Jonathan Moeller - The Ghosts 05 - Ghost in the Stone (15 page)

“True,” said Corvalis. “But what more can I do to…ah.” He sighed. “Sicarion told you my name. Corvalis Aberon.” 

“Corvalis Aberon,” said Caina. “The First Magus of the Magisterium, the mortal enemy of the Ghosts, is Decius Aberon.” 

“I thought the Ghosts were only a myth,” said Corvalis.

“That’s an evasion,” said Caina.

“True,” said Corvalis. “One cannot fool the Ghosts. If you must know, the First Magus is my father.” 

“Your father?” said Caina. “And is your business a task from the First Magus?” 

“No,” said Corvalis, and there was loathing in his cold voice. “Someday, I am going to kill him.  I will swear it on whatever god you want. The gods of the Empire, or the sea gods of the Kyracians. Or the Living Flame of the Anshani and the Saddai, or the devils of the underworld. I will swear upon them all. I will kill Decius Aberon and repay him for what he has done…”

Corvalis stopped talking, as if alarmed that he had said too much.

Caina stared at him. She noted how he held himself, ready to fight at a moment’s notice. She had seen him fight against Sicarion. The only way a man learned to fight like that was to train every day from childhood. 

Like the Kindred did to their slaves.

“Your father,” said Caina, “sold you to the Kindred, didn’t he?”

Corvalis’s expression did not change, but a muscle twitched near his left eye.

“You understand nothing,” said Corvalis. 

“Actually, I do,” said Caina. “The First Magus is known for his ruthlessness. Such a man would see his children as raw material, to transform into weapons and tools to use as he sees fit. Some of his children are magi of the Magisterium. But you were born without any arcane talent. Since he couldn’t make a magus out of you, he sold you to the Kindred.”

“How do you know this?” said Corvalis, not bothering to hide his anger. “How long have you been spying on me?”

“You’re surprised?” said Caina. “I am a spy, after all. But, no. I had never seen you before Barius’s pawnshop.”

“Then how do you know this?” said Corvalis. “Who told you?”

“You did,” said Caina. “I’ve had some practice observing people.”

Corvalis stared at her. Caina remembered the first time she had met Ark, how angry he had gotten when she deduced that he had joined the Ghosts to find his wife. 

At last Corvalis barked out a short, harsh laugh. “I would say you are a sorceress, but I know better. Yes, it is as you say. I was born to one of my father’s mistresses.” His face was hard. “And the great First Magus has no use for children unable to wield the arcane sciences. So he sold me to the Kindred. Under the terms of the contract, he would receive exclusive use for my services whenever he desired. The Kindred molded me into a killer.”

“And then you left,” said Caina. Why had he left the Kindred? An attack of conscience, perhaps? Something similar had happened to her old teacher Riogan.

“And then I left,” said Corvalis.

“I understand,” said Caina.

Again Corvalis laughed that short, harsh laugh. “I doubt that.”

“My mother was a failed initiate of the Magisterium,” said Caina. “She sold me to a necromancer in exchange for his arcane teachings. It was…not a pleasant experience.” She shrugged. “So I understand better than you think.” 

She wondered why she had bothered to tell him.

“How did you escape?” said Corvalis.

“Neither my mother nor the necromancer are still among the living,” said Caina. He could draw what conclusions he would from that.

Corvalis nodded. “And I will kill my father.”

“That’s not why you’re in Cyrioch,” said Caina. “Decius Aberon is in Artifel. You might have come to Cyrioch for some reason to do with him. But you’re not here to kill the First Magus.”

“Very good, Ghost,” said Corvalis. “Have you puzzled why I am here?” 

“No,” said Caina. But it had something to do with the statues, she was sure of it. Perhaps Corvalis even knew how Barius and the other Ghosts had been transmuted into stone. “Unless you want to tell me?”

“I do not,” said Corvalis. “Clever as you are, your enemies might capture you. And I will not lose my secrets. Not now, when I am so close.” 

“Some of the Ghosts have been turned to stone,” said Caina, watching him for a reaction. “How can we keep it from happening again?”

“Stay away from me,” said Corvalis. “Your fool of a circlemaster thinks I am a threat, so he sent his Ghosts to spy on me. They…got in the way. So long as you ignore me, you will be in no danger.”

Caina gave a slow nod. “Very well. Good luck.”

Corvalis blinked, and then nodded. “And you as well, Ghost. I think you will need it.”

He left without another word. 

###

Caina walked into Theodosia’s bedroom.

“Mmm?” said Theodosia, lifting her head. “What is it? I hoped the Kindred would have the courtesy to wait until a decent hour to murder us in our beds.”

“I know,” said Caina, “how we can ambush the Kindred.”

The Ring of Valor could have swallowed the Amphitheatre of Asurius whole. 

The arena was a huge stone oval, its outer wall standing two hundred feet tall. Ornate statues of gladiators stood in niches along the wall, hundreds of them, brandishing stone spears and swords. Enormous arches led into the Ring, and through those arches Caina heard the roar of the crowds gathered to watch the gladiatorial games. The Amphitheatre of Asurius held ten thousand people, but nearly a hundred thousand could gather in the Ring of Valor to watch enslaved gladiators kill one another. 

Caina looked at the streams of people pouring into the Ring’s gates and tried to keep the contempt off her face.

She stood outside of the Ring with Marzhod, Saddiq, and a dozen Sarbian mercenaries. Caina wore her dust-colored robes, a scimitar and dagger hanging on her leather belt makeup giving her face the illusion of stubble. The other Sarbians ignored her. Marzhod had them that she was Saddiq’s cousin, come to find work in Cyrioch. 

“A few more,” said Marzhod in Cyrican, “and then we’ll get started.”

Caina shifted. “Why not now?”

“Because,” said Marzhod, “the real betting doesn’t begin until the first matches start. Right now they’re watching animals. Lions fighting bears, that sort of thing. The poor bet on those, but they’re not worth the trouble.” He rubbed his fingers together. “The real money comes when the gladiators come out. Especially if one noble or another owns the gladiators.”

“And Lord Khosrau and Lord Corbould,” said Saddiq, “have not even arrived yet.”

Caina looked north to the sprawling mass of Cyrioch and the white shape of the Stone rising from its heart. The Ring of Valor lay just south of the city’s gates, on the flat plains that made up most of Cyrica. According to Marzhod, the impoverished free citizens of Cyrioch had a tendency to riot during the games, so the Lord Governors had built the Ring outside of the city proper. 

“Once the lords arrive,” said Marzhod, “the betting will begin in earnest. You lot,” he waved a bony hand at the mercenaries, “circulate through the nobles and take their bets. You two,” he pointed at Caina and Saddiq, “will carry out a little errand for me.”

That errand was making sure Corbould and Khosrau survived. 

And, if all went well, capturing a Kindred assassin alive. 

“And you,” said Marzhod, pointing at another group of mercenaries, “watch for anyone else taking bets. If you find anyone else taking wagers, give them a good beating and dump them in the street. No killing – the Lord Governor and the Lord Aedile of Games don’t like bloodshed spoiling their festivities.” He snickered. “Except for the gladiators. But we’re well within our rights to beat anyone else taking bets into a pulp.”

“How did you get the exclusive right to take wagers for the games?” said Caina.

Marzhod smirked. “I asked the Lord Aedile of Games politely, and he gave it to me because I was so charming.”

A guffaw went up from the Sarbian mercenaries, and Caina rolled her eyes.

“How do you think?” said Marzhod. “A very large bribe and a fixed percentage of the take. Of course, I make more than enough to cover it.” He scratched at his unshaven chin. “Especially since I fix a few key matches.” 

“Here they come,” said Saddiq.

A procession marched from the city proper. At its head came Khosrau, Corbould, and Armizid, riding in a ceremonial chariot pulled by eight white horses, a guard of militiamen and black-armored Imperial Guards surrounding them. Caina noted with amusement that Theodosia rode in the chariot, exchanging laughter with Khosrau. Armizid must have been scandalized. After the chariot came the lesser nobles and the magi on foot. Ranarius strode in their midst, tall and forbidding in his black robes, Nicasia walking barefoot after him. Mhadun strolled at the preceptor’s side, looking as if he didn’t have a care in the world.

Marzhod grinned. “Time to fleece the sheep.” He gave a sharp nod to Caina. “You know what to do.” 

She did.

Saddiq followed as she headed for one of the Ring’s gates. A pair of militiamen stood there, scowling as they waved the crowds through.

“You, Sarbian,” said a militiaman, pointing at Caina. “You have a ticket?” When Lord Khosrau held a gladiatorial exhibition, he apparently paid for free tickets, given at random to Cyrioch’s poorer citizens. No doubt the tickets helped keep the populace from rioting.

“Aye,” said Caina, holding out the paper Marzhod had given her. “Both me and my friend. We’re here on business.” Marzhod had most of the city militia in his pay, and the paper held his seal. 

“Go,” said the militiaman. “Don’t linger.”

Caina nodded and entered the Ring of Valor.

Tiers of stone seats rose far overhead, packed with cheering commoners. Spacious boxes occupied the bottom third of the seats, reserved for powerful nobles and wealthy merchants. The spectators, rich and poor alike, looked upon a broad oval with a sandy floor. A number of dead lions lay upon the sand, while a wounded bear stalked back and forth, bellowing. 

Saddiq tapped Caina’s shoulder. 

“You attend to the lords in their boxes,” said Saddiq, looking towards the box that would hold Khosrau and his guests. “I shall attend to our…friend…atop the Ring.”

He looked at the roofed colonnade that encircled the highest tier of seats. From there, a skilled archer had a clean shot at anyone sitting in the lords’ boxes. 

“How will you get up there?” said Caina. 

“There are hidden ladders so the slaves can clean the pillars,” said Saddiq. “Good hunting.”

“You, too,” said Caina. 

Saddiq left without another word. A team of handlers hastened onto the sands, corralling the enraged bear, while slaves dragged away the carcasses of the slain lions. Another team of slaves raked the sands, turning over the blood. Caina supposed the blood of gladiators would stain the sand soon enough.

Her mouth twisted at the thought.

“Citizens of Cyrioch!” The voice boomed over the Ring of Valor, amplified to thunderous volume by a magus’s spell. Caina saw the Lord Aedile of Games, a squat, fat man in brilliant white robes, standing in his box. “In the name of your Lord Governor, I bid you welcome to the Ring of Valor, and this festival of manful courage, honor, valor, and skill!” 

The crowds cheered. 

“These games are generously financed by our benevolent and wise Lord Governor, Armizid of House Asurius!”

Caina watched the nobles march to their boxes. Armizid strode in their head, wearing a red military cloak and gleaming cuirass of office over his white robes. A tepid cheer greeted his arrival.

“The remainder of the funds for this exhibition of arms,” boomed the Lord Aedile, “is a generous gift from Khosrau, Lord of House Asurius!”

Khosrau hobbled out, leaning on his cane. Much to her amusement, Caina saw Theodosia on his arm. A loud cheer greeted the Lord of House Asurius, and Theodosia waved to the crowds with regal dignity. Corbould followed them, as did the rest of the nobles. Caina saw Ranarius and Mhadun among the nobles, with Nicasia trailing behind. Did Mhadun know about the attempt on Corbould’s life? Or did the Kindred keep him in the dark?

“For the glory of the Empire!” thundered the Lord Aedile. “For the majesty of our Emperor! For the honor of our patrons! I declare these games open!”

The loudest cheer yet went up from the crowds, and a pair of gladiators marched onto the sands. One was dressed like an Istarish foot soldier, with a spiked helm, round shield, and scimitar. The other looked like a stylized Kyracian ashtairoi, with a plumed helm, gleaming cuirass, and a long straight sword. 

For a moment Caina remembered the desperate fighting in Marsis, running and hiding from the soldiers as she sought Nicolai…

She shook aside the memories and got to work. 

The nobles settled into their boxes and Caina approached them. 

“You!” said one of the nobles, a doughy man in his twenties. “You’re with Marzhod?”

“Aye, my lord,” said Caina, keeping her voice disguised.

“Here.” The noble thrust a paper into Caina’s hand. “Two thousand on Coriolus the Red. Move along, you’re blocking my view.”

Caina worked her way through the boxes, collecting wagers. She had done a lot of strange things during her time as a Ghost nightfighter, but she never collected bets while watching for an assassin. Every step took her closer to Lord Khosrau’s box, and she watched for an assassin with a blowgun. Almost certainly the Kindred assassin would be disguised as a slave. A slave running errands among the nobles would not draw suspicion. Or perhaps the Kindred would disguise himself as a wealthy merchant. 

A roar went up from the crowds, and Caina glanced towards the sands. The Istarish gladiator staggered back, blood pouring down his chest from a gash across his collarbone. The Kyracian gladiator circled warily, watching for an opportunity to strike. Unless the Istarish gladiator did something clever, the Kyracian would wear him down through sheer patience. 

She tore her gaze away from the spectacle and moved through the nobles’ boxes. Lord Khosrau’s attention was fixed on the fight, while Theodosia, Corbould, and Armizid all watched with polite interest. The assassination attempt would come during the climax of a match, Caina decided. When the crowd was on their feet, cheering for their favored gladiators.