“I do not know,” said Nasser. “Far more extensive than any of us know, I suspect. The woman is as industrious as a hive of bees and the most gifted liar I have ever encountered. She had me convinced that she was a man for nearly a year, and I never suspected the truth. I have no doubt she has informers and agents scattered throughout the city.”
“Would you know how to contact them?” said Sulaman.
“I would,” said Kylon. Caina hadn’t told him all the details of her Ghost circle. He suspected she had kept most of those secrets to herself. Yet she had introduced him to Agabyzus, her nightkeeper, and Agabyzus had been the one to puzzle out the essential nature of Cassander’s plan to destroy the city. Kylon had no doubt that Caina had entrusted Agabyzus with authority to act in her absence.
“Then you must find your way into the city,” said Sulaman, “and make contact with the Balarigar’s allies.”
“How will we get him into the city?” said Claudia. “I heard Nasser talk about a secret tunnel once…”
“It would have been watched by the Teskilati,” said Nasser, “but the Teskilati are no more. Nevertheless, I have no doubt that Callatas has sent someone to guard the tunnel.”
Kylon laughed despite himself. “You forget. Walls are no obstacle to a stormdancer. I will wait until nightfall, find a quiet section of seaward wall, and go over it. From there I will contact the circle and return by dawn with news.”
“Very well,” said Sulaman. “If you are willing to undertake this danger, Lord Kylon, then go with my thanks. Already you have saved my life several times, and if you find a way to open the city’s southern gate, you may well save the lives of thousands of men.”
“Let us hope,” said Kylon, and he turned to go.
“Lord Kylon,” said the Emissary.
Kylon sighed and came to a stop by the flap.
“If you would permit, lord Prince,” said Emissary, “I wish a word alone with Lord Kylon before he undertakes his task.”
“Of course,” said Sulaman. He hesitated, no doubt sensing Kylon’s dark mood. “If Lord Kylon consents.”
“Why would Lord Kylon not consent?” said Kylon. “I’m sure all of this was foreordained and predestined centuries before any of us were born.”
“There’s no need to be snide,” said the Emissary in the tone of an irritated older woman rebuking an impudent younger man. Kylon snorted once at that. Usually, the Emissary spoke in the forbidding tones of an oracle or in a quiet, conversational voice. The irritation made her seemed more human.
“Fine,” said Kylon. “I’ll talk with the Emissary, and then I’ll go.”
Sulaman and the others left the tent, leaving Kylon alone with the Emissary.
“Do not yet despair,” said Emissary.
“Despair?” said Kylon, more anger in his voice than he intended. “Caina is almost certainly dead. If Callatas has the Staff and the Seal, that means he escaped from Kharnaces, and he likely killed her in the process.”
“No,” said the Emissary. “I cannot see her thread of destiny, for she is a valikarion. Yet I can see the pull she has upon the threads around her, and it is immense. Her decisions have altered the lives of countless thousands…and I fear that decisions of even greater consequence lie before her.”
Kylon said nothing. Her words cheered him, but only a little. Caina might still be alive…but perhaps she was trapped on Pyramid Isle. Perhaps Callatas had brought her back as a prisoner. Or maybe the Emissary was simply mistaken.
Or the colossal decisions before Caina would kill her.
“And what do you see in the future?” said Kylon.
“Her decisions warp the pattern of all destiny threads,” said the Emissary, “unless another thread crosses her path first.”
“The Red Huntress,” said Kylon. He had killed the architects of Thalastre’s death, Cassander Nilas and Malik Rolukhan, but the Huntress had dealt the killing blow and the Huntress yet lived.
And she was more cunning and more dangerous than any other enemy Kylon had ever faced by far, and she had come within a hair’s breadth of killing Caina already.
“The Huntress has not forgotten you,” said the Emissary. “She will come for you, and for Caina. Callatas will kill the world, but only once the Huntress has cleared his path. And if the Huntress kills the Balarigar, the world is doomed.”
“Then I will kill the Huntress first,” said Kylon.
Come nightfall he left the camp, making for the walls of Istarinmul.
Chapter 5: Ghosts
The House of Agabyzus was deserted.
Once, that would have alarmed Damla. It still should have alarmed Damla.
Now she had so many other fears that she could not think about it.
The House of Agabyzus, the finest coffee house in the Cyrican Quarter (and quite likely all of Istarinmul) was Damla’s livelihood, and she hoped to leave a thriving business to her sons Bayram and Bahad. Usually, at this time in the afternoon, patrons filled the tables and the booths of the main room. At this hour in the afternoon, she and her workers should have been busy serving coffee and cakes to merchants stopping for refreshment on their way home.
Instead, the House of Agabyzus was silent.
Damla walked past the empty tables, gazing out the shutters of an open window and into the deserted Cyrican Bazaar. Even the day after Lord Cassander had nearly burned the city, the Bazaar had not been empty. The harbors had been empty, but commerce had continued in Istarinmul. People always needed to buy and sell, because people always needed to eat.
Now, though, the Bazaar was deserted. The merchant stalls were empty, the shops were closed, their windows shuttered and their doors barred. There was too much fear, and the air of impending disaster hung over Istarinmul like an avalanche about to fall. In the last month, the Brotherhood of Slavers had been destroyed, and the Umbarians had nearly burned the city. The Grand Wazir had marched south to defeat the rebels, and though no one knew what had happened, all the rumors agreed that Erghulan Amirasku had been defeated. Some said he had fled the realm, seeking exile overseas. Others said that he had barricaded himself in the Golden Palace, preparing to burn the city with Hellfire to take his enemies with him in death. Still another rumor claimed that the rebels planned to raze the city, kill the men, and sell the women and children into slavery to rebuild the Brotherhood of Slavers.
Damla knew better. Come to think of it, she probably understood the truth of what was happening in Istarinmul better than all but a few hundred people. She had seen the truth on the day Master Slaver Ulvan’s Collectors had kidnapped her sons to sell into slavery, the day she had met Caina Amalas and later when Caina had rescued Agabyzus from the Widow’s Tower.
Damla knew the truth…but it made her no less frightened.
If anything, it made her even more scared.
She knew what was at stake, and she felt powerless. She was a widowed coffee merchant. All she had ever wanted was to raise her sons and conduct her business in peace. How had she ever gotten caught up in such momentous events?
How many thousands in Istarinmul felt the same way right now?
That, at the moment, was what alarmed her the most. Terrified people became desperate, as she well knew. When the city snapped from the fear and the riots began, what would happen? Would her life’s work and her home be reduced to a pile of smoldering coals and charred bricks?
Of course, if Grand Master Callatas finished his terrible Apotheosis, then all of Istarinmul would be destroyed.
Damla wished that Caina was here. According to Agabyzus, both Caina and Kylon had disappeared, along with Grand Master Callatas. Callatas had attacked a tavern in the Alqaarin Quarter, then immediately afterward commandeered a galley and departed Istarinmul. Agabyzus wasn’t sure what had happened to Caina, but most likely she had left the eastern harbor aboard an Alqaarin corsair ship, sailing in pursuit of Callatas.
So what were Damla and the others to do when disaster threatened at every turn?
A fl
icker of motion caught her eye.
Five men crossed the Cyrican Bazaar, heading towards the House of Agabyzus. They wore ragged, filthy clothes, their hair tangled and unkempt, and their eyes had the eerie blue tint of wraithblood addicts. Previously, the watchmen had kept the wraithblood addicts out of the Bazaar, but with the destruction of the Teskilati and the defeat of the Grand Wazir, there was no one left to command the watchmen. The wraithblood addicts were usually not dangerous, but sometimes descended into murderous insanity, and Damla had no doubt they would steal anything they could find.
She hoped they would move on, but instead they headed towards the House’s door, and a moment later she saw the door shake as they started to hammer on it.
“Bayram!” she called, heading towards one of the tables. “Bahad!”
A moment later both her sons emerged from the kitchen. Bayram was a strong lad on the edge of manhood, and if not for a document that Caina had forged, he likely would have been conscripted into the Grand Wazir’s army. Bahad was a few years younger and quicker to smile than his more solemn older brother.
Today, though, both boys looked grim, and both carried loaded crossbows the way their uncle had taught them. Damla retrieved her own crossbow from the table and wound the weapon, setting a steel quarrel against the stock.
“Bahad,” she told her younger son, her voice far calmer than she felt. “Like we discussed.”
Damla stopped before the door as it shuddered from the addicts’ blows. Bayram stepped next to her, lifting his weapon. He looked so calm and confident, they both did, and Damla’s heart soared with pride even as it choked with fear. Confident and strong they might have been, but the chaos of the last two years had killed countless strong, confident young men.
She desperately hoped her sons would not join their number.
“Bahad,” said Damla, aiming her weapon. “Now.”
Bahad nodded, drew back the bar, and opened the door.
The five wraithblood addicts froze in surprise, their eerie eyes widening. Damla made a small gesture with her crossbow, and Bayram’s weapon remained steady as a rock.
“We are closed for business, sir,” said Damla.
One of the wraithblood addicts tottered forward a step. “But we just need coins, coins for the sweet dreams, for the shadowed visions, for…”
“Did you know that wraithblood is made from the blood of murdered slaves?” said Damla. “Did you know that every time you ingest it, you partake of the dead?”
The wraithblood addicts stared at her.
Damla forced herself to meet their pale blue gaze. “Go, now, or else you shall join them.”
For another moment the wraithblood addicts stared at her, then shuffled back into the Bazaar. Damla watched them go, then nodded to Bahad. Her younger son closed the door and barred it. Damla let out a long breath, closing her eyes for a moment.
She knew if the wraithblood addict had set foot over the threshold, she would have shot him without hesitation. Once such a thing would have been unthinkable. A lot had changed since the day Caina had told Damla they could get her sons back, and it seemed as if Damla herself was one of the things that had changed.
“Mother,” said Bahad. “You looked so stern.”
Bayram snorted, and for a moment he sounded so like her dead husband that it was eerie. “You ought to know. She looked exactly the same way when she caught you stealing sugar from the larder when you were five.”
“Oh, aye,” said Bahad, “but I don’t steal sugar any longer, do I?”
“I am just glad those men saw reason,” said Damla.
“You should rest, Mother,” said Bayram. “You have been watching the House all day.”
Damla shook her head. “I need to watch for your uncle. He said he would return by afternoon.” That worry gnawed at her as well. Agabyzus had gone to speak with his informants, to try and learn what was happening in the city. What if something had happened to him? Her brother was a clever man…but he had been a clever man when the Teskilati had captured him.
Of course, the Teskilati were dead now. So were the Slavers’ Brotherhood, and so many others.
“We can watch, Mother,” said Bahad. “We can open the door as well as you can…”
“And pull crossbow triggers as well, if it comes to that,” said Bayram, voice grim.
“So we will keep watch,” said Bahad.
“Thank you,” said Damla with a yawn. “Let me know if your uncle returns.”
“Or the Balarigar herself,” said Bahad.
Damla gave him a sharp look. “How did you…”
Bayram scowled. “We agreed never to speak of that.”
Bahad shrugged with an easy smile, but his eyes were serious. “To anyone outside the family. We know the Balarigar visits you, Mother.”
“You knew?” said Damla.
“We figured it out, I am afraid,” said Bayram. “About a year and a half ago. After the Balarigar had rescued us from Master Ulvan, that Nighmarian woman started visiting you on a regular basis, and then Lord Cassander posted that bounty for Caina Amalas…well, we are not blind.”
“Evidently not,” said Damla. “A year and a half? And you told no one?”
“Of course not!” said Bahad. “She saved us from being sold into slavery. And we have all heard the stories. She burned the Widow’s Tower and the Craven’s Tower, threw down the Inferno, and slew Lord Cassander. I think the rumor is true, and she is indeed the Balarigar sent by the Living Flame to terrorize the wicked.”
“And if she is not,” said Bayram in a dry voice, “then best not to get on the bad side of a woman who killed an Umbarian sorcerer, hmm?”
Damla stared at them for a moment and then smiled. “My sons. Where did you learn such wisdom?”
“She called us wise,” said Bahad. “You’re the older one. Surely she must mean you.”
“She obviously didn’t mean you,” said Bayram.
Damla laughed. “Very well. I will rest. Wake me if your uncle returns…or if anything else happens.”
She did not go to her bed, but to a cot in the kitchen. The cooks used it sometimes when the heat of the day overpowered them, and they needed to lie down. Damla fell asleep at once, and her dreams were splintered, troubled. In one of the dreams, she wandered desperately through the House of Agabyzus, seeking for her sons, while her husband’s voice called to her from a distance. In a second dream, she saw an explosion of Hellfire rip through Istarinmul, shredding through the House of Agabyzus and tearing the city to molten shreds. In the dream she saw Caina lying dead and bloodied upon the ground, Lord Kylon kneeling over her while a red shadow walked towards them, laughing…
Someone touched her shoulder, and Damla’s eyes jerked open.
“Mother,” said Bayram.
“Yes?” said Damla, sitting up at one. “Is something wrong?”
“I…don’t think so,” said Bayram. “Uncle Agabyzus has returned, with a man I do not recognize.”
“What else?” said Damla, getting to her feet and stretching. By the Living Flame, her knees felt stiff. Certainly, they would not have felt that sore five years ago.
“He has bad news,” said Bayram. “Uncle Agabyzus has that look he gets when there’s bad news.”
“I see,” said Damla, wondering what happened.
She took a moment to prepare some coffee and a few cakes. Her brother was still gaunt from his ordeal in the Widow’s Tower, and she wanted to fatten him up for his own health. As for his guest…well, the world might be about to end and Istarinmul to fall, but this was still the House of Agabyzus, and she would be damned if she did not have coffee and cakes ready for visitors.
Damla took the tray and walked into the common room. Agabyzus sat in one of the booths. Usually, he went about disguised as a minor magistrate or a scribe of the Padishah’s court, but minor magistrates had been attacked on the street since Cassander’s defeat, so he instead wore the brown turban and dusty robe of a nomad of the steppes. Combined with
his graying beard and lined face, it made for an effective disguise. Across from him sat a man of about forty years with the look of a mercenary. Damla thought he was Saddaic, to judge from his pale, almost wan skin tone, and his black eyes. He had thick black hair that was turning the color of hard iron at the temples, and he wore chain mail and a leather jerkin, a broadsword and a dagger at his belt.
“Sister,” said Agabyzus, rising to his feet. “I am glad you could join us. This is Tomazain, a man who has aided me in my tasks for the circlemaster many times before.”
Tomazain offered her a polite bow. “You are mistress Damla, yes?” He spoke Istarish with a heavy Saddaic accent. “Agabyzus, if you had told me your sister was so lovely, I would have visited long ago.”
“A pleasure to meet you,” said Damla, setting the tray upon the table. “And you flatter me, sir.” She nodded to Bayram and Bahad, and they took up positions by the door, watching for trouble. No doubt they would overhear the conversation, but if they had kept Caina’s secret for two years, they had more than proved their trustworthiness. “I have no wish to cast aspersions upon master Tomazain’s character, but…”
“You wish to know if you can speak freely in front of me?” said Tomazain with a smile. He did have a nice smile, which made his face look a little less weary. “Well, Agabyzus, what do you think? Can your lovely sister speak freely in front of a dangerous rogue such as myself?”
“We may,” said Agabyzus. “Tomazain knows the circlemaster, and she saved his life…”
Damla laughed. “She does that.”
“I hired Tomazain to assist the circlemaster during some business with a wraithblood laboratory,” said Agabyzus. Tomazain shuddered a little at the mention of the wraithblood laboratory. Caina had told Damla what went on such evil places, so she could not blame the man for his shudder. “Suffice it to say he could have collected the bounty for the circlemaster’s head, but did not.”
“That crazed Nighmarian girl saved my life,” said Tomazain. “I do not forget debts. That, and the Grand Wazir posted the bounty. The Umbarian Lord Ambassador tried to collect, and look what happened to him.” He looked at the tray, and Damla handed him a cup of coffee. “And the Grand Wazir is about to be overthrown in any event, so there will be no one left to pay the bounty.” He sipped at the coffee, and his eyes widened. “That is quite good.”
Ghost in the Winds (Ghost Exile #9) Page 7