"It is a worthy servant," said Khosrau, "who cares for her mistress with diligent loyalty."
Caina did a curtsy as well.
"Your performance was magnificent," said Khosrau. "I have heard the story of Lord Corbould's noble ancestor Tertius many times, but your voice truly brought the tale to life."
"My lord is gracious," said Theodosia. "I am fortunate to have an audience of such refined taste. Why, if you can believe it, there were times when I have been jeered in Malarae."
"An outrage!" said Khosrau. "Why, were such an affront to take place in Cyrioch, I would order the villains crucified on the spot, and their skulls hung over the Amphitheatre's gates as a warning to others."
Theodosia laughed, her hand at her throat. "That is the kindest thing anyone has ever said to me! Though I really wish you wouldn't, if you will forgive the impertinence of a poor opera singer. It is dreadfully hard to remember the lyrics through the stink of a rotting corpse."
"Well," said Khosrau, "perhaps I'll simply have them flogged, then. Cheaper than crucifixion, anyway." He turned to Lord Corbould. "Corbould, I must thank you again for bringing the Grand Imperial Opera to Cyrioch. The performance was sublime."
Corbould nodded. "It is merely a token of the esteem in which both I and the Emperor hold your friendship, my lord Khosrau."
"My lords, this is unseemly," said Armizid, looking at Theodosia with tight-lipped disapproval. "For two high lords of the Empire to converse with an...an entertainer in public! And to discuss matters of state in front of her and her drudge! Cyrica is strong, and our friendship is greatly desirable...surely our friendship merits more than an opera company!"
Khosrau snorted. "Cyrica is strong...but not strong enough to stand on its own. If we were not part of the Empire, Anshan would conquer us in a matter of days. Or the Istarish would seize our lands." He snorted. "Or even if the Empire, Anshan, and Istarinmul all chose to ignore us, the Sarbian desert men would burn our plantations and seize our slaves for themselves. No, if Cyrica is to survive...we must have friends. Strong friends."
"Friends," said Corbould, "such as the Emperor of Nighmar and his Legions."
"Perhaps," said Khosrau. He waved his hand at the assembled guests, his bearded face growing melancholy. "Tell me, Corbould. Do they ever reflect upon how fragile it all is? So many proud lords and wealthy merchants. Yet power can crumble and riches fade, sometimes in a heartbeat."
"Aye," said Corbould. "I know it well, Khosrau. I was at Marsis when the Istarish betrayed the Empire. One moment I was greeting the Lord Ambassador of Istarinmul. The next I was fighting for my life in the alleys of Marsis."
Caina shivered, fighting to keep her expression calm. The memories of the fighting in Marsis flashed through her mind. She remembered the dread, the fear that she had lost Nicolai to the Istarish slavers. That she would have to tell Ark and Tanya that she had lost their son. She had saved Nicolai...but that dread had never left her.
"Yes," murmured Khosrau. "You do understand. Perhaps that is the curse of mortal men, my friend. Everything good we try to do turns to evil in the end, and no matter how we strive for peace, war comes for us." He grunted and waved his cane. "This war with the Istarish and the Kyracians? What utter folly! The Empire cannot overthrow the Kyracian fleets to conquer New Kyre or breach the walls of Istarinmul. But likewise the Kyracians and the Istarish cannot conquer the Empire. Why fight, then? All those lives lost for nothing. It would have been better for those men to stay home and raise crops and children."
Caina wondered how Khosrau would react if she told him the truth, that the Moroaica had engineered the war to free her disciple Scorikhon from his tomb below Marsis's Citadel.
"War provides the opportunity for glory," said Armizid, "and new wealth and lands."
"So many have thought," said Khosrau, "and their bones molder upon the battlefields."
"Like Rezir Shahan," said Corbould. "He made war upon our Emperor, and look at his fate."
Armizid bristled. "Is that a threat, Maraeus?"
Khosrau snorted. "Don't be absurd, boy. Lord Corbould merely states a fact. Rezir Shahan made war upon the Empire, and now he is dead. Incidentally, how did he die?"
Corbould shrugged. "I don't really know. If you would believe the commoners, they say a myth called the Balarigar slew him."
"The Balarigar?" said Khosrau.
"A legend of the Szaldic peasants, I understand," said Corbould. "A slayer of sorcerers and a liberator of slaves. The commoners claim the Balarigar appeared and slew Rezir Shahan. Myself, I think Shahan's troops mutinied and killed him. I saw Shahan's head upon a javelin with my own eyes."
Caina kept her mouth from twitching. How would these proud lords react if they knew the Balarigar was actually the maid standing next to the opera singer? She was almost tempted to say it, just to see the expression on Armizid's face.
But some things were best kept secret.
"Enough of this talk of war and blood," said Khosrau. "This is a ball, not a council of war. Lord Corbould has honored us with the Grand Imperial Opera, and we should make the most of the opportunity." His dark eyes shifted to Theodosia. "My dear, would you grace us with a song?"
"It would be my honor, my lord," said Theodosia. She glanced at Caina. "Marina, you have liberty until I have finished performing for his lordship."
That meant she wanted Caina to look around for anything interesting.
"Of course, mistress," said Caina, doing a curtsy.
Theodosia walked off with the high nobles, leaving Caina alone. She wandered through the Gallery, making sure not to make eye contact with any of the lords or merchants. They paid no attention to her whatsoever. The snatches of conversation she overheard all dealt with the war and its impact on merchant shipping.
Her eyes swept the pillared colonnades and the elevated balconies. Both Corbould's Imperial Guards and Armizid's militiamen stood at regular intervals, keeping watch for assassins. That was good. But would they watch for hidden archers, or for assassins disguised as slaves? The Cyricans nobles treated their slaves like animals, and would not notice one with a weapon until...
Caina flinched.
She felt a faint, crawling tingle
Sorcery.
She turned in alarm, and found herself standing at the edge of the Well.
The ring of polished marble encircling it came to Caina's knee. She looked over the edge, and saw that the Well's polished white sides went down and down until they vanished into blackness. How far down did it go? The Stone was only a few hundred feet tall, yet the Well seemed to descend for a thousand feet. For that matter, who had dug it? No one knew a way to cut the Stone's peculiar white rock.
For a dreadful instant, it reminded Caina of the pit below Black Angel Tower, the prison that held the bound demons. She wondered if something just as terrible lurked at the bottom of the Well...
"I see," said a cold voice, "that you have discovered the Well."
Caina turned.
Ranarius stood a few feet away, staring at her. Unlike the nobles, the master magus's black robe and gray hair gave him a forbidding, ascetic air. His blind slave girl stood behind him, head bowed, eyes concealed behind the black blindfold. Her jade collar glittered in the light, as did the jade bracelet on Ranarius's left wrist.
"Sir?" said Caina, her mind racing. Did Ranarius know she was a Ghost? Or did he suspect that the Ghosts had spies among the opera company?
"It is one of the great mysteries of Cyrioch," said Ranarius.
"It doesn't look very mysterious, sir," said Caina.
A thin smile came over his gaunt face. "I suppose not. But it is a great mystery nonetheless. No one knows who dug it or for what purpose. And it has always been here, at the very crest of the Stone. It was here before the first stone of the Palace of Splendors was laid, before mortal men even came to what is now Cyrica."
Despite herself, Caina was curious. "What lies at the bottom?"
"No one knows," said Ranarius. "If you drop
a stone into the Well, you will not hear it hit the bottom. And throughout Cyrioch's history, curious satraps and Lord Governors have hired adventurous men to explore the Well. None have ever returned. One managed to use a thousand feet of rope before his line snapped. Which is remarkable, considering the Stone stands five hundred feet tall at its highest point."
"No one knows what is at the bottom?" said Caina, keeping her eyes wide and her tone breathless. Perhaps Ranarius did not think she was a Ghost, and was only trying to overawe an ignorant servant girl to feed his vanity.
"No one living, certainly," said Ranarius. "In ancient times, the Anshani satraps threw condemned prisoners into the Well. But some of those satraps died under mysterious circumstances, and now it is considered ill luck to throw anything into the Well, let alone a living man."
"That is a very strange tale, sir," said Caina. "It is kind of you to share it with a poor servant girl."
Again that thin smile flickered over Ranarius's lips. "It is the duty of the magi to educate the people of the Empire about sorcery. And I am convinced that sorcery was used to create the Well. One day I shall discover how."
"Well," said Caina, "so long as you don't climb down on a rope."
She glanced at Well, and Ranarius barked a short laugh. And as he did, Caina felt his eyes climb over her body, like a wolf examining a sheep.
Ah. So that was why he was talking to her. It seemed peculiar for a master magus to seduce a servant girl at the Lord Governor's ball, but sometimes when a powerful man decided upon a particular woman, nothing could talk him out of it.
"Come with me," said Ranarius, "and I shall be happy to tell you more of the Well."
"I am sorry, sir," said Caina, and as she did, Theodosia's song rolled over the Gallery of the Well. "But my mistress sings for Lord Khosrau, and I must be ready to attend her once she is finished."
"Your devotion does you credit," said Ranarius, and she saw the fingers of his right hand move in a brief gesture. The tingling sensation of a spell washed over her. Caina recognized the spell - it was mind sorcery, meant to make her more suggestible. "But Nicasia can look after your mistress. Can't you, Nicasia?"
"Yes, master," said the slave girl, not lifting her face. Her voice was soft and high, and reminded Caina of an injured bird's call.
"Come with me," said Ranarius, "and we shall discuss all manner of things."
The tingling of his spell intensified, and Caina felt the sudden impulse to go with him. But Kalastus had tried to cast the same spell upon her, and Caina knew how to resist it. She filled her mind with rage, with her hatred of the magi, and the impulse to please Ranarius vanished.
"I am sorry, sir," said Caina, keeping her voice calm. She did a quick curtsy. "But I must attend my mistress at once..."
"I think," said Ranarius, voice low and urgent, "that you would really rather come with me."
Caina tried to think of an excuse. "I..."
"Seducing the serving girls again, preceptor?"
Ranarius scowled.
Another master magus approached them. He was Cyrican, with dusky skin and a close-cropped black beard. He regarded Ranarius with a mixture of amusement and contempt, and paid no attention to Caina whatsoever.
"Mhadun," said Ranarius. "This is not a good time."
"Pity," said Mhadun, "because we have business to discuss. The chapter requires a firm hand, and if you are too busy with your little...amusements," he cast a disdainful glance at both Caina and Nicasia, "then perhaps the First Magus could be persuaded to appoint another as the preceptor of the Cyrioch chapter."
Ranarius's mouth twisted. "Like you, Mhadun?"
Mhadun smirked. "I would never presume to be so ambitious, preceptor."
"Excuse me, sirs," said Caina with a quick curtsy. "I must return to my duties."
She walked away, but not before she had the satisfaction of seeing the irritation on Ranarius's gaunt face.
She wondered why Mhadun had been so insolent. The Magisterium had a rigid hierarchy, and the preceptors and the high magi did not tolerate disobedience. Perhaps Mhadun had some hold over Ranarius.
Caina walked to the far end of the Gallery, where a crowd of nobles and merchants gathered around Theodosia. The acoustics in the Gallery were terrible, with far too many echoes, but Theodosia used them to good effect. She had the full attention of Lord Khosrau, and the others nobles followed suit. It was, Caina mused, the perfect time for someone to sneak unnoticed into the Gallery.
She looked at the entrances and saw no one but the militiamen and the Imperial Guards standing watch. She looked at the balconies, saw the slaves hurrying about their...
Wait.
Caina made herself look down.
In the corner of a balcony, besides a pillar, stood the cloaked man who had warned her about the Kindred at the Amphitheatre.
The cloaked man who had been waiting outside of Barius's shop.
The cloaked man who could have arranged the entire incident with the assassin at the Amphitheatre in order to kill Lord Corbould later.
She shot a quick glance over the Gallery. Theodosia held the attention of most of the guests with her song. Ranarius and Mhadun had retreated into the shadow of the pillars, obviously arguing.
No one was paying any attention to her.
Caina turned and made her way to the stairs.
Chapter 8 - A Mask of Scars
Caina slipped into the upper balcony, Theodosia's song echoing in her ears.
The enclosed balcony stood a hundred feet over the Gallery of the Well, the stone railing stretching between pillars of pale granite. Statues of long-dead Lord Governors stood in deep niches, providing dozens of places for an assassin to hide.
Caina reached into her left boot and drew out a dagger. She crept along, scanning every shadow for the cloaked man, just as she had when hunting that Kindred assassin through the Praetorian Basilica in Malarae. If the cloaked man had come to kill Lord Corbould from the balcony, he would need to put an arrow through the lord’s neck. Corbould stood facing Theodosia as she sang, and the assassin would need to get close enough to shoot over the other nobles and merchants.
Then Caina spotted the cloaked man.
He knelt by the stone railing. His cloak hung open, and Caina saw that he wore chain mail, a sword and a quiver of arrows at his belt, his forearms marked by the black lines of his strange tattoo.
A short bow waited in his hand.
Caina sprang forward, dagger drawn back to strike.
But the cloaked man spun, dropped his bow, and yanked his sword from its scabbard. Caina's blade clanged off the sword and she stumbled. The cloaked swung the flat of his blade for her face, and she jumped back, the steel whipping past her.
For a moment they stared at each other. The cloaked man's hood had fallen back, revealing a lean face with pale green eyes and close-cropped blond hair. He looked about thirty, and he did not blink as he stared at Caina.
"Do you usually," said the cloaked man in High Nighmarian, "stab your foes in the back?"
"It's easier than a fair fight," said Caina. From the way he held that sword, he knew how to use it, and a dagger against a sword was not a winning strategy. If she drew back far enough, she might be able to use a throwing knife, but he would expect that.
"Very sensible," said the cloaked man. “Though why did you want to stab me in the back?"
"That was clever," said Caina. "Warning me about the Kindred with the blowgun? Was he a rival of yours, perhaps? I'm surprised you didn't take your shot at Lord Corbould then."
The cloaked man made an irritated noise. "I have my own business. I care nothing for Corbould Maraeus."
"Your own business," said Caina, "that requires you to skulk about balconies with a bow?"
"Yes," said the cloaked man.
"Mind telling me what that business is?" said Caina.
"It is," said the cloaked man, "no concern of yours."
"Oh?" said Caina. "You were skulking outside of Barius's pawnshop
after something turned him to stone. That is no business of the Ghosts? Or that assassin you pointed out to me? Something turned him to stone, as well."
A hint of surprise flickered over the cloaked man's face. He hadn't known about the assassin. Or he was a very good actor.
"You claim to be a former Kindred assassin," said Caina, "yet you keep shadowing Lord Corbould, and anyone who comes too close to you turns to stone. Any particular reason why you aren't a concern of the Ghosts?"
The cloaked man's lip twitched. "When you put it like that, no. But I assure you that Lord Corbould is in no danger from me. "
"Why should I believe you?" said Caina. "A half-dozen Ghosts have been turned to stone around you."
The cloaked man's face tightened. "I warned those fools to leave me alone and stay out of my business. They failed to heed me and suffered the consequences." His eyes drilled into her. “I admit you would make a far lovelier statue than that fat fool Barius. But you will suffer his fate if you keep interfering in my business."
"So you turned them to stone, then?" said Caina.
"I did nothing of the sort," said the cloaked man.
"I don't believe you," said Caina. "There’s more going on here than you're telling me. Assassins do not simply leave the Kindred. And you're going to tell me what I want to know."
He smirked. "You can't force me, Ghost."
"Maybe not," said Caina. "But I just have to scream, don't I? All those nobles and fat merchants will see a serving girl terrorized by an armed man. An armed man with a bow, incidentally. Think you can outrun every last Imperial Guard and militiaman in the Palace of Splendors?"
"It would be an amusing challenge," said the cloaked man, but she saw the wariness in his eyes. "Perhaps I can prove my good faith?"
"How?" said Caina.
The cloaked man slid his sword into its scabbard, but Caina kept her dagger in hand.
"There are Kindred assassins here, right now," said the cloaked man, "and I will show them to you."
"How do you know?" said Caina.
The Ghosts Omnibus: The Kyracian War Page 40
