Ghost in the Cowl (13 page)

An instant later the chain snapped taut, and Caina heard the terrible sound of snapping bone and ripping muscle, accompanied by another ghastly shriek from Ulvan. The Master Slaver swung upside down from the chain, gibbering and wailing, while a crowd of stunned slaves and bodyguards watched from below. Smoke billowed from the balcony doors behind Caina as the flames devoured Ulvan’s bedroom. If the Immortals went through the door, they would find a warm welcome.

She vaulted over the railing and scrambled down the chain, ignoring Ulvan’s wails. The balcony only jutted a few feet from the wall, and the windows of the bedrooms below Ulvan’s chambers were just out of reach. Ulvan thrashed, his motion sending the chain swinging back and forth. Caina took a moment to assess the arc, nodded, to herself, and jumped. 

She sprang from the chain, fifty feet of nothingness below her, and slammed into the window. Her scrabbling boots found purchase upon the sill, and she caught her balance, ripped open the shutters, and climbed into a deserted bedroom.

Then she ran with all the speed she could muster, cloak billowing behind her, satchel bouncing off her hip. The time for stealth had passed. The fires and Ulvan’s predicament would hold the attention of the slaves and the Immortals for a few moments. 

Now Caina needed haste. 

She dashed down five flights of stairs and burst back into the great hall. A harsh glow came from the highest balcony, the chandeliers gleaming through a thick blanket of smoke. The fires were spreading faster than she had expected. The corridor leading to the kitchen was full of flames. The kitchen fire had expanded – she had known that flour could burn explosively, but apparently mixing it with cooking oil was especially potent. 

Which meant the corridor, and the exit through the kitchen, was blocked off.

Fortunately, Caina had other options.

She ducked into one of the sitting rooms and smashed a window. Glass shards fell as the lead shutters popped open, and Caina clambered over the broken glass and dropped the four feet to the ground, back into the ring of bushes and trees she had used to conceal herself earlier. The gardens were empty, the festivities over, but shouts and screams rang from the house as the slaves fled the burning palace, their cries of alarm mingling with the hoarse roars of the Immortals.

And over it all Caina heard Ulvan’s bellows of pain and fury. 

She sprinted around the corner and returned to the slave entrance. The doors stood open, and Caina hurried into the brick hall. Flames billowed from the kitchen door, but the door to the slave cells stood closed. Caina yanked out Ulvan’s keys and started trying them in the locks.

On the third key, the lock released, and Caina pulled open the heavy doors with a grunt. A wide set of stone steps descended into the earth, lit only by a few gloomy glass globes. The stairs ended in a long, wide corridor, divided by iron bars into large cells. Each cell held a dozen slaves, divided by men and women. Right now chaos reigned in the cells as the prisoners shouted at each other.

“What is happening?” shouted a man. “I smell smoke! Is…”

Then they saw Caina, and a stunned silence spread through the corridor. Caina glimpsed Bayram and Bahad in one of the cells, Bayram standing protectively before his younger brother. The slaves were not chained individually. That was good – it would have taken too long to open every individual lock.

“By the Living Flame, it’s a devil!” said a woman. 

“No,” said a man. “No! It’s a djinn from the desert, a djinn of shadows.”

“The Balarigar of the Szalds!” shouted a tall, thin man, and Caina looked at him in surprise. “I was at Marsis! I saw the Balarigar kill the emir! That’s him! That’s him!”

They all started talking at once.

“Silence!” roared Caina in her disguised voice, and the captives stopped talking. She ran to the first door, found the key, and opened the lock. 

“What…what are you doing?” said the tall man, eyes wide. 

“The way is clear,” said Caina. “Go now, through the back. Run as fast as you can! Go. Go!” 

They took the hint, rushed from the cell, and raced up the stairs.  

She hurried from cell to cell, opening the doors and releasing the slaves. Most of them sprinted for the stairs. A few paused to thank Caina, and she urged them on. At last she came to the cell holding Bayram and Bahad. The men tumbled out, and the boys followed.

“You two,” rasped Caina. “Go to your mother’s coffeehouse. As fast as you can. Run!”

Bayram nodded, grabbed Bahad’s hand, and pulled his younger brother along. 

Soon the cells were empty. Caina hesitated for a moment, and then dropped the keys upon the floor. If Ulvan didn’t die of his injuries, he would be furious, and even if he perished, the Slavers’ Brotherhood would try to discover what had happened. Nerina Strake was a strange, peculiar woman, but Caina liked her, and she would prefer that Nerina not receive the blame for Ulvan’s sudden downfall. 

One could not blame a locksmith over a stolen key.

Caina ran up the stairs, and darted back into the palace gardens. The captives fled for the back gate, vanishing into the darkened streets of the Masters’ Quarter. More shouts rang from the gardens. The Immortals had noticed the fleeing captives, and some of the elite soldiers moved to stop them.

Caina intended to give them a more compelling target. 

She whirled and ran the length of the palace, making no effort to conceal herself. The pale glow of the Immortals’ eyes loomed in the fire-lit gloom, and she felt the weight of their gaze as she ran past them, her cloak billowing. She sprinted around the corner, and saw the mob of house slaves standing before the doors to the great hall, gazing up in astonishment as their master dangled upside down, shrieking and sobbing. Mardos stood in their midst, shouting for a ladder, but no one heeded him.

“It’s him!” howled Ulvan, pointing. “The Balarigar! Stop him. Stop him!”

The slaves took one look at Caina and hastened to get out of her way. The Immortals pursued her, shouting as they called for their comrades. They were fast, but Caina had a head start, and the slaves got in their way. The gate was the obvious place to escape, so Caina ignored it and ran for the wall. It was nine feet tall, and she took a flying leap at it. Her gloved hands slapped against its lip, and she heaved herself up, rolled over the wall, and landed in the avenue outside of Ulvan’s grounds, her legs collapsing beneath her to absorb the shock. 

Caina risked a glance back. Smoke billowed from the windows of Ulvan’s private rooms, and even from this distance she still heard him screaming, heard the shouts of the Immortals. His palace was in chaos, and Ulvan’s Immortals would hunt her for the rest of the night. 

And that, she hoped, would give Ulvan’s captives all the time they needed to escape. 

Caina sprinted into the night as the Immortals burst from the gate.

Chapter 12 - Liberator

The eastern sky started to brighten by the time Caina returned to the House of Agabyzus. 

She had led the Immortals on a merry chase through the Masters’ Quarter before vanishing into the alleys of Istarinmul’s poorer quarters. The city watch had swarmed over the Masters’ Quarter, sealing it off, but by then Caina was already long gone.

She stepped towards the dry fountain, breathing hard, her clothing soaked with sweat, her legs throbbing. It had been a long night, and she could not even guess how many miles she had run. 

Best not to go back to the coffeehouse. Caina suspected she had made a clean escape, but she had been wrong before. The Teskilati would undoubtedly investigate, and they might trace Caina to the House of Agabyzus. If they caught her, she wanted Damla and her family to remain clear of the backlash.

Still, she thought Damla and her sons would be safe, along with the other captives. Ulvan had forged his Writs of Captivity, and his records had gone up in smoke when the fire had spread to his study. Plus, she had his ledger in her satchel. He couldn’t prove anything – and from what she had learned of Istarish politics, no magistrate would support a Master Slaver so egregiously incompetent to allow all his slaves to escape. 

She stopped next to one of the ruined windows and listened. Inside the coffeehouse she heard excited voices, heard Bayram and Bahad telling their story to their mother, heard Damla laughing and weeping all at once.

Caina smiled behind her mask and returned to the empty square behind the coffeehouse. It was deserted, and she opened the secret entrance beneath the dry fountain.

The Sanctuary looked unchanged, the enspelled glass globes throwing back the gloom. Caina dropped her satchel on the floor, removed her shadow-cloak, and peeled off her sweat-soaked clothing. If the Teskilati knew of Sanctuary, this might not be the safest place to stay. Perhaps it would be better to find a different hiding place.

Still, she would rest here for now, just for a little while. If someone forced their way inside, the noise would wake her, and she could escape through the sewers. She found some blankets, made herself a bedroll in a dark corner, and lay down with a sigh. Gods, but she was tired. 

She would have expected nightmares, but no dreams of any kind troubled her.

###

Much later, Caina awoke and rolled over with a sigh, reaching for Corvalis. He wasn’t there. Well, he was a light sleeper, and likely had already risen to practice with his sword and dagger. Caina would rise and practice the unarmed forms herself, and once she had finished, they would take the coach to the House of Kularus and see if any messages had come…

Then Caina remembered why Corvalis was not there, remembered that he would never be there again.

She closed her eyes and cried in silence for a while, resting her head against the rolled-up blanket that served as her pillow.

Bit by bit her mind came back into focus as she remembered where she was and how she had gotten there. Istarinmul and the House of Agabyzus. Sulaman and his damned poems. Damla weeping, and the knives and flames in the Circus. Ulvan’s shrieking as the chain rasped against stone of the railing…

The insane, mad risks Caina had just taken.

The risks she had survived.

She felt herself shaking, felt her lips twitching. 

And then she began to laugh like a madwoman, unable to stop herself. 

Gods, what a fool she was! Storming Ulvan’s mansion like that, with no time to prepare, no help, no aid but her own wits and speed.

And she had come through it all and survived. 

That sent her into another peal of giddy laughter. The elation of it filled her. Perhaps grief had maddened her. Or perhaps she had always been a risk-taking lunatic, craving danger as a drunkard craved wine. Whenever she and Corvalis had survived mortal danger together, once they reached safety they had been unable to keep their hands off each other. 

“Oh, Corvalis,” said Caina, still laughing and crying. “Oh, I wish you were here.”

She blinked away a few more tears, yawned, and got to her feet. Her mouth felt as dry as the deserts outside of Istarinmul’s walls, and she drank half the jar of water she had filled earlier. How long had she been asleep? To judge from the ache in her arms and shoulders, it had been for some time. 

The Teskilati and the Immortals had not found her.

Perhaps it was safe to visit the coffeehouse.

Caina moved through the unarmed forms, working the stiffness from her limbs. After she found and donned the dusty coat and trousers and boots of Marius, courier to the Imperial Collegium of Jewelers. They did not smell particularly good. Caina was going to have to find a laundress and a bathhouse. Well, under her guise as Marius, she would have money, and perhaps she could rent a private room with a bath.

She climbed the ladder to the square and looked around. It was almost dusk, the sun fading in the west. She had slept most of the day. Unsurprising, given her exertions of the last few days, and the months before that. 

She walked through the alley to the Cyrican Bazaar and stopped in surprise.

The House of Agabyzus was open. 

More, it looked like it was thriving. 

Through the windows Caina saw that the tables were filled. Carpenters worked to repair the damaged shutters. She even saw Sulaman sitting upon his dais, Mazyan waiting with his drum and a scowl.

How had Damla done all this already?

Surprised, Caina walked through the doors. A slave woman hurried over, smiling. Caina recognized her from Ulvan’s cellars. Damla’s slaves had come back to her?

“May I help you, sir?” said the slave.

“Yes,” said Caina, rubbing her hand over her head. Odd that the rasp of the bristles beneath her palm helped her to think. “Some coffee, please, and some food…”

“Master Marius!”

Damla hurried to her. She had traded her circus girl’s costume for the sober black of a widow once more, her sandals tapping against the floor. A brilliant smile spread over her face, her teeth white in her dark face. 

“Master Marius,” said Damla.

“Mistress Damla,” said Caina. “You are looking well. All things considered.”

“Thank you,” said Damla. “I am glad to see you again, sir. More glad than you can possibly know. After the second day, I thought…”

“Wait,” said Caina. “It has been two days?” Gods, how long had she been asleep? 

“A full day, a night, and most of another day,” said Damla. “Once my slaves and my sons returned from their unlawful and unjust imprisonment, we went to work.” She spread her hands. “The House of Agabyzus is open for business once more.”

“So I see,” said Caina.

“Some letters came for you,” said Damla, “from the Imperial Collegium of Jewelers. I have kept them safe. You must want to see them, yes? This way.” 

She led Caina across the floor and past the poet’s dais. Sulaman gazed at Caina as she passed, a contemplative expression on his face. All at once Caina wondered if the poet was an informant for the Teskilati. It would make sense – he would see and hear many things, and the secret police would pay well for the information.

Well, that was a problem she could deal with later.

“Mother!”

Bahad ran across the floor.

“Yes, dear one?” said Damla. 

“Bayram says we are out of oil for bread,” said Bahad. He blinked, and then bowed. “Master Marius. Good evening, sir. How are you?”

He was so formal that Caina laughed. “Well. I am very well. And I am glad you see you well, young sir. I heard there was trouble.” 

A shadow came over his face. “Yes…there was.” Then he smiled. “But the Balarigar came. I always thought that was just a story the Szalds told, but I guess not.”

“Do not bore our guests with stories,” said Damla. “Go tell your brother that there is more oil in the pantry, behind the dates.”

Bahad ran off, and Caina followed Damla into a small office near the kitchen. A small writing desk supported a thick ledger, no doubt Damla’s business records. Damla closed the door behind them.

“I am surprised,” said Caina, “that your slaves came back.”

“I…am glad they did,” said Damla, brushing her hands against the front of her robe, as if nervous. “I…where would they go? They have no families, not yet, and they would starve or become prostitutes if left alone. I hope I can make freedwomen of them someday.”

Caina nodded, and Damla started crying.

She blinked in surprise, and before she could react, Damla hugged her.

“Thank you,” whispered Damla, “thank you, thank you. Oh, by the Living Flame, thank you. I…I thought you were a madwoman, a lunatic. I thought there was no hope left. I knew I would never see my sons again. I’ve lost so much, Ciara. My mother and father. My brothers. My husband. And…and I was sure I had lost Bayram and Bahad forever. Thank you, thank you.” She stepped back, sniffling, and rubbed at her eyes. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” said Caina, unable to think of anything else to say.

“I was certain you were dead,” said Damla. “I’ve heard…I’ve heard so many different stories about what happened. My sons and the slaves would only say that a hooded shadow with the voice of a demon freed them. All the Szaldic slaves speak of the Balarigar now. Ciara, the city is ablaze with rumors. Some say a renegade sorcerer attacked Ulvan and brought him low, or that his enemies tried to have him assassinated. I heard one story that said the Balarigar made him crawl around on his hands and knees in his own garden, then slew a dozen Immortals and escaped.”

“No, that didn’t happen,” said Caina. “I didn’t kill anyone. There really wouldn’t have been time.” 

“I am grateful to you, so grateful,” said Damla. “But, Ciara…what truly happened? You told me to set that fire and go home…and then my sons returned and Ulvan has been brought low.” She gazed at Caina in bewilderment. “What did you do? Are you truly a sorceress of power?”

“Of course not,” said Caina. “I told you who I am. I am a Ghost nightfighter.” She considered for a moment. “I can tell you what I did. You deserve that much. But I warn you that the knowledge will put you in danger. I am certain that the Brotherhood, the Alchemists, and the Teskilati all want to know the truth of what happened two nights past.”

“I owe you everything,” said Damla. “If you were a man, I would let you take me here and now.”

Caina blinked. “Ah. Thank you. I think.” 

“Oh, dear,” said Damla. “That…sounded better in my head. But I will not betray your secrets. And I am baffled how you defeated Ulvan.”

So Caina told her. Damla listened without interruption, her eyes sometimes widening, her hand sometimes going to her mouth in surprise.

“No wonder you slept for two days,” said Damla. 

Caina nodded. “Never tell anyone. Not your sons, not your husband if you remarry, not anyone. If the Teskilati discover you know what really happened, they will find you and they will kill you.” 

“I know,” said Damla. “And they will kill my sons. Your secrets are safe with me. You…you truly are the Balarigar?”

Caina scowled. “That’s just a word. A myth. A tale of the Szalds.” 

Of course, the Moroaica had been a tale of the Szalds, and she had been real enough. 

“But when they tell the stories about the Balarigar…the things he did at Marsis and Cyrioch and Malarae and New Kyre…that is you?” said Damla.

Caina sighed. “I got lucky and didn’t die a few times when I really should have, and the name sort of…stuck.”

Damla said nothing for a moment.

“I don’t know what happened to your husband,” said Caina. “I was at Marsis, yes. A lot of people died that day. I am sorry.” 

Damla nodded. “I suppose I do not have the right to expect two miracles of you, do I? Because you have given me a miracle. You have given me my sons back. And I thought…I thought…”

“Thought what?” said Caina.

“Forgive me,” said Damla, “but I thought you were just a madwoman.”

Caina stepped closer. “Listen to me very carefully. You have to understand this.” Damla nodded. “You’re not wrong.” 

Damla burst out laughing, and Caina followed suit. 

“You’ll have to be careful,” said Caina once they had calmed down. “Ulvan might try to take your sons again.” 

“Perhaps,” said Damla. “We will take precautions, of course, but I would be surprised. Ulvan is in disgrace.” She frowned. “You are not Istarish, so it is hard to explain. But when all his captives escaped, Ulvan lost a tremendous amount of respect. So long as he was successful, no one would have cared what he did. But now that his slaves escaped…he is weakened. Like a wounded man falling into the sea. All the sharks are drawn to him. Before, he could have forged as many Writs of Captivity as he pleased. Now his enemies will use every weakness against him.” 

“Politics is the same anywhere,” said Caina.

“I suppose this is true,” said Damla with a shrug. “And I have heard other rumors. The Grand Wazir and the cowled masters of the Brotherhood have brought Ulvan up on charges.”

“For the forged Writs?” said Caina. 

“No,” said Damla. “For allowing his captives to escape. The Brotherhood receives a cut of every sale, and I imagine the Master Slavers were not pleased to lose that money.”

“Nor,” said Caina, “would Callatas be pleased. He was quite insistent that the slaves arrive tomorrow.”

Damla nodded. “No doubt he wanted the workers to produce Hellfire.” 

“No doubt,” murmured Caina. 

But she was not convinced. 

If it had been just the captives in Ulvan’s cellars, it might have made sense. But Caina remembered the Collector who had tried to seize her from the docks, remembered the rumors about the Alchemists buying every slave they could find. Why do that? It reminded Caina of Marsis, of Naelon Icaraeus supplying slaves to Jadriga as she prepared her great work. She doubted the Alchemists had a noble purpose in mind. 

And the wraithblood. Were the Alchemists involved in that? Wraithblood was sorcerous in nature, and the Alchemists were the most powerful sorcerers in Istarinmul and certainly the most organized. Were they making the wraithblood? Or were individual Alchemists doing so?