Ghost in the Hunt (19 page)

“We have had disagreements in the past,” said Caina. She did not want to talk about this with Nasser, and she was just as certain that Nasser would not let it go.

“Of what nature, might I inquire?” said Nasser.

Caina shrugged. “I don’t like sorcerers. I don’t think sorcery can be used without harm. Lady Claudia was once a sister of the Magisterium. She disagrees with me.” 

“It is a bit more personal than that,” said Nasser.

“Then perhaps we shouldn’t discuss it.”

“Her sister,” said Nasser.

Caina opened her mouth, closed it again. “Her sister?” she said at last.

“I suspect that is the nature of your enmity,” said Nasser. “Claudia had a sister, and you were her lover. The sister died at some point, likely during the course of your work, and so Lady Claudia blames you to this day.” 

That was completely wrong, but Nasser still thought that Caina was a man. 

Other than that little detail, he had gotten everything right. 

Caina tried to think of a clever lie or a witticism to deflect the question, but found nothing. 

“I am sorry,” said Nasser at last. 

“You shouldn’t be,” said Caina. “It’s the only reason you’re still alive. The day of the golden dead. Claudia’s sibling, my lover, died there. That death stopped the golden dead.” That part, at least, was entirely true. The Moroaica had carried Caina’s memories, and when she had killed Corvalis, she had been so paralyzed with grief that Caina had been able to strike a killing blow. 

The grief had paralyzed the Moroaica, but not Caina. The man she loved had been dead, but she had still been able to act. It made her feel guilty.

Perhaps she was the cold-hearted monster that Claudia believed her to be. 

“Alas,” said Nasser. “Watching a woman you love die is a most grievous blow.”

“One that you know firsthand, I assume?” said Caina. “Since we are attempting to pry into each other’s pasts now.”

“I have lived a long life,” said Nasser, “and seen much sorrow.” He paused. “But joy, too. I must not forget that. It is why I do what I do, after all.” 

“Seeing Callatas defeated would bring me joy,” said Caina. 

“It does explain much about you,” said Nasser. “I suspected you were a man who had endured grievous losses, losses so sharp that you no longer held your life in any great regard.”

“Are you sure?” said Caina. “I’m still alive.”

“I cannot complain of your choices,” said Nasser. “Your skill and daring have been of great use to me. But…one needs some joy in one’s life. I wonder if you have any in yours.”

“I don’t,” said Caina. “Not really. Not any longer.” 

“Perhaps you should make peace with Claudia,” said Nasser.

“What good would that do?” said Caina. “We rarely agreed. Then after…the death…I didn’t talk to her until she arrived in Istarinmul.”

Nasser raised his eyebrows. “So you never told her about her sister’s death?”

“No,” said Caina. “Why? Does it matter?”

“Perhaps it does,” said Nasser. “Or, at least, I suspect Claudia thinks it does.” 

“Why are we even talking about this?” said Caina. 

“You remind me of myself when I was a younger man,” said Nasser. “Full of rage and desiring revenge. But you cannot live for revenge alone.”

“I know,” said Caina. “It is a lesson I have learned before, and that I will likely have to learn again. What do you live for?”

Nasser smiled. “Hope.”

“How illuminating.”

They stood in silence for a moment, and Caina saw the black-armored forms of Immortals moving through the stalls. The crowds made sure to give them a wide berth. Erghulan Amirasku marched in their midst, his face set in a thunderous scowl. 

“As fascinating as this very unpleasant conversation has been,” said Caina, “I would like to hear this.”

“As would I,” said Nasser. “Lead on.” 

She walked past the waiting carts and the ranks of Imperial Guards, and came close enough to hear the conversation between the Grand Wazir and the Lord Ambassador.

“I cannot say I approve of this,” said Erghulan. “The Kaltari Highlands have always been dangerous, even more so after the day of the golden dead. Your safety will not be guaranteed.”

Martin raised his eyebrows. “My safety was not guaranteed in the Golden Palace, either. Fifteen Imperial Guards fell to the Huntress’s blade. If I am not safe in the Golden Palace, then where am I safe, my lord Wazir?”

Erghulan’s scowl deepened. “Investigations are underway. We shall find this assassin and kill her.”

“I have faith in your ability, my lord,” said Martin. “But it was only by the slimmest of threads that my wife and I escaped. I am convinced this was through the active intervention of the gods. Therefore I am making a pilgrimage to Silent Ash Temple to offer sacrifices in thanksgiving.”

“There are temples to the Living Flame in Istarinmul,” said Erghulan. “It would be far easier for you to offer sacrifices there. My lord ambassador, may I be blunt? If you are slain anywhere on Istarish soil, the consequences for my nation, for both our nations, would be dire. The Empire has one war. It does not need a second. The great and wise Padishah ever wishes for peace.” 

“I am glad to hear it,” said Martin. “Our Emperor desires peace between our nations as well. As opposed to the rebels of the Umbarian Order, who desire to use Istarinmul as a cudgel against the Empire. Tell me, my lord. If the Huntress targeted Lord Cassander, do you think he would be as gracious about the affair?”

Erghulan said nothing, but he offered a shallow nod.

“And was it not curious that both Immortals and Imperial Guards lay dead upon the ground,” said Martin, “while not one Adamant Guard died in the Golden Palace? Cassander has abused your hospitality, my lord. It is my belief that he sent the Huntress against me.”

“I fear that is my belief as well,” said Erghulan, “but I cannot take action without proof.” More likely he was waiting for Callatas to make a decision. “Yet my suspicions remain. We shall wait for your return from your pilgrimage. Until then, Istarinmul will not intervene in the Empire’s war against the rebels of the Order.”

He had called the Order rebellious. That was a good sign, though it likely served Callatas’s purposes. The longer Istarinmul delayed, the longer he had to work on his Apotheosis. Yet he could not work the Apotheosis without the Staff and Seal of Iramis, and if Nasser was right, if the Emissary knew where to find them, Caina could snatch away the relics and prevent Callatas from laying claim to them.

“I thank you for your good faith, my lord,” said Martin. “I anticipate my return within a month.”

Erghulan nodded. “May the Living Flame watch over you.” 

Martin bowed, spoke to Tylas, and the Imperial Guards began to form up. Claudia and Martin had horses and a supply of remounts, but everyone else would have to walk or ride in the wagons. Caina did not mind. The walking would give her time to think. When that became boring, she had hidden a few books in the supply wagons, and could pass the time by reading.

She hoped for a boring trip. 

Because if the Red Huntress found them, the trip was going to be anything but boring. 

Claudia mounted her horse. The former magus turned her steed in a circle, steering it towards the gate with easy skill. She stopped, gazing down at one of the merchant stalls. It was an odd time to be shopping, but Claudia was in fact staring at a decree pinned to the side of the stall.

It was Grand Wazir Erghulan’s decree, offering the enormous bounty for the head of the Balarigar. 

Claudia turned her head and saw Caina standing nearby. 

“I am surprised,” said Caina, “that you haven’t seen those before. They’re all over the city.”

“Two million bezants,” said Claudia. “Remissions from taxes. Noble titles.” She looked at Caina. “The Balarigar has certainly irritated some powerful people.”

“He has,” said Caina. 

For some reason Claudia looked annoyed, even angry.

“Why?” said Claudia.

“You know why,” said Caina. “Were you not listening?”

“I listened just fine,” said Claudia. “What I know is that the Balarigar has a huge price upon his head, has made a public spectacle of himself. I know that the Balarigar has waged war upon the Slavers’ Brotherhood to no point.”

“They deserved it, for what they had done,” said Caina, feeling herself getting angry. This was not the place to have a discussion on the matter, but Claudia kept talking. 

“That’s not the point,” said Claudia. “We’re supposed to remain secret. We’re supposed to be shadows and myths. Not daring master thieves with enormous bounties upon our heads. What has the Balarigar accomplished? Frightened some slavers? Annoyed the nobles of Istarinmul? That has only made it harder for us to convince Istarinmul to remain neutral. No matter what Martin says, all Cassander has to do is to keep mentioning the Balarigar, and sooner or later he will bring the nobles of Istarinmul around to his side.”

Caina scowled, but said nothing. 

Claudia had a point. 

What had Caina accomplished? She had terrorized the slavers, true, and driven up the price of slaves. Yet Callatas’s Apotheosis had been slowed, not stopped. Cassander had told her true name to Erghulan, proving that the Balarigar was a Ghost nightfighter. That made it all the harder for the Empire to keep Istarinmul neutral in the war against the Order. 

Perhaps Caina had done nothing of use. Perhaps she had been merely lashing out, striking at random in her rage and pain over the deaths of Corvalis and Halfdan. 

What would Halfdan think of her deeds in Istarinmul?

Caina did not know. 

Claudia turned and rode to join Martin. 

Caina took a deep breath, calming herself. She had done as she had thought best, and she could not change it. Nor would she change it, even if the power to do so had been within her grasp. Callatas and his Apotheosis had to be stopped, and the Slavers’ Brotherhood challenged. If Caina had done nothing, perhaps Callatas would have finished the Apotheosis by now. She could do nothing but move forward.

Caina walked to join the rest of the column as it headed towards the Gate of the Southern Road.

###

Kalgri stood in the shadow of a merchant booth, pretending to examine the overpriced daggers on sale as she watched Lord Martin’s column depart through the gate.

Caina Amalas strode alongside one of the wagons, clad in her disguise of a caravan guard. It was a perfect disguise, really. If Kalgri had not known any better, she would have sworn that she was looking at a caravan guard, an unremarkable man of mediocre skill and no wealth. 

But Caina Amalas was clever, dangerously clever.

How else could she have concealed a pyrikon from Kalgri? 

The Voice hissed in fury. 

There were only a few things that had the power to stop the immaterial blade of the nagataaru. A pyrikon was one of them. Kalgri had expected to feel her sword sink into the Balarigar’s heart. Instead the blade of shadow and purple fire had come apart in her hand. Then the Imperial sorceress had thrown that banishment spell, and the Voice had gone berserk. Kalgri had lost control as well. Her bond with the Voice was the source of her strength and power and immortality, and if Claudia Dorius had been a little stronger, she might have actually banished the Voice back to the netherworld. 

In fury Kalgri had killed and killed, the Voice gorging itself upon the deaths of the Immortals and the Imperial Guards and passing that strength back to Kalgri.

But she had mastered herself and realized the danger. The Voice’s power was immense, but Kalgri’s body had limits. If she took too many wounds, her ability to heal slowed, and even she could not slay every single Immortal in the Golden Palace. Worse, the Grand Wazir would send for Alchemists to defend the Palace. Their spells might destroy her, and Callatas might choose to let her die rather than kill his allies. 

All this because Caina had moved at the very last instant to avoid the arrow that would have taken her in the heart.

Had the pyrikon warned her? Some of the loremasters had possessed the ability of short-term foresight, allowing them to avoid arrows.

There had been too many uncertainties, too many variables. Kalgri had not survived for a century and a half by taking stupid chances, and remaining at the Palace had been a needless risk. 

So she had withdrawn to regroup and to prepare a new plan.

Damn Callatas. Damn him! Why hadn’t he told her that the Balarigar had a pyrikon?

Perhaps he didn’t know. That thought amused her. 

“Mistress?” 

Kalgri realized that she had forgotten about the dagger merchant, a short, plump little man with a greasy beard.

“Will you buy anything?” said the merchant. “My daggers are very fine, yes, and shall defend your virtue from the dire villains…”

“No,” said Kalgri. “Your daggers are inferior and overpriced. Additionally, I don’t like your stupid little beard, and your nose offends me.”

The merchant bristled, raising a hand to strike her. She looked at him, and sudden fear went over his face.

Kalgri might have killed him then and there, but the Voice hissed within her. 

It sensed something. 

She stalked away, her skirt swirling around her legs. One could hardly go walking about Istarinmul in the armor and mask of the Red Huntress, so she wore the simple dress and headscarf of a common Istarish woman. No one paid her any attention as she crossed the bazaar and strode into an alley between two of the towering tenements of the Anshani Quarter. It was foolish for a woman to walk alone in this part of the Quarter, but if anyone annoyed her, the watchmen would find more corpses in the morning. 

Kalgri entered a small courtyard, the dust gritting beneath her boots.

The Voice had a cruel approximation of a sense of humor, and it started to hiss with laughter when she saw the man waiting in the courtyard. The man was tall and handsome, clad in a greatcoat of black leather with red trim upon the sleeves, a black steel gauntlet covering his right fist. The Voice sensed the power of the wards upon his coat and within the golden amulet of a winged skull on his chest.