Ghost in the Hunt

by Moeller, Jonathan

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  So she had withdrawn to regroup and to prepare a new plan.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

  “Cassander Nilas,” said Kalgri.

  “My lady Huntress,” said Cassander with a courtly bow. “I had thought you dead.”

  She shrugged.

  “You had a different face,” said Cassander, “the last time we met. And you were a little shorter, too.”

  “Survival has its price,” said Kalgri. “Given the quantity of necromancy practiced by your Order, I thought you would know that by now.”

  “True,” said Cassander. His ever-present smile widened. “Tell me. When the Provosts hired you to kill the Kyracian archons and their families, they paid you a fortune. Yet you dumped the golden coins into the water. Why?”

  Kalgri shrugged again. “It amused me to do it.”

  Cassander snorted. “If you wanted to do it for free, you could have spared us the money.”

  “No,” said Kalgri. “The money was mine to take. If you had tried to cheat me, I would have killed you all.”

  “Undoubtedly,” said Cassander. “It might please you to know that New Kyre has decided to remain neutral in the Order’s war against the Empire.”

  “I don’t care,” said Kalgri. The nine Kyracian archons, influenced by Kylon of House Kardamnos, had been leaning towards aiding the Empire against the Umbarians, and so the Order had hired Kalgri to kill them. Kalgri had butchered her way through the pro-Imperial archons and their families. She had killed almost all of them, but she had been wounded severely, and Kalgri had been forced to retreat.

  Cassander laughed. “I know you don’t. In any event, you were successful. The internal politics of New Kyre are a bloody confusion now, and the Kyracians will not join the war on either side.”

  “Did you not hear me when I said that I don’t care?” said Kalgri.

  “How marvelous you are, my lady Huntress,” said Cassander. “Kingdoms and empires, nations and armies…none of it matters to you. All you care about is feasting upon death.” He tilted his head to the side, his bright blue eyes regarding her. He really was quite handsome, and under different circumstances she might have enjoyed seducing him. “You truly are the perfect predator.”

  “Does this have a point?” said Kalgri. “Oh, and you can tell your pet fools to stop hiding. You should know better than to try such tricks upon me.”

  Cassander gestured, the air around him rippling, and a dozen scarred men appeared out of nothingness, silver light fading from the sigils carved into their flesh. “As you wish. There’s no need to have secrets between us.”

  Kalgri laughed. “If I wanted to kill you, do you really think your scarred pets would have saved you?” Several of the Silent Hunters scowled, but none of them raised a hand against her. They knew better.

  “Why should you want to kill me?” said Cassander.

  “Because I would enjoy it?” said Kalgri. “Because you talk too much?”

  “All true,” said Cassander. “But I know what you want, and I can help you.”

  Kalgri sneered. “You know nothing.”

  “You were not there,” said Cassander, “to kill the Lord Governor, were you?”

  “What makes you sure of that?” said Kalgri.

  “For one, if you wanted Martin Dorius dead, he would be dead,” said Cassander. “He is simply another pompous nobleman. Such men are easily killed. I know who commands you.”

  “No one commands me,” said Kalgri.

  “The Grand Master wouldn’t want Martin dead, either,” said Cassander. “That little project of his…murdering slaves to make an addictive elixir? Whatever the reason behind it, I suspect a war with the Empire would prove rather disruptive.”

  “You know nothing,” said Kalgri, though she knew that Callatas did not want war with the Empire.

  At least until he unleashed the Apotheosis, and destroyed the old order of the world to raise the new.

  “You weren’t there to kill Martin Dorius,” said Cassander. “You were there to kill the woman known as Caina Amalas, the Balarigar.”

  “And if I was?” said Kalgri. “What is it to you?”

  “Officially, the Provosts of the Order sent me to Istarinmul to convince the Padishah to open the Starfall Straits to our war fleet,” said Cassander. “But since we knew that to be unlikely, I have several other tasks to accomplish during my stay in this stinking hive of a city. One of them is to kill Caina Amalas.”

  “Why?” said Kalgri. “What does your Order care? Have you suddenly become supporters of the Grand Master?”

  “Hardly,” said Cassander. “The Umbarian Order was once hidden with the Imperial Magisterium. When the Balarigar was still in the Empire, she irritated many members of the Magisterium who have now become devoted brothers of the Order. Killing her would solve many problems.”

  “And increase the prestige of Cassander Nilas,” said Kalgri.

  “Well,” said Cassander with a shrug of feigned humility. “The workman deserves his wages, does he not? Furthermore, the High Provost has some measure of arcane foresight, and she has seen configurations of the future where the Balarigar proves an obstacle to our goals. Better to pluck the weed before it has a chance to grow thorns.”

  “What of your other goals?” said Kalgri. If those goals included hampering the Grand Master’s plans, that would give her every excuse to kill Cassander and his pets here and now. Callatas did not want a war with the Umbarian Order any more than he wanted a war with the Empire. Yet she doubted the Umbarians had a vision of the world that included the Apotheosis. Perhaps conflict was inevitable.

  “Now, now,” said Cassander. “You have your secrets, my lady Huntress, and I have mine.”

  “Then why are you here?” said Kalgri. “To listen to yourself talk endlessly? You could do that just as easily without bothering me.”

  “Why, as I’ve said, I’ve come to help you,” said Cassander.

  Kalgri laughed. “I do
n’t need your help.”

  His smile widened, his blue eyes like chips of ice. “Then why is Caina Amalas still alive?”

  Kalgri had no answer for that.

  “She was there, at the Golden Palace,” said Cassander. “Disguised among Lord Martin’s retainers. Maybe disguised as one of the Imperial Guards, maybe as one of the merchants or officials. She got away from you, didn’t she? She had some trick up her sleeve, some clever tactic that let her escape. And if you go after her again…maybe she will have another trick up her sleeve, hmm? Something you won’t see coming. Something, perhaps, that can even kill the famed Red Huntress.”

  Cassander, loath as she was to admit it, had a good point. Kalgri had not expected the pyrikon. She had spent months spying upon the Balarigar, and had never once realized that Caina had a pyrikon. Were there other dangers that she had failed to foresee?

  To her surprise, the Voice counseled caution. The Voice wanted Caina dead as badly as it had ever wanted anything. Did it fear her? Yet that wasn’t it. The Voice…she thought it feared something Caina might do in the future.

  Something she might become.

  The Voice feared the consequences if Kalgri failed to kill the Balarigar. Kalgri did not care, not precisely. But she did want to kill Caina, and the Ghost woman’s escape infuriated her. Best to proceed with caution.

  “If I am the perfect predator you say that I am,” said Kalgri at last, “then I would not turn aside from any tool or method that would help me take my prey.”

  “I am glad we are in agreement on this matter,” said Cassander. “Here is my aid.” He gestured, and the Silent Hunters stepped forward. “They shall accompany you.”

  Kalgri opened her mouth to laugh in derision, and then stopped herself. Did Cassander think to use the Silent Hunters to betray her? He had to know that the Voice could sense them, even when they used their petty tricks. Then she realized that Cassander, like all the Umbarians, saw his servants as expendable tools.

  Expendable tools could make a useful distraction.

  “Very well,” said Kalgri. “I accept your offer.”

  “Splendid,” said Cassander. “I would assist you, my lady Huntress, but I have other tasks for the Provosts. Succeed in this, and you shall have the lasting gratitude and friendship of the Umbarian Order.”

  “Those mean nothing to me,” said Kalgri.

  His smile turned a bit mocking. “Then in gratitude we’ll give you more people to kill.”

  Kalgri nodded, and Cassander walked away, leaving Kalgri alone with the Silent Hunters, who regarded her with their icy, dead eyes.

  “Get dressed,” she said. “We have killing to do.”

  Chapter 12 - The Old Religion

  Lord Martin’s column marched south, acquiring followers along the way.

  Traveling merchants often banded together for protection on the Great Southern Road. The Road was one of the most heavily traveled routes in the world, trade flowing back and forth between Istarinmul and Anshan and Cyrica, which also meant bandits gathered around the Road like vultures over a dying man. The tribesmen of the Trabazon Steppes often raided caravans when the mood took them, and the Kaltari Highlands were notorious for banditry.

  Caina supposed it would be darkly amusing for have survived Maglarion, Sicarion, the Moroaica, and Callatas’s Maze only to get shot in the back by a bandit for her boots.

  Yet no one troubled them or the five other merchant caravans that joined them. The Imperial Guards marched in good order, Tylas striding up and down the line to inspect his men. Martin and Claudia rode at the head of the column, looking dignified and lordly. Or Martin did, at least. Claudia merely looked hot and tired. After the first few hours, she tied her long hair into a thick braid to keep it away from her neck and shielded the top of her head with a bright Istarish scarf. Caina supposed she was not accustomed to this heat.

  Caina busied herself by mingling with the guards of the other caravans, playing at dice with them and sharing their crude jokes. The caravans made a perfect cover for a spy. After all, it was what Caina herself was doing. Caina feared that the Red Huntress had concealed herself among the caravans, but the only women she saw were the merchants’ pampered wives and daughters, and the whores who followed the guards. Caina wished she had a way to detect the presence of nagataaru. She could sense the arcane force around them when the nagataaru invoked their powers, but until they did, she could not sense them.

  At least she didn’t have to worry about any Silent Hunters taking them unawares.

  Though a clever Silent Hunter wouldn’t use his powers at all, but would simply slip poison into Martin’s wine.

  Caina watched for any sign of the Huntress or the Silent Hunters, but no attackers showed themselves.

  ###

  “My turn,” said Nasser in his smooth rumble.

  Caina nodded and popped a bit of bread into her mouth.

  At nights she tended to sit near Nasser’s campfire, which he always established within sight of Lord Martin’s tent. Martin had retired early that night, taking his wife’s hand and leading her to the tent with a smile on her face. It was not terribly difficult to deduce what they were doing. Though Caina felt odd about it…

  Jealousy? No. Merely sadness. She had loved Corvalis once, had been able to share his blankets after a long day on the road. Now instead she sat at a campfire wearing men’s clothing, accompanied by an inscrutable master thief and his grim bodyguard.

  Still, Nasser’s riddles were intriguing.

  “I was the heir to the throne of Anshan,” said Nasser, “the eldest son of the Shahenshah, may the Living Flame shine forever upon him. Alas, I ran afoul of Yaramzod the Black, greatest of the occultists of Anshan. I had no choice but to flee and establish myself as a master thief in the city of Istarinmul.”

  “A lie,” said Caina. Next to her Laertes ate in silence, his eyes scanning the nearby tents.

  Nasser grinned. “Why?”

  “You are obviously not Anshani,” said Caina.

  “I look Anshani,” said Nasser in flawless Anshani. “I sound Anshani.”

  “I can look and sound like things other than what I am, too,” said Caina. “No. When you’re in danger, your real accent comes out.”

  “Yours is High Nighmarian,” said Nasser.

  “I don’t know what yours is,” said Caina. “It sounds a little Istarish, a little Alqaarin…but it’s not. Frankly, your accent sounds a great deal like Grand Master Callatas.”

  “Perceptive indeed,” said Nasser. “Your turn.”

  “Very well,” said Caina. “I was an initiate of the Imperial Magisterium, beginning my training in Artifel. One day I witnessed a master magus purchasing slaves from a trader of the Brotherhood. He was actually a necromancer, using the blood of the slaves to fuel his spells. I suppose in hindsight he may have been one of the Umbarians. Or perhaps he was simply rogue. I could not stomach his crimes, so I killed him and fled before the Magisterium arrested me. I made it to Malarae, and the Ghosts recruited me as a nightfighter.”

  Nasser considered that for a moment, swirling wine in his cup. Laertes continued eating, ignoring the conversation.

  “Some kernels of truth,” said Nasser, “but essentially a lie.”

  “Essentially?” said Caina.

  “You have no arcane ability,” said Nasser, “so therefore you were never an initiate of the Imperial Magisterium.”

  “I can sense sorcery,” said Caina. She waved a hand at him. “Including whatever the hell is wrong with your left hand. By the way, I am entirely certain there are no Anshani princes with potent sorcery radiating from their hands.” Laertes snorted.

  “You can sense sorcery,” said Nasser, “but you do so without casting a spell. That ability only manifests in rare circumstances. Most likely you were severely wounded by a spell at a young age and acquired a sensitivity to it.” Which was exactly what had happened. “That is the most probable explanation.”

  “It would explain why Ciaran
hates sorcerers so much,” said Laertes around a mouthful of jerky. “And slave traders.”

  “I did say it was an excellent lie,” said Nasser.

  “All decent people hate slave traders,” said Caina. “And sorcerers.”

  Despite herself, her eyes strayed towards Martin’s tent as she spoke.

  “I admire,” said Nasser, “how you and Lady Claudia are able to cooperate effectively despite your mutual disdain.”

  “Who said we cooperate effectively?” said Caina.

  “No one,” said Nasser, “but I am not fool enough to ignore the evidence of my own eyes. You managed to evade both the Huntress and Lord Cassander by working together.”

  “Why do they hate each other?” said Laertes.

  “Master Ciaran detests sorcery,” said Nasser, “and Claudia blames Ciaran for the death of her sister, who was Ciaran’s lover.”

  “Ah.”

  “For the gods’ sake,” said Caina. “You two gossip like old women.”

  “It passes the time,” said Laertes.

  “I don’t hate Claudia,” said Caina. “Perhaps she is right to hate me…but we have the same task. We will do what must be done. Regardless of how we happen to feel about it.”

  “But to return to the main point,” said Nasser, “your story is a lie. I am reasonably certain that at some point you encountered a master magus turned necromancer who wounded you. Perhaps at a young age. But you were never an initiate of the Magisterium.”

  “I suppose not,” said Caina.

  “If we gossip to pass the time,” said Laertes, shaking his head, “what about you two madmen? Telling each other lies, each bigger than the last, and looking for the holes?” He shook his head. “Sane men just play dice.”

  “Everyone needs a hobby,” said Caina.

  “It helps keep the wits sharp,” said Nasser. He looked to the south. “Which, given what awaits us, is likely a good idea.”

  ###

  Four days after leaving Istarinmul, they came to a three-pronged fork in the road.