Ghost in the Flames (20 page)

“I see,” said Caina again. His warning chilled her. Yet her duty demanded that she remain. “You are right, learned master. I will make arrangements to take ship to the Imperial capital as soon as possible.”

“Good. Very good,” said Ephaeron. He paused, and stared at Ark for a moment. “I think I recognize you.”

Ark bowed. “Yes, learned master. I am Ark, of Caer Marist. We met when Countess Marianna attended the Lord Governor’s banquet.”

“Yes, yes” said Ephaeron, “but I recognized you then as well.”

Caina blinked, glanced at Ark in sudden alarm. If Ephaeron happened to recall Ark’s real name…

“I spent some years with the Eighteenth Legion, serving as their battle magus,” said Ephaeron. “You served in the Eighteenth Legion, did you not?”

“I did,” said Ark. 

Ephaeron frowned. “You…were a centurion, as I recall.”

“I was,” said Ark. 

“When your term of service was up, why did you not reenlist?” said Ephaeron. “Centurions almost always reenlist, as I understand. You could have achieved high rank by now, perhaps command of your own cohort.” 

Ark shrugged. “I had grown weary of the military life, learned master. In truth, I was happier as a common soldier. Once you gain a centurion’s rank…there was too much politics for my taste, and I am a simple man.”

Ephaeron’s mouth twitched, perhaps in amusement. “I can understand that. How did you come to the service of House Nereide?” 

“I took my discharge bonus and traveled to Malarae,” said Ark. “I had intended to open an inn. Instead I came across Lord Nereide on the road while he was under attack from brigands. I helped drive them off, and Lord Nereide offered me a position with his House. The work seemed amenable, so I took it.”

“Ah,” said Ephaeron. “You were fortunate. Every year, dozens of veterans open new inns and taverns in the Imperial capital, and most of them go out of business within the year. There is something about the soldier’s life that must make innkeeping an attractive profession.”

“The beer, I’m sure,” said Ark.

Ephaeron barked with laughter. “No doubt.” He turned to Caina. “Countess, I am pleased that you chose to embrace reason and accept my offer. I urge you to follow reason once more. Leave Rasadda quickly.” He sketched a bow, turned, and left. 

Ark and Caina looked at each other. 

“Well,” said Caina, “that was close.”

Ark nodded. “I was certain that he would recall my real name.”

“It’s good he didn’t. You lied quite admirably, by the way.”

Ark smiled. “I have been watching you.”

Caina laughed, hefting Ephaeron’s purse. “Very good.” 

“Are you going to leave Rasadda?”

“Of course not,” said Caina. She thought it over. “Countess Marianna Nereide might. I can disguise myself as someone else, if necessary. I’ll send the maids back to Mors Crisius, tell them that I’ll take ship with you. I could easily masquerade as a woman of common Caerish birth, a peddler maybe, or as your wife, perhaps.”

Something flickered in Ark’s eyes.

“I’m sorry,” said Caina. “That was thoughtless of me.” 

“I know that you meant no ill,” said Ark. “And it would be an effective disguise, in truth.” 

“But too soon,” said Caina. “Countess Marianna Nereide can speak with the Lord Governor and with Romarion. A lowborn Caerish peddler, or the wife of a discharged veteran, could not. No, I’ll not change my alias, at least not yet.”

“What will you do now?” said Ark.

Caina glanced out the window. The day was wearing on. “Now? I’m going to go take a nap. Then it’s past time I had that private chat with Sister Tadaia.” 

Chapter 20 - The Burning Flame

When night fell, Caina prepared. She barred the bedroom door, and donned her black clothes, her weapons, her tools, the gray mask, her father’s signet ring, and the shadow-woven cloak. Then she crossed onto the balcony, hooked a grapnel to the stone railing, and vanished into the night. 

She did not need Ark’s help for this one. Caina doubted that the Temple of Living Flame possessed the same sort of rigorous security as Romarion’s mansion. And the Black Wolves had been looking for Ark, not for her. That still troubled her. Why had the mercenaries been looking for Ark? For that matter, how had they even managed to find him in a dark alley at the middle of the night? It was a tremendous coincidence, and Caina detested coincidences. 

No. Think later. Right now she had to focus.

Rasadda’s streets were crowded. The better neighborhoods crawled with militiamen, both foot and horse patrols. No doubt Valgorix hoped to stave off a potential insurrection. Saddai commoners thronged the streets of the poorer districts. Caina heard angry muttering about Kalastus’s massacre, heard men with flame tattoos upon their chests chanting the name of Corazain. 

Caina kept to the shadows, her cloak blending with the darkness. 

At last she stood before the Temple of Living Flame. She saw a fiery glow coming from within the Temple’s opened doors, the same glow rising from the oculus at the apex of the dome. Between the light from the Temple and the light from the pyramids, tangled shadows filled the plaza before the doors. Caina crept from shadow to shadow, until she could peer into the Temple’s opened doors. She saw no one, and heard nothing, and so hurried through the doorway on silent feet. 

Black marble gleamed beneath her boots, and a great fire crackled in the center of the domed chamber, the smoke rising through the oculus. Bas-reliefs covered the walls. Caina expected them to show glorious scenes from the old Saddai empire. Instead they showed men and women submitting humbly to their sufferings as the Living Flame purified their souls. There were odd scratches here and there on the carvings, and Caina looked closer.

They had been gilded, she realized. Tadaia must have ordered the gold pulled off to buy bread for the poor. 

Caina circled around the wall, trying to keep to the shadows, and made her way around the chamber. Living quarters rested along the Temple’s outer wall, and Caina suspected that she would find Sister Tadaia there. The door was locked, but the lock was old and rusting, and it took only a moment’s work to release it. 

She found herself in a narrow hallway, wooden doors lining either wall. The nearest door was open, candlelight spilling into the darkness, and Caina heard rasping, groaning sobs coming from inside. Curious, she glided forward and peered through the door. 

Gaidan knelt over a bed, weeping. His shoulders shook with sobs, and he mumbled a prayer over and over again in Saddaic, asking the Living Flame to scour the corruption from his soul. He did not look like the proud, contemptuous priest Caina had seen. Instead he looked horrified, as if he had seen some nightmare that had shaken the foundations of his soul. 

A knife appeared in Caina’s hand. For a long moment she considered stepping into the room and driving the blade into his neck. It would be quick, easy, silent. If she made sure to close the door and extinguish the candle, no one would discover the corpse until morning. And the man deserved it. He was raising an insurrection against the Empire, and he was almost certainly the pyromancer, the new Ashbringer, behind the murders.

Almost…

Caina did not know for sure. She would kill to defend her life, and if her duty demanded it. But she would not murder a man bent weeping over his bed. She moved carefully down the hallway. At the third door, she saw light glimmering through the cracks. Caina took a deep breath to steady her hands, and pushed the door open. 

The room beyond had a bed, a chair, and a desk. Sister Tadaia sat sleeping in the chair, a book open upon her lap. Caina closed the door behind her, crossed the room, and placed a gloved palm over Sister Tadaia’s mouth. 

The old woman awoke with a sudden shock, her hands flailing. 

“Do not scream, do not call out,” said Caina in Saddaic, her voice rasping and disguised. She began to feel a tingling sensation. “And do not attempt a spell. I will know if you do. I wish only to talk. Do you understand me?” 

The tingling subsided, and Tadaia nodded. Caina stepped away from the chair, and circled around it so Tadaia could see her. 

“The Living Flame preserve me,” she whispered. “Someone has been sent at last to murder me.”

“I said I wanted to talk,” snapped Caina. “I do not speak with the dead.” There was a window overlooking the street. If Tadaia decided to call for help, Caina could go out the window and escape easily enough. 

Tadaia closed the book on her lap. “You…I know you.”

“Do you, now?” said Caina, keeping the alarm out of her voice. If Tadaia recognized her from this morning…

“You are one of the Ghosts,” said Tadaia. “The spies and servants of the Emperor. I had heard that your brotherhood prowls the night, wrapped in shadow…but I never thought to meet one of you.” 

“The Emperor has no spies,” said Caina. “Only Ghosts that lurk in shadows.” 

“So I see,” said Tadaia. She frowned. “I…cannot see your heart.” 

“Since it is still inside my chest, I should hope not.”

“No,” said Tadaia. “It is a gift of the Living Flame, that I can see the auras of men as their spirits burn within them. And I cannot see yours. Are you…ah, your cloak. It blocks my sight. How am I to know your motives? How I am to know if you mean good or ill towards my people?”

“You shall have to use your wits and your judgment,” said Caina, “like those of us who are denied such gifts. But I will say this to you. I do not mean you or your people harm, and nor does the Emperor. Word of these…burning murders has reached his ears, and I was sent to find the truth behind them.”

Tadaia sucked in a breath. 

“You know of them?” said Caina. 

Tadaia said nothing, her lips working, hands trembling in her lap. 

Caina went to one knee before the old woman’s chair. “Listen to me. I have watched you long from afar. I know how you have labored to feed the poor, how you stripped the gold from the very walls of this temple to buy bread.” 

Tadaia blinked. “How could you know that?”

“We are the Ghosts,” said Caina. “We know much. I know you are a woman of character. I saw one of the burning murders, Sister. I saw it with my own eyes. I watched as a man screamed and gibbered as his flesh crisped and his skin turned to ash. Help me find this murderer, and I swear to you that he will answer for the horrors he has wrought.”

Tadaia closed her eyes. “Very well. If you so swear. I will tell you what I know, if you will use it to stop these horrors. And the horrors that are yet to come.” 

Caina stood, backed away. 

“I am not surprised,” said Tadaia, “that these murders are happening. Rasadda is falling apart. Nicephorus’s hand is cruel and heavy. He has stolen our lands and impoverished our people. The poor cry out for bread, for justice, but there are none to hear. And desperate men fight, sooner or later.” She looked at Caina. “Do you know the difference between the Living Flame and the Burning Flame?”

“No,” said Caina. “I thought you Saddai worshipped the Living Flame. But I have heard the Sons of Corazain speak of this Burning Flame.”

“Corazain.” Tadaia closed her eyes again. “Yes. Corazain.” Her eyes flicked open. “The difference is this. The Living Flame is the true god of the Saddai people. If you have been watching me from afar you will have heard me speak of him. The goal of our lives is to be reunited with the Living Flame in eternal harmony. But our souls are corrupted, and must be purified. And suffering is the instrument of the Living Flame, the hammer of his forge. By patient endurance, our souls are reforged, are tempered and made new.”

Caina nodded, titling her shadowed cowl. 

“But the Burning Flame,” said Tadaia, “is…different. It is a different interpretation, a different way of looking at our god. A darker way. Those who follow the way of the Burning Flame argue that the world is corrupt, wicked, ruined. The world must burn, they say, all nations and all peoples must burn. Only when this rotten world has burned to ashes can it be rebuilt anew.” 

“The Ashbringers,” said Caina. “They followed the Burning Flame, did they not?” She remembered Ostros screaming in his veil of flames and tried not to shudder. 

“Yes,” said Tadaia. “When the Ashbringers ruled our people, and went to war against other peoples, the way of the Burning Flame ruled, and those who followed the Living Flame were persecuted. But your Empire threw down the Ashbringers, and the Saddai turned to the way of the Living Flame.”

“So the Sons of Corazain,” said Caina, “they follow the Burning Flame.”

“Yes,” said Tadaia. “I pity them, but they do. Nicephorus created them. He drove them from their lands, denied their families food, and their desperation turned to despair and rage. So they have embraced the nihilism of the Burning Flame. They would see Rasadda burn, see all the Empire burn, just to take their revenge upon Nicephorus.” 

“And among the Sons of Corazain,” said Caina, “is this new Ashbringer.” Tadaia flinched at the word. “I know that sorcery is behind these deaths, Sister. I told you. I saw a man burn to death in unnatural fire before my eyes.” 

“Yes,” whispered Tadaia, her voice choked with grief. “Yes. I am certain of it. Someone among the Sons of Corazain has chosen to walk the ruinous path of the Ashbringer.” 

“Who?” said Caina, leaning forward. “Do you know who? Is it Gaidan?” 

“Gaidan? No. Gaidan is a fool,” said Tadaia. “Yesterday, an Imperial noblewoman came to hear me preach. At first I thought her a silly child, but she had been touched by the misery of the hungry, and donated a large sum of money to buy bread for the poor. Gaidan wanted to kill her for it! He said it was an insult to the dignity of the Saddai people.” Tadaia shook his head. “Besides, he lacks the talent for it. Some of the Brothers and Sisters of the Living Flame have some ability at the arcane, as do I, but Gaidan does not.” 

“I have heard him speak to his followers,” said Caina. “He thinks that Corazain has returned, that the burning murders are an omen of his coming.”

“Then let us hope and pray that he was wrong,” said Tadaia. “If Corazain has truly returned, it would be a disaster for the Saddai, and for the entire world.”

“Indeed?” said Caina. “I thought Corazain was a hero to you Saddai.” 

“There are some who think that,” said Tadaia, “and they are fools to do so.”

“Why?”

Tadaia paused for a long while. “There are things you must understand, about the Ashbringers and the pyromancy they practiced. Pyromancy is dangerous, incredibly dangerous, to both body and soul alike.”

“I know this,” said Caina. “I watched a man burn to death. And every magus I have spoken with has told me that same.”

Tadaia’s eyes narrowed. “You are a friend of the magi?”

“Of course not,” said Caina. “The Magisterium is cruel and corrupt. But when even they say that pyromancy is dangerous…”

“Indeed,” said Tadaia. She took a deep breath. “Listen to me. You think there are understandable purposes behind these murders. That the victims were killed for political reasons. Or for mere money. It may have started out that way, but no longer. The practice of pyromancy bestows tremendous power. But essence of pyromancy is fire, and the essence of fire is to burn. To burn! An Ashbringer can bring fiery death down upon his enemies. But at the same time, the power is devouring him. Burning him. Burning away his body, his soul, and his mind. An Ashbringer always goes insane. Inevitably. Sooner or later, the power burns away his reason.” 

“Then the old Saddai kings…”

“Oh, yes,” said Tadaia. “Every last one of them went mad, and Corazain was the maddest of them all. They tortured children for their own amusement. They took what women they pleased, and none dared defy them. They would kill on whim, or for no reason at all. And they discovered the deeper truth within the flames.”

“What truth is that?” 

“That death can unlock powers even more terrible,” said Tadaia. “A man will burn a coal for heat and light. For fuel. The Ashbringers discovered how to burn a man to feed their strength. If they used pyromancy to kill a man…they could drain his strength, his very life force, into their own bodies. They used that stolen strength to heal their wounds, to augment their sorcery, to extend their own lives. The mightiest Ashbringers could live for centuries, cruel, mighty, and insane, nightmares made flesh, until at last their powers devoured them from within.”  

“Gods,” whispered Caina. She remembered how powerful Maglarion had grown on stolen life force. Little wonder that the Empire had fought to bring the Ashbringers down so long ago. 

“And Corazain was the maddest of them all,” repeated Tadaia. “Do you know the story of his final spell?”

“Yes,” said Caina. “When Crisius besieged the city, Corazain withdrew to the pinnacle of his funeral pyramid. He unleashed his powers in a final spell that destroyed most of the city and Crisius’s army.” 

“You are almost right,” said Tadaia. “Corazain did indeed withdraw to the pyramid. But he unleashed his powers against the Saddai, not against Crisius’s army.”

“His own people?” said Caina, horrified. With an effort she remembered to keep her voice disguised. “Why?” 

“He burned them all to fuel his own strength, his own sorcery,” said Tadaia. “A hundred thousand people, and he burned them all to feed his power. He thought it would transform him into a living god, and then he would strike down Crisius’s host with a thought. But the power was too much for him. Mortal flesh could not contain it. It destroyed him, and the ruin of his destruction burned Rasadda to the ground. Crisius’s army was destroyed only by accident.” 

“He tried to slaughter his own people to become a god?” said Caina, appalled. Yes, it did indeed remind her of Maglarion.