“Ark,” whispered Caina, “look.”
The gate to the grounds stood open and unattended.
Ark nodded and climbed off the seat, sword raised. Caina gripped a knife in either hand, and followed him. The mansion’s front doors lay in shattered ruin. Someone had taken an axe to them.
The faint smell of burnt flesh drifted in the air.
Caina hissed and stepped through the shattered doors.
A crimson glow from the pyramid fires shone through the skylight, illuminating the cavernous atrium. Dark, huddled shapes lay motionless on the floor. Dead bodies, Caina saw. The burned smell was stronger in here, though not so overpowering as it had been in Vanio’s townhouse.
“Guards,” muttered Ark, turning one of the corpses over. “Romarion’s guards.”
“That one was his cook,” said Caina. “They died fighting. All of them have weapons. But…there’s no blood.” Caina frowned, knelt, and tore open a dead guard’s tunic. “Look at this.”
A sword thrust between the ribs had killed the guard. Yet there was no blood. Instead the wound looked seared, the flesh around the cut charred and blackened.
“It’s like he was stabbed with a red-hot iron,” said Caina.
“Who fights with a hot iron?” said Ark.
“I don’t know,” said Caina. She took a quick look over the rest of the bodies. All of them had the strange wounds. “This is still sorcery, I’m sure…but different. Something new.”
“Romarion is probably dead, then,” said Ark.
Caina felt a dead neck. “Still warm. They can’t have been dead for more than an hour.” She rose. “Romarion might be alive. We’ll check his…”
A boot clicked on the mosaic floor.
Caina whirled, her blades coming up, while Ark lifted his sword. A man walked into the atrium, a sword dangling from one hand. His face was slack, expressionless, his eyes glassy. Caina had last seen that expression on the face of her father. He wore black armor, the sigil of an opened book with two eyes upon the pages enameled on the breastplate.
A Magisterial Guard, one of the guards of the magi.
“Name yourself,” said Ark.
The Magisterial Guard took another step forward, lifting his sword. Caina felt a sudden crawling tingle against her skin, a wind whipping through the atrium.
And the sword’s blade erupted into snarling flame, filling the atrium with stark light.
Ark raised his sword, and the Magisterial Guard ran at him. Caina flung her knife, aiming for his throat, but her blade dug a furrow along the Guard’s jaw. The Guard staggered for a half-step, but his blank expression did not change. The burning sword hammered at Ark, and he ducked and blocked, flinching away from the flames, squinting into the weapon’s glare.
Caina yanked the dagger from her boot, darted forward, and drove the blade into a gap in the black armor. The Guard staggered again, but still showed no sign of pain. Ark took advantage of the opening and brought his sword down in a massive blow. The Guard’s sword hand fell to the floor, still clutching the burning blade. The Guard did not blink, did not even scream. Instead he merely ducked to reach for the burning weapon with his left hand.
Ark’s sword came down on the back of his neck.
The burning sword sputtered and went out. Caina stepped around the pooling blood and snatched up her throwing knife. Ark wrenched his sword free from the dead man’s neck with a crackling noise, the blade red and wet.
“Gods,” said Ark, “what was wrong with him?”
“He was mind-controlled,” said Caina. “Sorcery. He had no will left of his own, was nothing but a puppet. The Magisterium does it sometimes.”
“And that sword?”
“Pyromancy,” said Caina. “That much is plain.” Ark reached for the weapon. “No! Don’t touch it.” She waved her palm over it, and felt a sudden, stabbing tingle in her fingers. “It’s been enspelled. I don’t know what it will do if you touch it. Maybe that’s how the Guard’s mind was enslaved.”
“The magi want Romarion dead?” said Ark.
“Or the pyromancer enslaved the Magisterial Guards and sent them to kill Romarion,” said Caina. She gritted her teeth in frustration. “Damn it. If he’s still alive, we’ve got to find him. Let’s…”
Harsh firelight flooded the atrium.
Four more Magisterial Guards stood in the doorway, their faces slack and empty, swords burning like the fires of hell. More Magisterial Guards stepped out of the doors leading to the dining room. They lifted their swords, the weapons ablaze with sorcerous fire.
“The stairs!” said Caina. “Go!”
They raced for the stairs, and the Magisterial Guards followed in silent pursuit. Halfway up the stairs Caina whirled and flung a knife. It caught the foremost Guard in the throat. The man took another step, and another, and then fell to his knees, face expressionless as his life drained away. Ark sprang past her, sword meeting their burning blades once, twice, a third time. Then a Magisterial Guard tumbled down the stairs, crashing into the others. Another Guard’s clothes caught fire, but the man showed no pain as his tunic sizzled and smoldered beneath his breastplate.
“Go!” said Caina.
“We’ll be trapped!” said Ark, his sweat pouring down his brow. “We’ve got to cut our way out.”
“No,” said Caina. “No, there’s too many of them.”
“Out the windows?” said Ark. He crossed blades with a Magisterial Guard, tripped the man, and stepped back. The Guards hesitated for a moment as the fallen man clambered back to his feet, and then resumed their climb. “They’ll cut us down, or burn through the rope.”
“I have a better idea,” said Caina. At least, she hoped it was a better idea. “Get ready to run.”
She backed to the second floor landing. A tapestry hung from the wall there, thick and heavy, and Caina cut it free with her daggers. She took the heavy folds in both hands, ran past Ark, and flung the tapestry as hard as she could. The Guards raised their burning swords to block, and the heavy cloth settled over their blades.
And promptly caught fire.
The Magisterial Guards thrashed, trying to tear free of the burning tapestry. Yet their faces remained eerily calm, and not one of them screamed, or even so much as grunted.
“Go!” said Caina. “The third floor.”
She raced up the stairs, daggers still in hand, Ark following after her. She saw more bodies lying on the stairs, some in servants’ livery, others in the garb of Romarion’s hired guards. A dead Magisterial Guard lay over the corpses. Apparently Romarion’s men had gone down fighting.
As Caina reached the third-floor landing, the Magisterial Guards cut their way free of the tapestry. She ran, boots hammering against the marble floor, and came to a locked door beneath an iron chandelier. Romarion’s study.
“This one,” said Caina, shoving the daggers back into her boots and fumbling for her tools. “The lock…”
Ark bellowed a curse, shoved her aside, and hammered the pommel of his broadsword into the door. The wood shuddered, and he brought his pommel down twice more. The door splintered away from the handle and lock, and swung open with a groan.
“I should have brought you along the first time,” said Caina.
Firelight flooded into the hallway as the Magisterial Guards reached the top of the stairs. Caina kicked past the ruined door and into Romarion’s study. The shutters stood open, the strange breeze blowing into the room. Otherwise, it looked much the same as she remembered, with the simple furniture, the cutlasses and the mementoes of the sea dangling from the walls.
And the massive Strigosti trapbox sitting against the far wall.
“Move that desk,” said Caina, hurrying to the trapbox. She yanked out a dagger and began prying at the carved plate covering the machinery. “Get it against the wall but leave enough room for us to fit behind it.”
Ark scowled at her, but he obeyed, dragging the desk towards the wall. Caina pulled on the dagger. The plate began to peel away from
the chest. The sound of running footsteps in the hallway grew louder, and firelight began to leak through the open door.
“This is a dead end,” said Ark. “What are you doing?”
“Get behind the desk,” said Caina. “Right now.”
“That’s a Strigosti trapbox!” said Ark. “If you’re not careful it’ll go off in your face! What…”
Caina wrenched away the plate.
“Oh, gods,” said Ark. He dove behind the desk.
Caina stood and smashed her boot into the box’s mechanical innards just as the Magisterial Guards stormed through the door. The trapbox gave a horrid mechanical screech, and the exposed workings began to move, spinning faster and faster. Caina rolled over the top of Romarion’s desk and landed squarely on atop of Ark.
A heartbeat later there was another screech, followed by a long series of clicks and hisses. The desk shuddered as something slammed into it. Caina waited until the noises stopped, and then levered herself up on an elbow to look.
Empty black slits, dozens of them, now covered the Strigosti box. Gleaming razor blades, coated with green grease, quivered in the furniture and walls. The Magisterial Guards stood motionless, burning swords hanging loose in their hands. Their armor had stopped the storm of blades, but the razors had driven into their uncovered faces, their skin slowly turning black from poison. One by one they toppled, falling to the carpet, which caught fire.
“What’s happened?” said Ark, trying to sit up. Caina stood, taking care to keep from touching any of the grease-smeared blades.
“They’re all dead,” said Caina. “Don’t touch any of the razors.”
Ark stood, his eyes a little wild. “It killed all of them?”
“I think so,” said Caina, hurrying to the Strigosti trapbox. The foot-long blades had sprouted from its sides again. Taking care to avoid them, she opened the massive lid and reached inside. The money and gems were gone. No doubt Romarion had taken them when he fled, but the papers and ledgers remained. Caina scooped them up and hurried to the door, leaping over the flames.
Ark waited in the hallway. “I have said it before, Countess, and I shall say it again. You are an absolute madwoman.”
“Oh, yes,” agreed Caina, “but we’re still alive, aren’t we?” For now, anyway. She tied the papers into a bundle and tucked them under her arm. “We can look over these later. Let’s try to find Romarion, or his corpse, before the place burns down around us.”
“Those Magisterial Guards,” said Ark, “who did this to them?”
“I don’t know,” said Caina. They passed another dead servant lying on the floor. “You saw those swords. The pyromancer, probably. It wouldn’t surprise me if there were a lot of dead magi lying around the Magisterium chapterhouse.”
“Unless the pyromancer is a magus,” said Ark.
“Either way, we’ve got to stop him,” said Caina. She still felt the distant tingle, and knew that somewhere the pyromancer was summoning a tremendous amount of arcane force. “This isn’t like the other murders. I wonder if his reason has finally been burned away, and so…”
She heard a soft thump, not very loud. Caina turned, dagger in hand. She crossed the hallway and threw open a door. It opened into a bedroom, the same bedroom she had used to break in a few days ago. Caina caught a glimpse of motion, saw someone ducking under the bed.
“Hold!” Caina shouted, disguising her voice.
The dark shape froze, and Caina heard a terrified sob.
Moving closer, she saw a young woman huddled in the corner, dressed in a soot-smudged nightgown. The face looked familiar, and Caina realized the young woman was one of Romarion’s cooks.
“Don’t kill me,” sobbed the young woman, raising her hands to shield her face, “please, please don’t kill me, not like the others, not like the others…”
“Who are you?” said Caina. “Speak.”
“My…my name is Lucia,” she said, “I’m a cook, I’m a cook in Master Romarion’s service. I don’t know anything, I swear I don’t, please, please don’t hurt me....”
“We’re not going to hurt you,” said Caina. “We have come to rescue your master.” It was close enough to the truth.
Lucia looked up. “You have?”
“Tell us what happened here,” said Caina.
Lucia nodded, began to speak, and sobbed again. She took a deep breath. “It…it…Master Romarion was scared, was planning to leave Rasadda before the week ended.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know properly, but I heard him speaking,” said Lucia. “All his business partners were being murdered, found burned to death, and Master Romarion was afraid they would come for him next. So he was going to sail for the Imperial capital.”
“What happened here tonight?” said Caina.
“I was in bed,” said Lucia, “and then I heard screaming, so I got up and went to look. All those men in black armor had hacked down the door and were killing the guards and the other servants. Their swords…their swords were burning! I’ve never seen anything like it. They’ll kill you if they find you.”
“They tried,” said Caina. “We killed them all.”
Lucia shuddered and shrunk against the wall.
“Romarion,” said Caina. “What happened to Romarion? It is urgent that we find him. Is he dead?”
“I don’t know,” said Lucia. “I…don’t think so.” She swallowed. “Did you find his…his body?”
“No,” said Caina.
“Then he probably fled,” said Lucia. “Master Romarion was always afraid that his enemies would come for him. He kept money in an iron box in his study, along with a rope, so he could go out the window if they ever came to kill him.”
Caina glanced at Ark. “The window was open in his study.” She looked back at Lucia. “Where do you think Romarion might have gone? Does he have a hiding place prepared in the city?”
“I don’t know,” said Lucia. “I suppose that Master Romarion would go to his friends, if they were not all dead already.”
“I see,” said Caina, straightening up.
“Don’t kill me,” said Lucia, “I’ve told you everything, I swear.”
“I already said I’m not going to kill you,” said Caina, annoyed. She reached for the purse tucked into her belt. She had not wanted to leave Ephaeron’s money sitting around the Inn, and one never knew when bribe money might come in handy. She produced a single platinum coin, and Lucia’s eyes got wide. “Take this, and get out of the city immediately. The Saddai are going to revolt soon, and if Romarion’s enemy knows that you are still alive, he might kill you. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, sir,” said Lucia.
“Take only what you need, and go now.”
Lucia gathered up her nightgown and fled.
“She’s probably going to loot a few things on her way out, you know,” said Ark.
“Let her rob the entire place, for all I care,” said Caina. “We’ve got to go.”
“Where?” said Ark.
“I know where Romarion is.”
Ark frowned.
“A man in trouble flees to his friends,” said Caina, walking back into the hall. “But the pyromancer killed Romarion’s friends and partners. So that leaves only his old business associates.”
Fortunately, no one had stolen their stolen wagon. Caina secured Romarion’s papers alongside Maltaer’s documents, and Ark started the horses into motion, pushing them as fast as he dared.
The breeze still whistled through Rasadda’s streets, the tingles pressing against Caina’s skin.
Chapter 24 - Book of the Ashbringers
The wagon stopped before the Sign of the Anchor. The windows were shuttered and barred, though Caina saw faint glimmers of light leaking through the cracks. Ark tied the horses and drew his broadsword.
“How are we going to do this?” said Ark.
“Easily,” said Caina. “You’re going to kick down the door, I’m going to tell Maltaer to take us to Romarion, and i
f he’s here, he’s going to tell us who the pyromancer is.”
Ark’s mouth twisted. “And if they disagree?”
“That’s what this is for,” said Caina, pointing at Ark’s broadsword. “Oh, keep your face covered, and don’t speak unless you must. If Romarion is here, I don’t want him to recognize you.”
Ark nodded and tugged his improvised mask back into the place. They walked to the Sign’s front door, and Ark began hammering with the pommel of his sword. “Open, in the name of the Emperor!”
The door remained closed.
Ark shrugged, and started kicking. After four or five blows, the door splintered in its frame, and Ark put his shoulder to it. The door shuddered open, and Ark went through, Caina right behind them.
The Sign’s common room was spacious, well-lit from a pair of fireplaces, and held a dozen pirates, all of whom were holding weapons. Caina stepped past Ark, a knife ready in her hand.
“Let’s remain civil,” she hissed in her masked voice. “There’s no sense in bloodshed.”
“There’s a score of us and two of you,” said one pirate.
“This is so,” said Caina. “But come at us and at least one of you is going to die. Maybe more. Well, who wants to volunteer? Anyone?”
No one volunteered.
“Or someone could go get Maltaer,” said Caina.
“My dark lady, I am here,” said Maltaer, appearing at the top of the stairs. He descended, smiling. “You stole my wagon, you know.”
“I happened to need it,” said Caina. “And you did promise me many charming gifts.”
Maltaer laughed, and pressed his hand to his heart. “Alas! That is just like a woman. Give, and give, and yet she demands ever more.” His men laughed. “So, my dark lady, shall we resume our courtship? What would you have of me now?”
“I want to talk to Septimus Romarion.”
Maltaer’s face went still. “Why would he be here?”
“Because all his business partners have been murdered,” said Caina, “and he has nowhere else to go. Remember the mad sorcerer we discussed? He tried to kill Romarion this very night. But you know that already, don’t you?”
The Ghosts Omnibus One Page 59