Ghost in the Seal (Ghost Exile #6)

by Jonathan Moeller

  “Given the cunning of our foe,” said Cassander, “it seemed best to come prepared.”

  “Sensible,” said Kalgri. “Though if your overgrown pet rampages through the Alqaarin Quarter, Callatas is going to be angry.”

  Cassander scoffed. “Do you really think Callatas gives a damn about anyone in this city besides himself?”

  Kalgri knew that he did not.

  “She’s there, in the Desert Maiden,” said Kalgri. “Now.”

  “Good,” said Cassander. “She will walk right into the waiting arms of the Kindred.”

  “The Kindred assassins?” said Kalgri. “You hired those incompetents?”

  “Their orders are to take her alive,” said Callatas. “A little gift from me to you. In repayment for finding her.”

  Kalgri sneered at him. “You don’t care about that. You don’t care about Istarinmul. You have other goals.”

  “You don’t care about anything,” said Cassander, “but killing.” He smiled at her. He was really quite a handsome man, with sharp features, blond hair, and bright blue eyes. “Why don’t you follow me instead of the Grand Master? There’s a lot of killing to be done.”

  The Voice crooned with pleasure at the thought.

  “Then perhaps,” said Kalgri, “we should begin.”

  “Centurion,” said Cassander, turning to an Adamant Guard with a more ornate steel carapace than the others. “Begin.”

  The Adamant Guards moved out, and Kalgri leaped. The power of the Voice let her scuttle up the sheer wall like an insect, and she crouched atop the roof to watch. She enjoyed killing, enjoyed fighting, but that did not mean she was stupid enough to fight Caina and her allies. Kalgri had tried that once before, and it had ended with her falling a thousand feet from the top of a mountain. It was not an experience she cared to repeat.

  So she would let Cassander and his slaves do the fighting.

  And then, when the moment was right, she would strike.

  Kalgri settled in to wait.

  ###

  Caina stepped into the Desert Maiden’s common room.

  Even this early in the morning, there was still something of a crowd on the benches. She saw numerous caravan guards in either the ending stage of inebriation or the beginning phase of a bad hangover. A few desultory games of cards and dice still went on, but the patrons were starting to file out. A pair of former gladiators, unshaven and weary-looking, kept watch over the crowd in case of trouble, though the patrons looked too tired to work up a good brawl. A trio of serving women kept watch on the bar, yawning and speaking in low voices to each other.

  None of the others had arrived yet.

  Caina purchased a cup of sour, watery wine and made her way across the common room, seating herself by the dying fire. The heat kept the caravan guards and minor merchants away, giving her space to keep both an eye on the front door and the stairs leading to the upper stories. She didn’t expect trouble, but she had not survived this long by abandoning precautions…

  The door to the street swung open.

  A tall, strong-looking Istarish man in chain mail and a leather jerkin strode through the door, scimitar and dagger at his belt. He had a hard face, with the marks of old sword scars beneath his close-cropped beard. His eyes swept the room, and then settled upon Caina.

  Caina kept herself motionless, her expression indifferent, but a prickle of alarm went through her.

  She was certain, utterly certain, that the mercenary had recognized her.

  The Istarish man walked further into the room, and five others followed him through the door. Two of them stopped near the stairs to the higher levels. Two more waited near the door to the street. The first man strolled across the common room, a faint smile on his face.

  Caina’s alarm intensified. She kept one hand around her wine cup, but the other slipped to her belt.

  The Istarish man’s hand dropped to his dagger. The way he held that dagger, that specific grip…she recognized it.

  The assassins of the Kindred families gripped their daggers that way. Caina’s mind started racing with plans. It was possible the Kindred were here for someone else, that she could slip away and warn Kylon and the others before…

  The Istarish assassin sat across from her.

  So much for that idea.

  “Mind if I join you?” said the assassin.

  Caina gave an indifferent shrug, her free hand dipping into her satchel. “May as well. I don’t feel like a game of dice.” She made sure to keep her voice disguised.

  “It isn’t,” said the assassin, his smile widening, “a game of dice that we’ll be playing.”

  “What game, then?” said Caina. “Cards? I never cared for cards.”

  “No,” said the assassin. “A game of blades. My name is Tulmar.”

  “You’re very forward,” said Caina.

  Tulmar’s smile held no humor. “It is only fair, given that I know your name.”

  “And what,” said Caina, “is my name?”

  “You are Caina Amalas, the Balarigar,” said Tulmar, “and you killed Anburj and Ikhardin and numerous other Kindred assassins. We would have taken you in vengeance anyway…but the fact that we are being paid to do so makes it all the sweeter.”

  Chapter 8: Closing Jaws

  “Well,” said Caina, her throat dry as she clenched something in her satchel. “Why don’t you get on with it?”

  She cursed her idiocy. For all her precautions, for all her disguises, her enemies had found her. What had she done wrong? What had she overlooked?

  Strangely, the Kindred hadn’t killed her yet. For that matter, they hadn’t even attacked her yet. That was strange. The Kindred were assassins, not messengers.

  “There’s no need for this to unduly disturb the peace,” said Tulmar. “Come with us quietly, and no one will get hurt.”

  “Quietly?” said Caina, her fingers closing against something rough and hard in her satchel. “The only quiet the Kindred ever brought to anyone was the quiet of the grave.”

  That brought a brief smile to Tulmar’s face. “Our present employer wishes you taken alive.”

  “And just who is that?” said Caina.

  Again Tulmar offered that brief smile. “I fear I am not at liberty to divulge that information.”

  There was no need. Grand Master Callatas and Grand Wazir Erghulan wanted Caina dead, to say nothing of the Brotherhood of Slavers. They would kill her and nail her corpse to the walls of the Golden Palace. Cassander Nilas, though, would try to take her alive, to offer her up in chains to the Grand Master in exchange for allowing the Umbarian fleet through the Starfall Straits.

  Caina could not allow herself to be captured here. If she did, if Cassander’s Kindred hirelings took her alive to the Grand Master, Cassander would open the Straits, and the Empire would fall.

  With a sick feeling, she realized that the lives of millions, that the lives of her friends in both Istarinmul and Malarae, might well depend on the decisions she made in the next few moments.

  Then the familiar anger came. By what right did men like Cassander and Callatas get to dictate the destinies of millions?

  With the anger came a plan.

  “Fine,” said Caina. “I’ll go with you.”

  “A wise decision,” said Tulmar, getting to his feet, the table between them. “Keep your hands where I can see them, please.”

  “All right,” said Caina, raising her hands as her left hand folded over a small clay sphere. She took two quick steps away from the table and towards the hearth. Tulmar frowned, his hand dropping to his sword hilt. The ex-gladiators standing guard at the door frowned and moved forward, anticipating trouble. The Kindred at the door and stairs turned as well, hands dropping to their weapons. A jolt of tension went through the room as the maids and the bleary-eyed patrons realized that something was about to happen.

  In that moment of tension, Caina reached over and closed the hearth’s flue with her right hand, taking rapid breaths. The fire had burned do
wn to coals, so little smoke came from it, but the scent flooded her nostrils as the flue cut off the chimney.

  Tulmar frowned. “What was the point of that?” His eyes narrowed. “Put down whatever is in your left hand.”

  The two Kindred assassins near the stairs glided after the bouncers, their hands hovering near their weapons. Caina would have preferred to draw away the Kindred guarding the door to the street, but this would have to do.

  “As you wish,” said Caina, and she threw the clay sphere of the smoke bomb into the hearth.

  She had found the design for the smoke bombs in the Sanctuary, and put it to good use since. Altering the formula caused the bomb to give off more flash than smoke, but another adjustment caused it to throw out an enormous amount of smoke. With the flue closed, the hearth vomited out a thick pillar of smoke. In an instant the Desert Maiden’s common room disappeared into a thick gray haze.

  And in that instant, Caina acted.

  Tulmar sprang at her, his scimitar singing free from its scabbard, and Caina lunged at him. The assassin’s reflexes took over, his blade coming up in defense, and instead of attacking him, Caina ducked. She rolled under the table, sprang to her feet on the other end, and started running. Tulmar bellowed a command, but the common room had exploded into chaos as men shouted warnings of fire and rushed towards the door. Caina heard the hiss of steel as the Kindred assassins drew their swords, and she sprinted through the gloom, jumping over a bench, ducking past a pair of shouting caravan guards, and vaulting over another table. She glimpsed one of the Kindred assassins and dodged behind a drunken merchant in a florid yellow robe.

  The stairs yawned out of the smoky gloom, and Caina dashed up them as fast as she could. More shouts rang out from the common room, the Kindred shoving their way through the crowd to pursue her. Caina had gained herself only a few seconds.

  She could have to put them to good use.

  Fortunately, she had thought to prepare. Caina had safe houses and caches of supplies hidden throughout the city. One of those caches was in a room on the top floor of the Desert Maiden, a room she had rented for the year. Hopefully, it was still undisturbed.

  She reached the top floor and ran down the narrow hallway. The Desert Maiden rented rooms by the night to minor merchants and by the hour to caravan guards with hired female companionship. Caina reached the door at the end of the hall, drawing one of the throwing knives from her sleeve. If the Kindred had followed her to the Desert Maiden, they might have realized she had a safe house here and have sent an assassin to her room to block off any escape.

  Running footsteps thumped against the stairs.

  Caina didn’t have any choice. She unlocked the door and stepped into the room.

  The small room was empty. Apparently the Kindred hadn’t discovered everything about her.

  Caina locked the door, knowing that it would not slow the assassins for more than a few moments. The room was bare, save for a narrow bed, a chest, and a table, a single shuttered window overlooking the street below. The chest held supplies and clothes, but Caina ignored them, making her way to the window. A coiled rope lay on the sill, ready to be thrown to the street. Caina picked up the rope and pushed the shutters open, preparing to throw the rope out the window and descend to the street.

  She froze.

  Metal glinted in the dim light of the early dawn, and she saw armored figures below. The soldiers’ armor looked wrong, fit their bodies too closely, and Caina realized they were Adamant Guards. That was bad. Kylon and Annarah and the others were on their way, and they would run right into the Umbarian soldiers…

  The door shuddered in its frame, the thin wood splintering.

  Caina sheathed her throwing knife, drew a dagger, and sawed through the rope, letting it fall to the floor. She jumped onto the sill and swung out the window, gripping the shutters for support. The second rope she had hidden against the wall months ago was still there. No one had yet noticed it. No one ever looked up, and hopefully the Adamant Guards would not look up until Caina had escaped over the rooftops.

  She slid her dagger back into its sheath, gripped the rope, and scrambled up the wall. Once on the rooftop she looked around, but no one had seen her. Caina drew her dagger again and cut the rope as she heard another crash from the door. The Kindred would smash their way through the door at any moment, but by then Caina would be long gone. Hopefully her friends had withdrawn when they saw the Umbarian soldiers. They would have retreated to the Shahenshah’s Seat or the sculpture works in the Old Quarter where Nasser had made his lair. Caina straightened up and started to turn, and a sudden tingle rolled over her skin. Someone was casting a spell nearby. No, it felt wrong for that. There was an enspelled object nearby, a powerful one…

  She whirled just as the Adamant Guard sprinted across the roof, moving with terrible, inhuman speed despite the weight of his steel carapace. A broadsword blurred in his fist, and only the long hours she had spent practicing the unarmed forms saved Caina’s life. She ducked, and the sword shot past her head, so close that she felt the blade tug at her hair. Her foot slipped, and for a moment she tottered on the edge of the roof, the street yawning beneath her. The Adamant Guard turned towards her, his face cold and harsh, the winged skull sigil of the Umbarian Order carved into his forehead. The Guard drew back his sword to stab, and Caina threw herself forward and seized his arm. Her sudden weight yanked the Guard off balance, and she kicked into the back of his leg and released his arm, landing hard upon her back. The Guard stalked after her, and Caina scrabbled towards the edge of the roof, stumbling back to her feet. The Adamant Guard’s expression did not change as he prepared to strike.

  But Caina had an advantage that he did not expect.

  She drew her ghostsilver dagger and slashed at his sword arm. The blade skidded off the steel plate grafted to his skin and cut across the inside of his forearm. There was a sizzling hiss, the dagger’s hilt growing hot in Caina’s grasp, and the weapon left a smoking cut across the Guard’s arm.

  The Guard’s eyes went wide in pain, and he stumbled. Ghostsilver was proof against sorcery, and it disrupted active spells, including the spells written into the Guard’s flesh. The man had to have thirty or forty pounds of steel grafted to his body, and the spells that granted him superhuman strength also gave him the strength to carry all that metal. When the ghostsilver blade temporarily disrupted the spells, the Guard felt the full weight of the armor.

  Which gave Caina the opening she needed to spin, drive her heel into the back of the Guard’s knee, and send the man stumbling forward. The Adamant Guard staggered a few steps, pulled by the weight of his armor, and lost his balance at the edge of the roof.

  A heartbeat later Caina heard the metallic clatter as the Guard bounced off the street three stories below, accompanied by the snap of breaking bone. Shouts went up from the Adamant Guards, along with cries of alarm as the soldiers spotted Caina. She saw more Adamant Guards running along the rooftop, hurrying in pursuit, and felt the crawling tingle that meant Silent Hunters were nearby.

  Caina sprinted as fast as her legs could carry her and shot a quick look over her shoulder. There were at least six Guards in pursuit, and she guessed at least three invisible Silent Hunters. Was this what Sulaman had meant? That she would not even escape the city before her enemies found her?

  She kept running, her lips peeling back in a silent snarl.

  If the Umbarians wanted her life, they could damned well come and take it. Caina reached the edge of the roof and jumped over the alley to the next house. Her boots caught the lip of the roof, and for an awful instant she teetered, but she heaved forward, stumbled, and kept sprinting, leaping from roof to roof as the Adamant Guards thundered after her in pursuit. Shouts rose from the streets as more Guards fanned out. Caina remembered the first time Adamant Guards had chased her through the streets of Istarinmul, the day she had found Kylon fighting in the Ring of Cyrica. They had won free of the Guards that day, aided by Morgant.

  But rig
ht now, Caina was alone.

  More to the point, the Umbarian soldiers were gaining on her. Worse, the Alqaarin Bazaar was coming into sight, which meant she was running out of houses. Once she reached the last house overlooking the Bazaar, she would run out of space to flee, and the Umbarians would have her head.

  Or they would take her alive to Cassander, which would probably be much worse.

  Again she thought of the vials of Elixir Restorata in her satchel. If she was in danger of capture, she would drink one and take as many of the Umbarians with her in death as she could. Perhaps that would allow Kylon and her friends to escape, and the explosion would utterly destroy her body, leaving Cassander no evidence of her death to present to the Grand Master.

  She leaped over another alley, making a running landing on the next house. A wooden trapdoor in the center of the flat roof caught her attention. Most Istarish houses had flat roofs, allowing the inhabitants to rest upon the roofs in the evening to escape the trapped heat of the day. The thieves of Istarinmul commonly used such trapdoors as a means of convenient egress, which meant the trapdoors usually locked.

  Except this trapdoor stood open a few inches. Perhaps the house’s owner had forgotten to lock his door.

  Or perhaps it was a trap for Caina, and the Adamant Guards had been herding her this way. Either way, she dared not let the opportunity pass. Caina ran at the trapdoor and pulled it open.

  She stared down in the face of a shocked middle-aged Istarish woman in a brown dress and headscarf.

  “Run!” shouted Caina. “The city is under attack! Run! Hide!”

  The middle-aged woman reacted with gratifying speed. She screamed and ran down a hallway, shouting in Istarish for her family, and Caina scrambled down the ladder and into the house, locking the trapdoor behind her. She desperately hoped the Umbarians would leave the poor woman alone. Caina supposed it was more likely they would ask her where the intruder had went, and the woman would gladly tell them. The Adamant Guards would expect her to emerge from the front door and continue running toward the Alqaarin Bazaar, so that meant she had to pick a different direction. Most Istarish houses of this size had a common plan, so Caina dashed for the central stairwell and went to the second floor. She heard more screams of alarm, and guessed that an extended family lived here.