Ghost in the Seal (Ghost Exile #6)

by Jonathan Moeller

  “Maybe not to the common soldiers or watchmen,” said Kylon. “Speaking of which, we should depart. I would prefer not to get arrested.”

  “Nor would I,” said Caina. “But we need some soldiers.” She looked back and forth, considering. “Ah, here we go. Better go to that alley. We’ll need to run quickly.”

  In the distance Kylon saw a glimmer of torchlight as a group of soldiers moved up the street towards the Bazaar. Likely a press gang looking for fresh conscripts.

  “Get ready to run,” said Caina.

  “What are you going to do?” said Kylon.

  In answer, she took a deep breath and screamed at the top of her lungs. Kylon blinked in surprise. It was a long, loud, shrill, terrified scream, exactly the sort of scream a frantic woman in desperate fear of her life might make. Caina screamed once more, louder and longer, and Kylon heard shouting from the approaching soldiers.

  “Time to run,” said Caina, her voice calm once more.

  “Right,” said Kylon, and he followed Caina as she made a roundabout course through the maze of back alleys and side streets. They ran perhaps half a mile, and then Caina stopped and looked around. As far as Kylon could tell, no one had followed them.

  “Anyone?” said Caina.

  Kylon concentrated and extended his arcane senses. He felt the presence of some people in the nearby houses, but they were all asleep. As far as he knew, no one was aware of them.

  “We’re clear,” said Kylon.

  “Good,” said Caina. “That was…tricky.”

  “Do you kill people every night?” said Kylon.

  “I try to avoid it, actually,” said Caina. “Corpses draw unwelcome attention.” A brief flicker of satisfaction went through her sense. “As Master Kassan is about to discover.” She shook her head. “I’ll have to warn Annarah at once. Meet me at the Shahenshah’s Seat tomorrow night, and…”

  “No,” said Kylon.

  Caina blinked in surprise. “Why not?”

  “Because,” said Kylon, “you shouldn’t be walking alone in the Cyrican docks at night.”

  “I’ve done it before,” said Caina. “Many times.”

  “Aye,” said Kylon, “but you shouldn’t have to do it.”

  Caina hesitated, and then smiled. “All right. Let’s go. The sooner we warn Annarah, the better.”

  Kylon nodded and followed Caina into the alleys leading towards the harbor.

  For a moment he contemplated the strange twists of his life. Once he had been one of the nine Archons of the Assembly of the Kyracian people, rich and powerful and influential, with thousands of soldiers and hundreds of ships at his command, with hundreds of slaves to manage his vast wealth and his properties. Now he slept in rented rooms over a variety of taverns, and he had just spent the night helping an Imperial spy move some corpses. He had indeed gone down in the world, a very long way. His sister would have been horrified.

  And yet…this seemed more important than any of the work he had done as Archon after the defeat of the golden dead, far more important than the endless bitter maneuvering between the noble Houses in the Assembly of New Kyre. Kylon knew this was vital work, the battle to stop Callatas and his Apotheosis.

  Yet perhaps the woman walking next to him made it all the more important.

  Chapter 3: Necessary Allies

  Cassander Nilas, magus of the Umbarian Order and Lord Ambassador to the court of the Padishah of Istarinmul, kept a bland smile upon his face.

  He wished that Erghulan Amirasku would shut up, but it seemed his wish was not to be granted in the immediate future.

  “The lion, of course, tried to circle behind me,” said the Grand Wazir, repeating yet another of his interminable hunting stories. The nobility of Istarinmul, especially the northern nobles, tended to corpulence, but Erghulan remained fit and strong, preferring chain mail and leather to the finery worn by the other emirs.

  “Indeed?” said Cassander, feigning interest. He had gotten good at that lately.

  He walked with the Grand Wazir from the Court of the Fountain and along the Grand Colonnade, deeper into the heart of the Padishah’s sprawling Golden Palace. Snowy white marble gleamed around him, adorned with gold and gems, the pillars rising like fingers of white ice around him. The intricate geometric designs beloved by Istarish artists covered the walls, while the acres of floor had been worked into an elaborate mosaic, showing Istarish nobles in archaic armor hunting gazelles and lions from chariots. Cassander supposed his long, black greatcoat made a stark contrast to the gleaming stone and art around him.

  The thought pleased him.

  Erghulan’s scribes and slaves hovered a safe distance behind the Grand Wazir, while a dozen black-armored Immortals walked in a loose ring around them, keeping watch for any assassins. It seemed an extravagance, given that the destruction of the Inferno meant that no more Immortals could be trained.

  On the other hand, given that half of Istarinmul’s emirs were about to rise in rebellion against the Grand Wazir, perhaps the Immortals were a prudent caution. One assassin with a crossbow and decent aim could sometimes accomplish more than the death of ten thousand men in battle.

  Cassander knew that well. Had Kalgri’s aim been a little better in the Court of the Fountain a few months past, Caina Amalas would be dead and the Inferno would still stand.

  But then Cassander would not now have the opportunity to bring Istarinmul into the Order’s war against the Empire.

  “They are tricky devils, cunning and fast and strong,” said Erghulan. “One should not underestimate the lions of the Kaltari Highlands. Fortunately, I was ready for him. I had already turned in my saddle, and as the brute reared up to take me, I put an arrow through his heart. Knocked me from my horse in his death throes…but, ah, he made a fine trophy.”

  “A worthy kill, my lord Erghulan,” said Cassander. “You did well not to underestimate the lions of the Kaltari Highlands.” Erghulan grunted in approval. “Though I wonder if the same could be said of the men of the Kaltari Highlands.”

  Erghulan stopped, turned, and glared at Cassander. “Say what you mean, Lord Ambassador.”

  Cassander spread his hands. “The Kaltari have long provided the backbone of the Padishah’s armies, yet they have sided with the rebels, led by a former gladiator named Strabane.” If Cassander’s spies were correct, Strabane was a former associate of the thief Nasser Glasshand…which meant that Strabane was yet another of Caina Amalas’s allies.

  “Rebels?” said Erghulan. “No, Istarinmul has no rebels, Lord Cassander. All our nobles are united in their devotion to the Padishah.”

  “A remarkable feat, given that he has not been seen in public for years,” said Cassander.

  “Then our loyalty is all the more admirable,” said Erghulan. “And, truly, there are no rebels in Istarinmul, my lord Cassander. The Padishah’s realm is united, though perhaps some of the emirs may disagree on certain points of law.”

  “You commanded me, my lord Grand Wazir,” said Callatas, “to say what I meant. This was excellent counsel, and I suspect counsel that you would be wise to heed yourself.”

  Erghulan glared at him, and Cassander wondered if the Grand Wazir was actually stupid enough to believe his own optimistic interpretation of the brewing rebellion in the south. Then Erghulan sighed, shook his head, and looked at the slaves and the Immortals.

  “Move away!” he shouted. “All of you. Move out of earshot now! I wish to speak to the Lord Ambassador without being overheard.”

  The slaves and the Immortals obeyed, moving to the towering stone columns on the edge of the vast colonnade. The Immortals did likewise, though they kept watch for any intruders. A few of them watched Cassander himself. A flicker of contempt went through Cassander, and he felt the weight of the black gauntlet upon his right hand, the power of the red bloodcrystal set in the black steel. Had Cassander chosen, he could have worked a pyromantic spell and burned Erghulan alive in the space between two heartbeats. He could have done the same to th
e slaves and the skull-masked Immortals, and they could do nothing to stop him.

  “Very well,” said Erghulan. “What would you have me say, Cassander? That the situation is urgent? Perhaps even dire? Before the destruction of the Inferno, perhaps we could have reached an accommodation with Tanzir and his band of…of damned malcontents.” He spat the word like an insult. “But when that damnable woman destroyed the Inferno, that shattered any hope of a peaceful resolution.”

  “Truly?” said Cassander, though he knew the reason and hoped to exploit it soon enough. “If the blame lay upon Caina Amalas, then why provoke a battle with Tanzir Shahan?”

  “Because one spy from the Empire could not have destroyed the oldest and strongest fortress in Istarinmul,” said Erghulan. He scowled, making his lined face look even fiercer. “She must have had help, likely from one of the southern emirs. Or from within the Inferno itself.”

  “The late Malik Rolukhan seems a likely candidate for the role of villain in this little drama,” said Cassander. “He was the Lieutenant of the Inferno. Blame him for its loss.”

  “We do,” growled Erghulan. “To put it simply, the truth of what happened no longer matters. The Brotherhood aggravated the southern emirs beyond all reason. Had the cowled masters been a little more circumspect…well, it is too late. The southern emirs fear they shall be blamed for the destruction of the Inferno, and the Grand Master and the northern emirs are of a mind to give them the blame.” His scowl deepened. “And if the fools wish to rebel, let them! They will die screaming for their folly. They will see the kind of torments an Alchemist can inflict in a man’s final moments.”

  “Undoubtedly,” said Cassander. “If you win.” He lowered his voice. “But that’s in doubt, isn’t it?”

  “We shall prevail,” said Erghulan, all but snarling.

  “Will you, my lord?” said Cassander. “The Padishah’s infantry has traditionally come from two sources. The warriors of the Kaltari Highlands and the free peasants of the southern emirates. Except the Kaltari sided with the rebels, and the free peasants will march with the southern emirs.”

  “We have the noble cavalry of the northern nobles,” Erghulan insisted. “We have ample funds to hire mercenaries. We have the footmen who remained loyal. We have the powers of the Grand Master and the College of Alchemists.”

  “I do not doubt the Grand Master’s powers,” said Cassander. No sense insulting the true ruler of Istarinmul, especially since Erghulan would likely relay this entire conversation to Callatas. “But the Alchemists of the College are scholars and artificers, not battle magi. They can make Hellfire for you, true, but since the rebels will not assail you by sea, the Hellfire is of limited utility. Instead they will lay siege to the city itself, which will limit the use of your cavalry. Especially when food runs low and you have trouble feeding the horses. Or the horses become food themselves.”

  “So,” said Erghulan, his eyes narrowing. “I assume you have an antidote for all these woes?”

  “Accept the aid of the Umbarian Order,” said Cassander. “We have experienced troops, and the ships to carry them across the Alqaarin Sea to Istarinmul. We have many veteran battle magi, and the rebels have no way to counter their powers. Accept our help, my lord Erghulan, I beg of you. With the aid of the Umbarian Order, we can crush this rebellion in a month and restore order to Istarinmul.”

  Erghulan laughed. “Yes, so helpful, you magi of the Umbarian Order. So helpful, and so eager to please. We shall ask for your help, and once we invite you inside our borders, you will never leave. In a few years we shall be another province under the control of the Order. One might as well invite a lion into the henhouse to combat rats.”

  “The Order does not desire to rule Istarinmul,” said Cassander. “In exchange for our help, we ask only one thing of the Padishah and his magistrates.”

  “The same drum you’ve been beating for the last year, I assume,” said Erghulan. “We permit the Umbarian fleet to pass through the Starfall Straits.”

  “My lord is wise,” said Cassander. The Order’s war against the Empire had ground to a stalemate, with the Order’s armies stalled in the hills of the Disali provinces and against the walls of Artifel on the Inner Sea. If the Umbarians sent a fleet through the Starfall Straits, they could assail Malarae directly, seize the Imperial Citadel, and kill the doddering old fool of an Emperor. With the capital in their hands, the rest of the provinces would submit, and the Order would reign supreme over a new and reborn Empire, an Empire that would surpass the glories the Magisterium achieved in the time of the Fourth Empire.

  An Empire where Cassander would be free to wield sorcery as he pleased.

  None of that would happen, though, unless he found a way for the Order’s fleet to pass through the Straits.

  “It is a great risk to invite a foreign army onto one’s soil,” said Erghulan.

  “Truly,” said Cassander. “Yet civil wars are always long and bloody. The Order can crush the rebels for you in a matter of weeks. You needn’t fear that we shall overstay our welcome. If you open the Straits to us, we will turn our full attention to the Emperor, and it will take us several years to defeat the loyalists and bring the Empire fully under the Order’s control. This will give you ample time to rebuild Istarinmul.” He smiled and spread his hands again, the black gauntlet’s red bloodcrystal flashing in the sunlight. “And ample time for Grand Master Callatas to complete his work.”

  Erghulan’s eyes narrowed. “What do you know of the Grand Master’s great work, Umbarian?”

  Cassander, in fact, knew quite a bit about what Callatas intended. He thought the old man’s plan to be a stupendous folly, and knew that it would never succeed. Yet it presented Cassander with an opportunity to gain a great deal of sorcerous power.

  Enough power, perhaps, to make himself preeminent among the Umbarians, perhaps even to take his rightful place as one of the Provosts that ruled the Order.

  “Only that the Grand Master has the best interests of Istarinmul in mind,” said Cassander. Which was a rank lie, of course, but Erghulan believed it.

  “Very well,” said Erghulan. “I will discuss the matter with the Grand Master, and listen to his suggestions.” The suggestions of Callatas were as good as commands for a man like Erghulan. “Though I suspect the Grand Master will say that if you had killed Caina Amalas as promised, she would not have reached the Inferno, and the southern emirs would never have found the courage to rebel.”

  A wave of frustrated anger boiled through Cassander, so hot that he wanted to summon pyromantic power and blast Erghulan’s smug face to glowing cinders. Cassander had spent a great deal of time over the last year trying to find Caina Amalas and kill her, and so far he had failed. He had even summoned up one of the most powerful spirits of the netherworld he could reach, an ifrit that called itself the Sifter. The Sifter had never before failed to kill Cassander’s foes, yet somehow that damnable woman had defeated the ifrit so thoroughly it no longer answered Cassander’s summons.

  The Amalas woman had a formidable reputation among the magi of both the Order and the Magisterium, and Cassander concluded that it was deserved.

  “And if the Teskilati had found her first,” said Cassander, keeping his voice calm, “there would have been no need for me to kill her. But we can agree there is ample blame to go around. It is the philosophy of the Order that results matter far more than intentions or methods.”

  “Then employ your methods, Lord Cassander,” said Erghulan, “and find and kill the Balarigar.” He beckoned, and his guards and his slaves moved closer around him. “Until then, my lord Cassander, I bid you a good day.”

  Cassander bowed and strode away before Erghulan could depart. It was always best to leave one of these meetings first. He kept his face composed as he returned to the Court of the Fountain, his Adamant Guards falling in around him. The Guards were another creation of the Order’s sorcery, with steel carapaces grafted to their torsos, the enspelled metal plates giving them superhuman s
trength and speed. Again and again the Adamant Guards had proven effective on the field of battle…but they, too, had failed to capture Caina Amalas.

  A spasm of rage went through Cassander, testing his self-control.

  He had wasted a year on this mission to convince Callatas to allow Umbarian ships through the Starfall Straits, a year of futility and frustration.

  He permitted himself a small smile as he left the Golden Palace and returned to his palanquin, the bearer slaves hastening to their position. Yes, the past year had been frustrating, but his efforts would be rewarded. He didn’t know where Caina Amalas was, but he knew where she was going…and he could kill her on the way there.

  Or capture her and force her to tell him where the Staff and Seal of Iramis had been hidden all these years.

  Cassander reclined upon the cushions of his palanquin chair, smiling to himself. Killing Caina and claiming the relics would have been pleasant, but they had become irrelevant. Even if Cassander killed Caina right now and presented her head to Callatas this afternoon, he had no doubt the querulous, tedious old fool would find some way to avoid keeping his promise to allow the Umbarian fleet through the Straits.

  No matter. Cassander had a plan.

  Callatas was not the only one who could summon the spirits of the netherworld.

  Within a year’s time, the Umbarian fleet would sail through the Straits and the Empire would fall…even if Cassander had to burn every last man, woman, and child in Istarinmul to do it.

  Yes. He was looking forward to that.

  ###

  That night Cassander sat alone at his desk in the Umbarian embassy. The balcony doors stood open, the cooler night air blowing into the room. Not that it mattered. Cassander could have locked every door in the mansion that served as the Umbarian embassy, warded those doors, placed guards at every door, and secured himself in his laboratory in the mansion’s vaults.

  She would still have found her way inside.

  One minute the study was empty. The next Cassander looked up, and she stood in the corner, watching him. A little trickle of fear went through him, but showing fear to this woman would have been a bad idea.