“Aye, sir?” said the woman, her face and voice wary.
“My friends and I have just arrived in the city,” said Seb. “Could you tell us the meaning of that commotion? We don’t wish to become entangled in trouble.”
The middle-aged woman laughed. “Oh, that’s just fat High Brother Basarab.”
“The crowd seems quite angry with him,” said Seb.
“That’s because he’s a corrupt thief,” said the woman. “He steals from the Temple to gorge himself and live like a king while the rest of us tighten our belts.” The woman said something in Ulkaari that Caina didn’t understand, but it sounded like a proverb, and Seb and Sophia both nodded. “And worse of all, he hates Lady Libavya, may the Divine watch over her.”
“Lady Libavya Jordizi?” said Seb. “She is the patron of the sanitarium, I understand?”
“Oh, aye,” said the woman, smiling for the first time. “She’s as kindly as the Warmaiden. She pays for all the madmen to live at the sanitarium, and she gives alms to the hungry, the Divine watch over her.” She shook her head. “And Basarab tried to confiscate her property to enrich himself! The greedy old bastard. A fat hog, that’s what he is. If the Voivode didn’t hate the Boyar of Risiviri, we’d sent word to the Grand Temple in Risiviri and tell the Highest Brother to have Basarab removed.” She sighed and shook her head once more. “But you needn’t worry about getting involved in trouble, strangers. The crowd gathers here every day to curse at Basarab when he goes to inspect the Temples, and he always ignores them. The Voivode hangs rioters from his gallows, so we’re all safe enough.”
“Thank you, madam,” said Seb. The woman nodded and moved off.
Caina watched Basarab as the old Brother crossed the square.
Something about him seemed…off.
A corrupt priest was not so surprising. Caina had dealt with corrupt lords and magistrates before, so why not a priest? Corrupt men who abused their authority were almost always the same.
But Basarab walked with a confidence that belied his bulk. He might have been fat, but Caina suspected there was a great deal of muscle under his robe. For that matter, his hands looked wrong. They were thick and scarred and strong, the hands of a man accustomed to either hard labor or frequent violence. Certainly, those were not the hands of an idle man who lived upon the stolen money of others.
His gaze met hers across the square, and Caina felt the weight of his sudden attention. He had watery blue eyes, and there was a shrewdness in that gaze. Caina felt a flicker of alarm as if Basarab could see past her disguise and realize who she really was.
But the moment passed. Basarab looked away, and the procession of Brothers passed. The crowd broke up, the object of their scorn having moved out of earshot.
“One forgets what civic life in Ulkaar is like,” said Seb. "Then cheerful reminders like this come along."
“A corrupt priest,” said Sophia. She seemed outraged. “It is awful that he would betray his oaths to the Divine and abuse his office.”
“Yes,” said Caina, unsettled by the contrast between Basarab’s reputation and the man she had just observed. Still, it wasn’t her responsibility. Her responsibility was to get the Ring to Iramis, out of reach of anyone who would abuse its power. “Let’s get Teodor to the sanitarium and be on our way. The sooner we are gone from Vagraastrad, the better.”
###
The ruined castle dominated the Old City.
Kylon didn’t like the sight of the thing. He had visited the undead-haunted ruins of Caer Magia and the Tomb of Kharnaces, and the Old Castle reminded him of both places. Once it must have been a mighty citadel, with tall walls and proud towers, but now the ruins jutted from the earth like a half-buried skeleton.
Sigilsoara. That was it. The ruined castle reminded him of Sigilsoara, though it lacked the black veins and strange organic growths that had covered the Iron King's castle. Nevertheless, if Kylon reached for the sorcery of water, he sensed the ancient aura of necromantic sorcery that hung over the ruin like the poisonous fumes from a rotting corpse. He couldn’t imagine why anyone would choose to live in the shadow of that place.
Yet people did live here, and apparently by choice.
Mansions filled the Old City, the homes of nobles and wealthy merchants. The mansions shared the same architectural style as the other Ulkaari dwellings that Kylon had seen, though on a far grander scale. They all stood five or six stories tall, with high peaked roofs, their fronts built of whitewashed stone and polished black timbers. Stone walls topped with iron spikes encircled the mansion grounds, and through the gates, Kylon glimpsed snow-covered gardens.
Not only did people live in the shadow of the Old Castle, but they also paid a lot of money to do it. The Ulkaari had a peculiar relationship with their history. Rasarion Yagar had defeated the Kagari hordes and slain their Great Khan with his own hands, freeing the Ulkaari from their brutality. Yet he had then ruled over Ulkaar as a necromancer-king for a century, holding his own people as slaves. Perhaps the Ulkaari liked to live near the memory of Rasarion Yagar the liberator, rather than the memory of the Iron King who had worshipped Temnuzash and turned to necromancy.
Of course, Rasarion Yagar the liberator and the Iron King the tyrannical necromancer were the same man.
It was the sort of historical musing that fascinated Caina, but Kylon had to admit he just found it irritating. He was beginning to dislike history the way he disliked oracles. After the Inferno, the Staff and Seal of Iramis, and the Ascendant Bloodcrystal, Kylon had too often seen horrors from the ancient past rise to wreak havoc in the present age…
He laughed quietly to himself. He was beginning to dislike history, but he was brooding about it anyway.
“What is it?” said Caina, looking at him. She didn’t have water sorcery, but she was so observant that it was almost impossible to hide his mood from her.
“I was just thinking,” said Kylon, “that you must be wearing off on me.”
Caina blinked and then smiled. “Only my good qualities, I hope.”
“Yes,” said Seb. “If you have a sudden urge to disguise yourself and speak in a completely different voice, do warn us first.”
“Don’t be snide,” said Caina.
“That is traditionally the reserve of Scorneus women,” said Seb. “But to return to the topic at hand, I believe this is Lady Libavya’s sanitarium.”
Lady Libavya Jordizi owned a mansion in the Old City, and she had converted it to a sanitarium for the care of the sick and the mad. It was a magnificent mansion, the largest that Kylon had yet seen in Vagraastrad, and the grounds were large and wide. Within the walls, he saw white-robed attendants standing at the doors, and a few more taking patients for walks through the frozen gardens despite the chill.
“Indeed,” said Kylon. “Do you think they’ll admit Teodor?”
“Probably,” said Caina. “He’s obviously lost his mind, and I can bribe the attendants.” She took a deep breath. “Hopefully he can rest here long enough to recover from whatever the sorcerer did to his mind, and…”
Terror spiked against Kylon’s emotional sense, and his hand twitched towards the saber at his belt.
The terror was coming from Teodor.
The old man gazed at the sanitarium, his eyes wide, a tremor going through his frame.
“No,” he whispered. “No, I won’t go back. I won’t. I won’t. I can’t.”
“Teodor?” said Caina, stepping closer to the witchfinder.
“I cannot go back,” said Teodor. “If I do I shall die.”
“They can help you here, sir,” said Seb.
“No,” said Teodor. The old man drew himself up, and something like lucidity came into his expression. “If I go there I shall die. If you go there, you shall die. Arvaltyr!” His eyes seemed to drill into Caina. “You are an Arvaltyr. I saw you wield a holy valikon with my own eyes. You must, therefore, be a righteous woman. I beg of you, do not cross the gate into that cursed place.”
“Cursed?�
�� said Seb, baffled.
Caina turned to look at the sanitarium.
“Do you see any spells there?” said Kylon. He extended his own arcane senses, but save for the faint necromantic aura around the Old Castle and the sorcerous power in Caina’s pyrikon bracelet, he sensed nothing else nearby.
“No,” said Caina.
“Please,” said Teodor. “Do not go there, Arvaltyr. Do not go there until you are ready to face the evil within.”
Caina said nothing.
“It’s possible he’s delusional,” said Seb.
Caina nodded.
Seb sighed. “But you’ve decided to take him with us.”
“I’m afraid so,” said Caina.
Chapter 4: An Unremarkable Sword
Caina considered what to do as they walked down the wide street to the gate leading back to the New City.
It was possible that Seb was right and Teodor was simply mad, that his fear of the sanitarium had been irrational. Yet Caina didn’t think so. When his mind had been intact, Teodor had been a warrior. She had seen the strength of his limbs, the calluses upon his palms, his ability to outrun the reveniri long enough to stay alive. And he had voluntarily taken on the tattoos and duties of an Ulkaari witchfinder.
Such a man would not scare easily, not even while insane…and the fear on his face had been real. For whatever reason, he had been convinced that death awaited in the sanitarium.
What to do about him, then?
One option, of course, was to take him to Iramis. If anyone could help him, it would be the loremasters of Iramis. Perhaps they would be able to heal his mind…but if his daughter Svetlana was in danger, he would be fifteen hundred miles from her.
The Brothers and Sisters of the Temple knew some of the Words of Lore, though they did not possess the mastery of the loremasters. Perhaps one of them could help Teodor, or at least clear his mind enough for him to remember what had happened. Maybe Laskar at the Szlacht’s Sword would know a trustworthy Brother or Sister.
Perhaps helping Laskar was foolish. Caina was carrying an immensely dangerous relic of ancient necromancy. Her first responsibility was to get the evil thing to Iramis. Stopping to help Teodor, even for a day or two, was an immense risk…
No. She could no more abandon a terrified old man to his fate than she could have left Sophia to be devoured in the Boyar’s Hunt. If Caina could help Teodor, she would, and that was that.
She could tell Seb did not think it was wise, but he would not protest. Sophia would do whatever Caina instructed her to do. But she was immensely grateful that Kylon agreed with her. If Kylon had told her it was a bad idea, that they ought to leave Vagraastrad at once and put Teodor in the sanitarium against his will, she would have listened to him.
“Well,” said Seb. “Now what?”
“Let’s head back to the inn,” said Caina, glancing at the gray sky. By the Divine, she missed the harsh sun of Istarinmul. “It’s getting late, and a hot meal and a hot fire would be nice. And if there are reveniri loose in the city at night, best to be indoors. Tomorrow, we’ll see if we can find a Brother or a Sister who knows any spells of the Words of Lore that might help Teodor’s mind.”
“We shouldn’t linger in Vagraastrad long,” said Seb.
“No,” said Caina. She took a long breath of the cold winter air. “No, we shouldn’t. Tomorrow, and that’s all. If we haven’t found anything by then, we’ll leave and take Teodor with us.” The old man walked behind them, Sophia guiding his arm. “If we can get Teodor to Iramis, the loremasters might be able to help him.”
“Very well,” said Seb. He hesitated. “It does seem…odd, though.”
“Many things about this seem odd,” said Caina. “Which one are we talking about?”
“You.”
Caina blinked. “Me?”
“Yes, if you will pardon my bluntness,” said Seb. “You’re the adopted sister of the Padishah of Istarinmul and one of the highest noblewomen of Iramis. You’re the Balarigar and the Liberator and a valikarion. All this, and you’re still stopping to help a confused old man.”
Caina shrugged. “Why should that surprise you? I wouldn’t let him die in the forest.”
“It is surprising,” said Seb. “One wouldn’t expect the Liberator of Iramis to care so much about someone so insignificant.”
Her confusion turned to annoyance. “Just because I’m famous in some parts of the world I should let Teodor freeze to death in the trees? Or would it be better to have him beg in the streets until he starves or the Voivode’s men hang him for vagrancy? Or just stab him to death because he’s inconvenient?”
Sophia looked at her with wide eyes, and Caina took a deep breath and made herself calm down.
“To be blunt…well, yes,” said Seb. “Talmania would have killed him on the spot. Even Ariadne and my other aunts who sided with the Empire would not have gone this far out of their way to help him.”
“I’m not my…” Caina almost said that she wasn’t her mother. “I’m not my aunts. I’m not our aunts, Seb. Maybe none of them would do this. But I hope the apple of my life fell a long way from the tree of House Scorneus.”
Seb frowned at her and then offered a bow. “You are a woman of many contradictions, sister.”
“No, I’m not,” said Caina. “I’m simple.”
“And also an exceedingly gifted liar,” said Seb.
Sophia looked back and forth between them. “You two have the oddest arguments sometimes, my lady. Of course we should help Teodor. The Divine commands us to honor our elders.”
“Moral clarity,” said Seb. “There we are. Thank you, Sophia.”
“If it makes you feel better, Seb,” said Kylon, “Caina has always been like this.”
She raised an eyebrow at him. “I have, then?”
Kylon inclined his head. “You’ve heard of the Battle of Marsis?”
“Of course,” said Seb. “The Empire defeated Rezir Shahan and Andromache of New Kyre. Your…ah, sister, as I recall?”
Kylon nodded again. “We lost the battle, and we lost the battle because a child of one of Caina’s friends was in danger. If the boy had been safe, I suppose Marsis would be an Istarish city to this day. Instead, it remains in the hands of the Empire, all because someone threatened the son of Caina’s friend.” He shook his head. “No. When she decides to help someone, she will help them, and gods help anyone who tries to stop her.”
“I think that was a compliment,” said Caina.
Kylon smiled. “Given that I’m only still alive because you forced Morgant to help me, I would say so.”
Caina remembered that very well. She also remembered that awful day in Marsis, the gnawing dread she had felt when Ark and Tanya’s son Nicolai had fallen into the hands of Istarish slavers. The day Kylon had almost died had been awful as well, and they hadn’t even become lovers yet, yet alone husband and wife.
She took a deep breath and made a fist. Those had been bad days, but she had survived them. Nicolai was safe with his mother and father. And Kylon was with her now.
“It’s just one day,” she said. “If we can’t find anyone who can help Teodor in that time, we’ll leave and take him with us. It’s a delay, yes…but from everything I’ve heard, the Temnoti don’t like direct confrontations. They’re just as likely to attack us in the countryside as they are in the city.”
“Very well,” said Seb. “We…”
The sound of steel-shod hooves ringing against cobblestones came to her ears, and Caina turned. The gate to the sanitarium’s grounds had opened, and a group of twenty men rode forth. Many of them wore chain mail or steel plate armor, and some of the men wore crimson tabards adorned with the black hawk sigil of the Voivode.
A surge of alarm went through Caina.
There were arcane auras around four of the horsemen. Those four horsemen wore the black leather greatcoats and golden medallions of magi of the Umbarian Order.
“Damn it,” said Seb. “That’s Voivode Gregor Vagastru. An
d he’s got Umbarian magi with him. They might recognize me.”
“What’s the custom in Ulkaar for commoners in the street when nobles pass by?” said Caina, her mind racing.
“To stand at the side of the street and wait for them,” said Seb.
“Then that’s what we’ll do,” said Caina. “We’re just some travelers visiting the city. We’ll stay quiet and wait for the Voivode to pass.”
The others followed her advice and moved back, stopping at the wall encircling the grounds of a mansion. Sophia guided Teodor back, and the old man obeyed with placidity. Caina bowed her head in feigned respect, but she watched as the group of horsemen approached, noting details. Most of them had the look of szlachts, minor nobles sworn to the Voivode. They wore chain mail and red cloaks, swords at their belts, jewels glinting at their throats and upon their fingers. Like most Ulkaari men, they wore either bushy beards or drooping mustaches. The Umbarian magi were all men, their faces hard and cold, and Caina saw the protective spells woven into the leather of their coats.
The Voivode rode in their midst.
Gregor Vagastru was a man of about fifty, his hair and mustache iron gray. He was verging towards fat, but he looked strong and hale nonetheless, and Caina glimpsed the calluses on his palm from sword work. His eyes swept over Caina and the others with indifference, noted their show of respect, and then his attention turned to one of the Umbarian magi at his side.
Caina wondered if the Umbarian magi had been involved in the summoning of Sigilsoara, if they knew about the Ring of Rasarion Yagar. If they realized that Caina was carrying the Ring, if they knew it was only a dozen yards from them, they would not hesitate to attack and kill her.
But the Umbarians, like the Voivode, ignored her. The szlachts and the Umbarians rode past, clustered around the Voivode, and Caina started to feel relief.
Then she saw the horseman bringing up the back of the Voivode’s party.
He was neither a szlacht nor an Umbarian magus. The man looked about forty, and he wore a long red greatcoat with black trim upon the sleeves and its hems. He had a craggy face, with an iron-gray beard and hair. Unlike the rest of the men of Ulkaar, this man kept his beard close-cropped and trimmed. It helped make him handsome in a rough sort of way.
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