis.
Caina blinked…and the answer came to her.
“Oh, damn,” she whispered.
“What?” said Corvalis.
“This was just a distraction,” said Caina. “He gathered the assassins here to draw our attention away from the mansion. He sent the instructions in writing because he didn’t care about the consequences…because he thinks he’ll be successful by tomorrow.” Her gaze snapped up from the letter. “He’s making a move against Tanzir and Mahdriva tonight.”
Or, she realized with a feeling of sinking dread, a move just against Mahdriva. Overpowering hundreds of Imperial Guards to reach the emir was no small task. But using sorcery to infiltrate the mansion unseen to kidnap Mahdriva would be far easier. And Caina suspected that Sinan cared more about becoming a Master Alchemist than fulfilling the amirja Ashria’s wishes.
“Mahdriva is in danger?” said Muravin.
“I think so,” said Caina. “And if she’s not, she will be soon.”
“Then I must go at once,” said Muravin.
“Not alone,” said Caina, her mind racing. “I’ll come with you.”
“As will I,” said Corvalis.
“No,” said Caina. “Go find Tomard. As soon as they’ve dealt with the assassins, have him leave some men here and march for the Lord Ambassador’s mansion as fast as he can.”
“You shouldn’t go alone,” said Corvalis.
“It is the best choice,” said Caina. “Tomard won’t move unless somewhere urges him to action. And if Muravin goes alone he might get himself killed.”
“We must go!” said Muravin. “Come if you wish, Ghost, but I must go to my daughter.”
“The two of you should not go alone,” said Corvalis.
“Trust me,” said Caina.
She couldn’t see his expression beneath the cowl and mask, but she could guess at it. He hadn
’t trusted her once before, during the fight against Mihaela at Catekharon, and that had almost resulted in their deaths and a war that would have devoured the world.
“Very well,” said Corvalis. “I will speak to Tomard.”
She turned to follow Muravin.
“Be careful,” said Corvalis.
“I’m always careful,” said Caina.
But that was a lie, and they both knew it.
Chapter 18 - Elixir Rejuvenata
A short time later Caina and Muravin arrived at the Lord Ambassador’s residence.
At once Caina saw that something was wrong.
A ring of gray haze surrounded the mansion. At first Caina thought that Sinan must have set off more smoke bombs, or perhaps that a fire had broken out.
Yet there was something odd about the smoke.
As they drew closer, it looked less like mist and more like smoke. Additionally, the mist was motionless. A normal mist would flow with the direction of the wind. This mist stood still, save for a slight rippling.
A ring of mist now surrounded the Lord Ambassador’s mansion.
It was obviously the work of sorcery, and Caina felt the crawling tingle of arcane force as she drew closer.
Muravin strode towards it, sword and trident in hand, the tines still wet with blood. As he did, Caina saw dark shapes in the mist, motionless forms lying strewn on the street below the stairs to the mansion’s main doors.
“Stop,” said Caina.
Muravin kept walking.
“Damn it,” said Caina, grabbing his shoulder, “stop.”
He glared at her. “Mahdriva is in danger. I must go to her.”
“You have a good sword arm,” said Caina, “but you also have a brain and eyes. Use them!” She pointed. “Look.”
Muravin stopped and looked, and his dark eyes went wide.
A dozen Imperial Guards lay motionless on the front stairs of the mansion. Neither their bodies nor their black armor bore any sign of violence, though Caina could not tell if they were breathing. Their armor was dry, without any trace of the condensation the mist should have left on the dark steel.
Jonathan Moeller - The Ghosts 07 - Ghost in the Ashes Page 19