Caina tugged a blanket from the bed and laid it over him. Let them maids think what they want, but Ark deserved a night’s rest. She changed into a nightgown, settled into a chair, and went to sleep.
The next morning she submitted again to the grooming and beauty regimen as she prepared for her dinner with the masters of the Magisterium.
“I heard the most dreadful rumor,” said Anya. “It seems that there was a riot in the city last night.”
“Oh?” said Caina.
“Yes, at a public bathhouse.”
“Not surprising,” sniffed Cornelia. “Only wicked men frequent bathhouses. One of them was behind it, undoubtedly.”
“Oh, undoubtedly,” said Caina, doing her very best not to laugh.
Chapter 15 - A Master of the Magisterium
As dusk fell, Caina and Ark rode to the chapterhouse of the Magisterium.
Caina had thought herself ready for this. She suspected at least one of Rasadda’s magi was involved in the murders, and when Ark had mentioned that the Black Wolves had worked for the Magisterium, her interest had only sharpened. Yet as the coach drew closer to the chapterhouse, black dread settled on her heart. Old memories, dark and rotten, fluttered in her mind, and her hands tightened beneath her soft gloves.
She hated the magi, hated them more than she could ever say.
The coach stopped before the chapterhouse, and Caina climbed out. She had chosen a formal green gown with a high collar, and a jacket with embroidered sleeves. It was not nearly as alluring as the dress she had worn to Romarion’s house, but that was by design. Romarion might have been a rogue, but at least he had been polite and charming. Caina doubted that Ephaeron and Kalastus would share his courtesy.
The chapterhouse itself looked like a smaller version of the Imperial Basilica, though built of black Saddai marble. The sigil of the Magisterium, a pair of eyes looking from an open book, had been carved into the lintel. A wave of nausea went though Caina as she looked at the sigil, and she desperately wanted to leave.
No. She had her duty, and she would do it. Her face remained a calm mask as she walked to the doors, Ark at her side. He had insisted upon wearing his armor, and walked with only the faintest trace of a limp, his face grimmer than usual.
Two soldiers stood besides the chapterhouse doors, dressed all in black. Even their breastplates and helmets had been enameled black. The Magisterial Guard, the bodyguards of the magi. They were just as brutally murderous as their masters. But they bowed to her and pulled open the doors, and Caina entered into the chapterhouse.
She found herself in a great hall, similar to the Imperial Basilica but smaller in scale. Long tables stretched the length of the hall, covered in strange mazes of glass tubing, odd mechanical devices, and piled books and scrolls. The enchanted glass spheres so favored by the magi lit the hall with unnatural light. Caina’s skin began to crawl. Somewhere very close, she knew, someone was performing sorcery.
A brother of the Magisterium, in a black robe with a red sash, hurried over and bowed.
“Countess Marianna Nereide, I presume?” the magus said.
“I am,” said Caina.
“The masters awake you eagerly.” He lifted his hand and whispered something under his breath. The crawling on Caina’s skin intensified, and she felt the faint surge of sorcerous power. An apple-sized sphere of blue light appeared between them. She resisted the urge to recoil. “Simply follow this simulacrum to the masters’ chambers. It will guide you there.”
“Thank you,” said Caina.
The magus bowed, and the blue sphere began to drift forward. It led them across the hall and up a flight of stairs. The globe spun all the while, pulsating like a living heart. Petty showmanship, to be sure, the same way Ephaeron had floated a glass of wine to Ark’s hand at the Imperial Basilica. The Magisterium adored their little tricks.
They passed along the balcony and into a sitting room, adorned with overstuffed chairs and low wooden tables. The sphere of light pulsed once more and vanished. Another door stood open on the far side of the room, and Caina heard angry voices.
One of them was Septimus Romarion’s.
“Wait here,” she murmured to Ark, and crept forward, trying to keep her heeled boots from making any noise against the marble floor.
“I must insist, learned master, upon prompt payment,” said Romarion. “After all, I have fulfilled my end of the bargain, and I have a right to my money.”
“The payments will continue as we have agreed,” said another voice, deep and rich. Caina could not place it for a moment, and then the memory came. Kalastus, the bald master she had met at Nicephorus’s dinner. His sonorous voice hardened with contempt. “The artifacts you supplied were satisfactory, and you ought to be honored to conduct business with the Magisterium. Instead you come here and grovel for more money ahead of our agreed schedule.”
“I have need of the money now,” said Romarion.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” said Kalastus. “You shall receive your money when we agreed and not a moment before. Why are you so impatient? The Magisterium keeps its word, merchant. It…ah!” Kalastus laughed, long and mocking. “These ‘burning murders’ among the Saddai rabble have you frightened like a child, do they not?”
Romarion said nothing.
“I had thought better of you, Septimus,” said Kalastus. “Pyromancy is extinct. The notions of the Saddai rabble are nothing more than feebleminded delusions. They cling yet to the foolish belief that their precious god will save them – the Living Fire or the Smoking Ember or whatever they call it.”
“The city is on the verge of rebellion,” said Romarion, his voice so quiet Caina could scarce hear him. “Surely you must see it, even if the Lord Governor does not.”
Kalastus laughed again. “Let the Saddai revolt! Yes, you heard me. Let them rebel! If they dare, we shall slaughter them like the dogs that they are. If they dare, we of the Magisterium will show them such sorcery that the Ashbringers of old will look like mewling children. Sorcery that you shall see, merchant, if you continue your impudent demands for early payment.”
Caina’s mouth tightened.
“I see,” said Romarion, almost snarling.
If he left now, he would see Caina listening at the door. She knocked on the doorframe and stepped into the next room. It was a study, she saw, dominated by Kalastus’s massive desk of dark wood. Papers and various knickknacks covered the desk, along with a massive book bound in black leather and polished steel. A few ancient Saddai statues stood around the room, no doubt the pieces Kalastus had bought. Romarion stood before the desk, his stance stiff with anger, while Kalastus lounged in his chair. Both of them looked at her with surprise.
“I do hope I am not interrupting your business,” said Caina, “but I know how men are. If I leave you alone, you’ll discuss business all night, and we shall never have dinner.”
Kalastus smiled at her. He must have been over sixty, yet he remained lean and fit, his black robe hanging loosely off his frame. “Not at all, Countess. I am honored that you could join us.”
“And you are quite right,” said Romarion, bowing over her hand and placing a kiss upon her gloved fingers. “Though so lovely a noblewoman as yourself is a welcome distraction from the cares of business. I do hope you will again join me for dinner.”
“I would be glad,” said Caina, “if you are willing to entertain the poor daughter of a lesser House.”
Romarion laughed. “Humility? It does not suit you. But still I should be very glad.”
“Countess,” said Kalastus, “the merchant and I were just concluding our discussion.” His smile was not at all friendly. “I will join you presently. Please, make yourself comfortable.” He made a gesture at the door.
It was a slight, but Caina smiled anyway. “Of course.” She smiled at Romarion, walked back into the sitting room, and paused. Another doorway opened off to her right, and she glanced into it. Sudden wonder stole her breath, and Caina walked into the room.
It was a library. Massive bookshelves lined all four walls, ladders climbing up towards the ceiling, every shelf stuffed with books. Two tables sat in the center of the room, piled with still more books. Caina approached the nearest shelf, running her fingers over the spines. She had always loved to read, even as a child. Some of her happiest memories were in her father’s library, poring over his books…
Her father’s library.
Sudden tears came to her eyes, and she blinked them away. She had found her father’s servants lying on the floor of that library, their eyes empty. She had found her father in his chair…
And now she stood here in this den of serpents.
Distressed, struggling to keep her calm mask in place, Caina turned. One of the books caught her eye, and she reached for it. “The Catechism of Minaerys”, a book of prayers and rituals to the goddess of wisdom and learning. Caina flipped through it, trying to distract herself.
Someone yanked the book from her grasp. Caina flinched and saw Kalastus standing near her, too near. He closed the book, looked at the cover, and gave her an incredulous look.
“This book?” he said, chuckling. “What a collection of tripe. Why anyone would worship a myth is beyond me.” He tossed the book onto the table. “Ridiculous, really.”
Caina said nothing, not trusting herself to speak.
Kalastus looked at her, still standing too close, and his eyes widened. “Do not tell me you were praying? Surely you do not believe such nonsense?”
Caina shrugged. “It seems foolish to anger the gods.”
“Folly,” said Kalastus. “That a noblewoman of the Empire would follow such a…such a contemptible superstition is quite beyond me. Perhaps that is the problem with the Empire.”
“You skirt dangerously close to treason, learned one,” said Caina.
“Not at all,” said Kalastus. “Indeed, no one cares more for the greater good of the Empire than the Magisterium. But reason must rule our Empire, and not the shopworn creeds of past ages, or the petty moralities that constrain small-minded men. It is criminal, I think, that the Magisterium does not have a greater voice in the rule of the Empire, as we did in more enlightened ages. Reason must rule the Empire! And who better to wield reason than the magi, we who have mastered arcane sciences? Think of the good a council of ruling magi could do.” “Surely that is a comforting thought,” lied Caina.
“Comfort?” Kalastus burst out laughing. “Comfort, my dear Countess, is for the weak. Those too feeble to see that man must rule himself without mewling before nonexistent gods. Those who lack the strength to reshape the world to their liking.”
“You sound,” said Caina, her voice colder than Countess Marianna Nereide had any right to speak, “exactly like my mother.”
“Then your mother was a wise woman,” said Kalastus. “Ah. I see that I have offended you. If my blunt speech has caused you to take offense, then I suppose courtesy demands that I apologize.”
Caina felt a surge of hot fury, but rebuked herself. Her purpose here was to gather information, not to relive the horrors of her past. And Kalastus reminded her all too well of those horrors. But arrogant and haughty as he was, he might hold some of the answers locked within that bald head of his. She would endure his speech if she must.
And perhaps the pyromancer, this new Ashbringer, slept beneath this very roof.
Ark stepped into the library. “Countess,” he rumbled. “Is anything amiss?” Kalastus glared at him, lip curling back from his teeth, and Ark returned a flat stare.
“Oh, all is quite well,” said Caina. “Master Kalastus had just offered an apology. Which I do accept. By the way, will Master Ephaeron be joining us for dinner, learned one?”
“No,” said Kalastus. “He had urgent business, I’m afraid. It will just be the two of us.”
“Ah,” said Caina. “Splendid.”
###
Dinner with Kalastus did not go well.
Kalastus had insisted that Ark remain in the sitting room, so they ate alone. Romarion, and even Nicephorus, had known how to carry on a conversation, but Kalastus’s talk was a never-ending series of rambling lectures, jumping from topic to topic almost at random. The learned master, it seemed, was quite bitter. He held most of the Lords of the Empire in scorn. He loathed the unwashed and unlettered commoners. Soldiers, with their unlearned ignorance, annoyed him to no end. He detested the Saddai, and hated the smell of their cooking. And he did not like Ephaeron very much, either.
“I have been a master of the Magisterium for twenty-three years,” said Kalastus, “and the high magi see fit to send this…this boy to advise me.”
“Oh?” said Caina, making herself take another bite. As if Kalastus’s unending ranting wasn’t trial enough, the food wasn’t terribly good either. Caina reminded herself that people were starving in Rasadda and made herself swallow. “Forgive me, learned master, but it I thought Ephaeron was in his forties at the least. Certainly not a child.”
Kalastus barked a laugh. “I forget how young you are, Countess. Ephaeron is a child, at least compared to my experience. Oh, he always likes to mention his time with the Legions as a battle magus, but what is mere experience of war compared to a deep understanding of the arcane sciences?”
Caina realized that he expected an answer. “I…am not sure, learned one, as I do not even have a shallow knowledge of the arcane sciences.”
“Exactly right,” said Kalastus, as if she had just agreed with him. “Exactly right! And now I have Ephaeron looking over my shoulder at every turn, questioning the way I do things. It never stops! I am the preceptor of the Rasadda chapter, not him!” He shook his head with disgust, the unnatural light glinting off his bald head. “And he has turned his attention to these murders. Such petty affairs are beneath the concern of a master of the Magisterium.”
“The murders, learned one?” said Caina, hoping to get his rambling turned to that topic.
“Yes, these murders,” said Kalastus with disgust. “All these burned corpses found in the street. Ephaeron has taken it upon himself to investigate their deaths. As if the murder of some Saddai peasants and Caerish merchants were a concern for the Magisterium!” He snorted. “He has this ridiculous notion that one of the Saddai priests has become an Ashbringer and has gone on a rampage.”
Caina thought of Gaidan, and Ark’s suspicions. “Why is that ridiculous, learned one?”
“Because both the Ashbringers and the practice of pyromancy have been extinct for generations.”
“Can you be certain of that?” said Caina. “I…saw one of the bodies near the Inn, when the Decurion of the city militia found the corpse. The poor man had been burned horribly across his body.”
“I can be utterly certain of that,” said Kalastus.
“But no one could say how he had been killed,” lied Caina. “Might not sorcery have been used in his death?”
“Absolutely not. The Ashbringers are extinct, Countess. The Magisterium saw to that after the Saddai war, after Corazain himself was killed. And a good thing, too.” His eyes turned distant. “If our records are correct, the Ashbringers were…insane. Raving madmen. Men who killed at whim. But powerful, though. Corazain killed every last living thing in Rasadda to empower his final spell. The Ashbringers worshipped the Burning Flame, a god even more implausible than the gods of the Empire, and sought to set the world aflame at his command.”
“The Burning Flame?” said Caina. “I have never heard that name before. I thought the Saddai referred to their god as the Living Flame.”
“They do now,” said Kalastus, making a dismissive gesture. “From what I understand, it was a theological dispute among the Saddai. A schism of sorts. Some interpreted their god as the Living Flame, and others as the Burning Flame. Those who espoused the way of the Living Flame eventually won out.” He laughed. “Especially since the Magisterium slaughtered the Ashbringers and all others who favored the path of the Burning Flame.”
“I see,” said Caina. “Master Ka
lastus, you set my mind at ease.” She let a little quiver into her voice. “So…there’s no way pyromancy could have been used in these terrible murders? I needn’t fear being burned to death in my sleep.”
“Absolutely not,” said Kalastus. “I have told you before, Countess. There are no more pyromancers.”
Caina, who had seen Ostros burn to death, knew better.
“It vexes me to no end that people can even think that,” said Kalastus. “It merely proves that the Magisterium should rule the Empire.”
Caina blinked. “The Magisterium did rule the Empire, once, and were overthrown, if I remember my history aright.”
“You do,” said Kalastus. “And the rule of the magi was a golden age.” Caina had read rather differently, but said nothing. “A time of unprecedented order and prosperity. And it can be so again. The Lords of the Empire are corrupt, blind fools. The Emperor is weak. The Empire of Nighmar needs better rulers. And who better than men whose minds have been trained to the pinnacle of reason, men who are steeped in the arcane sciences?” His eyes glittered. “We can reshape the Empire. We can even reshape the world.”
Caina thought that a drunken pickpocket would make a better ruler than the masters of the Magisterium, but she said nothing. She wanted to find an excuse to leave.
“You ought to marry a magus,” said Kalastus. He took a long drink of wine.
Caina desperately hoped that Kalastus did not have himself in mind. “Oh? Why is that, learned master?”
“The Magisterium ruled the Empire once before,” said Kalastus, “and it shall be so again. Sooner or later. As the wife to a magus, you would command great respect and power. Perhaps you even have skill for sorcery that you have not realized, hmm? Both men and women may join the Magisterium, though few women do so.”
“My father,” said Caina, “will have to make the final decision, of course.”
They ate in silence for a moment.
“You are so lovely,” said Kalastus.
“Thank you,” said Caina, disquieted.
Ghost in the Flames (The Ghosts) Page 17
