Then Caina vanished from the Voice’s sight, and the nagataaru screeched in alarm. For a frozen instant Kalgri was baffled. Had Caina been killed? Only death or a potent spell could conceal a living thing from the Voice’s sight.
No. A shadow-cloak. The “Balarigar” was simply the myth that had congealed around a Ghost nightfighter, and Ghost nightfighters had shadow-cloaks…
The first throwing knife slammed into Kalgri’s back, rocking her off-balance, and only the Voice’s power let her dodge before Nasser’s scimitar would have found her heart.
Another throwing knife hit her leg, ripping through the leather to sink into her flesh.
###
Caina sprinted at the Huntress, the shadow-cloak billowing around her. The Huntress staggered, off-balance from the knife hits and the gash Nasser’s scimitar had ripped across the side of her chest. If Caina could get close enough, could get the ghostsilver dagger into the assassin…
The Huntress jumped, springing a dozen yards into the air like some colossal insect. She soared over the yard, landing closer to the hall, and Caina saw the wounds in her flesh closing. Caina caught her breath and turned to face the Huntress as Nasser and Laertes joined her.
“I see your skills, my lady Huntress,” said Nasser, “have not improved overmuch since our last meeting.”
“Your life is over, lord of dust and drought,” said the Huntress in that peculiar double voice. The woman’s voice sounded oddly familiar. Caina had heard it before somewhere. But where? “You shall die here, as broken and as forgotten as all of those you have failed. The Balarigar will not save you, and the demonslayer’s destiny will not be fulfilled.”
“Really?” said Nasser. “If such a task is so easily accomplished, then why have you not already done it?”
“Nasser,” whispered Caina. “The Huntress can see me, but the Voice can’t while I have the shadow-cloak on. If we can lure her in, maybe I can ambush her from behind …”
Nasser gave a single sharp nod. “Come, then! Shall you dance with me, my lady? Or will you turn and run?”
The Huntress did not taunt him this time, but instead hurtled forward in a crimson blur. At the last minute Nasser ducked, throwing himself to the side, the Huntress’s scimitars screaming over his head. He slashed at her leg, and the Huntress spun aside, cloak swirling around her. Nasser and the Huntress went into their frenzied dance, trading blows so fast Caina could barely follow the movements. Steel rang on steel, and Caina circled, trying to find a clear shot for a throwing knife, or to get close enough to stab with the ghostsilver dagger. Yet both combatants were moving too fast, and Caina had a good chance of hitting Nasser by mistake. With the Huntress’s advantage in speed, even a half-second of hesitation by Nasser would be fatal.
Then, for just an instant, Nasser was too slow. The Huntress’s right scimitar blurred towards his face, and both Caina and Laertes shouted in alarm.
Nasser’s gloved left hand snapped up and caught the blade of the scimitar, the weapon scraping against his palm with a sound like steel dragged over stone. He squeezed his fist and crushed the steel scimitar as if it had been made of foil. The scimitar should have split his arm open from palm to elbow, yet Nasser had crushed it like a twig. The Red Huntress tried to yank her ruined blade free, but Nasser kept his grip on the weapon and yanked her forward, stabbing at the same time. His scimitar plunged into the Huntress’s belly and erupted out her back, wet with blood. The Huntress screamed in pain and fury, the Voice’s howl vibrating through her cry, and for a wild moment Caina wondered if they had defeated the Huntress.
She darted forward, ghostsilver dagger raised to stab.
The Huntress whirled, backhanding Nasser, and the strike threw him from his feet and into the wall of the nearby house. He landed hard, bloodstained scimitar still gripped in his right hand, a harsh blue light leaking through the torn glove on his left hand. Caina stabbed, but the Huntress threw her ruined weapon, and Caina hit the ground and rolled, the broken weapon clanging next to her ear.
She came back to her feet, expecting to see the Huntress resume her attack on the stunned Nasser. Yet the red-clad assassin rushed Caina, tossing her remaining sword from her left hand to her right. She wasn’t going after Nasser, or even Laertes, who had hurried over to check on Nasser. She was coming after Caina.
Perhaps she had decided to kill Caina before finishing off Nasser.
The ghastly wound Nasser had carved in her belly shrank before Caina’s eyes. Yet the wound obviously pained the Huntress, who was not moving with her previous inhuman speed.
Caina turned and ran, her mind racing, and the Huntress pursued.
Standing and fighting was not an option. But Caina had the Huntress’s attention, and as long as the assassin was chasing her, she would not kill Martin. With the shadow-cloak, the Voice’s senses could not detect Caina. If she could lure the Huntress into an ambush, she could strike unseen, hopefully hard enough to cripple or kill the assassin.
Caina dashed through the narrow alleyways between the round stone houses, seeking for somewhere, anywhere, she could hide. All the houses were too small for what she needed, and might have women and children and elderly hiding within them. Caina needed something bigger. The headman’s hall? No, Martin was there. Best not to dangle the Huntress’s target in front of her …
There.
A large stone barn with a thatched roof stood nearby, not far from the outer stockade. Given the warlike nature of the Kaltari, the villagers likely stored their seed crops there to protect them from raiders. It would likely have many hiding places where Caina could lie in wait for the Huntress.
She sprinted for the doors and pushed them open. Inside the barn was almost empty, the floor covered in dust and old straw. Buckets and wooden yokes stood stacked against one wall, and a loft rose overhead, holding sacks of dry rice.
It was perfect.
Caina paused at the doors just long enough to make sure the Huntress saw her, and then dashed into the barn.
###
Kalgri was becoming annoyed.
The wound in her gut hurt damnably. Pain did not really bother her much any longer, but the muscles of her stomach and legs twitched and tightened with every step she took. The Voice was rebuilding the torn skin and muscles and organs of her belly, but even the Voice could not heal such a severe wound quickly.
She was going to enjoy killing Nasser Glasshand. Come to think of it, the Voice wanted him dead almost as badly as it wanted Caina dead. Apparently the nagataaru regarded both of them as mortal threats. Kalgri did not care, so long as she got to feast upon the deaths, and she was very much looking forward to killing Glasshand.
But only after she killed Caina Amalas.
Kalgri had studied the Balarigar for months, but even so she had still underestimated Caina. The woman had a remarkable ability to improvise. Kalgri should have realized the little trick with the shadow-cloak sooner. She had killed Ghost nightfighters at Callatas’s behest before, and Callatas, for all his tedious pomposity about his damned Apotheosis, was not stupid enough to overlook his personal security. Caina had managed to rob Callatas’s laboratory and escape with her life, something that no one had ever done before. The woman was clearly as dangerous as Callatas had claimed.
Time to put an end to that danger.
Kalgri rolled her shoulders and walked toward the barn doors. She summoned the power of the Voice in the shape of a sword, and with a wave of her arm sent the heavy doors crashing in ruin. The sound would alert Caina to her presence, but that was of no importance. Caina was likely already watching the entrance, no doubt preparing some clever trap.
Kalgri dismissed the sword, strength and speed filling her limbs once more, and drew a dagger in her left hand.
Caina might have set a trap, but it would not matter. For all her cleverness, she was still prey.
And Kalgri was the Huntress.
She strode into the barn.
###
Caina crouched on the loft,
wrapped in her shadow-cloak, her heartbeat thundering in her ears.
The Red Huntress glided into the barn, moving with grace and controlled power, every movement deliberate and fluid. It reminded Caina of the lionesses she had seen prowling the plains of Anshan near Catekharon, deadly beasts that moved in utter silence until they sprang upon their prey.
She stopped a few steps from the doors, the light from the fires outside throwing her shadow across the floor. The crimson mask turned right and left, and then looked up at the loft. Caina forced herself to remain motionless, certain that the Huntress had seen her.
But the mask continued its survey of the barn. Then the Huntress looked at the loft again, laughed, and slid her dagger into its sheath. Shadows and purple fire swirled around her fingers, and the sword of the nagataaru appeared in her fist.
She swung it through the pillars supporting the loft. The blade of dark power sliced through the wood with a splintering crack, and the loft shuddered beneath Caina.
The Huntress’s plan was sound. She had realized that Caina would hide in the loft, and the Huntress needed only collapse it with the sword of the nagataaru. Either Caina would die in the collapse, or be forced down where the Huntress could dispatch her.
She had acted exactly as Caina had anticipated.
And with the sword of the nagataaru in hand, the Huntress could not move with the inhuman speed and strength she had displayed against Nasser and the Imperial Guards in the Golden Palace.
Or so Caina hoped.
If she was wrong at least the immaterial sword would kill her quickly.
The Huntress slashed through another pillar, and the boards started to tilt beneath Caina. She rolled to her feet, and as she did she snatched up the mattock she had found, its iron head ugly and rough and sharp. She raised the tool over her head, gripping the handle with both hands, dashed to the edge of the loft, and jumped.
The Huntress’s back was to Caina, but at the last moment she started to turn. Some instinct had warned her, perhaps, or Caina had been louder than she thought.
Caina crashed into her, all her weight and strength driving the mattock. The iron spike plunged into the Huntress’s lower right back with a horrible wet ripping noise, and the impact drove the Huntress from her feet. Caina landed atop her, the handle of the mattock bouncing painfully against her ribs, and rolled to a stop a few feet away. Pain flooded through her, but she forced herself forward, yanking the ghostsilver dagger from its sheath.
The Huntress had already recovered. The iron spike jutted from her chest, but she had gotten to her knees and raised her right arm to block the dagger.
Caina drove the blade between the bones of the Huntress’s forearm.
The weapon sizzled, growing hot beneath Caina’s fingers, and the Huntress screamed in fury, both the woman’s voice and the snarling howl of the nagataaru. The assassin surged to her feet and kicked, her boot slamming into Caina’s belly. The force of the strike threw her backwards, the dagger’s hilt still clutched in her hand as the blade ripped from the Huntress’s forearm. Caina landed hard against a pile of broken planks, another wave of pain going through her.
The Huntress tore the mattock from her back with a groan and tossed the weapon aside. She turned, her steel mask hanging askew.
Caina stared at her face, shocked.
“Kalgri?” she whispered.
It was the serving woman from the House of Agabyzus. It was impossible. Caina had seen Kalgri several times a week for months. She was a serving woman, not an assassin, certainly not a creature like the Red Huntress…
Belatedly Caina realized that she might not be the only woman at the House of Agabyzus with a knack for disguise.
“Yes,” murmured Kalgri, sliding her mask away. “Perhaps you should know the truth before you die.”
Caina managed to get to her feet, her chest and back throbbing. “You’re not going to kill Lord Martin.”
Kalgri let out an incredulous laugh. “You think I am here for Martin Dorius?” She rolled her shoulders and winced, the wounds in her back and chest shrinking, smoke rising from the gash in her forearm. “He is of no importance. I am here for you.”
“Me?” said Caina.
“Caina Amalas,” said Kalgri, grinning like a shark. “The Balarigar. The woman who burned the Widow’s Tower and robbed the Maze. The woman who slew the Moroaica and saved the Empire. The Grand Master wants you dead. Even all the nagataaru want you dead.” She laughed, high and wild and mad. “I look forward to the Grand Master’s expression when he learns the dreaded Balarigar was a woman.”
“You’ve been following me all this time,” said Caina.
“Yes,” said Kalgri. “I must understand a man in order to kill him. Or a woman. This would have been so much easier if you haven’t stepped out of the way of my arrow at the last minute.”
“You were shooting at me?” said Caina, realizing the depth of her error. It had never once occurred to Caina that she might be the target, never occurred to her that an opponent might have penetrated her disguises. She had always feared it, of course, but she had expected her enemies to strike with overwhelming force, perhaps a squad of Immortals backed up by Kindred assassins and Alchemists.
She had not expected a lone assassin to stalk her for months, preparing, planning. Samnirdamnus had been right. Caina had indeed failed to understand her enemy.
And her life would likely be the price for her error.
“Yes,” said Kalgri. “You are clever and dangerous. Shooting you from afar was the best solution. But the direct methods will work just as well.”
She shot forward, and Caina slashed with the ghostsilver dagger. Kalgri caught Caina’s wrist in her left hand and shoved, and the Huntress’s awful strength slammed Caina against one of the remaining pillars. Again the impact stole the breath from Caina’s lungs, stunning her, and she could do nothing but watch as Kalgri lifted her remaining scimitar for the kill.
Caina had failed.
At least she had built a new Ghost circle in Istarinmul, so someone else would know of Callatas’s crimes. At least she had warned Martin and Claudia. Perhaps Kalgri would even leave them alone once she had killed Caina.
Her skin crawled with the presence of sorcery, and a burst of blue light washed over Kalgri, blue sparks jumping up and down her limbs. The Huntress screamed in pain, her grip on Caina’s arm loosening, and Caina twisted away. Martin and Claudia and Nasser stood in the doors to the barn, flanked by a dozen Imperial Guards. Claudia’s face was a mask of concentration, blue light burning around her fingers as she poured her power into the spell. Kalgri staggered away from Caina, the scimitar weaving a drunken web before her. The wounds on her arm and chest had been shrinking as she taunted Caina, but now they were frozen. In a flash of insight, Caina realized that the Voice was strong enough to fight off Claudia’s banishment spell and strong enough to heal Kalgri’s wounds, but it was not strong enough to do both at the same time.
Caina threw herself forward, ignoring her pain, both hands wrapped around the dagger’s hilt, and slashed with all her strength. Kalgri jerked back at the last moment, her snarls of fury joining those of the Voice, and Caina’s dagger slashed across the Huntress’s ribs and belly. Kalgri screamed again and lashed out, and the back of her hand slammed into Caina’s face and threw her to the floor. Caina hit the ground hard, her head spinning, and saw Nasser and Martin and the Imperial Guards storm into the barn.
Kalgri sprang into the air, crimson cloak streaming around her, and landed on the half-shattered loft. She staggered, grabbed at the wall to regain her balance, and jumped again, even as Claudia shifted her aim. The strength of the leap drove the Huntress through the thatched roof like an arrow through an apple. A few of the Guards threw their javelins, but the weapons lodged in the roof or bounced harmlessly off the walls.
The Huntress had fled.
Caina spat a bitter curse and tried to stand. They had come so close to killing the Huntress. But she had escaped, and Kalgri would
return once she had time to heal and prepare a new attack.
Next time they might not be so lucky.
Kalgri. Caina had seen her at the House of Agabyzus for weeks. What a fool Caina had been, blind to what was right in front of her nose…
The barn started to spin around her, and Caina wondered if it would collapse and bury them all.
Then Caina’s legs went out from beneath her.
She hit the ground and knew no more.
Chapter 16 - Friends and Allies
Dark dreams flickered across Caina’s broken thoughts.
Halfdan had always said that nightmares were the scars of the mind, and Caina had accumulated a large collection. Her father’s death. Halfdan’s murder. Corvalis’s death in the netherworld, the illusion of the temple of Anubankh burning around them.
The black wall of the nagataaru rolling across the sky, coming for her.
Again and again she saw Callatas standing on the ridge overlooking Iramis, raising the Star and burning the city to ashes.
The dead surrounded her. Those she had loved, Corvalis and Halfdan and her father. Those she had defeated, the Moroaica and Maglarion and Kalastus and Andromache and Mihaela and so many others.
She had defeated so many enemies, but the Red Huntress had been too much for her.
“The star is the key to the crystal,” they whispered in unison. “The star is the key to the crystal.”
“What does that mean?” said Caina, looking at the ring of her lost friends and defeated foes. “Damn you, what does it mean? Tell me what it means!”
“Your death.”
Caina spun as the Red Huntress appeared out of nothingness, twin scimitars in her fists.
Kalgri grinned and buried both the blades in Caina’s heart.
Darkness swallowed Caina, and she knew nothing more.
Ghost in the Hunt Page 22