Ghost Relics (3 page)

His shadow spun around him, long and thick and black. The distant glow of the lights upon the Golden Palace and the College of Alchemists put out enough light to navigate the street, but not enough for Khamil to cast a shadow like that. 

And it was pointing in the wrong direction. 

Worse, the shadow was hissing, whispering like a nest of serpents, and a cold chill shot down Caina’s spine. She had seen a shadow like that before, and suddenly she knew what was going to happen next.

“Help me!” screamed Khamil, and his shadow rose up off the street and wrapped around him, tendrils of darkness sinking into his nose and mouth and eyes. 

There was a wet, tearing, sound, and Khamil collapsed lifeless to the street. Admete and Yestik fled, and the shadow around Khamil unraveled and faded into nothingness, leaving his corpse motionless upon the ground. 

The tingling sensation faded away.

For a moment Caina, Azaces, and Nerina stood in silence, gazing at the dead man. 

“That was…disturbing,” said Nerina. “It reminds me of some of the things we saw in the netherworld. Truly, you were not mistaken about the dark powers of the Maatish relics.”

“That wasn’t Maatish sorcery,” said Caina. “An Anshani occultist did that. They can command spirits of the netherworld with far greater power and skill than most other sorcerers.” She thought for a moment. “The occultist likely had some of Khamil’s blood and used it in a spell to kill him from a distance.” 

“Damned sorcery,” said Nerina. “It does not map to proper variables, and throws off every viable equation.” 

“Believe me, I agree with you more than you can possibly know,” said Caina, looking at Khamil’s corpse. 

“Should we dispose of the body?” said Nerina. 

“No need,” said Caina. “The shadow broke his neck. The watch will find his corpse, conclude an Anshani foreigner was killed in a brawl, and dump his body in a paupers’ grave.” She disarmed the bow and handed the weapon back to Nerina. “Meanwhile, you should be safe enough here.” 

“You’re going out again?” said Nerina. “Where?”

“Back to the Shining Scimitar, I think,” said Caina. “Likely Yestik and Admete retreated there, and I want to have a word with them. A Maatish relic in the hands of a murderous Anshani occultist would be a terrible danger. Likely Khamil and the others stole the relics from the occultist, and he’s come to Istarinmul to find them, reclaim the relics, and take revenge in the process.” 

“It seems probable that this will result in violence,” said Nerina.

“Yes,” said Caina, remembering the shadow that had boiled around Khamil. “But maybe not.”

She checked her weapons and left without another word.

###

Little had changed at the Shining Scimitar since Caina’s last visit. A new group of women gyrated upon the stage, and the patrons seemed had grown more drunken and surly, but otherwise the tavern was the same. 

Caina spotted Admete at once.

The Kyracian woman sat alone at her previous table, gripping a cup of beer in both hands. Her knuckles were white, and Caina saw the gleam as her eyes darted back and forth within the cowl of her cloak. There was no sign of Yestik or any of the mercenaries.

Caina considered for a moment, and then sat across from Admete.

“Piss off,” Admete growled. “Whatever you’re selling, I’m not buying.” 

“Where’s Yestik?” said Caina.

Slowly Admete looked up from her beer, and Caina saw a narrow, hawk-nosed face within the cowl. Admete was likely in her middle forties, and looked hard-eyed and tired. One hand disappeared into her robe, likely reaching for a weapon. 

“No, don’t do that,” said Caina. “Draw a knife in here and the bouncers will throw you out in a heartbeat. Or they’ll realize you’re a woman and make you go on stage.”

That drew a small smile from her. “At my age, no one is going to pay to see me undressed.” 

“You might need the money,” said Caina. “You’re in a lot of trouble, and if you kill me, you’ll kill your only way of getting out of that trouble.”

Admete laughed. “If you’re that desperate for companionship, head down to the brothels by the Anshani Bazaar. A few coins will buy you all the companionship a man could ever…wait. Wait.” She leaned forward. “You were at Strake’s shop. The man with the crossbow.”

Caina nodded. 

Admete scowled. “What is your interest in this? You want the relics for yourself, is that it? Or are you working for someone?”

“My interest,” said Caina, “is twofold. First, I am a friend of Nerina Strake, and I look after my friends. So when the late Khamil tried to kidnap her, I am afraid I took exception.” 

“That was an error on my part,” said Admete. “If Khamil had only handled it better...well, I should have talked to Strake myself. Khamil claimed that he could persuade her to come with him.”

“He couldn’t,” said Caina. “One question. Why didn’t you just bring the trapbox to Strake’s shop?”

“For a variety of reasons it is not easily portable,” said Admete. “What is your second reason?”

“The Maatish relics,” said Caina. “They’re dangerous.” 

“To sorcerers, I suppose,” said Admete.

“No, to everyone,” said Caina. “In the wrong hands an enspelled artifact of the Kingdom of the Rising Sun could kill everyone in Istarinmul. I assume you remember the day of the golden dead?”

Admete gave a tired little snort. “It is hardly the sort of thing one forgets.”

“That was worked using Maatish sorcery,” said Caina. “I can guess at your plan. You stole the relics from an occultist and fled to Istarinmul in hopes of selling them.”

Admete shrugged. “Is that such a bad plan?”

“It is,” said Caina. “A genuine Maatish relic has the potential to kill thousands of people. If that does not trouble you, consider this. I have seen a group of thieves trying to sell Maatish artifacts to the highest bidder before. It ended with a necromancer slaughtering the thieves and reclaiming the relics. I strongly suspect that will happen to you without my help.”

Admete sighed. “Just why would you help me? I tried to kidnap your friend.”

“Because,” said Caina. “I’ve seen what relics from the Kingdom of the Rising Sun can do, and helping you is the best way to keep such horrors from happening again.” 

Admete said nothing.

“And I suspect,” said Caina, “that without help you might die in the same way that Khamil was slain.”

“Who are you?” said Admete. “Are you one of the Teskilati? An agent for the College of Alchemists, perhaps? Or another thief?”

“Suffice it to say,” said Caina, “I am someone who wishes to remove the danger of the Maatish artifacts, and am willing to save your life to do so.”

“It seems I have little choice but to accept your help, then,” said Admete. “Very well. You can call me Admete. I was once the daughter of a minor noble House of New Kyre, but my father ran afoul of Andromache, the High Seat of House Kardamnos, and she was a ruthless and brutal woman.”

“I’ve heard that,” said Caina.

“She destroyed our family,” said Admete. “I had no choice but to flee New Kyre. The life of an impoverished, unwed noblewoman is not a pleasant one, so I turned to thieving to support myself. I was better at it than I thought, but I could never obtain enough money to make myself secure. Then I met Yestik and Khamil, and they convinced me to join Tarniar’s expedition to the ruins of Old Maat.”

“Tarniar?” said Caina.

“An Anshani occultist,” said Admete. “Necromancy is taboo in Anshan, but it is not forbidden as it is in other nations. Tarniar wished to explore the ruins of the pharaohs and the necromancer-priests and glean their secrets. We wished simply to become rich, so we joined his company. The ruins of Maat…ah.” She let out a little laugh. “Have you ever seen them?”

“No,” said Caina. “I’ve never been further south than the free cities.”

“Suffice it to say, the ruins of Maat deserve their evil reputation,” said Admete. “We lost half our company to dried corpses that rose from the sands and attacked. Tarniar found what he sought, an old temple half-buried in the sands. He took…something from the ruins, something valuable, and secured it within a Strigosti trapbox.”

“Which you then stole and took to Istarinmul,” said Caina. 

“Khamil was supposed to steal the keys, but he couldn’t get close enough to Tarniar,” said Admete. “I had hoped to empty out the trapbox a safe distance from Anshan and divide the loot three ways. Instead we needed to find a capable locksmith to open the damned box.”

“Locksmiths capable of opening a Strigosti trapbox are rare indeed,” said Caina. 

“We looked everywhere in Anshan,” said Admete. “Finally Khamil suggested Strake’s daughter, so we came here.”

“Tarniar followed you,” said Caina.

“Yes,” hissed Admete. “I thought we had eluded him. But he must have found some of Khamil’s blood. We cut ourselves moving that damned trapbox.” 

“You’re afraid that you’re next,” said Caina.

“It is a rational fear, is it not?” said Admete. “I do not know if Tarniar has any of my blood or of Yestik’s, but if he does, he will strike at us as soon as his powers recover enough to work the spell.”

“Why kill you?” said Caina. “If he knows you’re here, why not just take his trapbox and be on his way?”

Admete offered a thin smile. “We’ve hidden in a place even his powers cannot locate.” 

“I see,” said Caina, thinking. “Then you need help even more than I thought. Tarniar doesn’t want to just kill you. He wants to find you and force you to tell him where the trapbox is. Then he will kill you.”

“You see my problem,” said Admete, voice dry. “I suppose you have some way to help me?”

“I do,” said Caina. “Take me to the trapbox, and I’ll have Strake open it.”

Admete frowned. “Then you and Strake will claim all the treasure for yourself?”

“No,” said Caina. “I will destroy any enspelled relics in the box. Gold or jewels you can keep for yourself. Or split with Yestik, I don’t care which. Where is he, anyway?”

“I don’t know,” said Admete. “After the shadow killed Khamil, he ran. I haven’t seen him since.”

“If he shows up, I’ll help him, too,” said Caina “So long as we destroy any enspelled relics, the rest of the treasure is yours. What do you say?”

Admete stared at Caina for a long moment. “Why would you do all of this for a stranger?”

“I’ve given you my reasons,” said Caina. “If that isn’t enough for you…I hate sorcery. It destroyed my life. Andromache of House Kardamnos destroyed yours. I suspect you are familiar with the feeling.” 

‘Very well,” said Admete.

“Good,” said Caina. “Stay here. I will return in an hour with Strake.”

Caina left the Scimitar and went to make some preparations. Once they were finished, she stopped by one of her safe houses in the Cyrican Quarter and obtained a few items she needed. Then she returned to Nerina’s workshop.

Nerina was still bent over the table as Azaces let her in, muttering to herself as she worked upon a lock.

“Ever open a Strigosti trapbox?” said Caina.

Nerina looked up, an intrigued light in her eerie blue eyes. “Four times. Each one was a splendid mathematical puzzle, a harmony of precise engineering coupled to sound equations.”

Azaces let out a long growl of displeasure.

“Five times,” said Nerina. “If one counts the time I accidentally set off the trap. But I was neither seriously nor permanently injured.” 

Azaces sighed.

“Ready to open another one?” said Caina.

Nerina smiled. “You always bring me such marvelous puzzles.”

###

A short time later Caina returned to the Shining Scimitar, Azaces and Nerina trailing after her. Azaces’s ferocious scowl dissuaded anyone from approaching them. Nerina had donned the turban and dusty brown robe of a Sarbian desert nomad, and if not for her pale face and eerie eyes would have looked like Azaces’s younger brother.

Admete rose as they approached. “You returned?”

Caina nodded. “You’ve already met my companions.”

Azaces glared at her.

“You stand,” announced Nerina, “precisely sixty-four inches tall, and without your clothing and weapons I estimate that you weigh approximately,” she considered for a moment, eyelids fluttering, “one hundred and thirty-nine pounds.”

Admete gave her a flat look. “You’re Nerina Strake?”

“If it makes you feel better,” said Caina, “the first time we met she was wrong about my height by about two inches.” 

“What?” said Nerina. “I was not.” Her eyes widened. “Oh, of course. High heels. I always forget about those.” 

“We had best go,” said Caina. “Time is likely short. Still no sign of Yestik?”

“No,” said Admete. “I fear what might have befallen him. You are right. We are going…”

“To the Tomb Quarter?” said Caina.

Admete blinked. “How did you guess?”

“I know,” said Caina, “a thing or two about sorcery.” 

###

Few people ever went to Istarinmul’s Tomb Quarter, especially at night. 

The Tomb Quarter rose on a series of hills north of the Emirs’ Quarter and the Golden Palace, just south of the Starfall Tower that guarded the straits between the Cyrican and the Alqaarin Seas. Tombs dotted the hills, some small and humble, others vast and opulent piles of gleaming marble and elaborate mosaics. Most of the tombs were squat, square buildings topped with pointed domes. Caina knew that catacombs and burial galleries extended deep below the surface.

The Istarish burned their dead, and legends spoke of the unrighteous dead rising as vengeful wraiths of smoke and cinders. It was not just superstitious fear that kept the Istarish from the Tomb Quarter. Some of the tombs had been sealed with potent wards, wards that sometimes decayed and unleashed killing spells at anyone standing too close to a tomb’s door. Other tombs had been constructed to imprison powerful creatures, djinn and elemental spirits of the netherworld, and those tombs had powerful guardians. Bolder thieves, recognizing the Quarter’s evil reputation, sometimes made their lairs among the dead. If this were not enough, herds of feral monkeys had taken up residence among the tombs, and sometimes attacked passersby with barrages of dung.