Jonathan Moeller - The Ghosts 05 - Ghost in the Stone (13 page)

“Threats, Marzhod?” said Theodosia, and both of them began shouting.

“Enough!” said Caina. Her head still ached from the poisoning. “Shut up, both of you!”

Both circlemasters glared at her, and Saddiq’s lip twitched in amusement.

“Yes, I wish things had gone differently,” said Caina. “But they could have been worse. Khosrau, Armizid, and Corbould are still alive, and I didn’t accidentally kill myself with poison. We need to figure out who sent the Kindred after Lord Corbould. Otherwise we will sit around and blame each other as the Legions burn Cyrioch to the ground.” 

“You are both fools,” said Marzhod.

“I don’t give a damn about the opinion of a man who owns slaves,” said Caina, rubbing her brow. Gods, her head hurt. “But unless we find out who hired the Kindred, Corbould Maraeus is going to die, Cyrioch will rebel against the Empire, and the Legions will destroy the city. It  will be hard to rule the shadows in a city that has been burned to ashes.”

Marzhod said nothing. Theodosia smiled, briefly.

“So,” said Caina. “Who hired the Kindred?”

“I don’t know,” said Marzhod. “If you had figured out which glass on that tray was poisoned, that would have been helpful.”

“We already know the Kindred are trying to kill Corbould,” said Theodosia.

“Yes,” said Marzhod, “but if they’re trying to kill both Khosrau and Armizid simultaneously, that makes things different. The nobles are arrogant, but not arrogant enough to fake their own assassinations. One does not play games with the Kindred.”

“Khosrau, Armizid, and Corbould,” said Caina, thinking hard. She remembered how the poisoned wine had smoked against the marble. “All three of them were standing together. Maybe the assassin was trying to kill all three of them. They would have taken wine from the same tray.”

“So who would benefit from killing both Corbould Maraeus and Lord Khosrau and his son?” said Theodosia.

“The Magisterium,” said Caina. 

“Doubtful,” said Marzhod. “Lord Khosrau has no enemies among Cyrioch’s magi. He doesn’t like the magi, but he doesn’t dislike them, either. I see no reason why Ranarius would want the nobles dead.”

“What about Mhadun?” said Caina. “He’s Kindred, I’m sure of it.”

“He is,” said Marzhod, “but not out of loyalty. Mhadun works for whoever can pay him.”

“He loves coins, then?” said Theodosia.

Marzhod gave her a chilly smile. “No. But he does enjoy naked slave girls, preferably virgins. Virgins do not come cheaply, and the Kindred can pay him quite a lot of money.”

“Have you tried following him?” said Caina. “He probably ranks high enough among the Kindred to know who hired them to kill Corbould.”

Marzhod scoffed. “Spying upon a master magus is not easy. And Mhadun has power enough to pluck the secrets from a man’s mind with a single spell. Not someone to cross lightly. He’s too dangerous to capture and interrogate.”

“What about Khosrau’s other sons?” said Theodosia. “He has at least twenty, both legitimate and not.” 

“But what would they gain from killing him?” said Marzhod. “Their father’s patronage has given them offices and magistracies across the Empire. One of his bastards even commands a Legion in the Imperial Pale. If they kill Khosrau, they lose their patron. Besides, Khosrau has the rare gift of remaining on good terms with his sons. Even the bastards.” 

“There are too many possibilities for us to take decisive action,” said Theodosia. “I suggest we focus on keeping Corbould, Khosrau, and Armizid alive. Sooner or later the Kindred will make a mistake, and we can find their Haven and destroy them, or at least hurt them enough that they won’t go after the nobles again.”

Marzhod. “A good idea from an opera singer. Will wonders never cease?”

“What about Corvalis Aberon and the statues?” said Caina, hoping to forestall another argument. 

“Decius Aberon is the First Magus,” said Theodosia, “and…”

“How remarkably well-informed you are,” said Marzhod. 

“Are you better informed?” said Theodosia. “Do you know anything about Corvalis Aberon?”

Marzhod shrugged. “I have never heard the name Corvalis, no. But the First Magus has a number of bastard children. Most of them are magi, with reputations as dark as their father’s.”

“Corvalis wasn’t a magus,” said Caina. “He fought with sword and dagger, not with spells.” 

“Yet you said that scarred assassin wanted him dead,” said Marzhod. The doubt in his voice was plain.

“Aye,” said Caina. “I think Sicarion was there for another reason. He was surprised to see Corvalis.”

Marzhod grunted. “So this Sicarion is turning people into statues?”

Caina would not put it past him or the Moroaica. Yet Sicarion was a necromancer, and Jadriga was dead.

Or she was dead and her spirit was trapped inside Caina’s head.

“I don’t know,” said Caina. “But I don’t see what advantage he would gain from it.” 

“Was Corvalis hunting Sicarion?” said Marzhod.

“No,” said Caina. “He seemed just as surprised as Sicarion.”

“How delightful that you could arrange the reunion of two old friends,” said Marzhod. “But until I find proof otherwise, I’ll assume that Corvalis Aberon is behind the statues.” 

Caina nodded. “I’m sure his ‘business’ is connected to it.” 

“I suggest you focus on finding who hired the Kindred,” said Theodosia. “Meanwhile, we will try to keep Corbould, Khosrau, and Armizid alive.” 

“Another opera?” said Marzhod. “Perhaps you can sing the assassins to death with the tedium of your voice.”

“That would be convenient,” said Theodosia, “but instead we are going to the Ring of Valor to watch gladiatorial matches. Lord Corbould brought the Grand Imperial Opera to Cyrioch in honor of Lord Khosrau. So to repay him, Lord Khosrau is holding gladiatorial games in Corbould’s honor.” 

“I didn’t think you had the stomach for gladiators, dear Theodosia,” said Marzhod. 

Theodosia sniffed. “The vulgar tastes of those too crude to appreciate the splendors of opera are hardly my concern. But Lord Khosrau, in his graciousness, has invited the men and women of the Grand Imperial Opera to watch the games. And I am hardly so churlish to turn down the invitation of such a gracious lord.”

Marzhod’s dark eyes flicked to Caina. “Just don’t faint at the sight of blood this time.”

“I’ll manage,” said Caina. 

“We will ensure that no harm comes to the lords,” said Theodosia. “I trust you will keep yourself useful.”

“My men will keep watch on known members of the Kindred,” said Marzhod. ” And as for the statues,” he rubbed the dark stubble of his jaw, “I may have to hire…outside help.”

“Outside help?” said Theodosia. “What do you mean?” 

“An expert in sorcery,” said Marzhod. “Someone to take a closer look at the statues.”

“No members of the Magisterium,” said Caina. “They cannot be trusted.”

“Of course they cannot be trusted,” said Marzhod. “Sorcerers are an unreliable and treacherous lot, and we’d be better off if we killed them all.”

Caina felt her opinion of Marzhod improve.

“But I’ve never heard of sorcery that could turn a man to stone,” said Marzhod. “So it’s time to consult an expert.” He grimaced. “Difficult as she may be.”

“She’s mad, that one,” said Saddiq, his deep voice a rumble. 

Marzhod scowled. “Do you know another renegade sorcerer available for hire? No? Until you find one, we have to turn to her.” He stood. “If that is all, I do have work to do.” 

“Why, Marzhod,” said Theodosia. “I was sure you were going to offer us something to drink.”

“Don’t be absurd,” said Marzhod. “I’m trying to turn a profit, and spying for the Ghosts does not pay very well. I certainly cannot turn a profit by giving away wine for free.”

Theodosia sniffed and got to her feet as Marzhod walked to the door. “Not that the vinegar you sell can be properly called wine.”

Marzhod and Theodosia headed into the hallway, still bickering, while Caina followed. Saddiq fell in besides her, moving with silence remarkable in so large a man. 

“I think,” said Caina, voice low, “that they’re going to kill each other.”

Saddiq chuckled. “Perhaps. But Marzhod will not go against the Ghosts. He owes Halfdan too much.” 

“Why do you follow him?” said Caina as Theodosia and Marzhod started down the stairs to the common room. “He is cruel and owns slaves.”

Saddiq shrugged. “Among the tribes of the desert, slavery is a way of life. It does not fill us with outrage as it does the Ghosts of the north, though a man who mistreats his slaves is as big as fool as a man who mistreats his horse, since he might find his horse unwilling to gallop when his foes close around him. But it may please you to know that Marzhod has freed many slaves.”

“What?” said Caina.

“If a slave spies loyally for five years,” said Saddiq, “then Marzhod will buy the slave and set him free. There are many such freedmen through the Cyrican provinces. They all spy for the Ghosts and do Marzhod’s bidding, for they view him as a father.” 

“Why didn’t he tell me this?” said Caina as they descended the stairs to the Painted Whore’s common room. 

“Because life has taught him that mercy is weakness,” said Saddiq, “but his heart knows otherwise. Also, he thinks women are treacherous and fickle.”

“Do you think that?” said Caina.

Saddiq grinned. “I have three wives, and they have taught me that women are just as treacherous and fickle as men.”

Despite herself, Caina laughed. 

The Painted Whore’s common room was packed, the slaves hurrying back and forth as they brought food and wine to the sailors. A pair of musicians labored over a Caerish fiddle and an Istarish drum in the corner, filling the room with lively music. But the sailors still made way for Marzhod as he argued with Theodosia. A drunken man stumbled away from a bench, staggering as he fought to keep his balance. 

Caina blinked.

It was the Kindred assassin from the Palace of Splendors, the man who had carried the tray of poisoned wine. Now he looked like a sailor, with rough trousers, bare feet, and loose shirt. But Caina saw the same cold glitter in his black eyes, despite the facade of drunkenness.

And she saw the knife in his right hand. 

“Marzhod!” shouted Caina, but the noise of the crowd swallowed her words.

But the assassin saw her, and his eyes widened in recognition.

Caina seized the moment of hesitation and sprang at the assassin. He drew back his knife to stab, but she had the advantage. She rammed her shoulder into him, staggering the assassin. A cheer went up from the sailors, no doubt excited by the prospect of a fight. 

Then the assassin got a better grip on his knife and Marzhod’s Sarbian mercenaries detached themselves from the wall and headed into the crowd. Tavern brawls were one thing, but a killing was another. The assassin glanced back and forth, face twisted with rage. He looked at Caina, as if marking her for future vengeance. 

Then he sprinted for the door. 

“Stop him!” shouted Caina, but the Sarbians moved too slowly. 

The assassin darted into the street and vanished. 

“What the devil was that all about?” said Marzhod. 

She grabbed his sleeve and pulled him closer to Theodosia, making sure they could not be overhead over the crowd. 

“That was a Kindred assassin,” said Caina. “He was here to kill you.”

Theodosia frowned, and Saddiq reached for his scimitar. 

“You’re sure?” said Theodosia. 

Caina nodded. “The last time I saw him he was holding a tray of poisoned wine in the Palace of Splendors.” 

“Damn it,” said Marzhod. “Damn it! If we had taken him alive, we could have gotten useful information out of him.” He scowled at the door. “But why did he try to kill me? You’re the one who tripped over him at the Gallery of the Well.”

Caina took a deep breath. “Because,” she said, “they figured out I was a Ghost. And they know you are the circlemaster of Cyrioch. So the best way to strike back against the Ghosts for stopping the assassination is to kill the circlemaster of Cyrioch.”

Marzhod stared at her, blinking.

“Damn it,” he said at last.

“Then it is well,” said Saddiq, “that I just sharpened my scimitar.”

Caina sat up, sweat pouring down her face. She looked around the darkened sitting room, expecting to see Maglarion standing in a corner, a bloody knife in his hand, or the Moroaica watching her with her deep eyes. Or the Istarish, carrying away a weeping Nicolai. But the sitting room was deserted and silent.

Just dreams.

How strange that the dreams frightened her so much when there was a good chance she might awaken to find a Kindred assassin standing over her bed.

Caina sat up, rubbing her face.

“You know, you make it damnably difficult to get a decent night’s sleep.”

Theodosia stood in the doorway to the bedroom, wrapped in a nightgown, dagger in her hand. Caina surged to her feet and looked around, expecting to see the Kindred storm through the door. 

But there was only darkness and silence.

“What’s wrong?” said Caina. 

“You are,” said Theodosia, tucking the dagger into the sash of her gown.

“Me?” said Caina. 

“I heard you screaming,” said Theodosia. “I came out expecting to see you fighting assassins, but you were only having dreams. I should have known.” She shook her head. “Awake, you’re as cold as ice. It’s only when you sleep that you scream.” 

“I’m sorry,” said Caina, raking her fingers through her sweaty hair. “I didn’t mean to wake you.” Gods, but when was the last time she had slept the night? 

It had been before the Istarish attack on Marsis, certainly. 

“I’m sorry,” said Caina again. 

“It’s not your fault,” said Theodosia. “You can hardly be blamed for having nightmares. What is it that Halfdan always says? That nightmares…”

“Are scars of the mind,” said Caina.

“And I would wager,” said Theodosia, “that you have quite a few scars.”

“Aye,” said Caina. She paced to the balcony doors, gazing at the dark shape of the Defender. 

“You keep telling me,” said Theodosia, “that you’re fine, but you’re usually a better liar than that.”