Ghost in the Hunt (9 page)

“He would prefer that we wait until we are outside the city walls to kill each other in a civilized fashion,” said Martin, voice dry. “Select an appropriate disguise, and I shall include you as my guest to the Golden Palace.”

“Kyrazid Tomurzu,” said Caina, “a factor for some of the lords of Imperial Cyrica. I’ve used the alias before, so it has some established history.”

“Very well,” said Martin. “Have ‘Master Kyrazid’ meet us here in three days’ time. Then we shall proceed to the Golden Palace and do what we must.”

“Thank you,” said Caina. She turned towards the door. 

“No, thank you,” said Martin. Caina looked back at the Lord Ambassador. “Your assistance will be most welcome. We have need of every ally.”

Claudia said nothing, her face expressionless, her green eyes flat. 

Caina inclined her head once more and left the Lord Ambassador’s mansion to prepare.

###

Claudia let out a long breath, staring at the closed door.

“We’ll need to preserve these corpses,” said Martin. “Discreetly. If I accuse Cassander of having sent Silent Hunters after the Emperor’s ambassadors, I need more than eyewitness testimony.” He snorted. “Especially since all the eyewitnesses are Ghosts.”

“I’ll have Tylas and Dromio see to it,” said Claudia, still staring at the door. “Some brine and salt should do it. Though we should not keep them too long. I would hate to get in the habit of storing corpses in the cellar.”

Martin looked at her, at the door, and back at her.

“You really do hate her,” he said, “don’t you?”

There was no point in lying to him. He knew her too well by now.

“Yes,” said Claudia.

“She did save your life,” said Martin. “Not just today, but many times before.” 

“I know,” said Claudia. “But she came back, husband. She came back out of the netherworld and Corvalis did not. I cannot…I cannot forgive her for that.” She felt Martin’s hand settle upon her shoulder, and she reached up and took it. “I cannot. Before you, my brother was all the family I had in the world. Then he met Caina Amalas, and she took him from me.” 

“She took his loss just as hard,” said Martin.

“Perhaps,” said Claudia. “I don’t know.” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “It doesn’t matter what I think or feel. There’s too much at stake. I could hate her with all of my heart, and it wouldn’t matter in the slightest. She’s good at what she does, and we need help.”

“We do,” said Martin. “Well, we stood against an ancient Maatish priest and the Moroaica herself. Someone like Cassander Nilas should hardly prove a challenge.”

Claudia shook her head, grateful for her husband’s presence. Ever since Corvalis’s death, she had been prone to rages and black moods, but Martin always knew how to talk her down. 

Gods, but she loved him so much. 

She didn’t want to lose him, didn’t want him to go into danger. But Martin Dorius would always do his duty. Claudia vowed to do whatever necessary to keep him safe.

Even if it meant working with Caina Amalas.

Chapter 6 - Poems

Night fell, and Caina entered the House of Agabyzus.

She had not told Claudia or Martin about the coffee house and her connection to it. The members of a Ghost circle were often kept in isolation from each other. That way, if Claudia or Martin were taken prisoner and forced to reveal their secrets, they would not put Damla or Agabyzus or Nerina Strake or any of the other Ghosts of Istarinmul into danger. 

Only Caina knew them all. Given that she had a bounty of two million bezants upon her head, it seemed likely that her enemies would kill her before she was forced to give up any secrets. It occurred to her that if the Ghost circle in Istarinmul kept growing, she needed to choose a potential successor, someone to take her place if she was killed. Agabyzus, perhaps, though he had been circlemaster before. 

Caina shook her head and dismissed the thought. Right now she needed to focus upon a more urgent matter.

Namely, keeping Cassander Nilas from making an alliance with Istarinmul. 

The common room of the House of Agabyzus was crowded, the air heavy with the smells of roasting coffee and baking bread. Merchants and minor nobles sat at the low round tables and in the wooden booths, drinking coffee and eating cakes and discussing the affairs of the day. Serving maids hurried back and forth with food and drink. Some were slaves, but ever since her sons had been kidnapped by Ulvan of the Brotherhood, Damla had been hiring more freeborn servants. A dais stood against the far wall, and a tall man with an ascetic look waited upon the dais. He wore only a simple robe, his hair and beard close-cropped, and he could have been anywhere between thirty-five and fifty. His name was Sulaman, and he recited epic poetry to the patrons. The Istarish were mad for poetry, specifically the complex, intricate epics of the Istarish past, and a poet who could successfully memorize the long epics and recite them with the appropriate flair could become wealthy.

He also, apparently, had some sorcerous ability to see the future, something he had inherited from his father. Caina did not know who Sulaman was or what he wanted, but the poet claimed he had Istarinmul’s best interests at heart. He had aided Caina more than once, and had arranged for her to meet Nasser. 

Damla wove her way through the crowds and came to Caina’s side. “Master Marius, it is good to see you.”

“And you, mistress,” said Caina. She had donned the disguise she had first used when visiting Istarinmul, the guise of Marius, a courier for the Imperial Collegium of Jewelers. She wore a loose brown coat, loose trousers, and heavy boots, a short sword and a set of daggers at her belt. It let her move about the city with some degree of anonymity. 

But how much anonymity? Had those Silent Hunters been at the Lord Ambassador’s mansion to kill Martin and Claudia?

Or had they followed Caina there?

It was a disturbing thought. There had been a bounty upon her head for nearly the entire year she had been in Istarinmul, and Caina had successful avoided all her hunters. But if the servants of the Umbarians were clever enough to track her, they wouldn’t even need to kill her themselves. They could simply to give her location to the Teskilati or one of the bounty hunters seeking the Balarigar. 

Caina would not survive that.

“You want to see him, I expect?” said Damla, shaking Caina out of the dark reverie. 

“Is he here?” said Caina.

“This way, sir,” said Damla, guiding her across the common room to a booth not far from Sulaman’s dais. Sulaman’s bodyguard and drummer, a squat, scowling man named Mazyan, sat upon the dais, his eyes scanning the crowds for any threat. Caina felt Sulaman’s eyes on her as she passed.

A middle-aged man sat alone in the booth, frowning into a cup of coffee. He wore the bright robes and turban of a prosperous Cyrican merchant, a close-cropped, graying beard covering his lean, lined face. It took Caina a second to recognize Agabyzus, and she laughed at herself. The man had simply cut his hair and beard, and it had wrought an immense change in his appearance. 

Of course, she knew the trick herself. Her hair had once hung past her shoulders, and she had cut it all off in a fit of grief during her first day in Istarinmul. She missed it, but she had to admit that it was cooler under the harsh Istarish sun…and most useful for disguise.

Caina slid into the booth across from Agabyzus. 

“How is the shoulder?” said Caina in a low voice.

“Stiff,” said Agabyzus, looking up from his coffee. He even spoke Istarish with a Cyrican accent. “But thanks to your help, it is not infected, and it will heal in time.”

“You shaved the beard,” said Caina.

“A necessary element of disguise,” said Agabyzus, scratching at the shorter beard. “Itches damnably, though. But if those assassins could follow me, it behooved me to change my appearance.”

“It suits you,” said Caina.

He seemed almost amused by that. “A compliment from a pretty young woman. A rare enough thing at my age.”

Caina raised an eyebrow. “I had damn well better not look like a pretty young woman at the moment.”

“Worry not,” said Agabyzus. “If I did not know you, I fear I would be in danger of being mugged.” He sipped his coffee and sighed with contentment. “How did the meeting with the Lord Ambassador go?”

“The assassins,” said Caina. “They’re called the Silent Hunters. The Umbarians create them, use necromancy to write a spell of invisibility into their flesh that they can access for an hour a day.”

“The Lord Ambassador encountered them before?” said Agabyzus. 

“The topic came up,” said Caina, “when two of them attacked us. They might have been there for the Lord Ambassador’s wife. Apparently the Umbarian Order has a habit of targeting the family members of their foes. Or they might have followed me there. Either way, we saw the trap in time and killed the Hunters before they killed us.” She told Agabyzus everything else she had learned about the Silent Hunters and the Umbarian Order.

“When does the Lord Ambassador present himself to the Grand Wazir?” said Agabyzus.

“In three days,” said Caina, “at the Court of the Fountain in the Golden Palace. Erghulan is holding a grand banquet to honor the new ambassador…and to also honor the ambassador from the Umbarian Order.”

“At the same time?” said Agabyzus. “That will make for a tense dinner. It is the sort of thing Erghulan would do. He enjoys watching his inferiors compete for his attention.”

Damla approached the table. “I am glad you are both well. Master Marius, forgive my negligence. Would you like some food and coffee? There is yet time before the poet begins his recitation.”

“There is no negligence,” said Caina. “In fact, you are probably the least negligent woman I have ever met.” Damla smiled at that, and Caina realized that she had forgotten to eat today, something that had happened more and more as her work with the Ghost circle absorbed all her time. That was foolish. “And food would be wonderful, thank you.”

Damla smiled again and departed, and Caina turned back to Agabyzus. 

“The Umbarian ambassador is a former high magus named Cassander Nilas,” said Caina. A flicker of recognition went over Agabyzus’s face. “You know him?” 

“I do,” said Agabyzus. “He has visited Istarinmul several times before.”

“Recently?” said Caina.

“No, not recently,” said Agabyzus. “Years ago. Before Callatas even began producing wraithblood. He was simply a brother of the Magisterium then, not yet a master magus or one of the high magi.”

“What did he do during his visits to Istarinmul?” said Caina.

“He was interested in the relics and history of Iramis,” said Agabyzus. 

“Why?” said Caina.

“I know not,” said Agabyzus. “Perhaps an academic interest. Perhaps he sought secrets of power in the ashes of the past. Does not Callatas himself do the same? Cassander went on multiple expeditions into the Desert of Candles, seeking something. His last visit would have been…seven years ago, I think. Callatas started distributing wraithblood soon after that. I don’t know if Callatas forbade him from returning, or if Cassander was too busy to come back. Certainly the war against New Kyre and Istarinmul would have kept a high magus busy. Perhaps the Order chose him as its ambassador because of his familiarity with Istarinmul.”

“Or he came back for reasons of his own,” said Caina. “How did you know about him?”

“The high circlemasters wanted him killed, if it all possible,” said Agabyzus. “It was not. He was too careful, and kept himself well-guarded.” He leaned forward. “It is ill news that he is the ambassador. Cassander Nilas was clever and powerful, and most eloquent as well. He could well persuade Erghulan Amirasku to support war with the Empire.”

“Callatas doesn’t want war,” said Caina. 

“He did not want war the last time,” said Agabyzus. “Callatas is powerful and influential, but he is not all-powerful. If enough nobles support war, he will not be able to stop them.”

A serving woman in an olive-colored dress and headscarf approached the table, carrying a tray of food. She was in her middle thirties, with bronze-colored skin, dark eyes, and long dark hair bound in a tail. The woman was one of the new maids Damla had hired. Kalgri, that was her name.

“Your food, sir,” said Kalgri in Istarish, setting a plate and a cup of coffee before Caina. “Mistress Damla sends you spiced meat and cheese, along with coffee. Black without sugar or milk, just as you prefer it.” 

“You are too kind,” said Caina, passing the older woman a silver coin. “Thank you.” She wasn’t quite sure what to make of Kalgri. Most of Damla’s serving women were younger than Caina, hoping to make some money until they found a husband. Kalgri was far steadier, her placid calm never wavering – and the younger serving women were afraid of her. Caina suspect that Kalgri had been widowed during the day of the golden dead, and that she had done hard things to survive.

Certainly Caina had done hard things to survive. 

“Thank you,” said Kalgri. She pocketed the coin, bowed, and departed. 

“What do you think?” said Caina. “We must keep Istarinmul from allying with the Order against the Empire. If they do, the Order will send a fleet through the Starfall Straits to attack Malarae. The Lord Ambassador doesn’t think the Empire could fight off such an attack.” 

“Then the Lord Ambassador must convince the Grand Wazir that the costs of war are far greater than the benefits,” said Agabyzus. “That should not be difficult, given what happened the last time Istarinmul went to war against the Empire.” He shrugged. “In truth, the Padishah’s realm is currently in no condition to wage war against anyone. A fact, I am sure, that the Shahenshah of Anshan and the warlords of the Alqaarin coast have not failed to notice. If Istarinmul joins the war against the Empire, it might find Anshani troops marching against the Gate of the Southern Road.” 

“It is not a rational decision for Istarinmul to go to war,” said Caina. “But a war is not always a rational decision.”

“What do you mean?” said Agabyzus. 

“Rezir Shahan,” said Caina. “When he chose to attack the Empire, he didn’t expect to die in the market of Marsis. He thought he was going to carve off Marsis and part of the western Empire into his own personal emirate. Instead he was beheaded in front of a thousand of his own soldiers.”