“Thank you,” said Kylon, and she gave him a quick kiss. He caught a flash of her emotions from the physical contact, a mixture of affection and…
Trepidation?
“We should reach Istarinmul today,” announced Laertes, checking a saddle strap on one of the horses.
That likely explained the trepidation.
“Capital,” said Nasser. He lifted the Staff of Iramis from a pack horse, still disguised as a leather-wrapped spear. “I will proceed to the Cyrican harbor and hire a ship at once.”
“I’ll need to check in with the other Ghosts of the circle,” said Caina. “They will have news, and might know a trustworthy captain.” She reached up and tied back her hair. “I wonder if Claudia had her baby yet.”
“We should not split up when we reach the city,” said Kylon. “If the Huntress is waiting for us in Istarinmul, she might try to strike while we are separated.” Caina’s lips thinned for a moment, but she showed no other reaction. “Or if she has told Callatas of the regalia, we might find a hundred Immortals and a half-dozen Alchemists waiting for us at the gate.”
“She won’t show herself,” said Caina in a quiet voice. “Not while you have that valikon. That sword and Annarah’s spells are the only weapons we have that can permanently hurt or even kill her. She won’t risk a confrontation. She might try to steal the regalia, or send the Immortals after us, but she won’t attack us directly. Aye, Kylon’s right. We don’t dare split up.” She looked at Nasser. “When we get to the city, we should first go to the Cyrican Bazaar and then a coffee house called the House of Agabyzus. I have friends there, and they can tell us how matters stand in the city. If we need to conceal the relics, Nerina and Malcolm Strake’s workshop is not far from the coffee house, and there are ward plates within their shop.”
“Agreed,” said Nasser. “If there are no objections…”
There were none.
“Then let us return to Istarinmul,” said Nasser.
###
Caina rode next to Kylon as they returned to the Great Southern Road, their little column joining the wagons and horsemen and men on foot traveling towards the city. A strange emotion went through her, a peculiar combination of relief and dread, and it took her a moment to figure out why.
She had never expected to see Istarinmul again. When she had left for Pyramid Isle, Caina had been sure that she was going to her death, that she could never again see Damla and Nerina and the other friends and allies she had made.
Caina wondered what Sulaman the poet would say when he saw her. He had predicted her death, to his great sorrow, and so far the prophetic warnings and signs he had given her had been accurate. Maybe he hadn’t been able to foresee the effects of the Elixir Restorata. Maybe her survival had been so improbable that no one had been able to predict it. Of course, now that she was a valikarion, he likely could not read her future at all.
Once again she wondered who he really was. He said his only goal was the welfare of the people of Istarinmul…
“A lot of traffic,” said Laertes.
Caina blinked. The Great Southern Road was always crowded, though less so as Istarinmul had grown more chaotic. There were far more wagons upon the road than she would have expected.
“I think,” she said, “that traffic has stopped.”
“Would the Grand Wazir have closed the city?” said Kylon.
“Or,” said Morgant, “they’re questioning and searching everyone coming through the gate. Like, say, someone found priceless relics somewhere, priceless relics that the Grand Master really wants for himself. If I was the Grand Master, I would put a huge bounty upon the relics, and set my gate guards to looking for them…”
“Hell,” muttered Laertes. “Makes sense.”
“Let’s get off the road and circle to east,” said Caina. “We’ll have a good view of the caravanserai, and we can see the gate as well.”
“An excellent idea,” said Nasser. “This way.”
They left the road, circling to the east. After a few moments the walls of Istarinmul came into sight, and Caina saw the domes and towers of the palaces of the Emirs’ Quarter and the Masters’ Quarter in the distance, along with the less ostentatious towers of the tenements of the Anshani Quarter. Istarinmul’s caravanserai sprawled outside the Gate of the Southern Road, a vast campground where caravan masters could camp and organize their columns, where caravan guards and porters and drivers could come in search of work.
The gates were open, but the caravanserai was packed. Caina saw a troop of Istarish soldiers guarding the gate, accompanied by dozens of black-armored Immortals. As she watched, a caravan moved through the gate, and the soldiers started speaking to the next caravan in line.
“It looks like,” said Nasser, shading his eyes with his gloved hand, “they’re questioning everyone entering the city.”
“Are they looking for us?” said Annarah.
“Possibly,” said Nasser. “Or the Grand Wazir seeks rebel spies and agents. Tanzir has a large army, but Istarinmul’s walls are strong, and its siege engines can fling Hellfire against any attackers. His best chance is to have a spy open one of the gates and allow his forces into the city.”
“And we’re not suspicious at all,” said Morgant.
Kylon frowned. “Actually, we’re very suspicious. If I was in charge of the gate, I would question us…”
Morgant sighed. “That was sarcasm, Kyracian. Another area in which you are not particularly gifted.”
“He has better qualities,” said Caina, watching the gate. “I think we need more information.” She looked at the edge of the caravanserai, at a row of waiting wagons, and spotted something that looked promising. “And I know just where to get it.” She had tied her hair back to keep it off the back of her neck, but she undid it now, letting it fall of greasy curtains before her face. Gods, but she needed a bath. “Wait here.”
“Where are you going?” said Morgant.
“To lose some money,” said Caina. She dropped down from her saddle, adjusting her sword belt, and Kylon passed his reins to Laertes and joined her.
She headed towards the edge of the caravanserai, Kylon walking at her side in silence.
“You should probably let me do the talking,” said Caina.
“That was the plan,” said Kylon. “You’re better at it anyway. The Istarish language has too many consonants. What are we doing?”
“Rolling the dice,” said Caina, digging in a pouch at her sword belt.
“If we’re going to take a risk,” said Kylon, “then maybe…”
Caina blinked, and then held up the wooden dice she had taken from the pouch. “I meant that literally.”
Kylon frowned, then laughed as he understood. With the caravans stalled outside the gate, the guards had started wandering together in groups. Caravan guards tended to be younger men, and when they gathered they drank and gambled.
Caina tossed the dice to herself, and in short order joined one of the games at the edge of the caravanserai. She made sure to lose money, listening to the talk while she did so. The rumors were wild and inconsistent. Some said that the Umbarian Order had seized control of the city, or that the Grand Wazir had expelled the Umbarian ambassador from Istarinmul. That seemed unlikely. Caina doubted that the Order had sent another ambassador so soon after Cassander’s death, or if they had even learned of Cassander’s fiery demise yet. Other rumors claimed that the Grand Wazir had gone on a rampage, executing hundreds of nobles suspected of supporting Tanzir Shahan in the south. Yet all the rumors agreed on one thing. Istarinmul was preparing for a siege, and the gate guards were questioning and searching everyone who entered the city, seeking for rebel saboteurs. Nasser’s suspicions had been correct.
Caina lost a little more money, then collected her dice and walked with Kylon back to Nasser and the others.
“So,” said Morgant. “Did we learn anything from this little bout of gambling?”
“Yes,” said Caina. “One, dice games are an exc
ellent way to lose money.” Laertes snorted at that. “Two, the Grand Wazir’s soldiers are questioning everyone entering the city. It’s a wait of four or five days to get into the city. It seems that Erghulan Amirasku is terrified that the rebels are trying to sneak men inside the walls for a surprise attack, so he’s taking steps to keep that from happening.”
“It makes sense,” said Kylon. “Rezir Shahan did the same thing at Marsis. He spent weeks sneaking his men into the city and hiding them in warehouses near the Great Market. I was surprised the Ghosts did not realize what was happening.”
Caina shook her head at the memory. “The Ghost circle of Marsis was in bad shape at the time. And we were focused on Naelon Icaraeus. Your sister and Rezir caught us completely by surprise.”
“A fascinating little bit of history,” said Morgant, “but hardly relevant to the problem at hand.”
“No,” said Caina. “Nasser, you’ve been in Istarinmul much longer than I have. You too, Morgant. Do you know of a quiet way into the city? A smugglers’ tunnel, perhaps?”
Nasser and Morgant shared a look.
“There is a tunnel under the eastern wall,” said Nasser, “but the Teskilati know about it. They permit it to exist as a trap when important prisoners try to escape the city.”
“If you want to wager,” said Morgant, “it’s a safe wager that the Teskilati are watching that tunnel right now.”
“Could we not simply ride through the gate?” said Annarah. “A small band of travelers seeking refuge in the city is hardly unusual in trouble times like these.”
“It might work,” said Caina. “But if the slightest thing goes wrong, we’ll be in trouble. If they take the wrapping off Nasser’s spear and see the Staff, they’ll try to confiscate it. Or if they search Annarah and find the Seal. Or if they recognize Annarah. Your appearance is distinctive, and Callatas still has that bounty upon your head. If anything goes wrong, we’ll have to fight, and I don’t know if we can fight past that many men at once. For that matter, I don’t want to lose four or five days waiting to enter the city.”
“What would be ideal,” said Nasser, “if we could join another group and enter the city with them. Another group of caravan guards, possibly. I wonder if we could hire on to another caravan.”
“Maybe,” said Caina, her eyes wandering the caravanserai. “But when the guards question the caravan master, he’ll mention that a new group of men joined his caravan as they waited outside the gates. If that isn’t an obvious cover for spies, then nothing is. We’ll…”
She fell silent. A group of wagons waited at the edge of the caravanserai. Most caravan wagons took on the color of the dust of the road, but these wagons were painted in colors of bright red and blue, and someone had gone to a lot of work to keep them that way. Some of the wagons held cages containing various beasts, lions and boars and giant lizards, and in one of the wagons Caina saw a rolled-up pavilion of red cloth.
“What is it?” said Kylon.
She had seen that pavilion somewhere before.
Then the recollection hit Caina, and she grinned.
“Master Cronmer,” she said.
“Who?” said Morgant.
“Master Cronmer’s Traveling Circus Of Marvels And Wonders,” said Caina. “I thought they had left Istarinmul.”
“What does a circus have to do with anything?” said Morgant.
“It’s how we’re going to get into Istarinmul,” said Caina.
Chapter 11: Natalia of the Nine Knives
Kylon held up the blanket, shielding her from sight.
“Thank you,” said Caina, and she started pulling off her clothes as quickly as she could. She stood next to one of their pack horses, hoping the animal and the blanket would keep any of the milling caravan guards and porters from seeing anything. Of course, Nasser and Morgant and Laertes and Annarah had already seen her naked when she had stumbled out of the wreckage of the Corsair’s Rest, but Caina had no wish for them to repeat the experience.
Kylon, though…
“You can stare if you want,” said Caina over her shoulder to him as she dropped her shirt.
“We can start with staring,” said Kylon in a quiet voice.
Right. They hadn’t been alone together since departing Drynemet, and it gratified Caina to know that Kylon had apparently felt the absence just as keenly as she had. Well, that could be rectified once they were in Istarinmul. Assuming they could actually get inside the city.
Caina pulled on a blue dress, cinching it around her waist with a belt of black leather. Her hair was a mess, but she had to cover it with a blue headscarf, so that was all right. She wiped down her face as best as she could, tied her caravan guard clothing in a bundle, and tucked it away in one of the saddlebags.
“I wish I had a mirror,” muttered Caina.
In answer Kylon drew the valikon and held it out before him, the flat of the blade facing Caina. Despite the Iramisian sigils cut into the blade, it made a passable mirror. Caina grinned at him, and then took a moment to check her reflection. She looked tired and disheveled and travel-worn, which was good, because that would help her story.
“I am sure,” said Kylon, “that the ancient valikarion would be amused to know that one of their legendary weapons could be used as a mirror.”
“I don’t think they’d object,” said Caina. “The valikarion seemed like the practical sort.” She hooked a sheathed dagger to her belt, concealed some throwing knives up the dress’s loose sleeves, and donned a pair of sandals. Kylon lowered the blanket and returned it to the horse, and they rejoined the others.
“Now,” said Morgant, “how is a circus going to get us into Istarinmul?”
“False names,” said Caina. “You’ll need false names. The circus knows me as Ciara, and they think I have a brother named Marius and a half-sister named Nuri. Kylon, you can be Milartes.” He nodded. It was the alias he had used in Calvarium. “Morgant, you’ve been Markaine of Caer Marist for a century and a half, and another evening shouldn’t hurt. Laertes, we’ll call you Corio. It’s a common enough Nighmarian name.”
“Had a centurion named Corio once,” said Laertes. “Laziest bastard I ever knew.” He grinned. “If I’m going to play the part, suppose I’ll have to start getting drunk and sleeping on the job.”
“Annarah, we’ll call you Nadirah,” said Caina. “You look Anshani, except for the eyes, and that’s a common Anshani name. Nasser, we’ll call you…”
“Vitrum?” said Nasser. Caina laughed in surprise. That was the High Nighmarian word for “glass.”
“Good enough,” said Caina. “Our story is that my sister Nuri married a Cyrican merchant, so my brother and I took her to Cyrioch to settle with her new husband. My brother remained behind with her, and I traveled alone back to Istarinmul. We are companions chance-met upon the road, and along the way I was swept off my feet by a dashing Kyracian mercenary.” She grinned at Kylon.
“That’s a terrible cover story,” said Morgant.
“Why?” said Caina.
“Because the last part is true,” said Morgant.
Caina smiled. “The best lies always have some truth to them.”
“I assume,” said Nasser, “that your plan is to ask the circus master for a job, and then accompany the rest of his performers as they enter the city.”
“Exactly,” said Caina.
“Why would the circus master hire you?” said Annarah with a frown.
“Because he already did once,” said Caina.
Silence answered her.
“All right,” said Morgant. “Now this I have to hear. How did you get hired as a circus performer?”
“It was right after I came to Istarinmul,” said Caina. “The sons of a friend had been kidnapped by a member of the Brotherhood for Callatas’s wraithblood laboratories. The slaver had just ascended to the rank of a Master Slaver, a cowled master, and so hired Master Cronmer’s circus as part of the festivities. I needed to get into the cowled master’s palace, so I j
oined the circus…”
“Ah,” said Nasser, nodding. “We are talking about Master Ulvan, are we not? The first cowled master to be terrorized by the legendary Balarigar?”
“Yes,” said Caina.
“Will the circus master be glad to see you?” said Laertes. “Seems to me that he might have gotten some blame for Ulvan’s trouble.”
“He didn’t,” said Caina. “Ulvan knew who had caused his trouble.” In a fit of rage or madness or both, Caina had called herself the Balarigar when she had flung Ulvan off his balcony, and the entire myth of the Balarigar in Istarinmul had exploded from that. “And I stayed in touch with the circus for a few weeks after that. I quit and said I had gotten a job working in a coffee house. I doubt Cronmer and Tiri and the others ever realized I had any connection to the Balarigar.”
“They would have turned you in for the bounty, I imagine,” said Laertes.
“Undoubtedly,” said Caina. “Shall we find out if this is a good idea or not?”
They headed for the Circus’s encampment, Laertes leading their pack horses lest someone try to steal them. As they approached the wagons, a sense of familiarity settled over Caina. Before coming to Istarinmul, she had never been part of a circus. She had, however, spent several years with Theodosia at the Grand Imperial Opera, spying for the Ghosts of Malarae, and there had been many similarities between the opera and the circus. There had been the same endless intrigues and petty spats and romantic entanglements among the performers, the same sense of barely controlled chaos, and the same frantic pressure as the deadline of a performance approached. Caina supposed performers, whether opera singers or actors or acrobats or lion tamers, were the same the world over.
To her surprise, Annarah was smiling.
“Oh, I like circuses,” said Annarah. “I always have. Sometimes traveling circuses came to Iramis, and I would watch them. I liked the acrobats. When I was grown, I would take my son and daughter to see them. They always laughed at the elephants.”
Caina blinked. “You…have children? I never knew.” Then she realized that Annarah’s husband and children must have burned with Iramis, as Nasser’s family had. “I’m sorry.”
Ghost in the Throne (Ghost Exile #7) Page 16