Chapter 29 - The Pact of the Magi
Caina dressed for Lord Haeron’s ball in grim silence.
She chose a blue gown with black scrollwork on the sleeves. The bodice was uncomfortably tight, but the hanging sleeves left plenty of room to conceal throwing knives. She piled her hair in an elaborate crown, donning a silver choker chain with a thumb-sized sapphire in the center. Her father’s signet ring she hid on a cord around her left wrist.
If she had to confront Maglarion, she wanted that ring with her.
At last she took a deep breath and examined herself in the mirror. She looked like a pretty young noblewoman without a thought in her head. Her mother must have looked like this, twenty years ago.
She did not look like a woman planning to kill a centuries-old necromancer.
That was the point.
She went to join the others.
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A short time later the coach stopped before the ostentatious marble pile and massive tower of Lord Haeron’s mansion. Riogan and Halfdan opened the coach’s door, and Caina and Julia descended. Dozens of coaches waited around the mansion, and Caina saw hundreds of nobles wandering through the gardens.
“How are you going to sneak the spear into there?” said Caina. Already she saw the Kindred assassins prowling among the guests, silent in their dark livery.
Riogan smirked and touched his belt. A broad-bladed short sword hung there, and Caina realized that it was the spear. Or, at least, its blade, attached to a sword hilt.
“I prefer the spear,” said Riogan, “but it’s tricky to sneak into a party. Even for me.”
He wore leather and chain mail, and addition to the spear blade, carried a pair of daggers and a sword strapped to his back. Halfdan wore a seneschal’s robes, but he, too, carried a dagger and a sword at his belt. Julia had chosen a sleek green gown, jewels glittering at her throat and fingers, but Caina was sure she had a dagger hidden someplace.
“Let’s go,” murmured Halfdan. “Stay cautious.”
He led them though the crowds of chattering nobles. Caina caught snatches of conversation as she passed. Most of the nobles discussed the upcoming Grand Kyracian Games. More than a few nobles praised Haeron’s seeming youth and vigor, and speculated on what he would do as Emperor.
Caina did her very best not to grind her teeth, to keep her expression cool.
The scaffolding covering the half-rebuilt ballroom improved her mood somewhat. Instead of the damaged ballroom, Halfdan led them to the Grand Hall instead, only a little smaller than the ballroom, a huge chamber lined with granite pillars, the vaulted ceiling carved with reliefs celebrating House Icaraeus’s long history.
Haeron Icaraeus waited by the tall double doors to greet his guests.
“Julia, my dear,” he rumbled, catching Julia’s hand and kissing it. He looked even younger than Caina remembered, stronger and healthier. The life force of more murdered slaves, no doubt. “So good of you to come. Especially after the…unpleasantness at my previous ball.”
“I would not miss it, my lord Haeron,” said Julia, her voice smooth as glass. “It is the duty of all loyal daughters of the Empire to celebrate our triumph over Kyrace.”
“Indeed,” said Haeron. “And I see you have brought a guest?”
His dark eyes turned towards Caina. The last time, he had barely noticed her. This time, she had his full attention.
She made herself look nervous and did a curtsy. “My lord Haeron. An honor.”
“A pleasure,” he said, taking Caina’s hand and kissing it. “I’ve heard quite a bit about you, my dear.”
“Have you, my lord?” said Caina. “All lies and calumnies, I am sure.”
“It was a tragedy, about Lord Alastair Corus, was it not?” said Haeron. “Such a dreadful pestilence.”
“Yes,” said Caina, keeping her voice smooth. Anger curled inside her. Alastair had been a fool, but he did not deserve to have a monster like Haeron Icaraeus gloating over his grave. “It was most tragic.”
“You were very close to him, were you not?” said Haeron.
“He enjoyed the honor of my company,” said Caina.
“Oh, he did, he did,” said Haeron. “Did you know he came to me before he died? He wanted counsel. You had ruined his life, after all, and he didn’t know what to do. Was he the first man you ever took into your bed?”
“That,” said Caina, “is hardly an appropriate question.”
Haeron smirked. “I was merely curious. Usually, a young woman falls for the first man she takes into her bed, but you were only the latest of Alastair’s mistresses. Yet his wife killed herself over you, and Alastair was so heartbroken that he died of a plague.” He laughed. “And here you are, utterly untroubled. You bear close watching, Countess. A woman as cold-hearted as you would make a potent ally or a dangerous enemy.”
“Lord Haeron,” said Julia, her voice frosty, “it is hardly dignified to discuss such matters in public, is it? Certainly it is beneath the dignity of a man who might be the next Emperor of Nighmar.”
Haeron’s eyes narrowed. “As you say, my lady. A pleasure speaking with you both.”
He turned his attention to the next group of nobles, and Caina and the others walked into the Great Hall.
“He suspects something,” murmured Caina.
“Of course he does,” said Halfdan. “He knows that someone arrived to save Julia from Maglarion. And he knows that you were involved with Lord Alastair. Seeing you with Julia made him suspicious. And with any luck, it will make Maglarion suspicious, and he will show himself.”
“Fat bastard,” muttered Riogan, glancing back at Haeron, who was hardly fat any longer. “I should have cut his throat then and there.”
“Yes, that would be subtlety, indeed,” said Halfdan. “Keep watch.”
Caina nodded. If Lord Haeron decided that she and Julia were a threat, if he decided to have them killed…he could do it easily. Caina saw a dozen Kindred assassins prowling throughout the hall, ignored by the noble lords and ladies. It wouldn’t even take a blade or a crossbow quarrel. An “accidental” fall from a balcony, a drop of poison in the wine…
“Are you well?” said Julia. “You look…ill.”
“I’m fine,” said Caina. “I…”
She frowned.
She did feel ill.
And as she concentrated, she felt the presence of necromancy all around her. Faint, tenuous, like smoke rising from a distant fire, or the smell from a half-buried corpse.
But it was there nonetheless.
“Sorcery,” said Caina, frowning. “There’s…a great deal of necromantic power here, I think.” If she closed her eyes, she could almost feel it beating upon her face like the sun. “Whatever Maglarion’s doing…it’s here. In this mansion.”
“Do you think Maglarion would be bold enough to show himself openly?” murmured Julia. “Half the guests at Haeron’s birthday saw his face. And the Magisterium still has that ‘bounty’ on his head.”
“I don’t know,” said Halfdan. “Let see if we can draw him out, shall we?”
Caina and Julia moved from group to group of nobles, Halfdan and Riogan trailing after. They accepted glasses of wine from servants, and made polite small talk with the nobles. Caina pretended to listen to their talk of balls and weather and Imperial politics, but her eyes scanned the room whenever she had a chance. Maglarion was here, she was sure of it.
Then she saw him.
He stood on the high balcony running along the length of the Great Hall, watching the crowd with amused interest. A patch hid the glowing green crystal embedded in his left eye socket, and he wore a cloak with the hood pulled up, no doubt to keep anyone from identifying him.
But Caina could never forget him, no matter how much she wanted to.
“Excuse me, sirs,” said Caina, moving away from a group of nobles. Riogan looked up as she approached, and she whispered into his ear.
“There,” she said. “On the balcony, behind me. In the cloak.”
“That’s him?” said Riogan. “Fellow with the patch over his eye?”
Caina nodded.
Riogan grunted. “Shorter than I expected. He’s talking to someone.”
Caina turned, looking up just long enough to see Maglarion talking to a stout lord in an expensive blue coat.
“We’re taking him,” said Riogan. “Now.”
“Just like that?” said Caina.
Riogan nodded. “He’s isolated on that balcony. Best chance we’ll have. You distract him, and I’ll creep up from behind and ventilate his guts with the ghostsilver blade. Now make up an excuse.”
Caina stepped to Julia. “I feel the need to stretch my legs. I think I will take a walk. Up to that balcony, perhaps. There’s a fascinating man I’ve wanted to talk to for some time.”
Both Julia and Halfdan looked at her, eyes hard, and then nodded.
“Do be careful, my dear,” said Julia.
“Not to worry,” said Caina. “Raccard here,” she glanced at Riogan, “will deal with anyone who threatens me, I’m sure.”
“Good luck,” said Halfdan, “my lady.”
Caina nodded and followed Riogan across the Great Hall. A narrow flight of stairs led up to the balcony. Caina wished that she was wearing her shadow-cloak. It would have ruined her disguise, of course, but so long as she had it on, Maglarion could not break into her mind.
Not that it would stop his spells from shattering every bone in her body, of course.
She reached the balcony, Riogan a half-step ahead of her.
Maglarion was gone.
She looked around, saw him vanishing into a hallway, the stout lord in the blue coat walking before him. Riogan jerked his head in that direction, and Caina nodded, her heart racing. Would Maglarion recognize her face? She doubted it - she had been only one among his hundreds, even thousands, of victims. If he realized who she was, he might kill her on the spot. Or perhaps he would try to find out how she had escaped from his lair all those years ago.
But if he remembered her from Lord Haeron’s birthday, he would kill her on sight.
Either way, she had to distract him long enough for Riogan to strike.
The hallway was long and high, statues and busts standing in niches along the walls. Caina saw Maglarion vanish into a door of polished wood. She took a deep breath and followed. She would go in, get his attention, and give Riogan the chance to…
“Where are you going?”
The voice was toneless. Caina turned, as did Riogan.
A tall, pale woman crossed the hallway towards them, dressed all in black. A black dagger hung in a sheath at her belt, her hand curled around the hilt. Her face was emotionless. Almost lifeless. Caina had seen corpses with more expression. The woman’s pale eyes were cold, almost like looking into a frozen pond. Caina had seen eyes like that before, had…
Recognition shot through her.
Ikhana. Maglarion’s lieutenant.
She felt a nauseated tingle as Ikhana stepped forward. The dagger, Caina remembered. Ikhana had claimed that it could drain life energies from its victim and into its wielder. At the time, Caina had been too terrified to care. But now she felt the aura of dark power surrounding the weapon.
“Where are you going?” said Ikhana, her voice still dead, but her knuckles tightened around the dagger’s hilt.
Caina drew up her chin. “It is not any of your concern, servant. I am a Countess of the Nighmarian Empire and may go where I wish. Now be off, or else I’ll tell Lord Haeron of your insolence, and he’ll have you beaten black and blue.”
“I know you,” said Ikhana.
“I’ve never seen you before,” said Caina.
Riogan stepped forward, hand on his sword hilt. “You offer my mistress impertinent words, wench. Get out of our way or you’ll feel the back of my hand.”
The sight of Riogan with hand on sword would have frightened most people. But Ikhana did not move, did not blink her icy eyes.
“Where have I seen you before?” she murmured. “Have I seen you before? No…I think not. But you are familiar. Yes. That is it. You remind me of someone. Someone the Master knew.”
Caina felt a drop of icy sweat trickle down her spine. The woman’s monotone, her motionless eyes, made her seem like a dead thing. Ikhana remembered her. Or she remembered Laeria Amalas, and Caina looked like her mother.
She had to distract Ikhana.
The answer came to her.
“Raccard,” she said, putting a whine into her voice, and curling her arms around Riogan’s neck. She had the brief satisfaction of seeing astonishment shoot into his cold eyes. “Raccard, you said we could sneak off together. And if Lady Julia ever found out about this, oh, I’d never heard the end of it. Raccard, make her go away.”
She planted a kiss on his cheek and rested her head against his shoulder.
“Woman,” said Rekan, his voice gruff. “My mistress, ah…she is feeling ill, and needs to lie down. Find her a bed she can use, now.”
Ikhana’s eyes narrowed in contempt, and she walked away without another word.
Caina disentangled herself from Riogan as soon as Ikhana was out of sight.
“What is the matter?” said Riogan, smirking. “My lady is too good for a romp with her bodyguard?”
“We have work to do,” said Caina.
Riogan’s smirk vanished. No doubt he was more interested in killing Maglarion than kissing her. Or anyone. “Did you see where he went?”
“That door,” said Caina.
Riogan nodded. “Then let’s finish this. You distract him, I’ll gut him.”
Caina reached for the door a crack, stopped.
“What is it?” said Riogan.
Her skin tingled. “He’s casting a spell.”
“At us?”
“No,” said Caina. “And it’s not…it’s not powerful.” She took a deep breath and opened the door.
Beyond she saw a cavernous, darkened sitting room, with overstuffed couches and chairs resting on at thick carpet. Double doors opened onto a broad balcony, Maglarion standing near the marble railing.
Six men in the black robes and purple sashes of master magi stood with him.
“Stop,” hissed Caina.
“What?” murmured Riogan.
“There are master magi with Maglarion,” said Caina. “Six of them. Not even you can sneak up on all of them.”
“Go,” said Riogan. “We’ll try again later.”
Caina started to step back, then stopped. One of the magi wore a red sash instead of a purple one, and she recognized his face.