Ghost in the Cowl (21 page)

“It’s a line from a poem,” said Caina. 

“Yes, but what does the poem mean?” said the image. “Do you know that?”

“Perhaps you should tell me,” said Caina. 

“And why should I do that?” said the image. “I do not even know if you are the one I have been seeking for all these years.” 

“Enough with the damned riddling talk,” said Caina. “You’re the…creature that has been speaking in my dreams, are you not?”

“Indeed I am,” said the image, the unblinking eyes of flame watching her.

“Then what do you want?” said Caina.

“Merely to pass the time with a pleasant chat,” said the image. “You see, that is possible here. Normally I could only communicate with you through dreams. The boundary is weaker within the Widow’s Tower, far weaker. Ricimer leaves his Mirror open, and the way between the worlds is…shorter, let us say. Of course, getting from the netherworld to the mortal world is easier now, and you know why.”

Caina started to interrupt in irritation, but fell silent as something clicked in her mind. She remembered fleeing from the phobomorphic spirits below the Sacellum of the Living Flame, remembered the illusion of Khaset burning and rising around her in the netherworld.

“Easier?” she said at last.

“Oh, don’t play coy with me, my dear child,” said the image. “You were there for it, were you not? The great event, the defining moment of this age of the world. The day the gates were opened and golden fire filled the sky. The day the slayer of demons slew the demon herself.”

“The Moroaica,” said Caina, “and her great work.”

“She summoned so much power,” said the image, “and her spell collapsed when you slew her for the final time. All that power had to go somewhere, you know. Like water from a breached dam. And water erodes things. The barrier between worlds got a bit…ragged, let us say. Cracked. Frayed. There are holes where you can poke your finger through, if you do it just right.” 

“What are you saying?” said Caina. “That spirits can come from the netherworld to the mortal world? They have always been able to do so.” She had spoken with an earth elemental bound in the flesh of a Cyrican slave girl, had seen Jadriga’s disciple Ranarius summon powerful elemental spirits. 

“You miss the point,” said the image. “Sorcerers have always been able to summon spirits to your world, even if the knowledge is sometimes lost for a millennium or two. Or three. But now, in the right place at the right time, it is possible for a spirit to come to your world of its own accord. Though why any spirit would bother, I cannot imagine. Your world is such a dull, static place. So ploddingly material. Most spirits regard your world with indifference. But there are some, though, who would regard it as something else.”

“As what?” said Caina.

She heard a faint rustling sound, turned, and saw nothing.

“As food,” said the image. 

“Who are you?” said Caina again.

“That is the wrong question,” said the image, “and you know it.”

“Fine,” said Caina. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I am almost certain,” said the image, “that you are the one I have been seeking. You have come this far, have you not? Will you go a little farther? I think you will, with a little help. Which is why I am here.”

“To help me,” said Caina.

“You are going to die,” said the image, “sometime in the next five minutes. Maybe sooner.”

“How?” said Caina. 

“Haven’t you figured it out yet?” said the image.

“The beasts,” said Caina. “That’s why the tower is deserted. At night the walls are guarded, and the laboratories and a few other areas like the kitchen are sealed off. Ricimer’s pets wander the rest of the Tower until dawn, and kill anyone they find.”

“Kill and eat, actually,” said the image. “It’s really quite grisly.”

“Lions?” said Caina. “Maybe wolves?”

“Oh, no, no, they’re not wild animals at all,” said the image. “They’re much worse than that. You can call them Ricimer’s pets, but it would be more accurate to call them his creations. You have about two minutes before he releases them for the night. I suggest you find a place to hide at once.” 

Without another word, the strange image vanished from the mirror.

“Why,” muttered Caina, “can no one ever give me a straight answer to a question?”

But if the image – sorcerer or spirit or elemental or whatever he was – had told the truth, she needed to find a place to conceal herself. She had heard tales of Alchemists creating hideous monsters of flesh, using their sorcerous powers of transmutation to fashion deadly creatures out of nightmares. And if the Widow’s Tower was going through thousands of slaves of a year, Ricimer might have taken a few of them to make himself some monsters.

She stepped into the corridor beyond the torture chamber. It was long and narrow, curving around the tower’s outer wall. At the far end, she saw a narrow set of stairs rising higher, an eerie crimson glow coming from above. Iron doors with narrow barred windows lined the corridor. Undoubtedly the Immortals kept their prisoners here before subjecting them to the torture chamber. If Ricimer’s creatures were about to wander the corridors, perhaps Caina could shelter in the cells until the creatures passed …

She heard a rustling from the stairs, and saw the shadows. Long, narrow shadows, twitching and jerking against the wall, thrown by the crimson glow at the top of the steps.

Then Caina saw the creature throwing the shadow, and she barely stopped herself from screaming.

She knew exactly what the cook had meant by “spiders.” 

The creature was a spider the size of a large wolf, its yellow-green body swollen and twisted with tumors and growths. Its spiked legs stabbed and wobbled at the stairs as it maneuvered itself forward. A scorpion’s tail, as long and as thick as Caina’s leg, curved from the back of its thorax, ending in three dagger-like spines that dripped with venom.

But the head was the worst.

It was a human head, hairless and gray, the eyes glassy and filled with madness. The head jerked back and forth, slime dribbling from the lips, and Caina realized the source of the rustling she had heard.

The head was whispering to itself.

“My dear, my dear,” the creature said. “So long, so lost, I miss you so, I miss your kisses, come to me, my dear, my dear…” 

Several more of the creatures staggered after the first, wobbling back and forth, whispering and muttering to themselves. 

Caina took three quick steps backward, moving out of sight of the twisted spider-things. They were moving slowly, but if they saw her, they would swarm her. And she suspected a single scratch of those poisoned stingers would prove fatal. 

The cells. If she got into the cells, they couldn’t reach her. Of course, if they saw her, they need only wait outside the cell until Ricimer came to collect them.

She reached for the nearest door and found it locked. She yanked the key from her belt, undid the lock, and opened the door as quietly as she could. The cell within was dark, only a thin slit in the stone wall emitting light. Caina closed the door behind her, leaving it unlocked, and peered through the barred grill. 

The spiders glided past the door with smooth grace, their clawed legs tapping against the floor. One or two of them looked at the barred grill, but the cowl of her shadow-cloak obscured her face in darkness, and the creatures did not see her. 

They passed down the corridor, the whispers fading away.

Caina let out a long breath. She wondered how long to wait before leaving the cell. She could move in silence, could hear the spider-things coming a long way off. If they had arcane senses, her shadow-cloak would shield her. Though if their noses were keen enough, they just might smell her.

Something rustled behind her.

And in her haste, Caina realized that she had failed to notice something important.

Specifically, that the cell was occupied.

She turned, throwing knife in hand.

Chapter 19 - The Last of the Circle

“No,” rasped a man’s voice, a voice that sounded oddly familiar. “No, don’t. No more, no more. I…wait. You’re not one of Ricimer’s men. Who are you?” 

Caina remained motionless, waiting as her eyes adjusted to the cell’s gloom.

A gaunt Istarish man slumped against the wall, clad in only a ragged loincloth. Dozens of half-healed scars marked his torso and limbs, and a ragged mane of gray hair encircled his head. He looked familiar. In fact, he looked like an older version of…

“Bayram?” said Caina before she could stop herself. At least she had the wit to use her disguised voice.

The man blinked. “That…that is my nephew’s name.” He blinked again, puzzlement drowning the despair on his features. “You’re wearing a Ghost shadow-cloak.”

He knew what a shadow-cloak was. Most people did not, and upon seeing Caina in one assumed she was a specter or a wraith. 

“What is your name?” said Caina, though she had already guessed.

“Agabyzus,” said the ragged man.

Damla’s brother and the Ghost circlemaster of Istarinmul sat before her. Istarinmul’s Ghost circle had been wiped out, or so the Emperor had told her. Yet how would the Emperor have even known? Someone had to have brought him the news. 

Someone had plainly been mistaken.

“You’re supposed to be dead,” said Caina.

“Ah,” said Agabyzus. “Then you are not here to rescue me, I take it.” He blinked several times. “And that means…that means you have followed the same path of madness that brought me here. I am sorry. I should have left warning, but the Teskilati came for us so quickly…” He rubbed his face. “Who are you? No, don’t tell me your name. If I do not know it, I cannot betray it.”

“The new circlemaster of Istarinmul,” said Caina. “Sent to replace you, since everyone believed you were dead.” 

“Then you should not be here,” said Agabyzus. “You know the identity of every Ghost in the circle. If you are captured…”

“At the moment,” said Caina, “you and I are the only Ghosts in Istarinmul.”  

He sagged against the wall. “Then all the others are dead?”

“As far as I know,” said Caina. “I thought you were dead, too. Your sister did as well.”

“Damla?” said Agabyzus. “Then she…she is still…”

“She is alive, yes, and healthy,” said Caina. 

“Oh, the Living Flame be praised,” said Agabyzus, closing his eyes. “Ricimer…I thought…Lord Ricimer told me that the Teskilati had taken Damla and her sons as well, that they were locked in the other cells.” He swallowed. “If I talked, they said…Damla and the boys would be spared. So…so I told them…”

“Do not blame yourself,” said Caina. “No man could have kept his secrets from Ricimer’s men. Not against the…tools I saw in the outer chamber.”

“My one consolation,” said Agabyzus, wiping at his eyes, “my only consolation, is that the Teskilati seized us all at once. Nothing I said mattered. They already had taken us all.” 

“They didn’t find your Sanctuary,” said Caina. “That was untouched.” 

Agabyzus coughed out a laugh. “That’s because I didn’t know where it was. Our nightkeeper used it as an armory and a storeroom, and the Teskilati killed her when they caught us. No matter what they did to me…I could not tell them where the Sanctuary was hidden.”

“Ah,” said Caina. “How long have you been here?” 

“I…I do not know,” said Agabyzus. “All my life, I think, and my life before the Tower was only a dream. Yet,” he raked his fingers through his greasy hair, “yet…how long ago did the war with the Empire end? I am still astonished the Kindred did not kill Tanzir Shahan in Malarae.”

“The war with Istarinmul ended a little over a year ago,” said Caina. “About fourteen months, I think.” Such a short time, but it seemed as if she had lived a dozen lifetimes in that year.

“Fourteen months,” said Agabyzus. “It…then I have been here for a year. There were riots after the peace was sealed and the Empire claimed the Argamaz Desert. The Teskilati must have been watching the Ghosts of Istarinmul, and they used the chaos to snatch us all at once. Half of us died in the fighting, and the Teskilati and the Immortals brought the rest of us here. They…tortured us to death, one by one, asking us for secrets, asking what we knew.” She saw the glint of tears in his eyes. “I heard them screaming…I heard them screaming…” She expected him to dissolve into tears, but he recovered himself. “I was the last one left.” 

“Why haven’t they killed you yet?” said Caina.

Agabyzus shrugged. “I could not say.” He took a deep breath. “I would blame the cruelty of Callatas, but I suspect both he and his disciple Ricimer have forgotten about me. They will kill me when they happen to get around to it.” 

Caina nodded.

“I imagine,” said Agabyzus, “that you have many questions for me.”

“You imagine correctly,” said Caina.

“I will answer them all freely,” said Agabyzus, “and then I will ask one of you.”

“Very well,” said Caina. “First.” She pointed at the door. “What the hell are those spider-things?”

“Daevagoths,” said Agabyzus. 

“Daevagoth?” said Caina. “That’s…old Istarish, isn’t it? It means something like ‘spirit corruption’ or ‘savage soul’.” 

“Corrupted soul,” said Agabyzus, resting his head against the wall. “Yes, that sounds right.”

“What are they?” said Caina.

“They were once men and women,” said Agabyzus. “Slaves that Ricimer purchased from the Brotherhood and brought here. He used his alchemical sciences to…twist them, to fuse their flesh with that of spiders and scorpions. I fear there is nothing human left in them. Their legs are razor sharp and they are frightfully quick, though they are not terribly strong. But they hardly need strength. The poison in their stingers can kill a strong man in the space of five heartbeats.” He shivered. “I taunted the daevagoths, sometimes, in hopes that they would kill me and release me from this place. Alas, they had no such mercy in them.” 

“Gods,” muttered Caina, glancing through the tiny barred window. The corridor remained deserted. “I’ve never heard of such a thing. If the Alchemists can make such creatures, why haven’t they built an army and overrun the world?”

“The making is difficult,” said Agabyzus, “and if done improperly, can kill both the Alchemist and the daevagoth. The results of failed alchemy are often…unpleasant.”

“Truly,” said Caina, remembering Sinan’s screams as his flawed Elixir Rejuvenata reshaped him into a monster. 

“And the creator is the only one who can control them,” said Agabyzus. “If Ricimer is slain, they’ll go berserk and start killing everything in sight. Additionally, the transformation leaves very little of the rational mind intact. They make fearsome guardians, but poor soldiers. Which is why the College creates Immortals, I suppose.” 

Caina nodded. “Is there a way to get past them?”

“No,” said Agabyzus, “but they are fixed in their habits. Part of their madness, I imagine. They walk the same circuit of the three drum towers over and over again, killing anyone they catch outside of the laboratories. You ducked in here to get away from them, yes? They will be back in about twenty minutes or so. Then they will resume their circuit.” He coughed and tried to smile. “That shall give us time to talk. Which, I imagine, leads to your next question.” 

“How did the Teskilati capture you?” said Caina. “And why? You said they took the Ghosts of Istarinmul after the war. The effort to track you down and seize all of you at once…that must have been difficult. Why do it after the war?” She shrugged. “It seems if the Padishah wanted to rid himself of Imperial spies, it would be best to do it before Istarinmul lost the war with the Empire.” 

Agabyzus croaked his wheezing laugh. “I don’t think the Padishah cared whether or not he lost the war to the Empire.”

Caina blinked. “Truly?” 

“The war was a terrible error,” said Agabyzus. “The Empire is far larger and can field a far stronger army than the Padishah’s domains. Man for man, the Imperial Legions are better trained and better equipped than the Istarish infantry. If not for the Starfall Straits, Hellfire, and the walls of Istarinmul, the Padishah’s realm would have fallen to the Empire or Anshan long ago.” He sighed. “The war was Rezir Shahan’s idea. Someone convinced him that if New Kyre and Istarinmul joined forces, they could seize Marsis and force the Empire to terms.”

“Andromache,” said Caina. “One of the Archons of the Assembly of New Kyre.”

“Given that she died in Marsis, that explains much,” said Agabyzus. “The Padishah did not want the war. Neither did Grand Master Callatas – he is too occupied with his own scheme, whatever it is. But Rezir convinced the Grand Wazir Erghulan, and enough of the nobles sided with them that the Padishah had no choice. We tried to warn the Ghosts of Marsis, but we failed.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” said Caina. “The Ghosts of Marsis were focused on Naelon Icaraeus, and he tried to wipe them out. The Istarish and Kyracian attack came as a complete surprise.”

“You are from Marsis, then?” said Agabyzus. “Your accent is…muddled.”

“Among other places,” said Caina. “So if the Teskilati didn’t come after you because of the war, then why did they destroy the Ghost circle?”

“Callatas commanded it of them,” said Agabyzus, “because…”

“Because you started looking into Callatas’s activities,” said Caina.

“Yes,” said Agabyzus. “It began about five years ago.” He grunted. “Six years by now, I suppose. That was when wraithblood first appeared in the slums of Istarinmul. At first we thought it simply another narcotic brewed up in some enterprising apothecary’s bathtub. But it is sorcerous in nature.” Caina nodded. “We couldn’t figure out who was creating it. Then Callatas began buying slaves, vast quantities of slaves. He sent most of them to the Desert of Candles to excavate the ruins.”

“Ruins?” said Caina. “I thought he owned mines in the desert.”

“Oh, he does,” said Agabyzus, “but he hasn’t worked them in years. His sorcery burned Iramis to ashes, but there are still dozens of old Iramisian ruins scattered in the Desert of Candles. Plus the royal tombs of the ancient Princes of Iramis, sealed with traps and warded with sorcery, hidden deep in the wastes. He’s looking for something in the desert.”

“If he wanted something from the Iramisians,” said Caina, “he should not have destroyed their city.” 

“Plainly,” said Agabyzus. “The rest of his slaves, he sent here…and they never came out of the Widow’s Tower again. At least not alive. The bodies wound up the beach below the fortress, but we could never learn what happened to them, save that they had been drained of blood.” He spread his hands, his wrists thin and scarred from the manacles. “So. Wraithblood appears in Istarinmul. Callatas buys slaves in great numbers, and sends some to Iramisian ruins in the desert, and many others to the Widow’s Tower. What is he doing?”

“I don’t know,” said Caina. “That’s what I came to the Widow’s Tower to learn. He is still sending slaves here. His demand for slaves has grown so great that the Collectors are snatching people from the docks and streets of Istarinmul.”

“Truly?” said Agabyzus. “He was not so bold a year ago. Perhaps that is one of the reasons he sent the Teskilati after the Ghosts, so he would have a freer hand to do as he pleased. Though we did not know what he intended. So I decided that the Ghost circle would investigate.”

“What did you learn?” said Caina.

“Callatas has a secret laboratory here,” said Agabyzus.

“You mean the Hellfire laboratories?” said Caina.

“No, no,” said Agabyzus. “That is common knowledge. The College of Alchemists has used the Widow’s Tower to make Hellfire for centuries. They dare not manufacture it inside the walls of the city, since an accident could turn half of Istarinmul to ashes. Surviving a term of service in an armory producing Hellfire is one of the tests for an acolyte of the College to become a full Alchemist. I imagine it rather thins the numbers of acolytes.” 

“But a secret laboratory?” said Caina.

“Yes” said Agabyzus. “In the northern tower. No one else in the College has access, save for Ricimer and a few of Callatas’s other trusted disciples. We learned that one of the other Master Alchemists tried to break into the laboratory. Callatas destroyed him. Callatas destroys anyone who crosses him, and no one among either the nobles or the Alchemists will dare to challenge him.” His voice dropped to a pained whisper. “He destroyed the Ghosts of Istarinmul.” 

“Do you know what Callatas does in that secret laboratory?” said Caina.

“I have no idea,” said Agabyzus. “But the slaves go there, save for those assigned to clean and cook and those Ricimer turns into daevagoths. The slaves go in, and the corpses go out.” 

“Then Callatas has something in there he wishes to keep secret,” said Caina. “He ignored the Ghosts for years, but when you started looking into his activities, he had you all captured and killed.” 

Agabyzus nodded. “Now you know everything that I know. Which means it is my turn to ask you a question, nightfighter.”

“You want me to kill you,” said Caina, “don’t you?”

“You must,” said Agabyzus. “I doubt you can get me out of the Tower. And…I am not strong enough. If Ricimer puts me to the question again, I will tell him about you. I will not be able to stop myself. If Callatas learns the Ghosts have returned to Istarinmul, he will hunt you down.”

“There’s already a price of fifty thousand bezants upon my head,” said Caina.

Agabyzus looked shocked. “Fifty thousand? By the Living Flame! What have you been doing?”

“This and that,” said Caina. 

“But you must kill me,” said Agabyzus. “It is my only way out of this hell. Perhaps you are strong enough to escape, but I am not. Please. Do not dangle false hope in front of my eyes.”

“What if I offer something else?” said Caina.

Agabyzus snorted. “There is nothing else I could possibly want.”

“Truly?” said Caina. “Do you want to know what is in Callatas’s secret laboratory?” 

Agabyzus opened his mouth, closed it again.

“Only Ricimer has the master key to the Tower,” said Agabyzus.

Caina lifted her key. “I made a copy.”