“Now the only reason you are still alive,” said Nasser, “is because of sorcery.”
“Yes,” said Caina.
“And the vision of the valikarion means you are more sensitive to sorcery than ever,” said Nasser. “That must be difficult to accept.”
Caina nodded.
“Though I would be remiss if I did not point out,” said Nasser, “that your hatred of sorcery is sometimes rather selective.”
Caina frowned. “What do you mean?”
“You seem quite fond of Lord Kylon,” said Nasser, “and you seemed fond of him even before the incident at Rumarah. Remarkable, given that he is a sorcerer.”
Caina opened her mouth, closed it, and tried to find the words. “He’s not mainly a sorcerer. He doesn’t consider it his profession. He uses it to augment his strength and speed in battle.”
“Nevertheless, he is still a sorcerer,” said Nasser. “It is something of an inconsistency, is it not?”
Something Theodosia had once said flashed through Caina’s thoughts.
“I’m a woman,” said Caina. “I’m allowed some inconsistencies.”
Nasser blinked, and then threw back his head and laughed. Both Laertes and Annarah looked back at them.
“I suppose you are at that,” said Nasser. “Truly, you do remind me of my daughter. A pity you never got a chance to meet her.”
“I was born a century and a half too late for that,” said Caina.
“Regrettably,” said Nasser. “You have a gift, Caina Amalas, for seeing that which is invisible to others. You saw the way to escape from the Maze and the Inferno.”
“I didn’t see Kalgri coming,” said Caina. Her hand twitched toward where the ghostsilver dagger should have waited at her belt.
“No one is infallible,” said Nasser. “Now you see a little more clearly, that is all.”
They rode in silence for a while. Caina looked to the west and saw three distant points of light. The valikon, and Morgant’s dagger and scimitar.
“They’re coming back,” said Caina. She still found it uncanny that she could know it. “Not in a hurry. I don’t think they saw any foes.”
“Capital,” said Nasser. “The sooner we reach Istarinmul, the sooner we can journey to Catekharon…and the sooner we can return to put an end to Callatas’s schemes once and for all.”
“He is a good man, you know,” said Caina.
“Who?” said Nasser. “Surely not Callatas.”
“Don’t be glib,” said Caina. “Kylon.”
“Of course he is,” said Nasser. “He followed you into the Craven’s Tower and the Inferno. He gambled to save your life, and he won. In retrospect, it was obvious that he was in love with you for some time, probably before he himself realized it.”
“Yes,” said Caina. “He deserves someone better than me.”
Nasser gave a disapproving look. “False modesty is hardly becoming.”
“No,” said Caina. “I…can’t have children. That’s why I do all of this, I suppose. If I could have children, I would have had them by now, and I would have left the Ghosts behind. Kylon is a Kyracian nobleman. He deserves a woman who can give him children…”
“Perhaps,” said Nasser, “you should let Lord Kylon determine that. It seems his mind is already quite made up.”
A moment later Kylon and Morgant came into sight, steering their mounts up the slope to rejoin the road. Kylon had an expression of mild exasperation on his face. Morgant was still talking.
“And then, of course, I had to get off the ship,” said Morgant. “It wouldn’t do to be found standing over a dead thalarchon. So I seduced his daughter. Seems he was an old tyrant, and none of his children cared for him. She smuggled me off the ship in an empty cask of brandy, and I…”
“Gods of storm and brine,” said Kylon. “Was any of that true?”
“Well,” said Morgant. “About half of it.”
“You can find the true parts and paint them as a picture,” said Kylon.
“Anything?” said Nasser.
“Nothing,” said Kylon. “We saw some Kaltari warriors, but they were moving in haste through the hills. I doubt they will trouble us. Likely they are going to join Strabane’s moot.”
“Capital,” said Nasser. “For once, I would like an uneventful journey.”
Morgant snorted. “If I ever have one, I will be sure to let you know.”
Caina started to say something, and then frowned as a thought occurred to her.
“What is it?” said Kylon.
“I…don’t know,” said Caina. “Nothing serious. A stray thought.”
Something Nasser had said stuck in her mind. Caina might have been cleverer than most people, but she had still missed Kalgri’s trap. Was she missing something else?
“Beware the fire,” the voice had said in Drynemet.
Was Caina overlooking something just as important?
Chapter 6: Broken Promises
Claudia’s clothing was not remotely comfortable.
It was possible to find formal garb that accommodated her pregnancy. It simply wasn’t possible to find a formal gown that accommodated her pregnancy and was in any way comfortable. The sleeves and shoulders of her black-trimmed green gown were too tight, and that in turn made her back ache, which did nothing for her ankles. At least sandals were acceptable to the Istarish on formal occasion, thank all the gods.
Yet she barely noticed the aches at the moment.
The piece of paper in her hand commanded the entirety of her attention.
“Do you think it is true?” she asked her husband.
“I don’t know,” said Martin.
They rode together in their coach, the wheels clattering against the streets of Istarinmul. No one in Istarinmul traveled by horse-drawn coach, and the wealthy nobles and merchants preferred either to ride on horseback or sit in sedan chairs carried by burly slaves. Yet the nobles of the Empire traveled by coach, and so the Lord Ambassador of the Emperor had to have a coach. Of course, Claudia soon discovered an excellent reason why the Istarish did not use coaches. The blazing sun rapidly transformed the enclosed wooden box into a wheeled oven. It never rained in Istarinmul, so Dromio (who turned out to be a surprisingly adept carpenter) had removed the roof and replaced it with an awning of cloth. It kept the sun off Claudia’s head, let the air circulate, and gave her enough light to read.
At the moment, though, she wished she could not see the document clutched in her hand.
It was a formal proclamation, written in Istarish, Anshani, and Caerish, the three most common languages of Istarinmul. The winged skull sigil of the Umbarian Order marked the top of the paper. Claudia had always thought the sigil looked stupid. She knew it was supposed to represent sorcery leading man from death to immortality or some such rot, but she thought it looked like the badge of a particularly juvenile pirate.
The text of the proclamation was no laughing matter.
In it, Cassander Nilas, Lord Ambassador of the Umbarian Order to the Padishah’s court, announced that he had found and killed the thief and rebel known as the Balarigar. Cassander had discovered that the Balarigar had been a woman named Caina Amalas, and he had tracked and killed her in the town of Rumarah to the south. The Umbarian ambassador would present himself at the Grand Wazir’s court with proof of Caina’s death, and demand the reward offered for the death of the Balarigar.
Cassander’s scribes had been busy. Copies of the proclamation had been posted in every public place in Istarinmul. The city buzzed with rumor. There had been a huge and ever-increasing bounty upon the Balarigar’s head for the last year and a half, and numerous people had tried to collect it, but the Balarigar had been as elusive as a wisp of smoke.
Until now, it seemed.
“What proof of her death do you think he will offer?” said Claudia. “Her corpse?”
“That would be the final proof,” said Martin, his voice grim. He wore the formal black coat, black boots, black trousers, and white sh
irt of a Nighmarian nobleman, a sword at his waist. Claudia supposed the clothes were just as uncomfortable as her gown, but none of it showed on Martin’s expression. “Yet the proclamation doesn’t mention the sorceress that was supposed to have accompanied Caina…”
“Annarah,” said Claudia. “A loremaster of Iramis.” Claudia wasn’t sure if she believed that or not. She had never met Annarah. Caina claimed to have found her in the Inferno, but Iramis and its loremasters had been destroyed a century and a half ago. The Magisterium had once been terrified of the loremasters and the valikarion, Claudia knew, but that had been long ago.
“Or any of the others who would have been with her,” said Martin. “Certainly Nasser Glasshand would have gone with Caina, and there is a notable bounty on his head. Surely Cassander would have boasted of it.”
“Maybe,” said Claudia, gazing at the proclamation. The winged skull’s eyes seemed to stare back at her. “But Cassander doesn’t care about money, does he?”
“No,” said Martin. He stared out the window at the streets of the Emirs’ Quarter, the domes of the Golden Palace rising in the distance. “He is after far bigger game than mere money.”
“Yes,” said Claudia, her voice flat.
A surge of frustration and anger went through her, and she threw the proclamation out the window. If it was true, if Caina Amalas was indeed dead…
It hit Claudia harder than she would have thought.
She and Caina had not always seen eye-to-eye, and after Corvalis’s death in New Kyre Claudia had never wanted to see Caina again. Yet they had made peace after escaping the Huntress at Silent Ash Temple, and even become friends of a sort. Certainly there was no one else in Claudia’s life who would give her the unvarnished truth the way that Caina Amalas would.
Caina’s death was a loss. The consequences of her death would be far worse.
Grand Master Callatas had promised Cassander Nilas to allow the Umbarian fleet through the Starfall Straits in exchange for Caina’s death. If Cassander had indeed killed Caina, then the Empire was about to suffer a grievous blow, perhaps a fatal one. The Imperial Legions were stretched to their limits holding against the Umbarian armies in the Disali provinces and at the walls of Artifel. If the Umbarian fleet sailed through the Straits, they would attack Malarae itself. Either the capital city would fall, or the Emperor would have to abandon the entirety of the eastern Empire to defend Malarae.
Either outcome might cause the Empire to collapse.
“This is bad, isn’t it?” said Claudia. “We’ve failed.” She wiped at her eyes with irritation, pain and fury surging through her. “All that work and we have failed…”
Martin caught her hand.
“The situation is grim,” said Martin, “but it has not yet become dire. We yet have one unwavering ally.”
“Who is that?” said Claudia.
“The treachery of Grand Master Callatas,” said Martin.
“Against us?” said Claudia.
“Against Cassander,” said Martin. “Istarinmul is in no shape for a war, and a war is what they’ll have if they open the Straits.”
Claudia shook her head. “The Emperor has no forces left to send against the Istarish.”
“There are other methods of waging war,” said Martin. “If Callatas opens the Straits, the Emperor might offer letters of marquee to any ship captains willing to attack Istarish shipping. He might encourage the governors and nobles of the Cyrican provinces to arm private militias of their own and attack Istarish Cyrica and Akasar. He might send letters to the Shahenshah of Anshan and mention that with Istarinmul embroiled in civil war, perhaps this might be an excellent time for Istarinmul to become a new satrapy of Anshan. Erghulan knows all of this.”
“He might know about that,” said Claudia, “but Callatas might not, and Callatas is holding Erghulan’s leash.”
“Callatas doesn’t care about the Emperor’s war and he doesn’t even care about the Istarish civil war, not really,” said Martin. “If we’re right, he cares about his Apotheosis, and he needs Istarinmul stable to do his murderous work. Involving Istarinmul in a foreign war would not achieve stability.”
“And opening the Straits to the Umbarian fleet,” said Claudia, “would not help achieve stability.”
“No,” said Martin. “That would pull Istarinmul into the war between the Emperor and the Order, whether Erghulan wants it or not. And Callatas definitely doesn’t want that.”
Claudia blinked. “Then you think Callatas will betray Cassander?”
“I know nothing for certain,” said Martin. “But I strongly suspect Callatas will renege on his agreement with Cassander. Nothing was signed, was it not? The Padishah did not have a formal agreement with the Order. If Cassander wanted to kill Caina on his own initiative, well and good. He can apply to the Brotherhood of Slavers for his reward. But the Padishah and Istarinmul are not bound to anything.” He shook his head. “Even if Cassander dumps Caina’s corpse at Erghulan’s feet, Callatas will find a way out of the agreement.”
Claudia shuddered a little. “That is not something I wish to see.”
“I am sorry,” said Martin. “But Cassander is not a fool. I doubt he would lie so blatantly about Caina’s death, not unless he had seen her fate with his own eyes.” He let out a long breath. “I fear that the circlemaster is indeed dead.”
“Gods save us,” muttered Claudia. “I never thought she would die. She took such risks, and she did such amazing things.”
“I saw some of them,” said Martin. “Caer Magia and that Great Necromancer.”
“Or the day of the golden dead,” said Claudia. “Or the Huntress. I thought…well, I suppose no one lives forever.”
“We’ll find the truth soon enough,” said Martin, “and I fear we must prepare ourselves for another danger.”
Claudia let out a bitter little laugh. “What is one more at this point?”
“We need to consider,” said Martin, “what Cassander will do.”
“I can’t imagine,” said Claudia, “that he will take Callatas’s betrayal calmly. Not a man like him.”
“I suspect Callatas hasn’t considered it either,” said Martin. “Perhaps that is a risk when a man like him lives for centuries. He loses the ability to consider lesser men a threat. Perhaps he thinks Cassander will simply give up and go home. Or maybe he thinks that Cassander isn’t a threat.”
“Is he a threat to Callatas?” said Claudia.
“You’ve met him,” said Martin. “What do you think?”
Claudia considered, trying to push aside the tangle of warring emotions in her head. She remembered how Cassander had almost taken her captive at the Golden Palace, smoothly seizing the chaos of the Huntress’s attack to work towards his own goals. If Caina had not been there, Cassander might well have taken Claudia prisoner.
“I think he’s underestimating Cassander Nilas,” said Claudia in a whisper. “I think he’s making a mistake. What should we do?”
“I don’t know,” said Martin. “I do not think we should warn Callatas.”
“No,” said Claudia. “You’ve seen the wraithblood addicts. You know how many people Callatas had to murder to create them. If Cassander can hinder his work, all to the good.”
“But if Cassander can actually kill Callatas, he’ll be able to seize control of the city,” said Martin. “Or maybe part of the city long enough to allow the Umbarian fleet passage.” He rubbed his face for a moment. “It is impossible to make a plan. We shall have to see what happens and react as best we can.”
Claudia frowned. “You told me that the man who takes the initiative on the battlefield, who forces others to react to him, will likely take the victory.”
“I did,” said Martin. “Unfortunately, Cassander Nilas has the initiative. We shall have to see what he does, and what Callatas does, before we can decide upon a plan of battle.”
“A plan of battle,” murmured Claudia. “That’s not going to be a metaphor, is it?”
“Perhaps,” said Martin. “Perhaps not.” The coach came to a stop. “We will soon find out, I fear.”
Claudia looked out the window and saw a wall of snowy white marble rising over them like a cliff of pale ice, albeit ice adorned with geometric designs of intricate beauty.
They had arrived at the Golden Palace, seat of the Padishah of Istarinmul.
Claudia took a deep breath as the Imperial Guards opened the door. Martin got out first, adjusting his coat, and Claudia followed. To her great irritation, it took her two tries to get to her feet. Gods, but was she really that weak? If she lived through both the childbirth and the next few weeks, she resolved to take more exercise. More than once Caina had offered to teach her the principles of the strange form of unarmed combat she used, but Claudia had always declined. Perhaps she ought to have accepted if only to make herself stronger and fitter.
Now, if Caina was truly dead, Claudia would never have the chance.
She accepted Martin’s help getting out of the coach. Tylas and a dozen Imperial Guards surrounded them, faces grim, hands hovering near their sword hilts. Claudia was grateful for their vigilance. If Cassander Nilas was indeed coming to the Golden Palace, he would have an escort of Adamant Guards, maybe even Silent Hunters and some of the other pet horrors of the Umbarians. One of them might get ambitious and try to kill Martin.
Yet for now the broad avenue beneath the Palace’s outer wall was orderly. Istarish nobles in robes and turbans or armor strode through the gate and into the Court of the Fountain, escorted by their bodyguards. The embassies of other powers came as well, the ambassadors from Anshan and New Kyre and the Alqaarin sultanates and the free cities. After a year in Istarinmul, Claudia knew them all by sight, and also knew a great deal about their wives and children and mistresses.
Four black-armored Immortals stood guard at the archway, their faces concealed beneath their skull-masked helmets, an eerie blue glow shining from their eyes. The alchemical elixirs they ingested gave them superhuman strength and speed at the cost of a constant sadistic bloodlust. Of course, there were fewer Immortals in Istarinmul than once there had been. The Immortals had been trained in the Inferno, and the Inferno had burned to ashes.
Ghost in the Throne (Ghost Exile #7) Page 9