“Laertes,” said Caina, keeping her voice disguised. Both Laertes and his employer thought she was a man and she saw no reason to tell them the truth.
“Master Ciaran,” said Laertes. “You have a gift?”
“A delivery,” said Caina. “Is he here?”
“Aye,” said Laertes. “I’ll fetch him.” He glanced at the porters. “You can leave that here, next to the table.”
Caina followed him into a dining room with a low round table. Laertes vanished into the inner room, and the porters set down the box with a grunt. Caina paid them and sent them away, made sure they went back down the stairs, and then closed and barred the door behind her.
She turned just as Ibrahaim Nasser emerged from the inner room, his white smile flashing across his dark face.
Nasser kept his head shaved, his brown scalp gleaming. A close-trimmed beard framed his lips and chin. Today he wore the patterned blue and red robes of a successful Anshani merchant, though she knew he was not Anshani. A black leather belt encircled his waist, holding a scimitar and a dagger. His right hand was strong and sinewy.
A black leather glove and bracer completely covered his left hand and forearm. Caina had never seen him without it. Yet she had seen him use his left hand to crush skulls, to punch through steel armor with only a hint of discomfort.
She sensed the constant aura of sorcery that surrounded his left hand, though he claimed not be to a sorcerer.
“Master Ciaran,” said Nasser with a grand bow, his voice a deep, sonorous rumble. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”
“I am glad,” said Caina, “that you think it a pleasure.”
“Nonsense,” said Nasser, flashing his brilliant smile. “Our association has been most profitable, my enigmatic friend. Your enemies have been discomforted, and I have reaped handsome profits.” He gestured with his right hand at Laertes. “Why, if this run of events continues, soon friend Laertes shall even be able to afford dowries for all of his daughters.”
Laertes’s expression did not change. “Dowries are expensive.”
“I suspect this is not simply a social call,” said Nasser. He gestured, and Caina seated herself at the round table, and Nasser followed suit. Laertes produced cups and began pouring hot coffee from a ceramic pitcher.
“Why not?” said Caina. “Perhaps I am simply being sociable.”
“Alas,” said Nasser, “while social etiquette is the foundation of all civilized society, I fear you are far too busy for such things. The Balarigar and the Ghost circlemaster of Istarinmul has many tasks to occupy his attention. Plus,” he sipped at his coffee and nodded at the long box, “I am reasonably certain that box does not, in fact, contain Anshani cheeses.”
“No,” said Caina, taking a sip of her own coffee. “I am afraid that it does not. If I may show you?”
Nasser gestured with his cup. “You have aroused my curiosity, sir. Please proceed.”
Caina nodded, stood, and pried open the wooden lid.
The assassin she had stabbed to death stared up at her, his ridged scars throwing odd shadows across his graying flesh.
“While a dead man is indeed a thoughtful gift,” said Nasser, “I fear I have no use for him currently.”
Laertes grunted. “Dagger wounds.” He looked at Caina. “You’ve been busy.”
“Quite,” said Caina. “I was wondering if you recognized him.”
“Nasser,” said Laertes, pointing at the dead man’s chest. “The skull sigil.”
Nasser’s face went still and he rose to his feet, walking to look down at the corpse.
“Well,” he murmured. “I was not expecting this.”
“Then you recognize him?” said Caina.
“Individually, no,” said Nasser. He pointed at the dead assassin’s chest. “But I recognize that symbol, the winged skull.”
“What is it?” said Caina.
“Might I inquire as to the circumstances where you encountered this fellow?” said Nasser.
“An ambush,” said Caina. “I was going to meet with an informant. This man and one other were waiting. They had the power to turn completely invisible.”
“A neat trick,” said Nasser. “How did you survive?”
“Their invisibility was a sorcerous power,” said Caina. “I sensed it, and they didn’t realize I could sense it.”
Nasser grinned. “Capital.”
She shrugged. “They put too much confidence in their spell.”
“Sorcerers often do,” said Nasser. He gestured with his gloved hand at the elaborate scars. “You observe these sigils? This is a specific, focused kind of necromancy. This man had no sorcerous skill of his own. But a necromancer of considerable ability carved those sigils into his flesh and charged them with power.”
“Granting him the ability to turn invisible,” said Caina.
“For limited amounts of time, I suspect,” said Nasser, “and for a limited amount of material other than his own flesh.”
“That explains why he only carried a short sword and a loincloth,” said Caina.
“I thought as much,” said Nasser.
“Then you know…what he was? Who he worked for?” said Caina.
“I very strongly suspect he was a servant of the Umbarian Order,” said Nasser. “The winged skull is their sigil.”
Caina frowned. The rebels who now ruled the eastern third of the Empire called themselves the Umbarian Order. Yet Nasser knew who they were, which meant he had encountered them before they had taken control of the rebel provinces.
“You know of them?” said Nasser.
“Only that they have rebelled against the Emperor of Nighmar,” said Caina. “But who or what they are…I cannot tell you.”
“They are rather more,” said Nasser, “than simple rebels.”
He and Laertes shared a look.
“Ah,” said Caina. “You’re not going to tell me, are you?”
“Not at all,” said Nasser. “We both have our secrets, my dear Balarigar, but you have been a most effective ally. If the Umbarian Order is involving itself in the affairs of Istarinmul, or if they have allied themselves with Callatas, they shall try to kill you at the earliest opportunity. So therefore it is in my best interest to tell you everything I know about the Umbarians.”
“How delightfully selfish,” said Caina.
Nasser offered another grand bow. “It may seem so, Ghost. But you have your duty. I have mine.”
“Very well,” said Caina. “The Umbarians?”
“What do you know,” said Nasser, “about the history of the Ashbringers of the Saddaic people?”
A cold chill went down Caina’s back. Which was amusing in a dark sort of way, since a man wielding the pyromantic sorcery of the old Ashbringers had almost burned her to death.
“More than I would like,” said Caina. “They were the sorcerer-priests of the Saddaic nation in ancient days, during the age of the Second Empire. They worshipped a heretical version of the Living Flame called the Burning Flame, and sought to burn the world to ashes in order to remake it. The use of pyromancy drove them mad, and they burned their victims alive to increase their own power. They conquered most of what is now the eastern Empire, but the magi of Artifel allied with the warrior-emperors of the Second Empire and formed the Imperial Magisterium. Together they defeated the Ashbringers and Corazain, the greatest of the Ashbringers, destroyed himself, his armies, his enemies, and the city of Rasadda in one final spell. The Third Empire rose from the ashes.”
“That history is accurate,” said Nasser, “save for the omission of one minor detail. Not all the Ashbringers perished at Rasadda. In the chaos of the Second Empire’s collapse, many of the lesser Ashbringers infiltrated the newly formed Magisterium. They would continue the study of pyromancy and the worship of the Burning Flame in secret. In public they presented the faces of loyal citizens of the Empire and dutiful magi of the Magisterium. But in secret…”
“They continued the pyromantic sciences,” said Caina
with a sinking feeling.
Some of the rumors out of the Empire had spoken of entire Legions perishing in sorcerous fire.
“You surmise accurately,” said Nasser. “They called themselves the Umbarians, for they would do their work in the shadows. Eventually the Magisterium’s philosophy influenced them, and they forsook the worship of the Burning Flame in favor of the worship of their own power. They began practicing the other banned arcane sciences – necromancy, oneiromancy, and the others – in addition to pyromancy, and developed new and fearsome spells.”
“Such as the ability to imbue power into others,” said Caina, looking at the dead man.
“This is so,” said Nasser.
“Why have I never heard of them before?” said Caina.
“The Umbarians eschewed direct confrontation, or at least they did,” said Nasser. “Additionally, their centers of power were in the far eastern and northeastern edges of your Empire.”
“I’ve never been further east than Rasadda or farther north than the Disali provinces,” said Caina.
“The high circlemasters of the Ghosts knew of the Umbarians, and hunted them whenever the chance presented itself,” said Nasser. “Which was rarely. The Umbarians knew how to keep themselves secret, and if a magus of their Order became sloppy or started making foolish errors, the Ghosts found and killed him. You, my dear Balarigar, have likely killed several Umbarian magi without even realizing it.”
“The Emperor knew,” muttered Caina. After the Moroaica’s defeat, he had warned her of the possibility of civil war after his death. Apparently the Umbarian Order had decided to act before the old man died.
“Most likely,” said Nasser. “Come, let us discuss the matter over coffee like civilized men.” Caina sat back upon her cushion, and Nasser and Laertes followed suit. She supposed it was odd that they were sipping coffee a few yards from a man she had killed, but all three of them had both seen and created corpses before.
“Why now?” said Caina. “Why come into the open now? Seizing a third of the Empire is hardly an act of secrecy.”
“The chaos of the golden dead, I suspect,” said Nasser. “Istarinmul, in the greater scheme of things, got off lightly. A few thousand dead in a city of three quarters of a million. Callatas, for all his cruelties, is a potent sorcerer, and under his leadership the Alchemists and the Immortals quickly contained the golden dead until the power animating them faded away – which you had something to do with, I expect.” Caina did not give an answer to that. “Entire cities were destroyed, and ambitious men seized the chaos as an opportunity to eliminate their rivals or seize lands of their own. I suspect the Umbarian Order saw an opportunity and took it.”
“Now they have carved an empire of their own out of the Empire of Nighmar,” said Caina. Her right hand curled into a fist. “An empire where they are free to practice the forbidden sciences and do whatever they wish to the populace, no matter how grisly.” She shook her head. “It sounds like every magus’s dream.”
“Perhaps,” said Nasser. “At least for sorcerers of a morally depraved mindset, who I confess are all too abundant. Still, I suspect those of the Magisterium who were not Umbarians remained loyal to the Empire.”
“Doubtful,” said Caina.
Nasser shrugged. “Sorcerers are no different than men with swords. Some are good, some bad, some indifferent. Sorcery is like any other sort of power – some men can use it responsibly, and some cannot.”
“Believe as you like,” said Caina.
Nasser smiled. “I often do. Though I grow curious. Why might the Umbarian Order have suddenly become interested in the Ghosts of Istarinmul? The Umbarians have been at war against your Emperor for nearly a year. Why take an interest in Istarinmul now?”
Caina hesitated. Nasser was an ally and something of a friend, but he was not a Ghost. Yet he had answered her questions about the dead man, and so far as she knew, he had never lied to her. Once the Emperor’s Lord Ambassador and the Umbarians’ ambassador arrived in the city, it would become common knowledge anyway.
“There hasn’t been a Lord Ambassador from the Empire in Istarinmul since the end of Rezir Shahan’s war,” said Caina. “One is coming.”
“Ah,” said Nasser. “That means the Umbarians are sending an embassy as well, and both will ask the Padishah for aid in their war.”
“You guess rightly,” said Caina.
“And your task, then,” said Nasser, “is to assist the Lord Ambassador in keeping Istarinmul from siding with the Umbarians. Which would explain why these invisible assassins arrived to hunt the Ghosts of Istarinmul. Very methodical. Much like the Umbarians themselves.”
Caina nodded.
“You may take comfort in this,” said Nasser. “Grand Master Callatas does not wish war with anyone. He opposed Rezir Shahan’s war with the Empire because it would distract from his Apotheosis, and he supported peace with the Empire for the same reason. Since Callatas is the real power in Istarinmul, the Padishah will not go to war with either the Empire or the Umbarian Order.”
“That is good to know,” said Caina.
Nasser raised a finger. “With two possible exceptions.”
Caina sighed. “Aren’t there always?”
“One, if enough nobles favor war,” said Nasser, “they might oppose Callatas. That was how Rezir Shahan convinced the Padishah to ally with Andromache of New Kyre and attack Marsis. Istarinmul lost a great deal of land to the Empire. If the nobles desire to revenge themselves for this loss, they might force Callatas to allow another war.”
“What is the second exception?” said Caina.
Nasser grinned. “You.”
“Me?”
“Well, I helped as well,” said Nasser. Laertes snorted. “We made the Slavers’ Brotherhood rather uncomfortable, so uncomfortable that their business has been crippled. The price of slaves has soared so high that it is often cheaper to hire free laborers. If Istarinmul goes to war, the cowled masters can refill their pens with captives from the Argamaz and Imperial Cyrica. If the masters of the Brotherhood have sufficient cloud to sway the mind of the Padishah and the Grand Wazir, I fear we shall have war.”
“Damn it,” muttered Caina.
“And I may have a conflict with your Emperor as well,” said Nasser.
Caina frowned. “Why?”
“A stable and prosperous Istarinmul would have little reason to meddle in the civil war between the Emperor and the Umbarians,” said Nasser. “Our efforts to disrupt the production of wraithblood and hamper Callatas’s efforts have made the wealthy and powerful of Istarinmul rather less stable and prosperous. Your Emperor might order you to leave Callatas alone in exchange for keeping Istarinmul out of the war.”
“No,” said Caina. “Istarinmul was neither stable nor prosperous when I arrived. Not when Callatas was murdering thousands of slaves a year to create wraithblood. The Apotheosis threatens the Empire. Callatas is planning a catastrophe on the scale of the golden dead, I am sure of it.”
That answer seemed to satisfy Nasser, but Caina still had her doubts. Lord Aeolus, the chief of the high circlemasters, would not hesitate to let the Apotheosis continue if it kept Istarinmul from allying with the Umbarians. For that matter, Lord Corbould Maraeus, the Emperor’s closest advisor, would kill every last man, woman, and child in Istarinmul if he thought it necessary. Certainly he would have no qualms about letting Callatas do it.
What would Caina do if the Ghosts ordered her to let the Apotheosis continue?
She did not know. She hoped she would not have to find out.
“Have you found any hints about the whereabouts of the Seal and the Staff of Iramis?” said Caina, hoping to change the subject.
Nasser grimaced. “Alas, I have not. Annarah hid them well, and encoded her journal with equal diligence. We may at least take comfort in the fact that Callatas is no closer to finding them.”
“Unless one of his diggers gets lucky and finds them in the Desert of Candles,” said Caina. “Or if she d
estroyed them instead of concealed them.”
“By all accounts, the Staff and Seal were indestructible by conventional means,” said Nasser. “A sorcerer on the level of Callatas might be able to destroy them, but a sorcerer of that power would rather claim them.”
“You are likely right,” said Caina.
“So,” said Nasser, sipping his coffee. “You are the Ghost circlemaster. I am merely the dashingly handsome master thief. How do you suggest we proceed against our mutual foe?”
“For now, we shall continue as we have been,” said Caina. “Harass his allies and rob from his supporters. See if we can push the Slavers’ Brotherhood further over the edge.” She took a deep breath. “And perhaps the Lord Ambassador will aid us, once he learns of the danger Callatas poses.”
“I do hope your optimism is justified,” murmured Nasser.
“So do I,” said Caina.
Chapter 4 - The Lord Ambassador’s Wife
From the moment she stepped from the ship’s gangplank and onto the quay, Claudia Aberon Dorius knew that she would not like Istarinmul.
It wasn’t the heat, though she did not find it pleasant. She had grown up in Artifel along the shores of the inner sea, and she was used to mild winters and rainy summers. Malarae, by comparison, had been warm, but Istarinmul made Malarae seem like a frozen wasteland. The sun blazed overhead like a furnace.
Nor was it the grim look Istarinmul brought to her husband’s gray eyes. Martin Dorius had commanded men in battle against Istarinmul during the war, and he had lost a great many of those men. Martin still blamed himself for the men who had fallen under his command in the Argamaz Desert. The guilt did not leave him, but it did not cripple him, either. The soldiers of Istarinmul in their spiked helms reminded him of those dead Legionaries, but Martin carried on and did not flinch in his duties.
The slaves filling Istarinmul bothered Claudia a great deal. In Artifel, before the schism had divided the Magisterium and started the civil war, a great many magi had supported the restoration of slavery within the Empire, though those who kept slaves did so secretly lest they be subjection to prosecution, or worse, harassment from the Ghosts. But in Istarinmul, slaves were everywhere. Gangs of gray-clad slaves unloaded the ships filling the Cyrican Harbor. Slaves carried goods and drove carts up and down the streets. Slaves worked in the shops and stalls of minor merchants. Armies of slaves attended the palaces and warehouses of the wealthier merchants. The nobles and Alchemists seemed to compete to see who could own the largest retinue of slaves.
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