In the end, Kylon and Theodosia had left, but Ilona had slipped away to follow Caina and warn her. Kylon hadn’t liked that idea at all. To be blunt about it, Ilona was a beautiful woman wearing a revealing dress, and that would draw attention in a way that Caina’s more common clothing would not.
But Ilona answered to Theodosia, not to Kylon, and Theodosia had given her permission. Ilona had slipped away, Theodosia and Kylon had left the mansion, and that had been that.
So Kylon waited with the others at the Old City’s Temple.
He was good at waiting. He had been a stormdancer of New Kyre for a long time, one of the city’s elite warriors, and part of a soldier’s life always involved a great deal of waiting. His time with the city’s fleet had only reinforced that further. Sea voyages always required a great deal of patience.
Kylon waited, even though his heart screamed for him to return to the mansion and find Caina.
The Old City’s Temple was opulent and rich. It had been built in the same fashion as the other Ulkaari Temples of the Divine that Kylon had visited, with eight sides and a domed roof overhead. Unlike the others that Kylon had visited, this Temple was large enough to hold five hundred people, and the floor had been paved in gleaming marble. Frescoes in bright colors adorned the walls, showing the Warmaiden leading her armies against the Iron King as the light of the Divine shone upon her, or more abstract images showing various virtues inspiring the people of Ulkaar. (The virtues, of course, were personified as beautiful women in flowing white gowns.) A dais stood in the center of the Temple, supporting a marble altar, and the air was heavy with the smell of incense.
Over forty men had gathered in the Temple, all of them with the hard-bitten look of veteran fighters. Some were witchfinders, their emotional auras blurred from their sorcery-resisting tattoos. Others were simply mercenaries that Basarab found reliable. Basarab himself paced back and forth, Calugar and Teodor waiting near him like armored shadows. The High Brother of Vagraastrad had traded his robes for chain mail and leather, and he carried an iron-bound wooden club the size of a small tree.
The witchfinders and the mercenaries occupied themselves with the tasks of men preparing for battle – checking their armor, oiling weapons, praying, cursing, and joking. Kylon felt the familiar emotional aura from men about to fight, the tension and the cold control.
Kylon leaned against the wall near the doors, arms folded over his chest. Seb waited next to him, a dark shadow in his spell-forged black armor, his black sword waiting in its scabbard at his side. Sophia sat on the floor next to him, her emotional aura taut and tense. The girl was badly afraid for Caina, though none of it showed on her face. Kylon understood how she felt. Given that she possessed water sorcery as well, no doubt she also understood how he felt.
“Theodosia has been too long,” said Seb. “I should go check on her.”
Kylon shook his head. “Theodosia knows what she’s doing.”
“If you will forgive my harshness,” said Seb, “Theodosia is an excellent singer, but that does not translate into competence in a fight.”
“Not usually, no,” said Kylon. “But she’s not going to fight. She’s going to gossip. And that is something she’s better equipped to do than either of us.”
“Uncle Ivan always said that no one gossips like an old woman,” said Sophia. She blinked, her face coloring a little. “Er…not that Mistress Theodosia is old, but…”
“She’s older than any of us, I suppose,” said Seb. “No doubt that is why she feels comfortable giving us orders disguised as friendly advice. But I do want to know why all of Lady Libavya’s guests decided to leave at once.”
“Yes,” said Kylon. The Old City’s Temple was not far from the sanitarium. It was so close, in fact, that Kylon had seen a sudden exodus of angry-looking guests and their servants exiting the grounds. From what Theodosia and Basarab had said, a proper masquerade ball could continue into the dark hours of the night depending on how much wine the guests drank. So why had all the guests started leaving at once?
“Perhaps they found Theodosia’s song offensive,” said Seb.
Kylon laughed a little. “I doubt that. You should have heard them applaud. No. Something else has happened.” Had Caina gotten caught? But Kylon could not imagine why Libavya would expel all her guests because she had caught a serving maid prowling around her sanitarium.
Sophia blinked a few times and looked at the Temple doors. Kylon frowned and reached for the sorcery of water, extending his arcane senses over the Temple and the area around its courtyard. He felt the tension from the witchfinders and the mercenaries, the worry from Basarab, the cold, collected cool that both Seb and Calugar exhibited, and…
“Theodosia’s back,” said Kylon.
He straightened up as one of the double doors to the Temple swung open a few feet and Theodosia stepped inside, her cloak swirling around her in the gust of chill wind.
“Mistress Theodosia,” said Basarab, striding toward her. The stone walls and the marble floor made his deep voice more resonant than usual. “What have you learned?”
“Strange things, High Brother,” said Theodosia, rubbing her hands together. “Strange things, indeed.”
“Is there any news of my daughter, madam?” said Teodor, stepping closer.
“Not yet, witchfinder,” said Theodosia. Kylon sensed the pity go through her emotional aura. She knew what it was to lose an adult child. Hopefully, she would not have to commiserate with Teodor before this was over. “But it seems that Libavya Jordizi has canceled the masquerade ball and ordered all her guests to leave the sanitarium.”
Basarab’s emotional sense was just as puzzled as his expression. “What?”
“I spoke with several of the nobles’ servants as they left,” said Theodosia. A satisfied smile went over her face. “They quite enjoyed my song and were most willing to gossip. But they were utterly baffled. Lady Libavya announced that the ball was finished, told her servants to withdraw, and then disappeared herself. She couldn’t order the Voivode to leave, of course, but if all the servants and entertainment left, there would be no reason for Gregor to stay.”
“But why would she do that?” said Basarab. “That would be a grievous insult to the Voivode. For that matter, it would be a serious insult to every one of her guests, and every rich merchant and noble in Vagraastrad was invited.”
“I don’t know,” said Theodosia. “But all the servants and maids I spoke with agreed. I did get a look at the Voivode as he left. He looked absolutely furious.”
“I don’t suppose you talked to him,” said Basarab.
“I didn’t want to get any closer to him than I had to,” said Theodosia.
“Why not?” said Basarab.
“Well, from the way he was leering during the song, I thought he might invite me to bed with him,” said Theodosia, “and while older men are sometimes surprisingly vigorous, I had no wish…”
Seb cleared his throat and jerked his head in Sophia’s direction.
“I had no wish to cause any problems,” said Theodosia without missing a beat.
“I’m not a child, you know,” said Sophia, though she had turned red. “I know what you’re talking about.
“Then having seen the Voivode,” said Seb in a dry voice, “I’m sure you understand why Mistress Theodosia had no wish to find herself alone with him.”
Sophia shuddered but nodded.
“Fine,” said Kylon. “So Libavya has thrown out her guests and offended half the prominent nobles and merchants of Vagraastrad. Why? She must have a reason.”
“Because,” said Seb, “she doesn’t care if she offends them. Someone like Libavya only cares about people to the extent that they can threaten or help her. Which means that either she doesn’t need them any longer…”
“Or she’s about to become so powerful they can’t threaten her any longer,” said Theodosia.
“And that would mean,” said Kylon, “that whatever she’s been doing, whatever she’s
been planning, she’s almost ready to accomplish it.”
Basarab started to speak, and then another voice rang through the Temple.
“Excellent deductions, one and all! All of them correct. However, you are overlooking the most important question.”
Kylon whirled, calling his valikon to his hand, the sword burning with white fire in his right fist. He felt the surge of power as both Seb and Sophia started spells, and the witchfinders surged to their feet. Basarab hefted his club with his right hand, the white glow of the Words of Lore shining around his left.
A tall, gray-haired man in a black-trimmed red coat stepped through the doors, an unremarkable sword hanging in a scabbard at his belt. He had slicked-back gray hair and a close-cropped gray beard, and his craggy features made him look like a weathered, experienced warrior.
A dangerous man, but Kylon had the suspicion that this man was even more deadly than he appeared.
“The relevant question,” said Antonin Crailov, “is what you are going to do next.”
###
Seb lowered his black sword, but he did not release the power he held ready.
If even half the stories about an assassin like Antonin Crailov were true, then lowering his guard around the man might be a fatal mistake.
“Master Crailov,” said Basarab. “Have you come to the Temple to make atonement for your sins? It is not too late. The Divine extends his grace to all who repent and seek absolution.”
“High Brother Basarab,” said Crailov. “Based on the stories, I would expect to find you passed out in a pool of mingled wine and vomit. Not clad in chain mail and ready for war.” He smiled. “But one cannot believe everything that one hears, is that not so?” His dark eyes turned to Theodosia, and he smiled. “Madam, I must congratulate you on a most excellent performance. The Voivode enjoyed it immensely. Lady Libavya rather less so. But she was always something of a prude. Which is quite surprising, given how often she had killed people with her own hands.”
“Why, thank you, Master Crailov,” said Theodosia with a brilliant white smile. “And while I enjoy amusing banter as much as anyone else, I suspect you have come here for rather more urgent business.”
“Indeed, I have, madam,” said Crailov. He spread his hands. “I’ve come to help you.”
“Have you?” said Basarab. “Will the Voivode approve? He does not like me very much.”
“Ah, well,” said Crailov. “What the Voivode doesn’t know won’t hurt him, will it? And I am afraid my time in Vagraastrad is going to come to an end this very evening. Truth be told, I’ll be doing the Voivode a favor by helping you. You see, you might wind up ridding him of a dangerous and unstable liability.”
“Speak plainly, then,” said Basarab.
“I will,” said Crailov. He pointed at Seb. “But only to him, Lord Kylon, and Mistress Theodosia.”
Basarab frowned. “Why?”
“Because what I have to say will only make sense to them,” said Crailov. “Don’t worry, High Brother. I won’t hurt them. Truth be told, I’m in more danger from the stormdancer and the battle magus than they are from me.”
“Very well,” said Kylon. “We’ll hear what you have to say.”
“I do hope it is interesting,” said Theodosia.
Crailov flashed a hard smile in her direction. “I wouldn’t dream of disappointing such a brilliant singer, madam. Let’s step outside, shall we?”
Seb glanced at Kylon, and he nodded, keeping his grip on the hilt of his valikon. There was no harm in seeing what Crailov wanted, though Kylon would not lower his guard. Seb thought that an excellent idea. He kept his hold on his arcane power, holding a spell ready. He didn’t think that Crailov intended treachery.
Nevertheless, Seb would remain wary.
They followed Crailov through the doors and into the Temple’s courtyard. Darkness hung over the courtyard and the Old City, broken here and there by lights shining in the mansions of the nobles. Crailov stopped about ten yards from the doors and turned to face them, a blood-colored shadow in his red coat.
“Well?” said Kylon.
“Right to the point, is that it?” said Crailov. His smile glinted in the gloom. “Good. You’ve made a mistake. I know that your wife has the Ring of Rasarion Yagar, and you’ve sent her into the reach of Libavya Jordizi.”
“We already know that you know that Caina has the Ring,” said Seb. “You told us that when we met you outside the sanitarium.”
“Indeed,” said Crailov. “But what you did not know, and what I didn’t know at the time, is that Libavya has figured out that Caina has the Ring…and she also happens to have an immediate and urgent need for the Ring of Rasarion Yagar.”
Kylon’s expression hardened. “And what does Libavya intend to do with the Ring?”
“Do you know who Cazmar Vagastru is?” said Crailov.
Seb felt a chill. “The ancestor of the current Voivode. The Warmaiden killed him in the ruins of the Lord’s Castle a long time ago.”
“To be totally accurate,” said Crailov, “she didn’t kill him. One cannot kill a man who is already undead since he was a powerful vyrkolak. She did destroy him, but the Temnoti took his remains and sealed them within a glass coffin in the vaults. I suspect the idea was to slowly regenerate his body, and then restore him to undeath once the Temnoti happened to have need of him.”
“What does this have to do with Libavya Jordizi?” said Kylon.
“Our illustrious Lady Libavya,” said Crailov, “has been a member of the cult of Temnuzash since she was a child. She has a talent for necromancy, and she has risen high within the cult. In another few years, she will be worthy to enter Sigilsoara and be transformed into the immortal form of a Temnoti priestess. But the Temnoti priests and priestesses, alas, are rather less…comely than one might wish.”
“They look like misshapen, mutated horrors,” said Seb.
“Just so,” said Crailov. “Like all necromancers, Lady Libavya wants to live forever, but what is the point of living forever if you cannot stay young and beautiful? So, she has been researching, seeking for a way to become immortal without going to Sigilsoara, and during her researches, she entered the Lord’s Castle. She found Cazmar Vagastru’s coffin and realized what he was. She thinks to raise him back to undeath, and to pry the secret of becoming a vyrkolak from him.”
“That’s the point, isn’t it?” said Kylon. “That’s the reason for everything she’s done. She wants to become a vyrkolak.”
“Exactly,” said Crailov. “Every spell she has cast, every experiment she had undertaken, has been with the goal of raising Cazmar and becoming a vyrkolak. But she has failed again and again across the decades. When the civil war began, Talmania Scorneus took her as a student, but they’ve had a falling out. A thousand things Libavya has tried…and then the Ring of Rasarion Yagar has come into her grasp.”
“How did she know that Caina had the Ring?” said Seb. “Did you tell them? You figured it out.”
Crailov laughed. “I am not a Temnoti cultist or a priest, Lord Sebastian. If the Temnoti desire my help, they can pay for it like everyone else. But the Temnoti know that you took the Ring from Sigilsoara. They know, and they told Lady Libavya, but she desires the Ring for her own reasons."
“It will help her to raise Cazmar Vagastru?” said Seb.
“Do you know what the Ring’s powers are, Lord Sebastian?” said Crailov.
“Enlighten us,” said Sebastian.
“The Ring grants its bearer the power to command undead and raise undead,” said Crailov. “You can see why Libavya desires the Ring. With it, she can raise Cazmar at last, and force him to tell her the secrets of undeath.”
“Then Caina is in danger,” said Kylon. “If Libavya realizes that she’s there, she’ll demand the Ring…no. That’s why she threw out all the guests, isn’t it?” His face hardened further. “She captured Caina, and wanted to use the Ring to raise Cazmar at once.”
“That is the most likely explanation,”
said Crailov. “If it will ease your mind, I doubt Libavya has killed her quite yet. Your wife has a valikon, and Libavya does hate an unknown threat. However, I suggest you hurry. It is entirely possible that Libavya will succeed in raising Cazmar, and you’ll have to face a powerful vyrkolak lord. That might be beyond even a Kyracian stormdancer with a valikon.”
“Why are you telling us all this?” said Kylon. “You said you only help those who have hired you. We haven’t hired you. Are you negotiating with us?”
“No, Lord Kylon,” said Theodosia. “This is a negotiation, but he’s not offering to help us. He’s trying to get us to help him for free. Someone hired you to kill Libavya Jordizi, didn’t they? Except you’re not sure you can manage it yourself, so you’re trying to get us to help you.”
Crailov offered a sweeping bow. “You are most astute, madam. Suffice it to say that I want to see Lady Libavya dead. How she winds up dead is not particularly important, especially if you are the ones who actually kill her. I would be most happy to assist you in that endeavor.”
“With all respect,” said Seb, “you don’t seem that trustworthy.”
Crailov let out a long laugh. “Of course I am not trustworthy. But trust is hardly required. We have a common enemy, and that is a better bond than mere trust. I very much advise you to set out for the sanitarium at once, my lords. If you do not, Lord Kylon, you shall have a dead wife, and you shall have to avenge her by fighting a lord of the vyrkolaki. Though if you do fight a lord of the vyrkolaki, you can at least take comfort in the knowledge you will be reunited with your wife in death in very short order.”
Seb looked at Kylon, wondering how he would react to that threat against Caina. But it wasn’t a threat, was it? Crailov was merely delivering news. To further his own ends, to be sure, but Seb didn’t think the strange assassin was lying. He wanted Libavya Jordizi dead, and the easiest way to do that was to get Kylon and Seb and Basarab and the others to do the hard work for him.
Ghost in the Glass Page 23
