“Worth following, anyway,” said Kylon.
“Aye,” murmured Caina. Part of her felt foolish. She had not really seen anything, had she? Just a shapeless shadow at her tent flap and nothing more. It could have been anything. A horse walking in front of one of the crystalline columns. One of the mercenaries heading out of the camp to relieve himself. Even a veil of dust thrown up by the endless cold wind.
Yet her instincts screamed that something was wrong.
On impulse Caina stooped, searching the dust around the tent.
“What are you looking for?” said Kylon.
“A curved knife,” said Caina, her voice grim.
But she found nothing.
At last she straightened up, brushed off her hands, and shook her head. “Nothing. Let’s follow those tracks.”
“Very well,” said Kylon, and Caina took the lead, following the footprints. Or trying to, anyway. Keeping track of them in the trampled dust was a challenge.
“Thank you,” said Caina a moment later.
“For what?” said Kylon.
“For humoring me,” said Caina.
Kylon shrugged. “You’re usually right about these things. Given the enemies we face, it is best to be cautious of shadows.” His voice grew harder. “The nagataaru can command shadows.”
“Nagataaru,” said Caina. A cold jolt went through her. “Do you sense one?” Caina had killed the Red Huntress at Silent Ash Temple, but Kylon had already killed her a year before that at the Tower of Kardamnos. Kalgri would be back, someday, and Caina had no doubt the Red Huntress would seek vengeance.
“No, nothing,” said Kylon, and a flicker of relief went through Caina. “Just those damned pillars.”
They reached the edge of the camp. One of the Black Wolves stood guard, shield on his left arm and spear in his right hand. The mercenary soldier hadn’t lit a watch fire, but the light from the crystal columns made that unnecessary. In fact, Caina thought, the light would make it difficult for anyone to approach the camp unnoticed.
“Where are you two going?” said the mercenary. Nasser had taken overall command of their expedition, and the mercenaries seemed to have decided that Caina, Kylon, Morgant, Azaces, and Nerina were Nasser’s personal retinue, a fact which annoyed Morgant to no end.
“Out,” said Caina. “Heard something. Want to have a look around.”
The guard grunted. “You following Nasser, then?”
Nasser had gone out? Alone?
“Aye,” said Caina. “He told us to follow him after a few minutes. Didn’t say why. Likes to play his cards close to his chest.”
The guard snorted. “That one plays his cards to close to his chest that he might as well slide them between his ribs. But so long as he pays on time, it’s not my problem.”
Caina nodded her thanks and strode into the Desert of Candles, Kylon at her side. As they drew farther away from camp, the trail of Nasser’s boots became clearer. He had indeed gone alone into the desert. But why? Even if bandits held the Desert in superstitious fear, jackals and lions and other predators might not. Though perhaps the pillars might frighten off wild animals. Caina had not seen any animals at all since they had entered the Desert.
“What is he doing?” muttered Kylon.
“I don’t know,” said Caina. Nasser had kept faith with her through some terrible dangers, but she knew very little about him. She had gathered together bits and pieces from observing him over the last year and a half – he was married, he was a skilled military commander and a natural leader, he kept his word, he knew a great deal about Callatas and ancient Iramis, and at some point a sorcerous attack had laid a powerful spell around his left hand, causing him to sheathe it in that black glove…and giving Nasser Glasshand the strength to crush skulls with that hand.
Glass hand.
The words rattled around her head for some reason.
“I think you trust him too much,” said Kylon.
“Probably,” said Caina. “But he has his reasons for his secrets. So do I. Secrets are a kind of armor. I haven’t told him nearly everything about me. He knows that I am a Ghost, that I am the circlemaster of Istarinmul…but little else. He and Laertes and Kazravid still think that I am a man.”
Kylon snorted. “Then he is a fool, if he can look at you without seeing your beauty.”
Caina felt her mouth go a little dry. “Oh?”
“Ah,” said Kylon. “Perhaps I phrased that inelegantly.”
“No, no,” said Caina. “I thought it quite elegant.”
“You’re quite good at disguises,” said Kylon. “Do you remember the Hall of Assembly in Catekharon?”
“All too well,” said Caina. “I was almost killed there. You were, too.”
“In Catekharon I didn’t recognize you at first,” said Kylon. “In Marsis you were just a cloaked shadow. I never really got a good look at you. So when we met again in Catekharon, you were wearing a gown and jewels, and I didn’t know you. I thought you were a merchant’s pretty, empty-headed daughter. Then I sensed your emotions, and I knew. That and the eyes. I would recognize those anywhere.”
Caina smiled. “I’m told they’re distinctive.”
“They are,” agreed Kylon.
She hesitated for a moment, and then the question fell from her tongue before she could stop herself. “You really think me lovely? After all the things you’ve seen me do, after all the people you’ve seen me kill, all the different disguises I’ve worn? You’ve seen me dressed as a man more often than as a woman.” She shook her head. “All the blood on my hands? Everything that I’ve…I’ve had to do, and you can still say that?”
“Can you doubt it?” said Kylon, his voice hoarse.
She stared at him, a dozen emotions battling for dominance within her. He was only five or six years older than she was, but already they had so much history together. They had started out as enemies in Marsis, and later had become allies, and then friends. Now they were in exile together.
What came after that?
Kylon took a step closer. She realized that he was going to kiss her. She realized that she wasn’t going to stop him…
All at once the nearest crystal pulsed with blue light, and Caina felt a surge of sorcerous power crackle through the air.
Her head snapped around, and for a wild moment she thought that the crystalline pillar had somehow responded to her emotions. Yet none of the power radiating from the crystal touched her. Kylon turned, his sword leaping into his hand, and Caina saw that all the jagged crystals were glowing brighter.
“Quite a show,” said Kylon, the ghostly light playing over his face.
Caina wrenched her thoughts back to more immediate concerns, rebuking herself for her foolishness. The middle of the Desert of Candles was not to place to sort out what was happening between her and Kylon.
Later. After they returned from the Inferno, assuming they survived.
“It’s a web,” she said, focusing on the crawling sensation against her skin. “A lot of power is moving…that way, towards the east.” Had Nasser actually been a sorcerer all along? A darker thought occurred to her. Perhaps a sorcerer had attacked Nasser. “Let’s go. He might be in trouble.”
She broke into a run, slipping a throwing knife into her hand, and Kylon followed. They ran to the east, the jagged pillars growing thicker, and the cold wind started to carry the smell of the sea. They had gone far enough into the Desert of Candles that they had almost reached the shores of the Alqaarin sea itself. Which meant, Caina realized, they were standing upon the spot where Iramis itself had once stood.
The crystalline pillars thickened around them, until it seemed as if they were walking through a forest of gleaming blue glass. If Caina’s guess was right, if these crystals were some sort of memory or shadow of the murdered people of Iramis, then they were nearly to the city’s heart.
Suddenly the pillars thinned, and Caina entered something like a clearing, an empty space perhaps a hundred yards across. Something wh
ite gleamed in the center of the clearing, more crystals rising from its center…
She froze in shock.
She had seen this place before, this exact place, in her dreams.
###
“Caina?” said Kylon in a low voice.
She didn’t answer him, her eyes locked upon the dry fountain.
It was utterly incongruous to find a fountain in the middle of this waterless desert. The broad white basin with its intricate symbols did not seem at all damaged by the dusty wind that had undoubtedly blown across it for decades. A plinth rose from the center of the fountain’s empty basin, and atop the plinth stood eight statues carved from the same blue crystal as the jagged columns around them. Seven of the statues displayed children of varying ages. The eight statue was of a woman of stunning beauty, her gown tossed around her as if in a terrible wind, her hands reaching out as if to seize someone. Kylon sensed tremendous sorcerous power within those statues, and the entire web of arcane force over the Desert and its Candles centered upon that fountain.
He was more concerned about what he sensed from Caina at the moment.
“Caina?” he said again.
“The star is the key to the crystal,” she whispered, grabbing at his right arm for balance. “The star is the key to the crystal. The Moroaica’s father told me that.” She waved a hand at the fountain. “That’s the crystal, right there.”
“I see,” said Kylon. Her emotional sense all but burned with something between horror and fascination. Her sense was cold, colder than the Desert of Candles. He had never wanted to tell her, but the only other time he had felt emotional senses that cold had been when fighting hardened killers.
But for just a moment, when they had talked and he had admitted that he found her lovely, that ice had started to crack a little.
Now the strange fountain held the entirety of her attention, and something else brushed against Kylon’s senses.
“Nasser,” he said in a low voice, gesturing at the dark-clad figure at the edge of the fountain. Nasser stood a few yards from the fountain’s low, decorative wall, gazing at the crystalline statues. His back was to Kylon, and he caught a flicker of the man’s emotions. There was quiet contemplation there, weariness, and…
Regret? Sorrow? He wasn’t sure.
“Ibrahaim Nasser,” said Caina, the words slow. “Nasser Glasshand. Glass hand…”
Her voice trailed off, and suddenly her eyes grew wide as a jolt of stunned realization shot through her sense.
“Oh,” she said. “Oh, I’m an idiot. A blind idiot, Kylon.”
“You’re really not,” said Kylon.
“I should have seen it sooner,” said Caina. “All the little things. A glass hand! It was right there before my eyes. And when we summoned Samnirdamnus before the Maze. To taunt Nasser, he took on the form of the woman in the fountain. Idiot! I should have realized sooner. ”
“If you feel like a blind idiot,” said Kylon, “imagine how I feel, because I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
She looked up at him, and her aura went cold and icy all over, the way it did in a crisis. “I’ll show you. Come on.”
Caina hurried across the clearing, heading towards the fountain, and Kylon shrugged as he followed her. She made no effort to hide her footfalls, and Nasser turned well before they reached him. The master thief was a shadow in the gloomy light from the crystalline statues atop the fountain, his expression calm and untroubled, though Kylon felt the unease in his emotions. He hadn’t expected to see them.
“Ciaran, Lord Kylon,” said Nasser. “I trust nothing is amiss?”
“Your left hand,” said Caina. “You never move it.”
Nasser lifted his eyebrows. “You’ve seen me punch through an Immortal’s skull. I daresay that qualifies as movement.”
“Fighting for your life is one thing,” said Caina. “But when we’re not fighting, when we’re planning or drinking coffee or simply talking, you never move your left hand. You don’t use it for anything.”
Nasser shrugged and flexed the fingers of his gloved left hand, his expression unchanging.
Had Kylon not been focused upon him, he would not have detected the faint ripple of pain that went through Nasser’s sense at the movement.
“You don’t use it unless you have to because it hurts,” said Caina. “There are other things, too. The sorcerous aura around your hand. How you know so much about ancient Iramis. The mortal arrow wound you survived at Silent Ash Temple. Your personal grudge against Callatas. The fact that Morgant hates you.”
“Morgant hates everyone,” said Nasser.
“He doesn’t like anyone,” said Caina. “That’s because he’s lived for too long and seen too much. You, however, he hates specifically and personally. Which means it happened when he was still young enough to feel strong emotion, before Callatas sent him after Annarah…and that means you’re as old as he is. Maybe older.” She stepped closer to Nasser, and Kylon tensed, wondering if Nasser would react violently. But Nasser remained motionless, his expression calm. “But there was something else.”
“Ah,” said Nasser, closing his eyes and then opening them again. “Your ability to sense sorcery. I should have realized.”
“That woman in the fountain,” said Caina. “She’s reaching for something. Or she was reaching for someone when she was killed.”
Still Nasser said nothing.
“I think she was reaching for you,” said Caina. “I think you touched her, just now. That was why the crystals gave off that…that spike of power, or whatever it was. It was like touching two lodestones together.”
“I don’t understand,” said Kylon.
“I think,” said Nasser with a sigh, “that you might.”
Caina stepped forward, gripped Nasser’s left forearm, and lifted it. He offered no resistance as she undid the leather bracer and pulled away the black glove, revealing the hand beneath it.
Kylon felt his eyes widen in astonishment.
Nasser’s left hand and forearm were made of glowing blue crystal.
Caina released his hand, and for a moment she and Nasser stared at each other.
“That crystal is…grafted to your arm?” said Kylon.
“It’s not grafted,” said Caina. “It is his arm.” She looked back at Nasser. “You’re the last Prince of Iramis, aren’t you?”
Nasser sighed, took his bracer and glove back, and started to pull them on. “Lord Kylon, take note. I have no doubt that you shall return to a position of authority, if we survive our current enterprise, and when you do, beware of surrounding yourself with clever men like Ciaran.” He closed the bracer and pulled the glove over his hand, wincing as he flexed his fingers. “They have a knack for discovering secrets that you would rather remain hidden.”
“Then these statues,” said Caina, looking at the fountain. “They…were your family?”
“Yes,” said Nasser.
“I’m sorry,” said Caina. “How are you still alive?”
“I’m not entirely sure,” said Nasser. “We knew an attack of some kind was coming. The loremasters had cast their wards over me. I was going to take command of the valikarion and the soldiers and lead them against Callatas. I had just come to the gates of the palace when Callatas used the Star against us. I reached for my wife and children as the fire consumed the city,” he looked at the statues, his calm face giving no indication of the emotions Kylon’s sorcery sensed within, “and I touched her hand just as Callatas’s fire reached us. The city burned around me, and every living man, woman, and child within was turned to crystal. Except for me.”
“Partially,” said Caina.
Nasser nodded. “The hand still functions, though I can feel nothing through it, and moving it causes considerable pain. I suspect Callatas’s curse only partially touched me, giving me the longevity and resilience of these crystalline pillars while retaining freedom of movement.” The gloved hand clenched into a fist. “Ever since then, I have sought a way to defea
t Callatas. For vengeance, yes, but vengeance alone cannot keep a man going for a century and a half.” He gestured with his hand of flesh at the crystalline pillars. “I fight him to keep this fate from befalling other nations. For he shall do to Istarinmul and all the world what he did to Iramis.”
“Then you were the one,” said Caina. “You sent Annarah away with the Staff and the Seal of Iramis. The royal regalia…gods! They were your regalia all this time.”
“Callatas had demanded them,” said Nasser. “He had already stolen the Star, and he sent a message demanding that we surrender the Staff and the Seal to him. I refused. I didn’t know about his Apotheosis in those days, though his message was full of madness about perfecting mankind and remaking the world. I had hoped to find Annarah again…but she disappeared. Later I learned that Morgant the Razor had killed her, but that the regalia had vanished. I searched for Morgant, but could never find him, and eventually I assumed that he must have died. Then, a hundred and fifty years later, you strolled with him into my rooms. Now I am here to rescue Annarah and secure the lost relics before Callatas can claim them and work evil.”
“That was an eventful day,” said Kylon. “Lord Prince…”
“Do not call me that,” said Nasser. “I no longer have the right to that title. I was the Prince of Iramis, but Iramis perished long ago.”
“I am sorry for your losses,” said Kylon.
Nasser inclined his head. “Thank you. You of all men would understand. I have come to terms with the loss…but your words are kind nonetheless.” His eyes turned back to Caina. “You understand why I could not tell you? Callatas knows I yet live, and his hatred of me has not wavered. If you were taken and made to talk…”
“Say no more,” said Caina. “I understand…and I am sorry.”
A white smile flashed over Nasser’s dark face. “Why? As I said, you are clever, and I knew you would puzzle out the truth eventually.” He opened and closed his left hand. “And you are quite fond of your dramatic gestures.”
Kylon kept himself from laughing. The gods of storm and sea knew that was certainly true.
Ghost in the Inferno (Ghost Exile #5) Page 12