After a ridiculously short ride, they arrived. Ark opened the door, Caina climbed out, and they walked into the Basilica.
“My lady Countess,” said a servant, bowing to her, “this way, please.”
Servants pulled open the doors, and Caina walked past a troop of armed militiamen and into the Basilica’s judgment hall. The immense groin-vaulted roof arched a hundred feet over her head. The floor had been done in elaborate, massive mosaics, depicting triumphs from the Empire’s past. One showed the Emperor Crisius defeating the Ashbringer Corazain.
Dozens of glowing glass spheres sat on intricate bronze pedestals, throwing back the darkness. The Magisterium used their sorcery to enchant the spheres, Caina knew, imbuing them with a spell that would glow for years. The steady light glinted off the polished marble columns and the high ceiling. Dozens of men and women stood in the judgment hall, Lords and Ladies of the Empire, rich Saddai and Nighmarian merchants, all speaking to one another in low voices. There were even some Anshani and Alqaarin merchants from across the Alqaarin Sea, exotic with their dark skins and feathered turbans. Servants hastened to and fro bearing trays of wine and food, and musicians played gentle songs in the dark corners.
The servant led Caina and Ark to a group of men standing near the judgment seat.
My Lord Governor,” said the servant, “may I present Countess Marianna, of House Nereide.”
Lord Governor Anatsius Nicephorus regarded her in silence for a moment, and Caina took the opportunity to size him up. He was a lean, wolfish man in his mid-forties, with deep-sunk eyes and silver-streaked black hair. He wore elaborate black finery, along with the crimson cloak and the polished ceremonial cuirass of his rank. Sword and dagger hung from his belt, but neither weapon seemed to have seen much use. At last he bowed over her hand and kissed her ring.
“And I,” he said, speaking in High Nighmarian, “am Anatsius, of House Nicephorus, Lord of the Empire, and Lord Governor of the Saddai Province.” Caina offered him a deep bow in turn. “You do us honor. I have never yet seen a scion of House Nereide in my province.”
“Our house is old in honor, my lord, but currently of small renown, alas,” said Caina, answering him in the same language. In fact, House Nereide had been exterminated during the War of the Fourth Empire a century and a half past, but Caina doubted that Nicephorus knew that. “Only recently has my father turned his hand to commercial pursuits, and he has sent me upon a tour of our Empire’s provinces.”
“Ah,” said Nicephorus, “your father has my sympathies. It is a crass and undignified age, is it not, when we of high birth must scrabble for coins like any commoner? Still, my affairs have certainly prospered since I came to Rasadda, and I hope your father’s do the same.”
“You are kind, my lord,” said Caina.
Nicephorus gestured to a man standing near him. “This is Septimus Romarion, a merchant of no little renown. We have managed to make each other a great deal of money over the years. Perhaps he can do the same for your father.”
Romarion. Caina recognized that name.
She had seen it in Publius Vanio’s ledger. The dead merchant had purchased rare artworks, possibly stolen, from Romarion.
Now. How to pry some answers from him?
“An honor, Countess,” said Romarion, kissing her ring. He was about thirty or thirty-five, she guessed, with the sun-lined face of a lifelong sailor. He looked vaguely Saddai, but both his name and accent were Nighmarian. “It does me good to look upon your beauty, I confess, and to hear your accent. I grew up in the Imperial capital, but I made my fortune in the provinces. I do grow homesick from time to time, though.”
“I am pleased,” said Caina, “indeed, doubly so, to meet men of such courtesy so far from the capital.” She smiled at him. “I had heard that provincials were crass and undignified, and I shall have the servant who told me so whipped, for clearly he lied to me.”
“Well, we are far from the lights and temples of Nighmar,” said Nicephorus, “and must dwell among a barbarous and uncouth people, but we carry on the best we can.” Two men in black robes moved behind him, speaking to each other in low voices. “Ah. Here is someone else I should like you to meet.” He beckoned to the black-robed men.
Caina’s smile froze in place.
Two brothers of the Magisterium. No, not brothers, but masters. Both magi wore ceremonial purple hoods trailing down the back of their black robes, and purple sashes around their waists. One was short and lean, his head bald, his eyes bright blue. The other magus was tall and gaunt, his mouth set in a perpetual frown, his dark eyes moving back and forth, his graying hair unkempt.
“We are honored to have two masters of the Magisterium among us,” said Nicephorus. “Countess Marianna Nereide, may I present Master Kalastus,” he gestured to the bald man, “the head of Rasadda’s Magisterium chapter, and his second, Master Ephaeron.”
“Learned masters,” said Caina. It shocked her, how her voice stayed calm and pleasant. “I am honored to meet you.” They both bowed and kissed her ring. Their touch made her skin crawl with revulsion. She could sense the presence their sorcery, like needles pricking against her skin.
The price she had paid to gain the sensitivity was not something she wished to recall.
“My lady,” said Kalastus. “Truly, the tales of your beauty have been underestimated.” He had a sonorous, strong voice, a voice made for oratory.
“Thank you, learned master,” said Caina.
“Kalastus has been with us for some time,” said Nicephorus. “Ephaeron only just arrived from the Imperial capital.”
“Yes,” said Ephaeron. He sounded tired, distracted. “I much would have preferred to remain in the capital, but the study of arcane sciences demanded that I travel here.” He took a flute of wine from a passing servant, drank, and fell silent.
Kalastus smiled, whispered under his breath, and crooked a finger. The crawling tension in Caina’s skin increased. A flute of wine floated off a startled servant’s tray, drifted through the air, and stopped before Caina’s hand.
“A glass of wine, my lady?” said Kalastus, smiling. He was looking at her in a way that she did not at all like. For a panicked moment Caina wondered if he had used his spells to pry into her thoughts, to learn her real identity. But, no. There was no suspicion in his gaze, only lust. “You have not had anything to drink.”
“Thank you, learned one,” said Caina, taking the floating glass. “I fear that wine makes me light-headed. Though how could I refuse a glass brought to my hand by such extraordinary means?”
“I could have just carried it to you,” said Romarion. They all laughed, and Caina made herself laugh with them. A bell rang out, and more servants hurried into the hall.
“Ah,” said Nicephorus. “Dinner is ready. Please, let us be seated.”
Caina sat at the high table, along with Nicephorus, Romarion, the magi, and the wealthier merchants. The servants placed tray after tray upon the table, laden with meats, vegetables, fruits, pastries, and more. It was ten times more food than everyone at the table could eat, and people were starving in Rasadda’s streets. It made Caina vaguely sick, but she made herself eat and make polite small talk.
“I understand that you were attacked, my lady,” said Nicephorus, spearing a piece of beef with his dagger. “Ambushed on the streets, I understand?”
“A small matter, my lord,” said Caina, taking a sip of wine. “My captain of guard dispatched the attackers easily enough. Though, alas, my coachman was slain.”
Nicephorus’s eyebrows rose. “My Decurion told me that your captain of guard left eight corpses in his wake.”
“Oh, yes,” said Caina. Ark stood nearby, ostensibly watching over her. He murmured a few words to every servant that passed, and they answered him back. To judge from his annoyed expression, he was not getting good answers. “He has been in my father’s service for some years, and is most skilled with a sword.”
“It is well that he accompanied you,” said Nicephorus.
“The vermin in the streets are getting out of hand. Soon, I fear, I shall have to take stern measures.”
“There was one strange thing, Lord Governor,” said Caina. “All the dead men had a most curious tattoo, a flame upon their chests. Have you ever heard of such a thing?”
Nicephorus looked at Romarion and the magi, and the other men laughed. Except for Ephaeron, who only looked distracted.
“My lord?” said Caina. “Have I said something amusing?”
“Not at all,” said Nicephorus. “Forgive me. You ran afoul of the so-called Sons of Corazain.”
“Who are they?” said Caina.
“The local troublemakers,” said Nicephorus. He took a long drink of wine, and continued speaking. “Are you familiar with the history of the Saddai?” Caina shook her head. “You’ve heard the name of Corazain, no doubt. He is a hero to these Saddai rabble. He was their last king, before the Empire, and he was also utterly insane. A pyromancer. Or an Ashbringer, as the Saddai called them. The Emperor Crisius crushed him, the Magisterium slaughtered the pyromancers, and the Saddai kingdom became a province of the Empire. These ‘Sons’ of Corazain have the ridiculous notion that one day the Ashbringers will return, and they shall drive out the Empire.”
“A harrowing tale,” said Caina.
“A ridiculous one,” said Nicephorus. “Were the Saddai to rise, we would crush them utterly.”
“I have heard the most fearful tales about Rasadda, I do confess,” said Caina. “One of my maids heard a story that people were being burnt alive in the streets.”
Nicephorus frowned, and both Kalastus and Ephaeron looked at her.
“Surely it is not true, is it?” said Caina. “My maid told me…well,” she lowered her voice, “that sorcery was used in these burnings.”
Both Kalastus burst out laughing, while Ephaeron frowned.
“Countess,” said Ephaeron, “you should discipline your maid. The art of pyromancy is long extinct.”
“Pyromancy?” said Caina. “I’ve never heard that word before.”
“It refers to the discipline of arcane science that deals with fire sorcery,” said Kalastus. “It is incredibly dangerous, both to the practitioner and any bystanders, but a man adept in pyromantic arts could achieve dreadful feats of power. The Ashbringers, of course, were the paramount masters of pyromancy in the world. But the Magisterium exterminated them utterly, and destroyed their books of lore. There are no pyromancers left in the world.”
“Nor should there be,” said Ephaeron. “Pyromancy is an abomination, one of the arcane sciences forbidden by Imperial law. Countess Marianna, you may tell your maid that should some fool dare to practice pyromantic arts, the Magisterium will show him no mercy.”
“I shall sleep the easier for it,” said Caina.
Nicephorus shrugged. “In truth, we have found a number of burned corpses scattered through the city, but the explanation is simple enough. You’ve seen those black pyramids, I assume, with the fires upon their tops? They are the tombs of old Ashbringers, and those damnable fires burn eternally through their sorcery. No doubt the murderers slew their victims, threw the bodies into the fire, and then dumped the corpses into the street to incite the rabble.” He shook his head. “And it seems to be working, too, from the way the populace seethes.”
“It is not hard to see why. The people are desperate and starving,” said Ephaeron. “Little wonder they place their faith in phantasms from the past.”
Nicephorus scowled. “Their miseries are their own fault, I have told you that before.”
“Forgive me,” said Caina, “but I have seen more beggars in Rasadda than anywhere else in the Empire. Has there been some sort of famine, or perhaps a drought?”
“They are simply too lazy to find work,” said Nicephorus. “When I first received command of this province, my associates and I,” he waved his hand at the assorted merchants and lords seated at the high table, “perceived at once that the lands of the Saddai peasantry were underused. So we purchased their lands as cheaply as possible and converted them over to pasture land.” His mouth twisted with contempt. “But rather than take the opportunity to better themselves, the fools all drifted into Rasadda to beg, claiming that they could not support themselves.”
“Pardon my ignorance, for I know only a little of Imperial law,” said Caina, “but is it not illegal for a Lord Governor to purchase lands in his own province?”
She thought he would take offense, or refuse to answer. But instead Nicephorus looked indulgently amused. Caina realized that he did not see her as an equal, and therefore not as an enemy, but only as a pretty, empty-headed Countess. Just as she had intended.
“My dear Countess,” laughed Nicephorus, “of course it is illegal! But laws may be purchased, just like anything else. Our new pastures have proved productive beyond our wildest imaginations. We now dominate the markets for beef, cheese, and leather in the eastern Empire, and have even made contacts among the Anshani and Alqaarin.” He waved a hand at the foreign merchants. “Someday you will understand that a man must do whatever is necessary to make his own fortune.” His indulgent smile widened. “How else could a man hope to win the heart of a lady as fair as you?”
“Of course,” said Caina.
“I only wish the Emperor would relax the Imperial ban against slavery,” said Nicephorus. “The rabble choking Rasadda’s streets are fit for nothing else. I could dominate the Istarish and Alqaarin slave markets, become the wealthiest man in the Empire, and clear the streets of the rabble within three weeks.”
“Of course,” said Caina again. An icy knot of rage hardened her stomach. She thought of the daggers in her boots, and wondered how it would feel to slam one of those blades into his smirking face. Instead she took another drink of wine. Haeron Icaraeus was dead, and House Icaraeus disgraced, but it seemed that Nicephorus shared the late Lord Haeron’s views.
The banquet wore on. Ark finished speaking to the servants and took up position against the wall, watching everything. Caina knew him well enough by now to see the angry glint in his cold eyes. She guessed that he had not been able to find Aulean.
“Your bodyguard is most vigilant, my lady,” said Ephaeron suddenly, his eyes flicking back and forth between them. “He seems to have questioned every servant in the hall, and his eyes have left you only rarely. Such vigilance is to be commended.”
“It is, learned master,” said Caina. “He slew eight of the thugs, after all. I have no concerns for my safety while in his company.”
“Come here, man,” said Ephaeron. Ark lifted an eyebrow, but crossed the room and bowed before the magus. “What is your name?”
“Ark, of Caer Marist.”
“Very good.” Ephaeron gestured, and a glass of wine floated from a tray to Ark’s hand. “Please drink, and help yourself to any food you desire. Valor is a rare thing, and ought to be rewarded.” Nicephorus looked affronted, but he remained silent.
Ark seemed puzzled, but he bowed again. “Thank you, learned master. You do me honor.” He helped himself to some meat and cheese, took a drink of wine, and retreated to his corner.
The interminable banquet wore on. Caina’s mood darkened, and she said little, but she hardly needed to, as Nicephorus and Romarion continued to flirt with her. At long last the meal ended, and the servants began to take away the uneaten food.
“It is my custom, my lady, to walk the balcony after a meal and take a glass of wine,” said Nicephorus. “I would be most honored if you would join me.”
Caina suspected that Nicephorus would invite her to his bedroom after the balcony. “Thank you, my lord, but I must decline. The wine has made me light-headed, and I shall need to lie down for a while.”
“Of course,” said Nicephorus. He looked disappointed, but hid it well. “Do feel free to call upon me at any time, should you feel the need.”
“And you may call upon me, as well,” said Romarion, “for my door shall always be open to you.”
“And you must,”
said Kalastus, “visit our chapterhouse ere you leave Rasadda. We have many wonders we could show you, Countess.”
“Indeed,” said Caina. She feigned grabbing at Ark’s arm for support, and Ark stepped into the ruse without missing a beat. “Truly, you all have been most kind to me. Thank you, my lord governor. I do hope to see you again soon.”
They bowed to each other, and Ark escorted Caina from the hall.
“What a collection of fools,” said Caina, once they returned to the coach. She had drunk too much wine, and it had put her into a black mood. “Nicephorus is a thief, and an idiot to boot. A quarter of a million people must live in Rasadda. How is the city to feed itself if he illegally buys the peasants’ lands and converts them to pasture? That idiot is pushing the Saddai into the biggest revolt the Empire will see in our lifetimes, and he’s too blind and too greedy to see it.”
“We may have a problem,” said Ark.
“I should hope that is obvious.”
“A different problem.” Ark settled his broadsword between his knees. “I think Ephaeron might have recognized me.”
Caina blinked. “What?”
“I told you I served in the Eighteenth Legion,” said Ark. His lip twisted. “Or, rather, you figured it out. But it is common practice for a detachment of magi to travel with a legion, to use their arcane sciences for the defense of the Empire. Ephaeron spent four years with the Eighteenth.”
Caina scowled. “Do you think he recognized you?”
“I don’t know,” said Ark. “We never spoke to each other. The magi dislike associating with common soldiers, even with lower-ranking centurions. But we must have seen each other a hundred times, and even took the field together.”
“He had to ask your name,” said Caina. “He must not have remembered you.”
“And he did not seem upset when I told him my alias,” said Ark. “Still, it worries me. If he happens to look into the records of the Eighteenth Legion, he will see that I gave him a false name.”
Ghost in the Flames (The Ghosts) Page 7