“I greet you, Lord Titus,” said the masked man in High Nighmarian, “in the name of the Scholae of Catekharon. I am Amendris, a Sage of the Scholae.” He gestured at the pale tower rising from the island. “Please, follow me. Lodgings have been prepared for both you and your men in the Tower of Study.”
“Lead the way, ah…my lord Sage,” said Titus.
Amendris bowed and led Titus deeper into the city, walking alongside the lord’s horse. The Imperial Guards marched after them, and Halfdan started the wagon forward.
“Daughter?” he called.
Caina looked up at him.
“Go with Cormark and purchase some wine while Irene and I see to our lodgings,” said Halfdan, handing her a money pouch. “There’s profit in wine, and I wish to assess the market here.” He lowered his voice. “And we have a…contact in Catekharon.”
Caina looked around to make sure they were not overhead. “A Ghost?”
“Aye, a nightkeeper,” said Halfdan. “There’s no proper circle in Catekharon, but we do have a contact. A woman named Annika. She owns a pawn shop on the Street of the Crater. Find Annika and talk to her. She’ll have news for us. Once you’re done, rejoin me at the Tower of Study. We’ll decide what to do then. The Masked Ones will reveal their weapon tomorrow, but I’d like to have more information first.”
Caina nodded and went to find Corvalis.
###
“This is,” said Corvalis a short time later, “the strangest city I have ever seen.”
“Most cities,” said Caina, “don’t have canals of molten steel flowing through them.”
One of the canals flowed alongside the street. It was thirty feet deep, its stone walls carved with warding sigils, a sheet of white-hot metal flowing along its bottom. The air over the canal rippled with heat, and Caina felt a sheen of sweat upon her forehead. She supposed murder would be an easy crime to commit in Catekharon. Dump a corpse into a canal, and the evidence would burn to ashes within moments.
On the other hand, she saw Catekhari soldiers patrolling in their elaborate gray armor and red helms. And the streets seemed safe enough, lacking the air of menace in places like Cyrioch’s Seatown or Marsis’s dockside district.
“True,” said Corvalis. “But half the buildings are abandoned. For all the size of the city, there cannot be more than fifteen or twenty thousand people living here.”
“It’s not surprising,” said Caina. “The only reason for a city to be here is to support the Masked Ones. And it would take a daring man to traffic with sorcerers of such power.” She shook her head. “I suppose some sorcerers come here to study under the Masked Ones, and build their own households.”
They crossed a stone bridge over the canal of metal and came to a street curving along the edge of the lake. The massive Tower of Study rose from the island’s heart, at least as tall as Black Angel Tower in Marsis. Despite all the aqueducts of molten metal, Caina saw only one causeway going to the island. Even without their sorcery, the Masked Ones possessed a defensible stronghold.
“Here we are,” said Corvalis. “Perhaps Annika will be able to explain why someone would want to live here.”
A row of dingy shops and taverns faced the lake. A sign painted with three golden balls hung over one of the shops, its windows shuttered. Corvalis strode to the door and pushed it open, a bell ringing overhead. The shop’s interior was gloomy, lit only by a few streamers of sunlight leaking through the shutters. Shelves heavy with clothes, pots, knives, and tools lined the walls. A counter divided the shop in half, and on the other side Caina saw more valuable goods. No doubt Annika kept her most valuable wares locked in a strongbox in the cellar.
A door behind the counter opened, and a gaunt woman in an Anshani-style robe and headcloth limped into sight. She was Szaldic, and was about forty, with long gray-streaked black hair and pale blue eyes. The left side of her face drooped in a livid red scar, and she leaned upon a cane in her right hand.
“Welcome, welcome,” said the woman in Anshani with a strong Szaldic accent. “You speak Anshani, yes? Good, good. If you wish for cheap goods of excellent quality, you have come to the right place.” Her pale eyes took in Caina at a glance, examining her blue gown and silver earrings. “And if you wish to raise money…ah, Annika will help you. Your jewelry will fetch a fine price, and you need not turn to…disreputable methods to pay your bills.”
Corvalis snorted in amusement.
“I do speak Anshani,” said Caina in High Nighmarian, “but I prefer this tongue.”
Annika blinked. Caina suspected very few people in Catekharon spoke High Nighmarian.
“And I do not wish to purchase goods,” said Caina, “but I am curious about the shadows.”
“The shadows?” said Annika in High Nighmarian.
“Does anything hide in the shadows?” said Caina.
“The Ghosts hide in the shadows,” said Annika. Her hand dipped behind the counter, no doubt reaching for a weapon.
“And let the tyrants beware,” said Caina.
Annika relaxed. “For the Ghosts hide in the shadows,” she said, completing the countersign. Her fingers, thin and bony, drummed against the handle of her cane for a moment. “So it seems the Scholae and their weapon have drawn the attention of the Emperor himself.”
“They have,” said Caina. “Which is why we are here.”
“Might I know your names?” said Annika.
“Of course not,” said Caina, and the older woman smiled. “But you can call me Anna Callenius, and this is Cormark, a guard in my father’s service. My father is a master merchant of the Imperial Collegium of jewelers, and traveled south with Lord Titus’s embassy in search of trading opportunities.”
“Yes,” said Annika. “A fine story. And Anna is a pretty name. Though I am partial to it.” She limped around the counter. “I assume you have come for information?”
“Aye,” said Caina. “Anything you know about the weapon will be helpful.”
Annika laughed, a harsh, rasping sound. “Very little. Still, I will tell you what I know.”
“Do you know what the weapon is?” said Caina. “What it does?”
“I fear not,” said Annika. “The Sages are most secretive.” She waved her cane at her shelves. “I have many friends among the slaves and the poorer laborers of Catekharon. For sometimes information about their masters is far more valuable than any coin. But the Sages of the Scholae do not speak with lesser men.” She frowned. “Though I can tell you who created the weapon.”
“Who?”
“Zalandris will take the credit,” said Annika.
“A Masked One?” said Caina. “One of these…Sages?”
“He is,” said Annika. “You must understand. The Scholae, those you call the Masked Ones, are not like the Magisterium of the Empire. The Magisterium is…hierarchical, rigid, and the First Magus’s word is law.”
“Believe me,” muttered Corvalis, “I know it well.”
Annika favored him with a smile. “You do, my handsome fellow? Well, Zalandris is the Speaker of the Scholae, the chief of the Sages…but the Scholae is an assembly of equals. He holds little authority over them, and his chief responsibility is dealing with outsiders so the Sages can study without the burden of temporal affairs.”
“So this Zalandris,” said Caina, “created the weapon, and offered it for sale to the various nations entirely under his own authority?”
“He did,” said Annika. “Most of the Sages would not have approved. But I doubt Zalandris did it of his own volition. Mihaela likely drove it to him.”
“Mihaela,” said Caina. There had been a hint of bitterness in Annika’s voice. Mihaela was a Szaldic name, like Annika. Ark and Tanya had been planning to name their next child Mihaela, if it was a girl. “Another Sage?”
“No,” said Annika. “She is one of Zalandris’s Seekers.”
“Seekers?” said Corvalis. “Is that…like an initiate of the Magisterium? A student?”
“You see keenly,�
� said Annika. “The Scholae has two levels. The Sages are the masters, the ones who have passed the trials and earned the right to wear the mask and carry the rod. There are no more than three hundred Sages, to my knowledge, and by some secret science they live for centuries.”
“Necromancy,” said Caina.
“No,” said Annika. “The Sages forbid necromancy. From what I understand they fled from the Maatish necromancers long ago, so necromancy is the one arcane science forbidden in Catekharon.” She rubbed at her hip for a moment. “The Seekers are the sorcerers the Sages deign to accept as students. Some come for only a few years, learn what they need, and depart. Others aspire to become Sages themselves. Very few ever do. The Sages are selective, and set rigorous trials.” She grunted. “I urge you to beware the Seekers. The Sages themselves are not very dangerous unless provoked.”
“You are certain of this?” said Caina, remembering the Masked One who had attacked her in Cyrioch. Had he been a full Sage? Or a renegade Seeker who had stolen a mask and a rod?
“I am,” said Annika. “The Sages ignore lesser men unless threatened…but the Seekers do not. Many of them have burning ambition, and hope to master the secrets of the Sages, return to their homelands, and exact vengeance upon their foes. A few even think to transform themselves into gods through sorcery.”
Caina thought of Maglarion. She knew he had spent decades traveling outside the Empire. Had he studied as a Seeker at one time?
“So,” she said, pushing aside the memories of Maglarion. “You think the Seeker Mihaela is the one who convinced Zalandris to announce this weapon and sell it to the highest bidder?”
“I am certain of it,” said Annika.
“How?” said Corvalis.
Annika sighed. “Because she is my younger sister.”
Caina blinked in surprise.
“You see,” said Annika, “my sister and I were born in the Empire, in Varia Province. When the Istarish slavers raided the coasts, she and I were taken captive and sold to a cruel magus living in Cyrica Urbana. Eventually, the Ghost circle helped us escape, and I hoped to make my way back home. But Mihaela…Mihaela had manifested the power. She had talent for sorcery, and wished to learn. But we hated the Magisterium, the College of Alchemists of Istarinmul does not accept women, and the occultists of Anshan kill any women with arcane talent. So we made the long journey to Catekharon, and we have remained ever since.”
“You and your sister are estranged,” said Caina. “Why?”
Annika sighed. “My face. It reminds her that we were once slaves. Her pride has grown with her power. She does not like to be reminded that she was once a slave. We have not spoken in years.”
“A cruel story,” said Caina. “I am sorry.”
Annika laughed. “Do not mourn for me, Ghost. I was born in a peasant village, and grew up a slave.” She waved her cane at the walls of the shop. “Let not my humble shop fool you. I have more money and influence than you think.” She smiled. “In Catekharon, only the Scholae would dare to cross Annika the Szald.”
“I can believe that,” said Corvalis.
“Thank you for your help,” said Caina. “The embassy is staying at the Tower of Study. If you learn anything, can you send word at once? Ask for Anna Callenius…and say you have found the silver candlesticks I wished to purchase.”
“It shall be done,” said Annika. “And a warning, Ghost.”
“What is it?” said Caina.
“Beware,” said Annika. “My sister has grown ruthless. And this business with the weapon…it is very strange. The Scholae ignores the outside world. For the Scholae to invite embassies, to offer to sell an artifact of their sciences to a foreign prince…it makes no sense. It has never happened in my lifetime, or in the lifetime of anyone I have ever known. Something dangerous is happening.”
“I know,” said Caina. “And I intend to find out what it is. Thank you, Annika.”
She left without another word, Corvalis following.
If Zalandris or Mihaela had indeed made a weapon of terrible power, Caina would see it dropped into one of the rivers of molten steel.
###
That night Caina sat alone on a wooden balcony, looking at the glow of molten metal rising from the city. Halfdan, Corvalis, and Irene had gone to attend Lord Titus, but Caina had stayed behind to rest. The constant aura of overwhelming sorcery had given her a splitting headache, so bad that white light flashed whenever she closed her eyes.
The Imperial Guard cohort had been housed in a barracks of the Redhelms, Catekharon’s gray-armored soldiers. Lord Titus and his guests had been given fine rooms in one of the strange wooden palaces upon the stone terraces. Caina had never seen anything quite like the palace. The exterior walls had been built of thick wood, but the interior walls had been fashioned of thin wood and paper. The rooms had no doors, only panels of wood and paper that slid aside at a touch. Colorful glass lanterns hung from the rafters, glowing with a sorcerous light.
Caina rubbed her temples.
Gods, but her head hurt. The aura of sorcery was much, much stronger upon the island, and she felt something of awesome power within the Tower of Study. Caina supposed it was the greater fire elemental that the Masked Ones had bound into their service. That explained both the rivers of molten steel and why the city had never fallen. When summoned, elemental spirits either inhabited a human host or constructed a body out an appropriate substance. With the greater fire elemental, the Masked Ones could summon an army of lesser fire elementals…and the lesser spirits would manifest within the molten steel.
An army fashioned of molten metal, burning its way through foes of flesh and blood, was a terrible thought.
And if the Masked Ones possessed such power, why would they need any additional weapons?
She heard the rasp of a footstep against the hallway’s polished floorboards.
“Mistress?” said a soft voice.
Caina stood, her hand going to one of the throwing knives hidden in her sleeve.
A man of about twenty stood in the doorway, clad in the orange tunic of a slave, a tray in his hands. A steaming kettle and a pair of clay cups rested on the tray. The slave looked Anshani, with dark hair and eyes and olive-colored skin.
“Yes?” said Caina, making herself relax.
“Your honored father Master Basil has sent me to you, mistress,” said the slave. “He said you did not feel well, and bade me to bring you this.”
Caina smiled. “Tea?”
“No, mistress,” said the slave. “It is called coffee, a drink of Anshan. May I pour it for you?”
“Very well,” said Caina, watching the slave.
Something about him seemed off.
Most the slaves she had met had taken great care to never show their emotions around their masters, lest they earn punishment. Yet this man seemed distressed, almost grieved, his eyes red-rimmed. For a moment Caina wondered if he was an assassin, but he looked too nervous.
“If you sit, mistress, I will serve you,” said the slave.
“I will stand, thank you,” said Caina.
The man blinked in surprise. Caina wondered how often he heard someone thank him. He poured a dark, steaming liquid into the cup and handed it to her. “Please, mistress, drink. Your father will be pleased.”
Caina frowned, sniffed the coffee, and took a sip.
“That’s…” She thought it over. “That’s not bad.”
The slave smiled. “I am glad, mistress.”
“What is your name?” said Caina.
Again the slave looked startled. “Ah…Shaizid, mistress. I am owned by the learned Zalandris, a Sage of the Scholae, the blessings of the Living Flame be upon him.”
Caina took another sip of coffee. “This smells like death, but it tastes better than it should.”
All the emotion drained out of Shaizid’s face.
“What?” said Caina, looking around, half-expecting to see a lurking assassin. “What is it?”
“Forgive me, mis
tress,” said Shaizid, “but I must return to my duties.”
The slave all but fled from the room.
Caina gave the coffee a dubious look. Had it been poisoned? But if the Masked Ones wanted to kill anyone in the embassy, they would kill Lord Titus, not the younger daughter of a merchant. And even if the Masked Ones had figured out that the Ghosts had infiltrated the embassy, they would start by killing Halfdan.
She looked at the glow of the molten metal and shook her head. If the Masked Ones wanted her dead, they wouldn’t need anything so mundane as poison.
At least the coffee helped her headache.
###
That night Caina dreamed again of the empty plain of gray mist.
The Moroaica awaited her, her eyes black and cold, a faint smile on her red lips.
“What is it now?” said Caina. “Why have you brought me here?”
The Moroaica shrugged. “I know not. You brought me here.”
“I did nothing of the sort,” said Caina.
“Whether you did consciously or not,” said Jadriga, “your will summoned me.” Her smile took a mocking edge. “Tonight you did not have that assassin to share your bed and work you to exhaustion.”
Caina said nothing. She knew that Jadriga could see through her eyes and hear through her ears. The thought that Jadriga had seen everything Caina had shared with Corvalis was not something she wanted to contemplate.
“I suspect,” said the Moroaica, “that your thoughts were upon sorcery as you slept…and so your will reached for me. For I know more about sorcery than any other living being.”
“The Masked Ones might know more,” said Caina.
Jadriga laughed. “The Scholae are fools, little more than relics of Maat. They are mere shadows of the power once wielded by the necromancers of the Kingdom of the Rising Sun.” She tilted her head to the side, considering. “But useful fools nonetheless.”
“Why?” said Caina. “Is this weapon your work?”
“Mine?” said the Moroaica. “I have had no hand in the creation of their miserable little weapon. But they will aid me nonetheless. Soon, child of the Ghosts, soon you will see my great work come to pass…and you will see this corrupt and vile world remade in a new form.”
Jonathan Moeller - The Ghosts 06 - Ghost in the Forge Page 8
