Read Online Ghost in the Maze by Jonathan Moeller - Free Book Online
Authors: Jonathan Moeller
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Caina. “Another question, if you will.” Part of her mind screamed that this was a bad idea, but she had to know.
“Of course,” said Nasser, “though then you must answer one in turn.”
“Very well.” Caina turned to face him. “The star is the key to the crystal. Have you ever heard those words before?”
Again Nasser and Laertes shared that glance. This time Laertes looked startled. Alarmed, even.
“I have,” said Nasser. “They are the refrain of an epic poem describing the destruction of the city of Iramis at the hands of Callatas. I believe the last Prince of Iramis composed the poem as he wandered the wasteland of the Desert of Candles that had once been his domain. Quite tragic, really. Little wonder the Istarish love it so. They do so enjoy a good tragedy.”
“I had heard,” said Caina, “that the poem was composed a century past. Iramis burned a hundred and fifty years ago.”
Nasser smiled. “Well. The accounts differ. I suspect the poet Sulaman told you that.”
“Yes,” said Caina. Nasser must have heard Sulaman recite the epic.
“Now my question,” said Nasser. “Those words. Where did you first hear them?”
“I will tell you the truth,” said Caina, “but you will not believe me.”
Nasser rose to his feet. “Indulge me.”
“I stood in the netherworld on the day of the golden dead,” said Caina, “and the spirit of a man who died twenty-five centuries ago told me that I would need those words.”
Nasser’s calm, faintly amused expression did not waver, but a flicker of tension went through his limbs, and Caina had the distinct impression that he had been taken aback.
“I see,” he said at last.
“You believe me, then?” said Caina.
“Why should I not?” said Nasser. “An unusual tale, to be sure, but unusual things happen all the time. Go in peace, Balarigar. I shall took forward to seeing you in the Tarshahzon Gardens.”
“You are certain I will come?” said Caina.
Nasser grinned. “Greet Sulaman for me when you see him.”
A chill went down Caina’s spine. “You know him?”
“Who do you think,” said Nasser, “suggested that I seek you out?”
Chapter 5 - The House of Agabyzus
It was almost noon by the time Caina returned to the Sanctuary.
She had taken a cautious route through the city, hiding her shadow-cloak in her satchel and covering herself with the ragged nomad’s cloak. Along the way she had stolen a turban and a rough wooden staff, and had feigned a limp. Anyone looking at her, she hoped, would see a tribesman visiting from the steppes of Trabazon, leaning upon a staff for support. Of course, the nomads of the Trabazon rarely had blue eyes, and almost always had skin darker than Caina’s. Yet the disguise worked. No one troubled Caina as she made her way across the city, though she saw many patrols of watchmen and more than a few Immortals. The Immortals rarely came into the poorer quarters unless escorting their masters, so Caina supposed Anburj must have extended his search.
She wondered if Callatas would kill the Kindred assassin for his failure. He had come within a hair’s breadth of catching Caina, and if not for Nasser’s intervention, she might not have escaped. But given how close Anburj had come to success, Caina suspected Callatas would urge the assassin to redouble his efforts. Anburj had correctly predicted her actions once before, and he might well do so again. Which made a good argument for considering Nasser’s offer. The Balarigar had always worked alone, and Anburj might not expect her to work with Nasser and his crew.
Caina suspected that was why Nasser had rescued her. Despite all his high talk about defeating Callatas and the Apotheosis, he might have his eye upon a rich prize, and wanted the Balarigar’s help to steal it.
Or he was telling the truth. Though even if he was, Caina was sure he had only given her a piece of the truth. Of course, Caina had done the same with him.
Or she was
“Of course,” said Nasser, “though then you must answer one in turn.”
“Very well.” Caina turned to face him. “The star is the key to the crystal. Have you ever heard those words before?”
Again Nasser and Laertes shared that glance. This time Laertes looked startled. Alarmed, even.
“I have,” said Nasser. “They are the refrain of an epic poem describing the destruction of the city of Iramis at the hands of Callatas. I believe the last Prince of Iramis composed the poem as he wandered the wasteland of the Desert of Candles that had once been his domain. Quite tragic, really. Little wonder the Istarish love it so. They do so enjoy a good tragedy.”
“I had heard,” said Caina, “that the poem was composed a century past. Iramis burned a hundred and fifty years ago.”
Nasser smiled. “Well. The accounts differ. I suspect the poet Sulaman told you that.”
“Yes,” said Caina. Nasser must have heard Sulaman recite the epic.
“Now my question,” said Nasser. “Those words. Where did you first hear them?”
“I will tell you the truth,” said Caina, “but you will not believe me.”
Nasser rose to his feet. “Indulge me.”
“I stood in the netherworld on the day of the golden dead,” said Caina, “and the spirit of a man who died twenty-five centuries ago told me that I would need those words.”
Nasser’s calm, faintly amused expression did not waver, but a flicker of tension went through his limbs, and Caina had the distinct impression that he had been taken aback.
“I see,” he said at last.
“You believe me, then?” said Caina.
“Why should I not?” said Nasser. “An unusual tale, to be sure, but unusual things happen all the time. Go in peace, Balarigar. I shall took forward to seeing you in the Tarshahzon Gardens.”
“You are certain I will come?” said Caina.
Nasser grinned. “Greet Sulaman for me when you see him.”
A chill went down Caina’s spine. “You know him?”
“Who do you think,” said Nasser, “suggested that I seek you out?”
Chapter 5 - The House of Agabyzus
It was almost noon by the time Caina returned to the Sanctuary.
She had taken a cautious route through the city, hiding her shadow-cloak in her satchel and covering herself with the ragged nomad’s cloak. Along the way she had stolen a turban and a rough wooden staff, and had feigned a limp. Anyone looking at her, she hoped, would see a tribesman visiting from the steppes of Trabazon, leaning upon a staff for support. Of course, the nomads of the Trabazon rarely had blue eyes, and almost always had skin darker than Caina’s. Yet the disguise worked. No one troubled Caina as she made her way across the city, though she saw many patrols of watchmen and more than a few Immortals. The Immortals rarely came into the poorer quarters unless escorting their masters, so Caina supposed Anburj must have extended his search.
She wondered if Callatas would kill the Kindred assassin for his failure. He had come within a hair’s breadth of catching Caina, and if not for Nasser’s intervention, she might not have escaped. But given how close Anburj had come to success, Caina suspected Callatas would urge the assassin to redouble his efforts. Anburj had correctly predicted her actions once before, and he might well do so again. Which made a good argument for considering Nasser’s offer. The Balarigar had always worked alone, and Anburj might not expect her to work with Nasser and his crew.
Caina suspected that was why Nasser had rescued her. Despite all his high talk about defeating Callatas and the Apotheosis, he might have his eye upon a rich prize, and wanted the Balarigar’s help to steal it.
Or he was telling the truth. Though even if he was, Caina was sure he had only given her a piece of the truth. Of course, Caina had done the same with him.
Or she was
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