Ghost in the Maze by Jonathan Moeller Page A

his scimitar.
    “That poem about Callatas,” said Caina. “I think the Grand Master would take it ill, if word of it reached his ears.”
    “Is that a threat?” said Mazyan.
    “Merely an observation,” said Caina. “I am only a courier. No one fears my wrath. The wrath of Grand Master Callatas, however, is rather more formidable.”
    “You are correct,” said Sulaman. “But the Grand Master does not care. Indeed, he approves of the poem, for it increases the dread around his name. He glories in his blackest crime, and holds the destruction of Iramis and its people his greatest achievement.”  
    “And do you?” said Caina. “Did Callatas strike a great blow for the glory of Istarinmul?”
    “I am merely a poet,” said Sulaman. “I only recite, I fear. Come, Master Marius. Walk with me for a while, if you will.”
    Mazyan gathered his bowl and drum, and Caina, Sulaman, and Mazyan stepped into the darkened Cyrican Bazaar. The stalls and shops had closed for the night, and silence hung over the market. In the distance Caina saw the gleam of the Golden Palace and the College of Alchemists, lit by the glow of sorcerous light. 
    They stood in silence for a moment.
    “Who are you?” said Caina.
    “I am the poet Sulaman,” said Sulaman, “and I am a man who fears for the future of Istarinmul, should Callatas work his will here as he worked it in Iramis. And I believe you are such a man as well, you who call yourself Marius of the Imperial Collegium of Jewelers.”
    He knew. Somehow, he knew that Caina was not who she said she was. That did not surprise her, not entirely. Sulaman had given her a purse of gold after she had saved Bayram and Bahad and the other captives in Ulvan’s cells. He must have suspected that she was associated with the Balarigar in some fashion. 
    But did he know that she was the Balarigar? 
    “How much do you know about me?” said Caina.
    He smiled briefly. “More than you know, and not as much as I would like. I suspect you would say the same about me. But I will say this. I mean you no ill will, and will aid you in whatever small way is within my meager powers.” 
    “Because we both oppose Callatas,” said Caina.
    “This is so,” said Sulaman. “And that is why I suggested that Ibrahaim Nasser speak to you. He, too, is a man who opposes Callatas.”
    “Then you do know him,” said Caina.
    “For many years, yes.”
    “Who is he really?” said Caina.
    “A master thief, from whom much was stolen,” said Sulaman. “A liar who serves the truth. An outlaw who is in service to the law. A homeless man who fights for his home.”
    “An answer equally both poetic and vague,” said Caina. 
    “The best poems often are,” said Sulaman. “You may do as you wish. I have no bond or right of command over you. But I urge you to listen to what Nasser has to say. It would go well for you. It would go well for all of us.”
    “Why?” said Caina.
    “Because,” said Sulaman, “I know not what Callatas’s Apotheosis is. But I do know one thing about it. He first attempted it at Iramis.”
    The chill she felt grew deeper. “And now Iramis is ashes.”
    “You understand, then,” said Sulaman. “Good night, Master Marius. I pray the Living Flame lights your path and leads you to wisdom.”
    He offered a bow and strode away. Mazyan scowled at Caina once more and followed the poet.
    Caina stared after them, standing alone in the darkness.
    “I will certainly need it,” she muttered at last. 

Chapter 6 - Visions
    A short time later, Caina returned home.
    But it was not home, not really. She thought of the city of Malarae as her home, and that was lost to her. “Home” in Istarinmul was wherever she happened to be sleeping at the moment. But she had not slept in nearly two days, and she needed some proper rest before confronting Nasser. 
    Caina had stolen a great deal of money from the cowled masters of the Brotherhood, and had used some of it to prepare hiding places and