“Yes,” said Caina. “An eternity of strength and youth, fueled by the lives of innocent victims. How desirable indeed.”
Crailov smiled. “And how many lives has the Balarigar claimed? You look like a kindly young woman, but you’re not. You’ve killed so many people. Why not feed on them as you slay them?”
“Everyone dies, Crailov,” said Caina. “No one lives forever. Not a Great Necromancer, not even a vyrkolak. Someday we shall all stand before the Divine and account for our deeds.”
Crailov laughed. “How trite. But that is not the point. You might not find such a state desirable…but many do, and Lady Libavya Jordizi is one of them.”
“That’s what this is about, isn’t it?” said Caina. “That’s why she joined the Temnoti, and that’s why she’s been practicing necromancy. She wants to live forever, and she’s been trying to find a way to become a vyrkolak.”
“You surmise correctly,” said Crailov.
“Why do you care?” said Caina.
“I was hired to solve a problem,” said Crailov.
“Ah,” said Caina. “Someone hired you to kill Libavya Jordizi, and you want me to do it for you.”
Crailov smirked. “Gregor Vagastru is an ally of the Umbarians and the Temnoti. Libavya Jordizi is an ally of the Temnoti, but she doesn’t care who rules Ulkaar. Lady Libavya was a student of Talmania Scorneus, but they’ve had something of…a falling out, let’s say. Talmania thinks the vyrkolaki are wasteful, useless leeches, and has no desire to bring them back to prominence in Ulkaar. Libavya disagrees.”
Caina let out a long breath. “Which is the entire reason you’re in Vagraastrad, isn’t it? Talmania hired you to kill Libavya.”
“Just so,” said Crailov.
“Fine,” said Caina. “I won’t get in your way.”
“The problem,” said Crailov, “is that Libavya’s death must look like an accident. Or self-inflicted. The Umbarian Order needs the Voivode’s support and assassinating one of his nobles is an excellent way to drive him into the arms of the Emperor. And that is why, my lady, I’m going to help you.”
“Really,” said Caina.
Crailov straightened up and spread his hands. “Yes. After all, the Voivode can hardly blame Talmania if Libavya was sloppy and brought the wrath of the Temple and its witchfinders down upon her head. In fact, a party of witchfinders has already attacked Libavya’s sanitarium, have they not? That is your plan, I assume? To find uncontestable proof of Libavya’s crimes, present them to that clever rat Basarab, and let them storm the sanitarium?”
“And are you going to warn Libavya?” said Caina.
Crailov laughed. “Certainly not. I’m going to stand back, watch you destroy her, and then take the credit for her demise.”
“Fair enough,” said Caina. “How can you help us?”
“You’re on the right path,” said Crailov. He pointed down the corridor. “Go to the kitchen, and then take the stairs to the wine cellar. In the third niche on the right-hand wall, turn the torch sconce to the right. That will open the secret door. It leads to Libavya’s shrine to Temnuzash, and you’ll find all the proof you need there.”
“Very well,” said Caina. “And how do I know that you’re not lying to me?”
“You don’t,” said Crailov. “But suffice it to say, we have an overlap of interests. You want Libavya Jordizi dead to feed your righteous wrath, no doubt. I want her dead, so I can take the credit for it and get paid. I have no reason to hinder you and every reason to stay out of your way. Even to help you, if I can do it without getting caught.”
“Very well,” said Caina. She supposed she would have to see for herself. “Thank you for your assistance, Master Crailov.”
She stepped past him, tense in case he attempted to attack, but Crailov let her go.
“You remind me of her in your decisiveness,” said Crailov.
“Who?” said Caina, glancing back. “Libavya?”
Crailov smiled behind his close-cropped gray beard. It was like watching a wolf smile. “Your aunt Talmania.”
Caina went down the corridor without another word.
###
Antonin Crailov watched Caina Kardamnos walk away.
Under other circumstances, it would have been an enjoyable sight. The dress fit her well, and Crailov had to concede that Caina was an attractive woman. Talmania Scorneus was a beautiful woman, and Caina looked a great deal like her, albeit without some of the hard edges. Of course, only a fool would assume that Caina Kardamnos was not dangerous. The Balarigar had gained her reputation for a reason…and most of that had been accumulated even before she had become an Arvaltyr.
“Kill her,” said the Sword of Rasarion Yagar into his thoughts. “Kill her now. Draw my blade and stab her in the back. She will be unable to stop you. Kill her and rejoice in her death.”
As usual, Crailov ignored the Sword’s terrible advice. He wondered idly if Rasarion Yagar had been that unstable when he had first been a vyrkolak. The man had left mountains of corpses in his wake, yet he had kept his grip on power for well over a century. Granted, the Empire had been distracted with its war against Old Kyrace at the time, but even so, an unstable man could not hang onto power that long without destroying himself.
Then again, Nadezhda the Warmaiden had defeated him.
Crailov dismissed both the Sword’s suggestions and that entire line of reasoning. There were more practical matters at hand.
Namely, how to turn this situation to his advantage.
He wasn’t sure what would happen next. Crailov hadn’t told the entire truth to Caina, and she might not be prepared for what awaited her in the cellar. Libavya might wind up killing her and her allies. On the other hand, it was just as likely that Caina would wind up killing Libavya Jordizi.
The ideal outcome, of course, was that Caina and Libavya would kill each other. Crailov could then return to Talmania and take credit for killing bother her traitorous former apprentice and her troublesome niece.
And more importantly, Crailov would then have the Ring of Rasarion Yagar.
Now that was something he could turn to his own advantage.
But if Crailov wanted Caina and Libavya to kill each other, it was going to take some work, which meant it was time to get started.
He slipped out of the mansion and headed for the Old City’s Temple, where he expected High Brother Basarab waited with a force of witchfinders.
Perhaps Crailov could get them to attack a little earlier than planned.
Chapter 12: The Cult of Temnuzash
Caina slipped into the kitchens, a wave of heat rolling over her.
The kitchens were large, and no doubt had once supported a powerful szlacht or a minor boyar and his household. Given that Libavya had killed her sanitarium’s patients and raised them as reveniri, Caina doubted that the six ovens lining one wall had ever been put to use feeding them. Now all six were lit, and Lady Libavya’s servants were busy preparing food and drink for the guests. The smells of cooking food and strong wine filled Caina’s nostrils, and a dozen different arguments in Ulkaari babbled in her ears.
“You! Girl!”
A stout middle-aged man stalked towards her, jabbing a thick finger at her face.
“Aye?” said Caina.
“You’re a maid for one of the guests?” snapped the man, likely one of the cooks to judge from his grease-spattered apron. “You’re not supposed to be here.”
Caina drew herself up and answered in the loftiest tone she could manage. “My mistress requires refreshment immediately. She…”
“Bah!” said the cook, throwing up his hands in disgust. “Not only do they send serving maids to hector me, but they also send foreign wenches at that. How am I to get any work done? It is ridiculous!” The man continued his tirade and stalked towards one of the counters, where half-dozen women were busy chopping vegetables.
Caina took that opportunity to hurry across the kitchen to a closed door on the far wall. The hinges made an anno
ying creak as she pulled them open, but the noise of the kitchen drowned it out. Caina slipped through the door and closed it behind her. Beyond was a narrow stairway sinking into the earth, the walls made of rough brick. Further down the stairs, Caina saw a pale white glow that looked like the light produced by the Magisterium’s enspelled glass spheres.
She descended the stairs in silence, one hand following the wall to keep her balance, her boots making no sound against the stone stairs. Given that she was wearing a long skirt and boots with elevated heels, that was a lot harder than it would have been otherwise. Caina missed the clothes she had worn as a nightfighter of the Ghosts, the loose black trousers and shirt and the black jacket lined with thin steel plates to deflect knife blades. She especially missed her shadow-cloak, but that was still in Iramis.
And she missed throwing knives. She really missed throwing knives.
The stairs ended in a large brick chamber that must have once been a wine cellar, though the wine had been removed long ago. There were dusty wooden racks designed to hold skins of wine. Two glass globes set in the ceiling gave off pale light, and there were four niches on either wall. Empty torch sconces had been affixed to the walls next to each niche.
It was time to see how much of the truth Antonin Crailov had told her.
Caina walked to the third niche on the right, grasped the sconce, and turned it. It rotated clockwise so easily that it must have been oiled, and she heard a loud metallic click from behind the niche. It was so loud that Caina glanced towards the stairs, fearing that she had been heard, but likely no one in the kitchen had noticed.
A heartbeat later the wall at the back of the niche swung open, revealing another stairwell that spiraled down into the darkness.
Caina flinched, stepping back in disgust.
The distinct rusty odor of old blood rose from the passageway, accompanied by a faint breeze. Caina considered summoning her valikon but decided against it. She hoped to get in and out of Libavya’s secret shrine to Temnuzash without anyone seeing her, but if she had to fight, she wanted her opponents to underestimate her. Caina stepped back into the wine cellar, removed one of the glass spheres from its setting, and lifted it before her. The thing’s sorcerous aura made her skin tingle and crawl, but it gave off a steady light. Caina’s mask had been wrapped with tight bands of blue cloth, so she disassembled it in haste, wrapping the cloth around the globe to create an impromptu hooded lantern.
Once that was done, Caina took a deep breath and scowled at the smell.
She had seen a lot of horrible things in her life, and she had the grim suspicion that she was about to see some more.
Caina descended the spiral stairs, sweeping the globe’s light back and forth before her. After a few yards, the rough brick of the mansion’s cellars changed to massive rough-hewn blocks of ancient stone. Caina suspected she was entering ancient catacombs beneath the Old City, catacombs dating to when Cazmar Vagastru had ruled from the Lord’s Castle in the name of Rasarion Yagar. What better place for Libavya to hide a shrine to Temnuzash?
Perhaps the Iron King had once walked on these very steps, wearing the Ring that Caina now carried and the Amulet that Talmania Scorneus now bore.
It was a disturbing thought.
The stairs ended in a gallery of stone, the walls lined with niches. Skeletons in rusty armor lay in the niches, mantled in dust, their bony fingers grasping the hilts of ancient swords. Caina gazed at the skeletons, but she saw no sign of necromantic power around them. At least these dead had been left to rest in peace.
But she did see necromantic power coming from the right side of the gallery, harsh and corrupt and malevolent to her valikarion’s sight. Her physical eyes also noted a pale green glow from that direction. The smell of old blood was coming from there, along with the warm breeze.
Which was strange, because this far underground it should have been icy cold.
Caina listened for a while but heard nothing save her own breath and the steady beat of her heart.
As far as she could tell, there was no one else alive down here.
Caina lifted the glass globe with her left hand and walked forward in silence, her right hand ready to call her valikon. Step by step the pale green glow grew brighter and the necromantic aura stronger, Caina’s skin crawling with pins and needles. Soon she saw that the green glow came from a narrow archway at the end of the gallery.
She pressed herself against the wall next to the archway, listening, but heard nothing save the rustle of the warm breeze. At last Caina peered around the edge of the arch and saw a large pillared hall, the green light coming from something on the floor, but still nothing moved.
Caina stepped through the arch and looked around.
Skulls stared down at her from the walls.
This place had once been an ossuary, or perhaps a funeral shrine of some kind. Niches lined the walls behind the pillars, and those niches had been filled with hundreds, maybe thousands, of skulls. The far wall had been carved with the Iramisian symbol of the Divine, a seven-pointed star, but it had been crudely defaced and painted with something that looked like an octopus or perhaps a squid with nine stylized tentacles.
Unless Caina missed her guess, that nine-tentacled symbol was the sign of Temnuzash.
Both the green glow and the warm breeze came from a sigil of green fire that had been written on the stone floor. On the other side of the symbol, between Caina and the defaced sign of the Divine, rose a menhir about nine or ten feet tall. Its sides had been carved with arcane sigils, and the top of the stone had been sculpted into a version of the squid symbol. Two wooden tables stood near the walls, holding knives, books, and scrolls.
Caina took a few steps towards the glowing symbol upon the floor, gazing at it with her physical eyes and the vision of the valikarion. She recognized both the symbols and the flow of necromantic power into the glowing lines. It was a summoning circle, designed to allow spirits to be drawn to the mortal world from the netherworld. The Magisterium strictly banned the summoning of spirits, though the Umbarians did it freely, as did the occultists of Anshan. Given the havoc that Caina had seen Callatas wreak with his summoned nagataaru in Istarinmul, Caina approved of that law.
To judge from the dried bloodstains within the glowing circle, this was likely both the weak point that Kylon had sensed and the place where Libavya created her reveniri. The sequence was obvious enough. Libavya killed her victims with a dagger and cast necromantic spells over them. She then placed the corpse within the circle and cast the summoning spell, binding the carrion spirit with the undead flesh, and she had another reveniri at her command.
Caina’s mouth pressed into a thin line, the familiar old anger burning in her heart. What Libavya Jordizi was doing here was a monstrous and abominable crime, made all the worse that she did it under the guise of a sanitarium to care for the sick and the insane.
Before this was over, Caina promised herself, she would make sure Libavya was called to account for her crimes.
Of course, to do that, she needed proof, something convincing enough to allow Basarab’s attack to pass muster before the Voivode’s eyes. When Basarab and his witchfinders arrived, Caina could lead them right here, and this room alone would be enough to doom Lady Libavya. But Caina needed more, something that would force Gregor to allow a search of the mansion.
Her eyes fell on the table, and she saw several necromantic auras shining from the objects there.
Yes, something from the table might serve.
The first table held a variety of daggers and knives, many of them rusting and crusted with blood. Lady Libavya did not take proper care of her equipment. The second table held several skulls carved with arcane symbols, the skulls radiating necromantic sorcery. Caina suspected one of those might serve as proof, but she didn’t want to touch them unless necessary. The spells did not look healthy for living flesh.
A scroll drew her attention. It gave off a faint necromantic aura, and it had been written in what appeared
to be dried human blood. Basarab knew some of the Iramisian Words of Lore, as did the other Brothers and Sisters of the Temple. If he used the Words to detect necromantic sorcery on the scroll, and the other Brothers confirmed it, that would be enough to support an accusation. Caina rolled up the scroll, careful not to touch the characters, and her eyes fell on a book.
It was not a large book, only about six inches by nine inches, and it gave off no necromantic or sorcerous aura. Yet it was a fine example of the bookbinder’s art, and it looked sturdy and well-constructed. It was quite old, the leather cover worn smooth, as if it had been handled many times. Lady Libavya’s journal, perhaps? No, it looked too old for that.
Caina opened the book and saw the illuminated letters produced by a professional scribe, rather than the blocky text created by the new printing press machine that some clever engineer in Malarae had thought up a few years ago. The book was written in archaic Ulkaari, but it used the Nighmarian alphabet, and Caina had picked up enough Ulkaari over the last few weeks that she could just make out the meaning.
The book was a prophecy of Temnuzash.
Caina flipped through it, reading the pages by the eerie glow of the summoning circle. She could not understand all the book, and she didn’t have time to read it properly. Nevertheless, she grasped its meaning. The Great Master Temnuzash, the book claimed, dwelled in the void beyond the circles of the mortal realms. The world was his, and all its peoples belonged to him. One day his chosen one would bring him to the mortal world, and all mankind would be his slaves, save for his priests and faithful. Temnuzash offered many rewards to those who followed him. The mavrokhi spirits served him and could give his faithful the strength and speed and savagery of the wolf. To those who served him well, Temnuzash could bestow immortality, transforming them into vyrkolaki.
One day, the book claimed, the chosen one of Temnuzash would rise again. Then the chosen one would summon something called the Final Night, and the world would join Temnuzash in his void forevermore. His priests and faithful would rule over the mass of mankind, who would be ruled as the beasts they were.
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