Jonathan Moeller - The Ghosts 07 - Ghost in the Ashes (18 page)

A bold plan, but one that might well work.

After all, no one ever looked up.

“I am hurrying,” said the Kindred by the fireplace.

“The damned militiamen will be here any moment,” said Nalazar. “Those Bostaji fools will fight to the death for their precious Shahenshah, but I have no wish to die in the name of our client. But if you don’t burn those papers by the time the militia arrives, the Elder of Istarinmul will have our heads.”

“Just burn the building down,” said the Kindred at the table. “Let the Bostaji and the Ghosts burn together. Perhaps their precious Shahenshah and Emperor will save them.”

Nalazar shrugged, turning from the window. “Why not? Bascaii will tell the Ghosts everything if…”

Then he saw Caina, and his eyes widened.

“The Ghosts!” he snarled, yanking his scimitar from its scabbard. “We…”

A bellow filled Caina’s ears, and Muravin stepped next to her, flinging his trident. She had thought it an impractical weapon, but he threw it with such force that the tines buried themselves in the chest of the Kindred at the table. The man toppled backwards and did not move.

Caina flung her throwing knife at Nalazar, but the Kindred raised his scimitar and deflected the blade. The assassin at the fireplace vaulted over the table, his scimitar as a blur as he attacked Muravin. The former gladiator fell back on his heels, driven back by the assassin’s furious attack. Corvalis leapt into the fray, sword in his right hand and dagger in his left. The Kindred danced back, avoiding Corvalis’s attacks.

Muravin roared, and the assassin raised his sword to block. But instead of stabbing or slashing, Muravin punched the younger man with his free hand. The assassin’s head snapped back with a spray of blood, and Corvalis struck.

The assassin collapsed, a dagger in his heart. Caina drew another throwing knife, hoping to line up on Nalazar…

Instead she saw that Nalazar held a second crossbow, the tip of the weapon’s bolt gleaming with poison.

“That’s quite enough,” said Nalazar, gesturing with the crossbow. “Leave and close the door behind you, and you might live through this.”

“Are you so sure of that?” said Caina, the crossbow turning in her direction. “You have one shot, and there are three of us.”

“Oh, you can count. How impressive,” said Nalazar. “So which of you shall die? Are the Ghosts as eager to die for their Emperor as the Bostaji are for their Shahenshah?” 

“You will die here, Kindred dog,” spat Muravin. “You will pay for the blood on your hands.” 

“You are one to speak, gladiator,” said Nalazar. “Oh, I recognize you, even with that helmet. How much blood stains your fingers?”

“Much,” said Muravin, “but I never slew a pregnant woman.”

“Semantics,” said Nalazar. He grinned, his black eyes flashing above his graying beard. “But that was the point. Our client wanted your daughters because they were pregnant. He wanted them for his precious Elixir. He cut the children from their wombs and burned them to ashes, and let your daughters bleed to death. The women meant nothing to him. They were only the carriers for…” 

Muravin stepped forward, and Nalazar pointed the crossbow at him, but Caina lifted a hand.

“This need not end in any death,” she said. 

“You want to bargain then, Ghost?” said Nalazar. “Information in exchange for my life?”

“Precisely,” said Caina. “Tell us who hired you to take Muravin’s daughters, and I will let you go.”

“He killed my daughters and grandchildren, Ghost!” said Muravin.

“He did,” said Caina, “but he was just a tool. A weapon wielded in the hand of another man. I want to know the name of that man, Nalazar.”

“Do you?” said Nalazar. “Very well. Ibrahmus Sinan.” 

Caina had suspected as much.

“Sinan?” said Muravin. “But why? He bore me no ill will.”

“He doesn’t,” said Nalazar, “but he’s an Alchemist, and he wants to live forever. And to live forever, he needs to be a Master Alchemist…”

“And to become a Master Alchemist,” said Caina, “he needs to brew a vial of Elixir Rejuvenata.”

“You understand,” said Nalazar. “I don’t know the process or the formula. But the spell involved apparently requires the ashes of unborn children. Specifically, the ashes of three unborn children taken from three sisters. Most Alchemists purchase families of slaves and ensure that three sisters are pregnant simultaneously at the appropriate time. But our Sinan, you see, is unpopular and despised for associating with that Anshani woman.”

“Tanzir Shahan’s mother,” said Caina. 

Nalazar nodded. “But Ashria is fond of her pet Alchemist, so she loaned him the money to hire us. And,” he gestured with the crossbow, “here we are. Sinan hired us, and Sinan is the one you want. Information for my life. A good bargain, no? If I had any intention of allowing you to live.”

He seized a glass bottle from the table, a dark fluid sloshing within, and flung it against the floor.

But Caina had recognized the liquid the stagehands of the Grand Imperial Opera used to create smoke. 

“Eyes!” she shouted, closing hers, and she felt the flash even through her closed eyelids. She opened her eyes and saw that the roomed had filled with gray smoke, that Corvalis and Muravin had thrown themselves against the walls. Through the haze she glimpsed Nalazar, saw him taking aim with the crossbow…

Caina threw herself over the table, weapons and glass bottles clattering around her, and her boots slammed into Nalazar’s gut. The assassin staggered back with a gasp, and the quarrel hissed from his crossbow and slammed into the wall. Caina surged to her feet and lunged at him with a dagger, but Nalazar swung his crossbow like a club. The heavy weapon slammed against the blade and wrenched the dagger from her hand. Caina stumbled, and Nalazar dropped the crossbow and threw a punch at her head. She deflected the blow, but he was strong, and the sheer force numbed her arm. Nalazar snatched his scimitar and stalked after her, drawing the blade back for a lethal thrust.

And then Muravin smashed into him like a falling mountain. 

Muravin seized Nalazar’s wrist and wrenched, bones snapping and crackling. Nalazar screamed and tried to pull away, but Muravin had a grasp like iron. The former gladiator’s hands clamped onto Nalazar’s throat and groin, and Caina heard a gristly tearing noise as Muravin raised Nalazar over his head, the assassin screaming.

“Nalazar!” roared Muravin. “When you land in hell tell the devils that I sent you in the name of Ardaiza and Ranai!”

He flung Nalazar out of the window.

Nalazar’s scream terminated in a final-sounding crack. 

Caina looked out at the street below, saw a ring of surprised militiamen surrounding what remained of Nalazar.

“Good throw,” said Corvalis.

Muravin closed his eyes and let out a long breath. “My daughters are avenged. But this is not over. Not until Sinan has paid for what he has done.” He turned towards the door. “As he soon shall.”

“Stay right there,” said Caina. “If you go after Sinan by yourself, you’ll get killed.”

“He is but one man,” said Muravin, “feeble from long study.” 

“He is a sorcerer,” said Caina, “and the gods only know what kind of powers he can bring to bear against you. The Alchemists turn their foes into statues of crystal, or so I have heard. Is that how you want to end? Have you ever fought a sorcerer before?”

“No,” admitted Muravin. 

“I have,” said Caina, “more often than I care to remember. So heed my counsel. Do not go after him alone. We will strike before he leaves Malarae.” She gestured at the table, waving away some smoke with her other hand. “In the meantime, help me gather up these papers.”

“To what use?” said Muravin. “We know Sinan is my enemy.”

“But Sinan may have other allies,” said Caina. “Other associates. The Malarae Kindred helped Nalazar, and perhaps we can find their Sanctuary. You want more vengeance, Muravin? Think of the blow we could deal the Kindred if we find their Sanctuary.” 

“Very well,” said Muravin. “I suspect you are accustomed to having your way in the end.”

“Wise man,” said Caina, gathering up the papers that the Kindred had not managed to burn. She leafed through them. Most of the papers were notes Nalazar had written to his various spies monitoring the Lord Ambassador’s residence, telling them to watch for Tanzir Shahan. One was a letter written to the Elder of Istarinmul, explaining reasons for the delay in fulfilling their contract with Ibrahmus Sinan. Nalazar, Caina noted, blamed all his difficulties upon the Ghosts.

She glanced out the window. He hadn’t been wrong. 

One note was in a different hand. It was a letter from Sinan, dated from this morning. In it, Sinan instructed the Kindred and the Bostaji to remain at the Serpents’ Nest. In fact, all available Kindred should gather together, since Sinan would have need of them.

Caina frowned behind her mask, a suspicion growing in her mind. Did Sinan plan some grand attack tomorrow?

“This doesn’t make sense,” said Caina.

“What is it?” said Corvalis.

Caina held out the letter.

“I don’t read Istarish,” said Corvalis.

“I don’t read,” said Muravin. 

Caina shook her head. “It’s a letter from Sinan, telling the Kindred and the Bostaji to gather here tonight and await his instructions. Why would he do that? It makes no sense.”

Corvalis shrugged. “He knows that both the emir and Mahdriva are in the same place. Maybe he wanted to send the Kindred and the Bostaji to strike at once, use them to kill the emir and kidnap Mahdriva.”

“That is a good plan,” said Caina. “But why write it down? It’s a huge risk. Why not send a verbal message, or tell Nalazar in person?” She stared at the letter. “The Istarish nobles are more brutal than those of the Empire, but it’s still illegal to hire Kindred assassins.”

“Or to hire Kindred assassins and get caught,” said Muravin. Some of the fury had faded from his expression, replaced by puzzlement. “Both the nobles and the Alchemists employ the Kindred on a regular basis. That is how I knew Nalazar – he often came to the College to arrange contracts with the Alchemists. But they were never foolish enough to put anything into writing.”

“Then why did Sinan do it?” said Corvalis.

Caina stared at the paper, thinking hard. “He’s not stupid. Not stupid enough to make a mistake like this, so he had to have done it deliberately. But why? To gather the Kindred and the Bostaji, obviously. And why do that? Why do it in writing? Why risk the consequences?”

She tossed the letter back on the table.

“He risked the consequences,” said Caina, “because he didn’t care about them. And he wanted to gather the Kindred and the Bostaji together, not to prepare them, but to…”

“To do what?” said Corvalis.

Caina blinked…and the answer came to her.

“Oh, damn,” she whispered.

“What?” said Corvalis.

“This was just a distraction,” said Caina. “He gathered the assassins here to draw our attention away from the mansion. He sent the instructions in writing because he didn’t care about the consequences…because he thinks he’ll be successful by tomorrow.” Her gaze snapped up from the letter. “He’s making a move against Tanzir and Mahdriva tonight.”

Or, she realized with a feeling of sinking dread, a move just against Mahdriva. Overpowering hundreds of Imperial Guards to reach the emir was no small task. But using sorcery to infiltrate the mansion unseen to kidnap Mahdriva would be far easier. And Caina suspected that Sinan cared more about becoming a Master Alchemist than fulfilling the amirja Ashria’s wishes. 

“Mahdriva is in danger?” said Muravin.

“I think so,” said Caina. “And if she’s not, she will be soon.”

“Then I must go at once,” said Muravin.

“Not alone,” said Caina, her mind racing. “I’ll come with you.”

“As will I,” said Corvalis.

“No,” said Caina. “Go find Tomard. As soon as they’ve dealt with the assassins, have him leave some men here and march for the Lord Ambassador’s mansion as fast as he can.” 

“You shouldn’t go alone,” said Corvalis.

“It is the best choice,” said Caina. “Tomard won’t move unless somewhere urges him to action. And if Muravin goes alone he might get himself killed.”

“We must go!” said Muravin. “Come if you wish, Ghost, but I must go to my daughter.” 

“The two of you should not go alone,” said Corvalis.

“Trust me,” said Caina.

She couldn’t see his expression beneath the cowl and mask, but she could guess at it. He hadn’t trusted her once before, during the fight against Mihaela at Catekharon, and that had almost resulted in their deaths and a war that would have devoured the world. 

“Very well,” said Corvalis. “I will speak to Tomard.”

She turned to follow Muravin.

“Be careful,” said Corvalis. 

“I’m always careful,” said Caina.

But that was a lie, and they both knew it.

Chapter 18 - Elixir Rejuvenata

A short time later Caina and Muravin arrived at the Lord Ambassador’s residence.

At once Caina saw that something was wrong. 

A ring of gray haze surrounded the mansion. At first Caina thought that Sinan must have set off more smoke bombs, or perhaps that a fire had broken out. 

Yet there was something odd about the smoke.

As they drew closer, it looked less like mist and more like smoke. Additionally, the mist was motionless. A normal mist would flow with the direction of the wind. This mist stood still, save for a slight rippling.

A ring of mist now surrounded the Lord Ambassador’s mansion. 

It was obviously the work of sorcery, and Caina felt the crawling tingle of arcane force as she drew closer.

Muravin strode towards it, sword and trident in hand, the tines still wet with blood. As he did, Caina saw dark shapes in the mist, motionless forms lying strewn on the street below the stairs to the mansion’s main doors. 

“Stop,” said Caina.

Muravin kept walking.

“Damn it,” said Caina, grabbing his shoulder, “stop.”

He glared at her. “Mahdriva is in danger. I must go to her.” 

“You have a good sword arm,” said Caina, “but you also have a brain and eyes. Use them!” She pointed. “Look.” 

Muravin stopped and looked, and his dark eyes went wide.

A dozen Imperial Guards lay motionless on the front stairs of the mansion. Neither their bodies nor their black armor bore any sign of violence, though Caina could not tell if they were breathing. Their armor was dry, without any trace of the condensation the mist should have left on the dark steel.

“The mist is poisonous?” said Muravin. 

“I don’t know,” said Caina. She waved a hand in front of the wall of mist, felt the painful tingles in her fingers. “But it’s a spell.”

“The work of an Alchemist,” said Muravin. “They can transmute air into poison, or into a mist that puts anyone who breathes it into a deep sleep.”

“Your trident,” said Caina. “That Guard is right at the edge of the mist. Try to drag him out. We can see if he’s still alive.”

Muravin nodded, and hooked the Guard under the armpit. He dragged the man out of the mist, the black armor scraping against the cobblestones. Caina stooped over the Guard and pulled away his helmet.

“He’s still breathing,” said Caina. “His pulse is good.” She touched his forehead, felt the tingling aura of sorcery clinging to the Guard. “But the spell is still on him. I don’t know how long it will take him to wake up.”

For the first time, she regretted that Halfdan had sent Corvalis’s sister to work with the Ghosts in Caer Magia. Claudia Aberon had once been a magus of the Imperial Magisterium, and she might have known how to lift the spell upon the unconscious Guard. 

On the other hand, Claudia did not handle herself well in a crisis.

“This is Sinan’s doing,” said Muravin. “We must get inside!” 

He stepped back, bracing himself.

“What are you doing?” said Caina.

“If I hold my breath long enough,” said Muravin, “perhaps I can reach the door.”

“There has to be a better way,” said Caina. “If you breathe that mist, you won’t be any good to Mahdriva.”  

“There isn’t a better way!” shouted Muravin. “If we wait for Anton to arrive with more men, Sinan will do to Mahdriva as he did to Ranai and Ardaiza! If we try to do something clever to get into the mansion, we will run out of time. I am going in there. Will you help me or not?”

She could not think of anything better.

Caina nodded. “I will. Take as many breaths as you can, quickly, and then one deep breath.” She began breathing quickly and raised her right hand. “Do you remember where the doors are?”

“Yes,” said Muravin, his chest rising and falling beneath the chain mail.

“Good. Take one more deep breath, and then we’ll run for the doors when I drop my hand,” said Caina.

She took a deep breath, sucking in as much air as she could manage, and then dropped her fist.

They sprinted into the mist, jumping over the prone Imperial Guards. The strange mist did not have the cool damp of most fogs, but she felt the arcane power tingling within it. Caina scrambled up the steps, moving through the gloom by memory, and then the gleaming double doors stood before her. Two Imperial Guards lay on either side of the doors. Which meant they had still been at their posts when the mist washed over the mansion, and that in turn meant Sinan had taken them by surprise.

Muravin was right. They had to hurry. 

Caina seized the door handles and pulled.

But the doors were locked. 

She tugged on them again, her stomach sinking in time to the growing burn in her lungs. She had not considered that Sinan might take the simple expedient of locking the doors behind him.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Muravin pushed her aside and pounded on the door, trying to kick it open as he had at the Serpents’ Nest. Caina grabbed his shoulder, trying to pull him back, but it was no good. He was going to save his daughter, or he was going to die trying.

The latter seemed more likely than the former.

Caina raced back down the stairs. An instant later she heard the thud as Muravin fell unconscious. Her chest burned, black spots dancing before her eyes. Her lungs screamed for her to breathe, to open her mouth, but Caina drove herself onward. The edge of the mist was almost there…

Too late. 

She could not stop herself, and sucked in a breath of the sorcerous mist. 

Yet nothing happened, and an instant later Caina staggered out of the mist and onto the street. 

She turned, stunned, waiting for the spell to take effect. Yet still nothing happened. She looked at the mist, baffled. It had affected the Imperial Guards and Muravin. Why hadn’t it touched her? What was different?

She was the only one wearing a shadow-cloak, true. But that made no sense. The shadow-cloak shielded her from divinatory and mind-affecting spells, but the mist was neither. 

But…what if it was?

Caina had thought the mist a sleeping elixir dispersed into the air. But what if it was actually a spell that commanded the mind to fall unconscious, to go to sleep? If it was, the shadow-cloak would protect her from it.

Only one way to test it. 

She glanced over her shoulder. There was still no sign of Corvalis and Tomard, and it might take the militiamen another hour to get across the city. That would give Sinan more than enough time to claim Mahdriva’s child. 

“Damn it,” whispered Caina, and stepped into the mist.

Nothing happened.

She stood in the gray gloom for a few moments, breathing in and out, and felt not the slightest trace of weariness. 

If anything, she felt far too frightened to fall asleep. 

She dragged Muravin out of the mist and to the street. Hopefully he would wake up in time to tell Corvalis what had happened here.

Then she took a deep breath and walked back into the mist.

The doors were locked, but there were other ways into the Lord Ambassador’s residence. The windows on the first floor stood eight feet above the ground, but Caina jumped and managed to catch the sill in her gloved hands. She pulled herself up by the strength of her arms, grateful for all the hours she had spent practicing the unarmed forms. 

She smashed the window, the leather of her glove protecting her hand, and climbed into the room beyond. It was a scriptorium for the Lord Ambassador’s scribes, with a row of writing desks and shelves storing paper and vials of ink. The room was deserted and free of the gray mist. 

Caina considered that. Most likely Sinan had brought allies with him, mercenaries or Immortals, and wanted them to move through the mansion without falling unconscious from the mist.

She would have to take care.

Caina hurried to the scriptorium door and opened it a few inches, peering into the corridor beyond. 

She froze in alarm.

A man walked past the door, clad only in trousers and armored black boots, a scimitar and the chain whip of an Immortal hanging at his belt. His eyes had the usual blue glow, but much brighter, so bright that his eyes looked like blazing blue coals. His chest and arms bulged with a freakish amount of muscle, and Caina saw the veins in his arms and torso glowing with the same blue light as his eyes. 

The man was an Immortal, or at least had been one. Sinan must have altered him in some way, giving him additional alchemical elixirs to enhance his speed and strength. 

Caina waited until the deformed Immortal disappeared from sight, and then eased into the corridor. She looked up and down, the bright frescos of the wall gleaming before her eyes, but saw no one. The presence of both the ring of mist and the strange Immortal meant that Sinan hadn’t left yet. And that meant Mahdriva was still here.

Would Sinan simply cut the child from her womb and then depart? 

Mahdriva’s bedroom seemed like the best place to start. Caina hurried down the corridor as fast as she dared, her ears straining for any footfalls. A pair of opened double doors on the right led to the main dining hall, and she heard movement from within. Caina stopped and peered around one of the massive doors. 

The Lord Ambassador’s dining hall was a grand affair, two stories tall with an encircling balcony and an intricate chandelier hanging beneath the ceiling’s elaborate skylights. A dozen Imperial Guards lay motionless on the floor. Caina saw both Halfdan and Lord Titus sitting in chairs, heads slumped to their chests, their arms bound behind their backs. Tanzir sat next to them, likewise bound, though he was conscious. 

Mahdriva sat tied to a chair next to him, clad in only in a shift. Tears streamed down her face, and she wept in silence, her despair plain. At least a dozen of the altered Immortals stood in the room. Caina stared at Mahdriva, trying to find a way past the Immortals…

Sinan strode into sight, resplendent in his robes of white and gold. His face trembled with rage and impatience, and in his right hand he carried something that looked like a large meat fork made from an odd silvery metal.

Caina was reasonably sure that it was not a meat fork.

“What’s wrong, Sinan?” said Tanzir, trying to take a defiant tone. “It didn’t work?”

“Be silent,” said Sinan, coming to a stop and gazing at something. 

Caina inched forward, trying to see more.

Sinan stood before the massive mirror she had seen in the dining hall earlier. The thing was at least ten feet tall and ten wide. Next to mirror stood another table, laden with jars and vials and glass tubes. But the mirror itself drew Caina’s attention. She saw Sinan’s scowling reflection, yet something seemed to be moving behind the glass. 

And she felt the faint pulse of sorcery coming from the mirror. 

Sinan turned. “I shall have to send another one.”

“Why?” said Tanzir. “You just sent that poor man through.”

“If he was successful, he should have returned almost immediately,” said Sinan. “Time does not flow at the same rate there as it does in the mortal world. A second here can be an entire day on the other side, though the conversion is never quite precise as…why I am explaining this to you?” He beckoned to the deformed Immortals. “Bring another Guard. I shall awaken him, and perhaps he will succeed where the others have failed.”

“You have already sent five men to their deaths!” said Tanzir.

“I will send as many as necessary,” said Sinan. 

“If you want those damned ashes so badly,” said Tanzir, “then go yourself, you miserable coward.”

“Coward?” said Sinan, glaring at Tanzir. “A rich choice of words from a fat sluggard who has never known want or hunger. I was born in chains, my lord emir. I clawed my way up from the dust, and I took everything I have, for nothing was given to me. And I shall take immortality as well.” 

“I might never have been a slave,” said Tanzir, “but I am not about to murder a pregnant woman so I can live forever.”

Sinan scoffed. “You are weak. Little wonder your own mother wants you dead. You were born to power, but are too feeble to keep it.” He pointed at the Immortals. “Bring another Guard. I will wake him and send him through the mirror.” 

The mirror? What did that mean? 

Still, it seemed that Caina had some time to save Mahdriva and the others, if Sinan was preoccupied with working a spell with the mirror. That gave Caina the time she needed to find Corvalis and Tomard and bring them here…

She stepped back from the door just as one of the Immortals came around the corner, an Imperial Guard slung over one shoulder. Caina froze in shock, as did the Immortal. Then the blazing blue eyes widened, and the Immortal roared, his voice unnaturally deep and rough. 

As one every Immortal in the dining hall looked at her, and Sinan’s black eyes widened. 

That was bad. 

“A Ghost!” shouted Sinan. “Take him alive!”

Caina broke into a sprint. The Immortal in the corridor roared again and pursued her, as did the Immortals in the dining hall. The Immortals were not wearing shadow-cloaks, and the sorcerous elixirs in their blood might not protect them from the enspelled mist surrounding the mansion. If she lured them outside, they would fall victim to the mist …

The Immortal flung the unconscious Guard like a missile.

Caina tried to dodge, but the Guard’s armored leg smacked into her back. The impact knocked her to the ground, the Guard landing atop her with enough force to blast the breath from her lungs. 

She put both hands on the Guard’s cuirass, trying to shove him off. The man was at least twice her weight, even without the bulk of his armor. At last she slid out from under him and regained her feet.

A dozen of the deformed Immortals surrounded her, scimitars in hand.

“You will,” said one of the Immortals, his voice inhumanly deep, “come with us. Now.” 

Caina looked at the Immortals, at their gleaming scimitars, and then gave a sharp nod. They fell around her and led her to the dining hall. Sinan awaited them, the metal fork in his right hand. 

The strange mirror loomed behind them, a peculiar rippling dancing in the glass. For a moment Caina had the oddest feeling that it was not a mirror but a window.