Ghost in the Flames (The Ghosts)

by Moeller, Jonathan

  “I know this,” said Caina. “I watched a man burn to death. And every magus I have spoken with has told me that same.”

  Tadaia’s eyes narrowed. “You are a friend of the magi?”

  “Of course not,” said Caina. “The Magisterium is cruel and corrupt. But when even they say that pyromancy is dangerous…”

  “Indeed,” said Tadaia. She took a deep breath. “Listen to me. You think there are understandable purposes behind these murders. That the victims were killed for political reasons. Or for mere money. It may have started out that way, but no longer. The practice of pyromancy bestows tremendous power. But essence of pyromancy is fire, and the essence of fire is to burn. To burn! An Ashbringer can bring fiery death down upon his enemies. But at the same time, the power is devouring him. Burning him. Burning away his body, his soul, and his mind. An Ashbringer always goes insane. Inevitably. Sooner or later, the power burns away his reason.”

  “Then the old Saddai kings…”

  “Oh, yes,” said Tadaia. “Every last one of them went mad, and Corazain was the maddest of them all. They tortured children for their own amusement. They took what women they pleased, and none dared defy them. They would kill on whim, or for no reason at all. And they discovered the deeper truth within the flames.”

  “What truth is that?”

  “That death can unlock powers even more terrible,” said Tadaia. “A man will burn a coal for heat and light. For fuel. The Ashbringers discovered how to burn a man to feed their strength. If they used pyromancy to kill a man…they could drain his strength, his very life force, into their own bodies. They used that stolen strength to heal their wounds, to augment their sorcery, to extend their own lives. The mightiest Ashbringers could live for centuries, cruel, mighty, and insane, nightmares made flesh, until at last their powers devoured them from within.”

  “Gods,” whispered Caina. She remembered how powerful Maglarion had grown on stolen life force. Little wonder that the Empire had fought to bring the Ashbringers down so long ago.

  “And Corazain was the maddest of them all,” repeated Tadaia. “Do you know the story of his final spell?”

  “Yes,” said Caina. “When Crisius besieged the city, Corazain withdrew to the pinnacle of his funeral pyramid. He unleashed his powers in a final spell that destroyed most of the city and Crisius’s army.”

  “You are almost right,” said Tadaia. “Corazain did indeed withdraw to the pyramid. But he unleashed his powers against the Saddai, not against Crisius’s army.”

  “His own people?” said Caina, horrified. With an effort she remembered to keep her voice disguised. “Why?”

  “He burned them all to fuel his own strength, his own sorcery,” said Tadaia. “A hundred thousand people, and he burned them all to feed his power. He thought it would transform him into a living god, and then he would strike down Crisius’s host with a thought. But the power was too much for him. Mortal flesh could not contain it. It destroyed him, and the ruin of his destruction burned Rasadda to the ground. Crisius’s army was destroyed only by accident.”

  “He tried to slaughter his own people to become a god?” said Caina, appalled. Yes, it did indeed remind her of Maglarion.

  “Yes,” said Tadaia. “For that was the Ashbringer way, the inevitable end of the path they walked. And now you know why I dread that a true Ashbringer might stalk Rasadda.”

  “A magus was burned to death last night,” said Caina. “Does that mean the killer could…devour the dead man’s arcane strength, add it to his own?”

  “It does,” said Tadaia. “And this Ashbringer has murdered nearly thirty people. Probably more. By now he has grown mighty, so mighty that only the strongest magi of the Magisterium could dare oppose him. And the stolen power has undoubtedly driven him mad.”

  “So that means he’d be stronger than a normal man,” said Caina, “tougher, too.”

  “If you can find him,” said Tadaia, “you will have to kill him quickly. Perhaps before he even sees you. For if he has a chance to employ his powers against you, you will almost certainly perish. And even killing him may prove difficult. All the men and women he has burned to death will have given him a…a reserve of stolen life force. A reservoir, you might call it. It will heal all but the most grievous wounds quickly. This Ashbringer could take enough punishment to kill ten men before he even began to slow down.”

  “Splendid,” said Caina. “Do you have any idea where I can find him? Or even where I can start looking?”

  “It is someone in the Sons of Corazain,” said Tadaia. “I am sure of that. Beyond that, I cannot say. I have tried to use the sight granted to me by the Living Flame, but I have met with no success. The Ashbringer is strong enough, I think, to cloak himself from my sight. But I have a suspicion where he might be hiding.”

  “Where?” said Caina.

  “The Sign of the Anchor,” said Tadaia. “It is a tavern and an inn, located near the docks. The poor fill the city’s streets, and they tell me things. Lately I have heard that men have been seen carrying burned bodies from the Inn’s back door, and the place stinks of burnt flesh.”

  “I see,” said Caina, disappointed. She remembered the half-burned corpse Valgorix had found behind the Inn of Mirrors. The man had undoubtedly been burned to cover up a common killing, not as part of some mad arcane ritual. But, still. What if the pyromancer was hiding there? Caina could not risk overlooking anything. “Thank you, Sister. You have been most helpful.”

  “Ghost,” said Tadaia, rising. “Listen to me. If you are going to find the pyromancer, you must do so quickly. Things are going to become much worse very soon. I can feel it in my bones. If you do not find him soon…I fear it will be too late.”

  “I understand,” said Caina. “We may speak again.”

  She stooped, snatched the blanket from the bed, and flung it over the old woman in one smooth motion. Tadaia sputtered in surprise, pawing at the blanket. Caina swung past her, opened the shutters, rolled out the window, pushed the shutters closed behind her, and broke into a run. A few blocks later she paused, ducking into a doorway to catch her breath and to think things over.

  Doubt tugged at her. Was it too late? Even if she found the pyromancer, even if she stopped him, would Rasadda explode into revolt anyway? Nicephorus had pushed the Saddai too hard for too long. Perhaps nothing could stop the revolt. And had the pyromancer grown too strong, too powerful, to be stopped?

  Caina looked at the everlasting pyres raging atop the pyramids, envisioned them devouring all of Rasadda, and shivered.

  Chapter 21 - Assassins

  It was well past midnight when Caina climbed the wall and returned to her bedroom at the Inn of Mirrors. The maids were asleep, and so was Ark. He needed his rest, and no further work could be done tonight, so Caina returned to her bedroom, stripped off the her nightfighter’s garb, and went to bed.

  Her usual nightmares were jumbled. In one she reached her father’s chair, only to see him erupt into flames, screaming as Ostros had screamed. Her mother tried to cast a spell on her, shrieking curses, only she turned into Kalastus, and his clammy hands pulled her close. The magi chained her to a table, only they became the Sons of Corazain, knives glittering as they slid the blade into her belly, digging, digging, digging, Maglarion’s laughter filling her ears…

  Caina awoke that morning with her head pounding and her mouth dry. She rose, washed out her mouth, wrapped herself in a robe, and went to the sitting room. Ark sat alone at the table, running a whetstone down the length of his broadsword. The steady rasp of stone against steel made her feel better, oddly enough.

  Ark glanced at her. “You slept poorly, didn’t you?”

  “Yes,” said Caina, sitting across from him. “Too many scars on the mind.”

  Ark nodded his understanding, testing the edge of the blade with his thumb.

  “Where are the maids?” said Caina.

  “The common room,” said Ark. “I told them to go eat something. They wanted to wait u
ntil you awoke, but I told them you would call for them. I figured you would want to speak privately.”

  Caina nodded.

  “What did you learn from Sister Tadaia?”

  “Nothing good,” said Caina. “She thinks the pyromancer is hiding at the Sign of the Anchor.”

  Ark looked dubious. “There? I know the place. It’s a tavern. Sailors favor it. Along with independent merchant captains.”

  “And by independent merchant captains,” said Caina, “I assume that you mean smugglers.”

  “And pirates of all stripes,” said Ark. “They’ll sell their cargoes in Mors Crisius, where the customs agents are not so vigilant, and then return to Rasadda to keep up appearances. Most of the sailors are who frequent the Sign are foreign-born, Caerish and Istarish and Anshani, and they detest the Saddai. If the pyromancer is one of the Sons of Corazain…the Sign seems like a strange place for a Saddai Ashbringer to hide.”

  “I agree,” said Caina. “Yet Sister Tadaia says that the beggars have seen men carrying burned bodies in and out of the Sign.”

  Ark frowned. “Like the one Valgorix found outside the Inn. I thought you said that was only an imitation killing.”

  “I did,” said Caina. “And I doubt the Sign of the Anchor has anything to do with the pyromancer. But it’s the only lead we have at the moment. I want you to go there and look around. I’d do it myself, but there’s no way an Imperial Countess would ever go to a sailors’ tavern, and I can hardly walk in there hooded and masked.”

  Ark nodded. “I’ll say I’m looking for work. The pirates are so rife that merchant ships are always looking for guards. And pirate ships always want swords.” A brief smile flashed over his face. “And if anyone realizes that I work for you, I will say that you are a cruel and capricious mistress, and I wish to leave the serve of House Nereide as soon as possible.”

  Caina laughed. “Oh, very good.”

  “What will you do?” said Ark.

  “I’ll have to wait here,” said Caina. “If you see anything interesting at the Sign, we’ll go back together, after dark.”

  Ark nodded. “I’ll leave at once.”

  “Don’t do anything rash. And if you do find the pyromancer, don’t try to fight him. Tadaia thinks the pyromancer can absorb the strength of those he’s murdered, which might have made him too strong to kill without doing something clever.”

  Ark snorted. “See? A cruel and capricious mistress, indeed. It’s past time I fled from you and went to sea.”

  “I’m pleased that you see reason,” said Caina. “Be careful.”

  Ark nodded, returned his sword to its scabbard, and left. A short time later Cornelia, Julia, and Anya hurried into the room. Ark had sent them back up. They insisted on drawing a bath, and Caina gave in without too much arguing. It eased some of the ache from her overexerted muscles. Afterwards Caina locked herself in her bedroom and went through the open-handed forms. It made her feel better, cleared her mind.

  After, Caina donned her robe again, returned to the sitting room, and ate breakfast, paging idly through her book on the siege of Rasadda. Perhaps an answer would leap out at her. None did, though. Caina sighed and gazed at the book itself. For some reason it seemed to stick into her mind.

  A book. Why did that seem so important? Caina frowned, but the answer hovered just out of reach, the like the words to a song she could not quite recall…

  Someone screamed.

  Caina looked up in sudden alarm.

  “My lady?” said Anya. “What was that noise?”

  “It came from the common room,” said Caina, getting to her feet.

  The door smashed open, and men hurried into the sitting room. Four Saddai men, to be precise. They carried shortswords in their hands, and beneath their opened shirts and vests Caina saw the swirling flames of Corazain upon their chests.

  Four of them. Oh, this was bad.

  Caina suspected that she was about to die.

  “How dare you enter here?” raged Cornelia. “How dare you…”

  The nearest man backhanded her, sent her sprawling to the carpet. Anya and Julia shrieked and retreated towards the far wall. Caina watched them, cursing herself for a fool. She bore no weapons. Why hadn’t she at least tucked a dagger into her robe’s sash?

  “What is your business here?” said Caina, putting ice into her voice.

  The Sons of Corazain looked at each other and laughed.

  “Countess Marianna Nereide?” said the man who had backhanded Cornelia. He gave Cornelia a vicious kick as she tried to crawl away.

  “I am,” said Caina. “State your business with me, immediately.”

  They laughed again.

  “Foolish bitch,” said the lead man. “We’re here to kill you, to make you pay for your crimes.”

  Gaidan’s work. Still smarting from Tadaia’s public rebuke, no doubt. Caina wished that she had killed him when she had the chance.

  “Crimes?” said Caina, hoping to stall. “What crimes?” Surely Sairzan, or one of his servants, would call for the militia soon. Unless the Sons of Corazain had killed everyone in the Inn.

  “The crimes of the Empire,” spat the man. “You have stolen our lands and left us to starve.”

  “Have I?” said Caina. “That was quite a feat, one woman stealing lands from so many strong men.”

  “You will pay for your crimes.”

  “I have committed no crimes, you fool,” said Caina. “Yesterday at this time I gave a small fortune to buy food for your starving people. Tell me again how this is a crime. Speak slowly. I am, after all, only a foolish bitch, and might not understand.”

  “Enough talk,” said the man.

  “Yes,” said Caina. “I’ll give you one chance. Walk away. Now. And nobody will die. Else I swear that at least one of you will die before another hour has past.” Maybe two, if she was lucky.

  They looked at each other, and roared with laughter.

  “Kill her,” said the man. “Leave the maids alive. We can have some fun with them before we kill them.”

  Caina snatched up some silverware from the table and held a butter knife out at an awkward angle. She let fear flood into her expression, her hand trembling as she waved the knife back and forth.

  “Stay back,” she said, “I’m warning…I’m warning you, stay back!”

  The Sons of Corazain laughed at again, and leader stepped forward. He seized her wrist with his left hand and twisted, and the knife fell from her fingers.

  “Careful,” he said, raising his short sword, “you might hurt yourself.”

  “You’re right,” said Caina, stabbing with fork she had hidden in her left hand. It plunged into his eye, and the leader reeled back with an awful scream, hands flying to his face. Caina caught the shortsword as it fell, reversed it, and stabbed into his gut. She wrenched the glistening blade free, blood splashing across her robe, and the leader toppled to the carpet, screaming.

  The three survivors stared at her in stupefied shock. Caina could have put a knife into any one of their throats, and again she cursed herself for leaving her weapons in the bedroom. She circled around the table, keeping the heavy slab of wood between her and them.

  “Well?” said Caina, raising the bloodstained sword.

  The Sons of Corazain roared and came at her. Caina wheeled and ran at the man coming on her left. She felt a tug and a wash of pain across her back she did. The man on her left yelled and slashed, and Caina ducked under his blow, the blade whizzing past her hair. Strong and fast these Sons of Corazain might have been, but none of them knew how to fight. Caina stabbed, her blade biting into his neck, and the man’s hands came up to his throat. She felt another blow coming behind her, and ducked, but too slow.

  The crosspiece of the sword caught her on the jaw, and Caina spun around. Her bare foot slipped on the bloodstained carpet, and she fell with a grunt of pain. She saw a sword descending and rolled away. The blade pinned the skirt of her robe, and Caina tore the cloth free with a desperate
yank. She sprang back to her feet, the tattered robe swirling around her legs, while the two remaining Sons of Corazain stalked after her.

  She was right next to the bedroom door. Caina turned and raced through it. The Sons of Corazain bellowed and followed her. She always hid her nightfighter clothes in hidden compartments at the bottom of a chest, but her weapons were a different story. Her belt rested on a chair, knives waiting in their leather sheaths. Caina snatched up the belt, yanked out a knife, wheeled, and flung the blade in one smooth motion. The Sons of Corazain were almost on her, and the whirling knife sheared away most of the nearest man’s right cheek. He screamed, blood spraying from his teeth, and the last man reached Caina.

  She tried to twist away as he stabbed, but a line of hot pain erupted along her left hip. Her assailant grunted and tried to recover his balance, and Caina hit him in the face. He stumbled back, sputtering, which gave Caina just enough time to slide another knife free of the belt and bury it in his neck. He fell, blood pouring from his wound, and tumbled back into the sitting room.

  Caina picked up a fallen short sword and walked towards the last man.

  “You can fight?” he mumbled, his words muffled by the necessity of holding his ruined cheek together. “But…but you’re a woman, and you can…”

  “Yes,” said Caina, cutting his throat, “surprising, isn’t it?”

  She stepped into the sitting room, looked at the dead bodies, doubled over, and threw up her breakfast. Caina gripped a chair for support, shuddering, the wounds on her shoulder and hip aching. Her robe, wet with both her blood and the blood of the dead men, hung limp and sodden around her. That had been close. If those men hadn’t been so stupid and incompetent. So close. Another inch, and she would lie dead on the carpet.

  The carpet. It was ruined. Caina wondered if Sairzan would charge extra, and laughed. Lightheaded. She really ought to sit down. No. Work to do first. She retrieved her knives from the dead men, cleaning the blades on their clothes.

  “My lady?”

  Julia and Anya approached, supporting Cornelia between them. Caina had forgotten all about them.