Ghost in the Razor by Jonathan Moeller

Balarigar had crippled him.
    “And so the man escaped,” said Cassander.
    He wondered how Ulvan would react if he knew that a woman had destroyed his fortune and crippled him. It would have been entertaining, to say the least. 
    “Because of Ulvan’s failure,” said a cadaverous Master Slaver named Konyat, “the villainous Balarigar turned his attention to me.” The Balarigar had also turned Konyat’s own brand upon him, marking both of his cheeks, and if the rumors were true, Konyat’s buttocks. Cassander had no desire to confirm that particular rumor for himself. “He slipped into my bedroom through trickery, drugged me, and left me to hang from the ceiling until my cowardly slaves worked up the nerve to free me in the morning.”
    “Perhaps you ought to be grateful,” said Cassander, “that they simply didn’t slit your throat, rob your palace, and depart.”
    “Not that the Balarigar would have left anything worth stealing,” said another Master Slaver. 
    “And our slaves revere us,” said Konyat. “They may hate and fear their betters, but they respect us more, for we bring order and purpose to their otherwise meaningless lives.” 
    The other cowled masters murmured their agreement, and again Cassander’s contempt threaten to boil out of control. What utter fools! They deserved to have the Balarigar rob them. And these were some of the leading men of Istarinmul! Little wonder the Umbarian Order had to bring order to the world, if fools such as these led the nations.
    Talking them had been a waste of time. They knew nothing about Caina Amalas that Cassander had not already discovered. He thought again about killing the cowled masters, but dismissed the thought. There was no reason to make an enemy of the Brotherhood, and they might prove useful later. 
    “My friends,” said Cassander, rising and bowing, “I thank you for your counsel. The Balarigar has enemies among the Umbarian Order as well, and the Provosts have ordered me to hunt down this thief and kill him.” That, at least, was mostly true. “Your counsel shall be of great use to me in the days to come.” That was definitely not true. “Urgent business calls me away, I fear, but I urge you to enjoy the meal.”
    The cowled masters rumbled their assent. Cassander turned and spotted one of the servants he had brought from Rasadda. The man hastened over and bowed.
    “Bid Maria to join me in the laboratory, and tell her to bring the female slave we discussed,” he said, and the servant scurried away. 
    Cassander left the dining hall and descended to the cellars. The stairs ended in a massive steel door, sorcerous wards crackling over it. Two silent Adamant Guards stood watch before the door, their armor grafted to their scarred flesh, the power of the spells bound to their limbs shimmering against Cassander’s senses. They bowed at his approach, and Cassander disarmed the wards and stepped into his laboratory. 
    The room had once been the palace’s wine cellar, but Cassander had put it to better use. Rows of books and scrolls filled shelves upon one wall, and an elaborate double circle, five yards across, had been cut into the floor, ringed with warding glyphs and spells. Steel tables equipped with shackles proved useful for his research into necromancy, and a long table held various instruments of brass and silver. Enspelled glass globes upon iron stands provided ample light. 
    Maria Nicephorus was waiting for him. She had once been a noble of a Nighmarian family before joining the Magisterium and then the Umbarian Order, and now she served at his command. Like Cassander, she wore the formal garb of the Umbarians – a long coat of dark leather, enspelled to turn aside weapons, gleaming black boots, black trousers, a white shirt, and a golden medallion adorned with the winged skull sigil of the Umbarians. She had long black hair bound in a braid and gray eyes that glittered at his approach. Next to her stood an Istarish slave girl