Ghost in the Razor (25 page)

Caina grunted, breathing hard. “Won’t make much a painting, will it?”

Morgant barked out a laugh.

They reached the corridor on the first floor of the tower. Harsh crimson light still poured through the windows. The Hellfire inferno had not diminished much during their time in the laboratory. It had felt like hours, but Caina realized it had only been minutes. A boot scraped against the floor, and she turned her head, belatedly realizing that she could not draw a weapon without dropping Kylon.

Nasser came into sight, Laertes and a pair of Shopur’s mercenaries running after him.

“Ah, good,” said Nasser as calmly as if they had been sipping coffee in the Shahenshah’s Seat. “You were successful?”

Caina nodded.

“The Exile,” said Nasser, looking at Kylon. “Is he…”

“Alive,” said Caina. “Long story. Tell you later. We have to move. The Mirror of Worlds is about to break.”

“All the more reason to be gone, then,” said Nasser. He gestured, and Laertes and the mercenary relived Caina and Morgant of Kylon. “A large column of Immortals is on its way here and will arrive any moment. Our work is done and the treasury is empty, and we need to be gone from here.”

“That is the wisest thing you have said in a very long time,” said Morgant.

Nasser ignored the assassin and beckoned, and together they hastened from the drum tower. Rubble and patches of crimson flame filled the courtyard, and a huge crater marked where the outbuilding had once stood, a pillar of red fire burning within it. The gate was gone, and gaping breaches marked the curtain wall. Caina and the others scrambled over the rubble, into the Saddaic Bazaar, and to the darkened alleys.

Arcane power spiked against Caina’s skin, and she turned, fearing that a sorcerer had found them. 

Instead she saw the drum tower fall into itself with a massive roar, a cloud of red-lit stone dust billowing up from the wreckage.

The Mirror of Worlds had collapsed, taking the Craven’s Tower with it.

“Come!” said Nasser, and they ran into the night.

Chapter 21: The Secret

Kylon drifted in nothingness for a long time. 

Perhaps he was dead. Perhaps this was his deserved fate in the next life. But what had he done to deserve it?

Piece by piece, he started to remember.

His parents, dead in the vicious politics of the Kyracian Assembly. He had been too young to save them.

His sister Andromache, strong and proud, guiding House Kardamnos with a firm hand, until her strength and pride had undone her. Kylon had not been wise enough to save her.

His wife Thalastre, vigorous and full of life and hope for the future. Kylon had not been strong enough to save her.

Caina Amalas, her cold blue eyes seeming to burn with their own fire, her clever mind forging weapons of cunning to use against her enemies. He had failed her, in the end, had not been able to save her from the Sifter’s wrath. 

The Sifter?

Kylon realized that he could not remember what had happened to the Sifter. 

Was he dead, then? There had been fire, steel shards plunging into his chest, and then silver fire that had devoured him. Perhaps he was dead. 

If he was dead, why could he smell…flowers, was that it? Why did he feel something soft beneath him? The air was warm and dry against his face, and the faint murmur of voices and the tread of soft feet filled his ears. 

He felt utterly tired, but otherwise comfortable. Kylon was sure that if he had died, he would not feel comfortable. 

At last his mind came back into focus, and he opened his eyes and turned his head. 

He was lying in a narrow bed, a blanket pulled over him. A square of white curtains hung around the bed, creating a small room. Sunlight shone from skylights in the ceiling overhead, and through the curtains Kylon glimpsed a sagging brick wall. There was a wooden chair and stool next to his bed, and a man in leather armor and ragged trousers sat slumped in the chair, dusty boots propped on the stool. 

No. Not a man. It was Caina, disguised as a caravan guard. She was asleep, her head resting against her shoulder. It made her look oddly peaceful.

Kylon started to sit up, and her eyes snapped open, her hand reaching for a dagger at her belt. She blinked several times and relaxed, lowering her feet and pulling her chair closer. A surge of relief went through her emotional aura. 

She was glad to see him. 

“You’re awake,” Caina said. She hesitated. “Do…you remember who you are? Who I am?”

“Of course,” said Kylon, confused. “You’re…” He started to speak her name, and then realized that saying the name of Istarinmul’s most wanted woman was probably not the best idea. “I know who you are. I know who I am. But…I don’t know where I am.”

“A hospice in the Cyrican docks,” said Caina, lowering her voice as she leaned closer. “The Sisters of the Living Flame founded it for wraithblood addicts, to help free them of their enslavement to Callatas’s sorcerous poison. They owed me a favor or two, so I brought you here.”

Kylon laughed a little. “In other words, you’ve given them a lot of money.”

“They do good work,” said Caina. “Azaces brought Nerina here, when she wanted to break free of her addiction.” She tilted her head to the side. “How do you feel? You look…better than I expected.”

“I feel fine,” said Kylon. “Only confused. What happened? Were we successful?”

“We were,” said Caina. “The Sifter’s gone, and we wrecked the Craven’s Tower in the process. Nasser and Kazravid emptied the treasury vault, and we’ve paid off Shopur and his men. You got a share of the money as well.”

Kylon snorted. “I do not want it.”

“You should take it, anyway,” said Caina. “You might have need of it soon enough. That much money will buy a lot of allies against men like Cassander Nilas and Malik Rolukhan.”

“What happened to me?” said Kylon, looking at his chest. He ought to have wounds there. Some of the scars he had acquired in the last year of fighting in gladiatorial contests had vanished. “I remember…something stabbed me. Then silver fire…and nothing until I woke up here.” 

“The Sifter,” said Caina. A shadow came over her emotional sense. Regret? Grief? Guilt? He was not sure. “It wanted you out the way so it could deal with me. So it threw a bolt of fire at one of the tables, and the shards from the explosion hit you. You…should be dead, Kylon.”

“Yes,” he said, remembering the pain as the molten-hot steel plunged into his chest and neck. “I should be. You…did something, didn’t you?”

“The silver fire is your only salvation,” whispered Caina.

Kylon flinched. “The Surge’s words.”

“They weren’t for you, I’m afraid,” said Caina. “They were a message for me. I used the Elixir Restorata on you, Kylon. It healed every wound and injury you have taken in the last year and a day…including the wounds the Sifter had dealt you.”

Kylon said nothing.

“I’m sorry,” said Caina. “I didn’t know if it would work. For all I knew the Elixir would fail, or transform you into a monster. Morgant wanted to just cut your throat and I leave. I’m sorry. I…”

“For what?” said Kylon.

Caina blinked. 

“Why are you sorry?” said Kylon. “You saved my life.” He took a deep breath. “Maybe you shouldn’t have. That Elixir would have been worth a king’s ransom. With that money you could have done more things like this hospice, or…”

“Kylon,” said Caina.

He kept speaking. “Or you could have used it for someone who deserved it more, who hadn’t failed his…”

“For the gods’ sake,” said Caina, but there was no anger in her voice or her emotional sense. “You don’t deserve to die. I fought the Huntress, too, remember. It is frankly a miracle that you survived her at all. And I wasn’t going to let you die, not when I had something that might save you.” Her blue eyes met his without blinking. “I didn’t think you deserved to die.”

He had to look away first.

“The Sifter,” he said at last. “How did you defeat it?”

Caina shrugged. “I’m not really sure. I let it possess me.” His eyes widened a bit at that. “Then I threatened to kill myself with the valikon. The Sifter…I don’t think it handled the concept of mortality very well. It panicked and fled, and the Mirror of Worlds started to collapse when it was pulled through the gate. Then I found you, used the Elixir, and we got the hell out of there. When the Mirror collapsed, the explosion wiped out the rest of the Craven’s Tower.” She shrugged. “I think we got away clean. No one seems to know what happened. Grand Wazir Erghulan blamed Rolukhan for improperly handling the Hellfire, and Rolukhan blamed the Immortals for accidentally setting the Hellfire aflame.”

“Cassander will know what happened,” said Kylon. “It was his spell upon the Sifter. Rolukhan and Callatas know there was a wraithblood laboratory in the Tower. They will suspect the truth.” 

Caina shrugged again. “They already had multiple reasons to kill us. What’s one more?” 

Kylon considered that in silence for a few moments. 

“You actually bluffed the Sifter?” he said.

“It wasn’t a bluff,” she said. “I would have run myself through with the valikon.” 

“Then…you actually bullied an elemental spirit into yielding,” said Kylon.

“I wouldn’t call it bullying,” said Caina, and one of those rare smiles flashed over her face. “I forcefully made my point, let’s say.” 

“The secret,” said Kylon. “Morgant’s secret. Did he keep his word?”

“He did,” said Caina. “Or he will, rather. I’m meeting him at Nasser’s new safe house in a few hours. He’s going to tell me there. I would tell Nasser anything he tells me anyway, so he might as well tell us both at once. I just wanted to stop here to make sure you were resting well.”

“Thank you,” said Kylon. “For my life.”

“You don’t deserve to die,” said Caina. She reached over, gave his hand a quick squeeze, and then withdrew her fingers. “I know you don’t believe me…but maybe I can convince you otherwise, eventually.” She stood. “I should go.”

“Actually, I can come with you,” said Kylon, sitting all the way up. “I’m rested, and I feel fine. Just ravenous.” 

Caina hesitated. “If you feel up to it.”

Kylon nodded, pushed aside his blankets, and then remembered that he was not wearing any clothes. 

He jerked the blanket back into place, but not before Caina’s eyes flicked down and then back up again. A deep surge of emotion went through her aura, and Kylon was certain that she was angry.

No. She was embarrassed. She was so embarrassed that he could actually see a faint tinge of red coming into her cheeks. He started to open his mouth to apologize, and then realized something else.

She wasn’t embarrassed because of him. She was embarrassed because she had looked. 

It took Kylon a bit to wrap his mind around that. He hadn’t thought that Caina Amalas was capable of embarrassment. 

“I don’t suppose,” said Kylon, “that the Sisters have my clothes?”

“The Elixir’s fire burned them away,” said Caina, not meeting his gaze. “I…will get some clothes from the Sisters. Be right back.” 

“Wait,” said Kylon. She stopped mid-turn, looking back over her shoulder, her emotions unsettled and almost anticipatory. “You carried me out of the Widow’s Tower.”

Caina nodded.

“If it makes you feel better,” said Kylon, “then it’s nothing that you haven’t seen before.” 

A laugh burst from her mouth, almost as if against her will. Then she shook her head, grinned, and went in search of clothing.

###

A few hours later Caina walked to Nasser’s new hideout in the Old Quarter.

“A sculpture works?” said Kylon, looking around. 

“I think he chose it just to annoy Morgant,” said Caina.

“He’ll get no argument from me, then,” said Kylon. 

The Istarish nobility, like the nobles of the Empire, were mad for sculptures. That meant the wealthy merchants tried to imitate the nobles, and so there was a booming business in sculptures that looked like marble without the actual prohibitive cost of marble. That meant a lot of white paint and plaster. Various molds stood scattered around the courtyard, along with some blocks of actual marble. Slaves and journeymen sculptors labored over the molds, pouring wet plaster, painting the finished statues, or chipping rough figures from the stone. Caina made her way past them, holding a courier’s satchel, and came to the workshop proper. A flight of stairs led to a small apartment, and Caina knocked.

Locks rattled and the door swung open to reveal Laertes, a crossbow in hand.

“Ciaran,” said Laertes with a grunt. He glanced at Kylon, frowned, and then shrugged. “Best come inside.” 

Laertes led them into a small sitting room. Nasser sat at a low round table, sipping coffee. Morgant leaned against the wall, arms folded over his chest. 

“A sculptor’s works,” he muttered. “It is offensive. Any idiot can pound a chisel against a block of stone. There’s no artistry to it.”

“Perhaps,” said Nasser with smooth calm, “you ought to explain to them what they’re doing wrong.” 

“Well,” said Morgant, looking up. “The Balarigar arrives. And the Kyracian, as well! You’re looking less dead than I would have expected.”

“How kind of you,” said Kylon. Like Caina, he wore the clothes and armor of a mercenary guard. If anyone had seen them walking across the city, they would look like a pair of couriers on their rounds. 

“Your shares of the treasury,” said Nasser, nodding at a pair of pouches upon the table. “Converted into gems and platinum coins for your convenience.” 

“Thank you,” said Caina. She would use the money to strengthen the Ghost circle in Istarinmul, to recruit additional informers and purchase new safe houses.

“My share of the takings,” said Laertes, “would make an excellent dowry for my daughter, Ciaran.”

“Your daughter?” said Kylon.

“Laertes’s ongoing task is to find husbands for all of his daughters,” said Caina. “He thinks I would fit the role admirably.” 

“I…see,” said Kylon. She could tell he was trying not to look amused. 

“Gentlemen,” said Nasser. “As enjoyable as this is, I believe we have a matter of a debt to be repaid. Specifically, Morgant promised Ciaran to reveal his knowledge if Ciaran defeated the Sifter. Well, the Sifter is defeated and the Craven’s Tower overthrown. So, assassin. Will you honor your word? Will you tell Ciaran what he wishes to know?” 

“Do you want the lord of glass and dust to overhear?” said Morgant, ignoring Nasser and looking at Caina. “He really is an idiot, I’m afraid.” 

“We’ve gone into danger together,” said Caina, “and he has saved my life several times.” 

“And the Kyracian?” said Morgant. “Do you trust him?”

“Yes,” said Caina.

Kylon shifted a bit, but said nothing.

Laertes snorted. “What about me, assassin?”

“Please,” said Morgant. “You’re Glasshand’s retainer and a Legionary veteran. If he tells you to throw yourself out the window, you’ll do it before checking to see how far the fall is.”

“I can see why you find him annoying,” said Laertes to Nasser. 

“Morgant,” said Caina, and the pale eyes swung back to her. “Enough games. Tell me what happened to Annarah.” 

“Very well,” said Morgant. Nasser’s face remained impassive, but he leaned forward a little. “I told you some of it. I was there when Iramis burned, a century and a half ago. Callatas found me and hired me to hunt down Annarah. Apparently some of the loremasters escaped the destruction of Iramis, and he feared that they would come for him.”

“As well he should have,” said Nasser.

“It wasn’t hard to find her,” said Morgant. “She was clever, and strong with sorcery…but something of an innocent, really. She still had faith in people. I tracked her down in Rumarah.”

“Rumarah?” said Kylon.

“A town on the southeastern edge of the Desert of Candles,” said Caina. “It’s a small port on the Alqaarin Sea, a notorious den of robbers.”

“It was not always thus,” said Nasser. “Once it was the second port of Iramis, and a thousand ships traded there every day. I fear it has gone into marked decline since Callatas’s great crime.” 

“I caught her there, trying to take a ship,” said Morgant, his voice distant with the memory. “She had the Staff and the Seal with her, along with the pyrikon that you now bear.” He flicked a finger at Caina’s wrist. “The loremasters of Iramis were powerful, but sworn to use their powers only for defense and knowledge and healing, and she had no chance against someone like me. I was going to kill her…”