Ghost in the Maze (4 page)

Caina turned towards the mirror, already knowing what she would see in the glass.

The indistinct shape of a shadow, blurred and featureless.

And a yellow-orange gleam from the shadow’s eyes of smokeless flame. 

“Ah,” murmured the shadow. “That always gets your attention.” 

“This really isn’t a good time,” said Caina, voice low. She heard the shouts from the corridor. 

“It might be the only time,” said the shadow, “if your enemies catch you. I thought you might have been the one I sought, my dear child of the shadows, but it seems you are going to die here. Pity. You might indeed have been the one I sought.”

Caina turned toward the window. “Unless you have help to offer, go away and be silent.”

“Go right.”

“What?” said Caina, looking back at the mirror.

“I cannot aid you, of course,” said the shadow, the eyes of smokeless flame glinting. “Such interference on my part would be dreadfully gauche. But when you go out the window, my dear child, do go to the right. If you go to the left, you will surely die.”

“And if I go right?” said Caina, recalling the layout of the gardens. Left was safer. It was closer to the wall and bordered a major street where she could disappear. The right led deeper into the Emirs’ Quarter, past palaces with Immortal guards of their own, guards that would surely join the pursuit if they noticed the chase. 

“Even I cannot say,” said the shadow. “Your fate will be in your own hands. As you are about to find out.”

The shadow vanished from the mirror, and the tingling of the strange bronze ring faded.

Despite her mortal peril, Caina felt a wave of sheer annoyance. Just for once she would like someone to give her a straight answer. No riddling talk, no games, no ominous hints of doom. Just a straight answer to a simple question. 

She pushed open the shutters in silence and rolled over the sill, landing in the gardens, and closed the window behind her. Here and there she saw torchlight in the gardens as mercenaries patrolled the grounds. Yet most of the gardens lay in darkness, and if Caina hurried, she could make it to the wall before the Immortals caught her.

She hesitated, and then went to the right, making for the wall. 

If the shadow wanted her dead, it could simply have let the daevagoths kill her in the Widow’s Tower.

Caina moved as fast as she dared and as silently as she could, her shadow-cloak flowing around her as she moved from bush to bush. The ring kept tingling against her finger. She hoped the thing had not been imbued with a tracking spell.

The tramp of boots and shouting voices caught her attention. 

Caina froze and shot a glance over her shoulder as a score of Immortals burst from the back of the mansion, swords and chain whips in hand. Anburj must have sent them to check the kitchens. Had she followed her initial plan and gone to the left, she would have gone around the corner just as the Immortals emerged. They would have seen her, and she would have been killed before she could escape.

Clearly, the strange spirit in the mirror had not meant her ill. 

One of the Immortals turned his head, and Caina realized that he had spotted her.

“There, brothers!” he roared. “There is the thief!” 

“Take him!” said Anburj, and Caina glimpsed the Kindred assassin among the Immortals. “Whoever kills him shall receive the reward and the gratitude of the Grand Master. Kill him now!” 

The Immortals surged forward in a tide of black steel, their skull masks flickering with the eerie blue light of their eyes. 

Caina sprinted for the garden wall, wondering if she could reach it before the Immortals.  

Chapter 3 - Immortals

A low wall of white stone, about ten feet tall, encircled the grounds of the late Vaysaal’s palace. Elaborate iron spikes topped the wall, and despite their ornamental function they were nonetheless quite sharp to deter intruders. The wall had only one gate, another method of keeping unwanted guests away. 

Fortunately, the wall was only ten feet high. 

Caina sprinted at the wall and jumped. Her hands caught the lip, and she pulled herself up, catching her balance as the shouts of the Immortals filled her ears. Then she jumped into the street below, her cloak billowing, and her legs collapsed beneath her to absorb the shock of her landing. The Immortals were strong and fast, but their heavy armor slowed them, and by the time they got over the wall, Caina would be long gone. 

She turned, intending to make her way toward the poorer quarters of Istarinmul, and froze.

Blue lights glimmered in the darkened street. The lights resolved into the black-armored shapes of Immortals, the ghostly light shining from the depths of their black helmets. Anburj had indeed come prepared. In addition to the men he had sent into the palace, he had dispatched Immortals to seal off the street.

But the trap had not closed yet. 

One route was still open to Caina.

She turned and sprinted towards the Alchemists’ Quarter as the Immortals shouted and pursued. 

The College itself dominated the Alchemists’ Quarter, a massive palace that made Vaysaal’s home look like a shepherd’s hut. Its domed towers thrust proud and tall against the stars of the night sky, and crystals gleamed along the College’s walls, lit by sorcerous illumination. The effect was eerie and beautiful, but Caina knew those crystal statues had once been living slaves, murdered and transmuted to stand forever as adornment.

The College dominated the Quarter, but there were other buildings outside its grounds. The Alchemists were cruel and brutal sorcerers, but even they enjoyed good food and drink, fine clothing, and the company of attractive slaves. Merchants had established businesses outside the College’s walls, inns and coffee houses and bookshops, and Caina headed for them, her breath burning in her throat as she sprinted. Losing her pursuers in the wide, broad streets of the Emirs’ Quarter would be impossible. Losing them among the shops and coffee houses of the Alchemists’ Quarter would be difficult, but possible. 

She risked a glance over her shoulder. Nearly forty Immortals pursued, grim and implacable. Her legs and arms burned from the effort of running, and her heart hammered against her ribs like a war drum. Caina was in good physical condition, but her strength would fail long before the Immortals exhausted their stamina.

Caina ran towards a three-story building of polished white marble and red granite, its windows gleaming with light. A sign adorned with a stylized cup of coffee hung over the door, and two scowling footmen in ornate robes stood guard. 

“Halt!” said one of the footmen. “Only those with invitations are allowed into the House of Sozanat! Name…”

The footman’s voice trailed off and his eyes widened. 

“By the Living Flame!” he said. “The Balarigar! It is the Balarigar!” 

“What?” said the second footman. “You have had far too much to drink, fool. The master shall have you put out for…”

Caina sprinted past them before they could resolve their quarrel and slammed into the door, which burst open beneath her weight. Beyond the main room of the House of Sozanat was spacious and luxurious, lit by dozens of lanterns shining upon the round tables. Balconies ringed the walls, giving patrons space to converse in private, and the smell of roasting coffee and cooking pastries filled her nostrils. Merchants, nobles, and not a few men in the gold-trimmed white robes of the Alchemists sat at the tables, sipping coffee. Attractive slaves, men and women both, waited upon the tables. For an agonizing moment the coffee house reminded Caina of the House of Kularus back in Malarae, the business she had run as a front for the Ghosts with Corvalis…

The shouts of the Immortals outside quickly shattered the illusion. 

For a moment the patrons of the coffee house gaped at her.

“I am the Balarigar!” roared Caina in her disguised voice, dashing forward, “and I have come to slay you all! Perish!”

As she expected, a ripple of panic went through the crowd. Some of the merchants cursed, scrambled to their feet, and headed for the back door, surrounded by their bodyguards. A few of the Alchemists and the emirs did the same. But some of the nobles drew their swords, commanding their guards to follow suit. Some of the Alchemists had Immortal bodyguards, and the black-armored soldiers advanced toward Caina, while the Alchemists themselves started spells. 

A half a million bezants was a fortune, even to an Alchemist or an emir. 

Yet the fleeing men got in the way of those coming to kill Caina, and the Immortals that had pursued her from Vaysaal’s palace burst through the door. The common room dissolved into a chaotic mess, men bellowing instructions and curses and women screaming and shouting.

And Caina ran through the chaos. A set of spiral stairs rose to the balconies, and she scrambled up them. A stout merchant in a fine robe reached for her, eyes wide with greed, but a punch to the jaw dissuaded him. As the merchant slumped, Caina passed the second floor, and then the third. In the ceiling she saw a wooden trapdoor – her gamble had paid off. The buildings in this portion of the Alchemists’ Quarter stood close together, with only narrow alleys between them. If Caina hastened she could escape over the roof.  

The tingle against her skin was the only warning.

She felt the surge of arcane power, and threw herself to the side just as one of the Alchemists cast a spell. A blast of psychokinetic force struck Caina, the power of the impact slamming her against the railing. Pain shot up her hip and left leg from the impact, but she kept running. Another surge of arcane power washed over her, and a second Alchemist cast a spell, one far stronger than the first.

And beneath her boots the polished wooden stairs turned yellow and gritty.

Transmutation. The Alchemists had sorcerous powers of transmutation.

Which meant the Alchemist had just transmuted the wooden staircase into sand. 

Caina felt it start to disintegrate beneath her. With a final burst of strength she took one running step forward and jumped. Her right hand caught the trapdoor’s handle as the stairs collapsed into a spray of sand. For a moment she dangled, trying to gain additional purchase, and her weight pulled the trapdoor open. The jolt rocked her, and her right shoulder howled in protest, but she reached up, her left hand gripping the rough boards of the trapdoor, and pulled herself up. Her right hand caught the lip of the trapdoor, and Caina heaved herself onto the roof. The Alchemist’s spell had inadvertently given her an advantage. No one could immediately follow her, not until they found a rope. If she started running over the rooftops…

Steel flashed, and Caina threw herself to the side. A dagger blurred past her face, and her attacker’s forearm smacked against her temple. She struck the roof and rolled, coming back to her feet, her head ringing from the blow as she yanked the daggers from her boots.

Anburj stalked towards her, scimitar and dagger ready, and Caina whispered a curse behind her mask. He had been clever enough to anticipate that she would go to Vaysaal’s palace, and he had been smart enough to guess that she would try to escape over the rooftops. Caina was not sure she could defeat him. She could handle herself in a fight, but she preferred to attack from the shadows. Anburj was a Kindred assassin, and far stronger than she was. For that matter, he didn’t need to fight her. He only needed to hold her at bay until the Immortals arrived.

Already she heard the clanking of armor as the Immortals began climbing the walls. 

Anburj glided towards her with the deadly grace of a hunting predator. There were no taunting words, no questions, and his black eyes were hard and cold. He meant to take her alive, or barring that, simply to kill her and present her head to his master. 

So Caina ran.

She sprinted for the edge of the roof, and Anburj pursued. Caina reached the edge just as an Immortal pulled himself up, grunting with the effort, and reached for her ankle. Caina responded by stomping on his face and jumping over the alley to the next building. Anburj leapt over the alley with ease, and Caina kept running. Below she heard the clatter of armor as the Immortals pursued, running through the streets to keep her in sight. 

Caina kept running, jumping from roof to roof, but a cold inevitability began to close around her heart. Perhaps she had finally taken too great of a risk, had gambled too much, and now would pay the price. She wished she had found the truth of the Apotheosis. Caina resolved then not to let Anburj take her alive. If Caina was killed before any of her secrets were tortured from her, Damla and her sons would be safe. And Agabyzus was still free, and could continue the work of the Ghosts after she was dead.

She ran across the roof of a wine shop, Anburj and a half-dozen Immortals in pursuit, and saw the opened window. It was across the alley, in the top floor of the neighboring house. Likely the owner of the house had left the shutters open to cool off after the heat of the day, confident that no one would try to enter a third-story window. 

Perhaps Caina could use it to put some distance between her and Anburj.

She jumped across the alley and landed on the house’s roof, her legs flexing to absorb the impact. Then she whirled to face her pursuers, as if she had determined to make a last stand here. Anburj grinned and jumped, and the Immortals followed suit, fanning across the roof to encircle her. 

Caina sidestepped off the roof and twisted, grabbing the windowsill as she fell. She heaved herself over the windowsill and landed in an empty, dusty room. Perhaps this floor of the building was unused. She turned to close the shutters and bar them before Anburj and his men followed…

A hand reached out and slammed the shutters shut, a bar dropping into place.

Caina jumped back, daggers raised, as a man stepped out of the shadows.

He was in his late thirties or early forties, of Istarish or Anshani birth with brown skin. His head had been shaved, and the trimmed lines of a black beard encircled his lips and edged his chin. He wore a loose black shirt tucked into black pants, a scimitar hanging from his belt. A black leather glove and bracer covered his left hand and forearm, and Caina felt a faint aura of sorcery from his hand.

“Good evening,” said the man, a white smile flashing in his dark face. His voice was a deep, sonorous vibration, the sort of voice made for mighty orations. “I am pleased you chose to answer my humble invitation.” He tapped the shutters. “And that you elected not to kill me on sight. I do so abhor bloodshed before breakfast.” 

Caina opened her mouth to speak.

“To forestall what shall be an inevitably tedious line of conversation,” said the man, turning towards the door, “first, I mean you no ill will, second, I know that you are the Balarigar, and third, you may address me as Ibrahaim for now, though proper introductions can follow if we live long enough. If you wish to fulfill your death wish at the hands of the Immortals, I shall not stop you, but I would prefer not to die here. We really ought to go.”

Caina hesitated for a few heartbeats. She had never seen this man before, but he clearly knew of Balarigar. Not that it meant anything, since all of Istarinmul had heard of the Balarigar. Yet Ibrahaim had known to find her here. If he had meant her harm, he could simply have let Anburj kill her.

The shutters thumped from a blow. The Immortals were trying to get into the house, and likely Anburj had dispatched men to the door. 

“Very well,” said Caina in her disguised voice.

Ibrahaim grinned. “Let’s run.”

He dashed from the room, and Caina followed. The door opened into a deserted corridor, and Ibrahaim raced down the stairs. Crashes echoed through the house as the Immortals took axes to the front door. Ibrahaim veered left, making for the kitchen and the back door.

“There will be Immortals in the alley,” said Caina.

“But most of them shall be at the front door,” said Ibrahaim. “We will have to fight. Prepare yourself!”

Caina opened her mouth to ask how he intended to fight his way through the Immortals, but by then Ibrahaim had thrown open the door and dashed into the alley.

And just as she had suspected, four Immortals awaited them, axes in hand as they prepared to hack down the back door. For just a heartbeat the Immortals stared at them, caught by surprise, but then raised their axes.

And in that heartbeat, Ibrahaim moved.

His scimitar seemed to jump from its scabbard and into his right hand, and he moved in a blur, his blade plunging into the armpit of an Immortal. The man fell, blood streaming down his black cuirass. One of the Immortals reacted faster, slashing at Ibrahaim with the axe. He dodged, his scimitar snapping left to deflect another Immortal’s thrust.

And then he punched the Immortal in the face with his black-gloved left fist.

It was one of the stupidest things Caina had ever seen. The Immortals’ skull masks were steel plate, reinforced and anchored to their helmets. There was no way a punch could harm them, let alone even stagger them. She expected to hear the bones of Ibrahaim’s hand shattering.

Instead the skull mask crumpled like paper, accompanied by a loud clang and the hideous crunching noise of a collapsing skull. The Immortal fell, blood and brains leaking from the ruined mask as Ibrahaim ripped his fist free to face the remaining two Immortals.

Caina gaped in astonishment for just a second, and then sprang into motion. 

Both Immortals faced Ibrahaim, their attention upon him, which made it easy for Caina to step behind the nearest man and drive her dagger into his back of his knee. The Immortals’ armored boots protected their feet and calves and the front of their knees, but not the back. The Immortal bellowed in fury as Caina yanked her dagger free and spun to face her, but his maimed knee would not support his weight, and his leg buckled. The Immortal fell with a snarl of pain, and Caina drove her bloody dagger into the right eye of his skull mask. She felt the blade sink deep. The Immortal went rigid, the axe falling from his hand, and fell upon his face with a clatter.