by Unknown
“Pyromancy,” said Lucan. “Sorcery that draws its power from flame.”
“It also tends to drive its practitioners mad,” said Caina, voice quiet. “Literally burns away their sanity.”
“Those symbols,” said Lucan. “I think they’re designed to summon and focus the power.”
“You’re right.” Caina gazed at one of the glyphs. It showed a stylized flame encased within a heptagon, the seven points marked with stars.
“Damn it,” she whispered.
“What?” said Lucan.
“This spell,” said Caina. “I recognize it. It’s called the Sevenfold Pyre. It’s a ritual to pull the spirit of a slain pyromancer into the world of the living. The caster burns seven victims alive, using their lives as fuel to summon up the dead pyromancer.”
“But pyromancy is extinct,” said Lucan.
“Not quite,” said Caina. “The Ghosts killed a pyromancer in Caer Belaen decades ago, a murderer named Ravodan. He burned his victims alive to fuel his power. I think whoever did this is trying to summon up Ravodan’s spirit and learn his secrets.”
“Seven victims?” said Lucan. “You mean seven people have been slain like this?”
Caina blinked as the realization came to her.
“No. Not yet. The Sevenfold Pyre burns its victims one after another, in sequence.” Her mind raced, her hands closing into fists. “If we can find the others, we can stop the summoner.”
“How?” said Lucan.
Caina pointed at the heptagon glyph. “Do you see that? It’s not just a glyph. It’s also a map. The stars on the points of the heptagon...”
“Represent the victims,” said Lucan. “Who will be arranged in this pattern within Caer Belaen.”
“Yes,” said Caina, scrutinizing the glyphs around the pyre and the dead woman. “And these symbols around the heptagon...these symbols point to the other stars. The other victims.” She stared at them for a moment, and then pointed. “There. The next point on the heptagon will be five or six hundred yards north of us, if I’ve read this right.”
“Why not go right to the center?” said Lucan. “The sorcerer behind this is probably waiting there.”
“No,” said Caina. “The actual summoning itself can take place anywhere within the heptagon. We’ll make our way along the edges. If we hasten, we might catch the sorcerer.”
And save his victims.
Lucan nodded. “Lead the way.”
Caina looked once more at the twisted corpse atop the coals. That someone would dare to commit such atrocities in the name of power filled her with a fury like a storm. She would find who had done this and make him pay...
A flicker of motion caught her eye.
A man in a hooded cloak stood in the doorway to the street, beckoning to her.
Caina hissed in alarm and drew her daggers.
“What?” said Lucan, raising his sword. “What is it?”
The doorway was empty.
Caina hurried though the doorway. The street was deserted. She saw no trace of anyone, and certainly no one in a hooded cloak.
“I...don’t know,” said Caina. “I thought I saw someone.”
“The smoke, perhaps,” said Lucan. He sighed. “I shall smell that poor woman for days.”
The rage shivered in Caina’s mind.
“Aye,” she said. “Let’s go.”
They hurried north.
#
Due north took Caina and Lucan to a neighborhood of mid-sized houses, no doubt owned by merchants rich enough to live away from their shops. But like the rest of Caer Belaen, the houses looked run-down. Were their inhabitants desperate enough to use sorcery to restore their fortunes? To summon up the shade of a long-dead pyromancer?
“You should go back,” said Caina. “This is dangerous.”
Lucan lifted an eyebrow. “Of course this is dangerous. And I have hunted down rogue sorcerers before.”
He had. And he would have hunted this pyromancer, with or without Caina’s help. But that wasn’t why he was here now. She saw it in his face, in the way he watched her.
He was in love with her. It was going to get him killed. And she did not need his help. She had been taking care of herself for a long time. But only a fool turned away help in the face of dangerous enemies.
And she did not want to send him away...
“Here,” said Caina, pushing aside her doubts. “I think the next pyre will be here.” She pointed at one of the larger houses, its whitewashed walls topped with a roof of red clay tiles. The small garden ringing the house made it look more prosperous than the others.
“That one?” said Lucan. “I know the fellow who lives there. A minor noble named Mauldron. He has a sinecure overseeing the harbor. He hardly seems the sort to meddle with pyromancy.”
“No offense, my lord Lucan,” said Caina, “but I’ve known nobles of the Empire who murdered their children for political advantage.”
“Then you’ve met my father. Do you feel any sorcery here?”
“No,” said Caina. She stepped closer to Mauldron’s house. Could she have been mistaken? If she had misread the glyphs, the other pyres might lie elsewhere within the town. And innocent people would die because of her mistake...
A faint tingle brushed against her skin.
Caina cursed. “It’s starting. Someone’s casting a spell in that house. Go!”
Lucan raced forward, Caina following. They reached the house’s front door, only to find it locked. Caina reached for the lockpicks hidden in her belt, but Lucan solved that problem by putting his boot to the door. It splintered and swung open.
Only a fool turned away help.
She flashed him a quick grin and ran into the house, dagger in hand.
They entered a deserted atrium, the floor paved with elaborate mosaics of the Empire’s history. Beyond was a dining room with a long table, statues standing in niches along the wall. There was no trace of anyone, whether nobles or servants.
Yet the tingling grew stronger.
“It’s here,” said Caina. “I’m sure of it. We...”
She heard a scream.
“The cellars,” said Lucan.
They raced into the kitchen. The door to the cellar stood half-open, a red glow shining from within. Caina hurried down the stairs and into the cellar. A forest of squat brick pillars supported the vaulted ceiling. Five men in ceremonial black and red robes stood around a pile of firewood, their arms raised, chanting in low voices. A young woman in the dress of a washerwoman lay upon the wood, her wrists and ankles tied, a gag stuffed into her mouth.
Good. They were not too late. They...
One of the men shouted and clapped his hands, and Caina’s skin crawled with the presence of powerful sorcery.
The heaped wood erupted in sorcerous flames, the roar of the fire drowning out the woman’s screams.
A red mist fell over Caina’s vision.
The man who had clapped his hands looked at her, eyes glinting within his crimson hood. “Intruders! Kill them!”
Caina’s free hand dipped into her belt, came up holding a throwing knife. She stepped forward, her arm plunging back, and flung the blade, her entire body snapping like a bowstring. The knife hurtled through the air and buried itself in the throat of the nearest robed man. He fell, choking.
The others drew swords from beneath their robes and charged.
Lucan met them, his sword a blur of steel. The robed men converged on him, seeing him as the greater threat, which gave Caina all the opportunity she needed to act. A second throwing knife buried itself in the calf of the nearest enemy. He stumbled, and Lucan finished him with a quick slash. Another man turned towards Caina, robes billowing, and launched a thrust for her head. She ducked, sidestepped, and stabbed for his side. The man dodged, sword coming back for a swing.
Only to stumble when he found Caina’s boot pinning the hem of his robe. As impressive as the crimson and black robes looked, only an idiot would try to fight in one, which Caina p
roved when she drove her dagger into his throat.
The fight was over moments later, with four men dead, and one survivor trying to crawl away, Caina’s knife embedded in his calf. Lucan flipped the survivor onto his back, and Caina saw the face of the man who had clapped his hands to finish the spell.
Burning that woman alive.
“Lord Mauldron,” said Lucan to the wounded man. Mauldron was in his fifties, his face grizzled and jowly, eyes bright with pain and terror. “You’re keeping disreputable company these days.”
“Lord Lucan?” said Mauldron. “Did...did your father send you?”
“The Ghosts sent me,” said Lucan.
Mauldron wheezed a laugh. “The Ghosts? The Emperor’s mythical spies? There are no Ghosts, only shadows and stories.”
“Shadows,” said Caina, voice low, “that carry knives.”
“You,” gasped Mauldron. “I heard of you! The Ghost Countess. But you were a story...”
“Shut up and listen to me,” said Caina, surprised at how calm her voice remained. “I know about the Sevenfold Pyre. I know you’re trying to resurrect Ravodan. And I know that you are part of a group—a cult or a secret society. You couldn’t pull this off on your own. You’re going to tell me who your leader is and where I can find him.”
Mauldron sneered. “I don’t need to tell you anything. The Master will summon the spirit of Ravodan, and take the spirit’s powers for his own. The Master will bestow great rewards on his followers, and...”
Caina stooped and twisted the knife in his calf, and Mauldron shrieked.
“Who is this Master?” said Caina.
“Your death,” said Mauldron.
Again Caina twisted the knife, and Mauldron screamed.
Lucan frowned.
“Not good enough,” said Caina. “Tell me his name.”
“No,” said Mauldron, sweat dripping down his face.
Caina drew another knife and pinned Mauldron’s right hand to the floor. His scream echoed off the ceiling, much as the woman’s had done.
“Tell me,” repeated Caina, “his name.”
“No,” sputtered Mauldron, “no, I won’t...”
Caina pinned his other hand to the floor.
“Stop this,” said Lucan.
Caina ignored him. “Tell me about the Master,” she said when Mauldron’s screams died down, “or I’ll start cutting things off.”
“Kuroz,” said Mauldron, shuddering. “The Master’s name is Kuroz.”
“I know him,” said Lucan, still frowning at Caina. “He’s an Ulkaari shaman. He makes money scamming weak-minded nobles, impressing them with parlor tricks and mummery.”
Caina pointed at the pyre. “That’s no mummery.”
“He has some arcane talent,” said Lucan, “and sometimes summons up creatures from the netherworld. One of them must have told him about the Sevenfold Pyre.”
“Yes,” whispered Mauldron. “The Master has power. And when he claims Ravodan’s power, he will be even stronger. And we shall be richly rewarded.”
“I’m sure,” said Caina. “Where is he?”
Mauldron hesitated.
Caina seized the knives buried in Mauldron’s hands and twisted.
“The temple of Elerion!” said Mauldron, once he stopped screaming. An abandoned temple to Elerion, the old Caerish god of the sun, stood in the center of the town. And well within the heptagon of the Sevenfold Pyre, if Caina’s calculations were correct. “He will summon Ravodan’s spirit there! I swear it! Please, please, no more!”
“No more,” agreed Caina, and opened his throat.
She straightened up, saw Lucan staring at her.
“What?” she said.
“You went too far,” said Lucan.
Caina scowled. “I did what was necessary.”
“You’ve come to deal out pain far too casually.”
Caina gave him an incredulous look. “You saw what he did to that woman.”
“Mauldron deserved his fate,” said Lucan. “I don’t care what happened to him. I care about what it will do to you. Your hatred of sorcery is upsetting your judgment. You’ve told me about some of the nightmares you have. What...”
“Enough!” said Caina, her temper fraying. “I have seen too many people killed by sorcery. I will stop it from happening again!” Her hands balled into fists. “If I have to kill every magus in the Empire, if I have to butcher every last sorcerer in the world, I will do it, I will...”
Her voice cut off.
The man in the hooded cloak she had seen at the warehouse stood behind Lucan, beckoning. She snatched one of her throwing knives from Mauldron and flung it. The blade struck a pillar and clattered to the floor.
There was no one behind Lucan.
“What is it?” said Lucan, sword raised in guard.
“Nothing,” said Caina, blinking. “I...thought I saw someone. Again.” What was wrong with her? Had the presence of powerful sorcery unhinged her mind?
Or perhaps Lucan was right, and her hatred of sorcery had deranged her...
She pushed the thought aside. Now was not the time to worry about it.
“We should go,” said Caina. “If we don’t stop Kuroz now, more people than these women will die.”
“You’re right,” said Lucan. “But we should talk more later.”
Caina started to disagree, then remembered the strange vision of the hooded man.
“Maybe you’re right,” she said. “But later.”
She retrieved her knives, and they left the cellar.
#
The temple of Elerion, like the rest of Caer Belaen, had fallen into disrepair. Once it had been a stately edifice of white marble, with columns lining the central sanctuary. Now the half the roof had fallen in, and broken columns ringed the temple like jagged teeth.
Within the sanctuary, Caina saw the flickering glow of flames.
“Kuroz is already here,” muttered Caina.
“Fortunately,” said Lucan, “that rubble offers plenty of cover.”
They crept from fallen column to fallen column, and soon reached the edge of the sanctuary. A half-dozen men stood near the weathered altar. Five wore the red-and-crimson robes Caina had seen earlier. The sixth wore the ragged leathers and furs of an Ulkaari shaman, his pale arms and head marked with elaborate ritual scars. Kuroz himself, no doubt. Lucan had said that Kuroz made his coin scamming foolish nobles, yet Caina felt the presence of powerful sorcery as she looked at him.
Kuroz might have been a charlatan, but his powers were no fraud.
A heptagon had been painted on the sanctuary’s stone floor, a black candle resting upon each of the seven points. Three of the candles had been lit, while the other four remained dark. Even as Caina watched, one of the candles burst into flame.
Her mouth thinned into a hard line. Kuroz’s acolytes had just murdered another victim.
“Master!” said one of the robed acolytes. “Another candle!”
“Yes,” said Kuroz, his voice rich and deep. “Soon, my friends, we shall have the power to return Ravodan’s shade to the mortal world. His powers shall be ours, and you will be rewarded.”
Caina felt her mouth twist. No doubt Kuroz intended to reward his followers with a quick death. Sorcerers never shared power voluntarily.
Lucan crouched next to her, his lips close to her ear.
“Those acolytes,” he whispered. “They look like merchants, or minor nobles. I doubt they’ll be any threat.”
Caina nodded. “Kuroz is the dangerous one. If we take him down, the others will flee.”
A fifth candle blazed to light. Caina shivered with rage.
“I’ll distract them,” said Lucan. “Once I have their attention, you take Kuroz.”
“It is almost done,” said Kuroz, raising his arms with a showman’s flair. “I will pull Ravodan into this world once more, and we shall be numbered among the great!”
“Go,” said Caina, slipping a knife into her hand. “Before he kills anyone
else.”
“Prepare yourselves!” said Kuroz, beckoning to his followers. “Soon you shall see me transformed, and...”
Lucan strolled into the ruined sanctuary, sword in hand.
Kuroz’s speech trailed off, a frown coming over his scarred face, and the acolytes gaped at Lucan.
“Gentlemen!” said Lucan. “I wish to join your little cult. I, too, enjoy setting things on fire.”
“You mock us?” said one of the acolytes. “We shall rule the world, and you dare to mock us?”
Caina circled around the base of a ruined column. If she could just get a little closer to Kuroz, she could put a knife into the shaman’s throat before he could react.
“Rule the world?” said Lucan with a laugh. “You’re a collection of failed merchants who burn helpless women. And when you’re done, Kuroz will kill you all anyway. So, yes, I dare to mock you. Though it really doesn’t take much daring.”
Caina moved past the broken column. She was in plain sight now, but Kuroz and his acolytes remained fixed on Lucan. Kuroz’s fingers started to move in the beginnings of a spell. He, unlike his followers, was no fool.
“Kill him,” said Kuroz.
The sixth candle burst into flame.
“I’ll give you one chance,” said Lucan, pointing with his sword. “Leave, now, and I’ll let you live.” Caina blinked in surprise. She would never have considered offering mercy to the acolytes.
Perhaps Lucan had been right.
The acolytes pulled daggers from their belts and charged Lucan, screaming.
Apparently the acolytes felt no need for mercy.
Kuroz began muttering a spell under his breath, gesturing. Caina straightened up, took a quick step forward, and flung the knife in one smooth motion.
The blade slammed into Kuroz’s throat.
Or it would have, had it not disintegrated into glowing splinters an inch from his neck.
He had warded himself against steel weapons.
Kuroz whirled to face Caina, his spell interrupted. On the other side of the heptagon, Lucan battled the acolytes, his sword flashing in the glow of the candles. A grunt, the clang of blade on blade, and one of the acolytes fell dead, his blood pooling on the flagstones.
“Who are you?” said Kuroz.
Caina slipped another knife into her hand. “I know about the Sevenfold Pyre, and I know you want to resurrect Ravodan.”