And then the killing began in earnest.
For a brief, pathetic moment, the Collectors tried to fight. Kalgri moved through them in a blur of crimson and shadow, and Cassander cast another spell. Psychokinetic force exploded from him and flung several Collectors to the ground. He thrilled at the sound of their bones shattering, at their lives ending in the grip of his sorcery. He had never hesitated to kill…but never before had killing brought him such joy.
After that, the survivors tried to flee, and Cassander amused himself by seizing the Collectors in grips of psychokinetic force and yanking them from the saddle. He dashed them against the ground with enough force to kill or cripple, and Kalgri finished off the wounded ones as they begged for mercy.
He laughed the entire time.
A few moments later all the Collectors were dead.
Kalgri strolled towards him, her movements slow and languid, her expression satisfied. The deaths would have made her stronger as her nagataaru fed upon the carnage around her, transferring some of that stolen power back to her.
“I’m beginning to see,” said Cassander, “why you enjoy this so much.”
Kalgri all but purred as she smiled at him. “Perhaps you do. So, Cassander Nilas. Show me how you shall work the death of Istarinmul.”
They retrieved several of the Collectors’ horses and rode north, leaving the dead to rot in the hot Istarish sun.
###
Several days later, Cassander rode through the streets of Istarinmul, making his way to the Umbarian embassy in the Alqaarin Quarter.
Getting into the city had almost taken more bloodshed. The walls were manned and the gates garrisoned. Erghulan Amirasku had summoned his allies to his side, making ready for Istarinmul to fend off the assault of Tanzir Shahan and his rebel allies. The guards at the Gate of the Southern Road had almost refused to admit Cassander, but one look at the golden medallion adorned with the winged skull sigil of the Umbarian Order had convinced them otherwise.
Cassander looked at the seething crowds as he forced his way through. Soldiers patrolled every street, and he saw wraithblood addicts lurking in every alley. The city was tense, and everyone went about armed. Istarinmul reminded him of an old barn stuffed full of kindling, waiting for the spark that would set it ablaze.
He smiled at the thought.
Something more powerful than a spark was coming for Istarinmul.
He reached the gates of the Umbarian embassy, the Huntress riding at his side. A few miles from the city Kalgri had discarded her crimson armor, changing it for one of the dresses she had worn in Rumarah. All trace of the deadly Huntress had vanished, and now she seemed simply a pretty young woman in a cheerful yellow dress and headscarf.
Rather like a poisonous spider lurking within a bright flower.
Cassander laughed at the notion and swung down from his saddle.
Four Adamant Guards stood at the gates to the mansion, their torsos wrapped in carapaces of steel, their foreheads marked with the winged skull of the Order. He saw the recognition go over their faces, saw the flicker of surprise and even fear. Adamant Guards, by design, felt very little emotion, and it pleased Cassander that he could still inspire fear in them.
“Who has been in command during my absence?” he said.
“Lady Nicephorus, Lord Cassander,” said one of the Guards with a bow. “The situation has been…ah, unsettled.”
“While the cat is gone, the rats fight, is that it?” said Kalgri.
The Guard gave her a wary look. None of Cassander’s minions knew what she really was, and most of them thought Kalgri his mistress or perhaps his advisor. Those who had seen her fight knew enough to respect her. “It is not my place to comment upon the decisions of magi of the Order, my lady.”
“Indeed not,” said Cassander. “Where is Maria Nicephorus now?”
“In the dining hall, my lord,” said Guard.
“Splendid,” said Cassander. “I have instructions for her.”
He walked past the guards, across the small courtyard, and entered the fortified mansion that served as the Umbarian embassy. Within the dining hall a long table stretched the length of the room, illuminated by enspelled glass globes hanging from the ceiling. Maria Nicephorus stood at the table, speaking with several centurions of the Adamant Guards and a half-dozen lesser Umbarian magi. She wore the black leather greatcoat favored by the magi of the Order, enspelled to the strength of steel, and her black hair had been pulled into a braid, giving her face a stark and forbidding look.
Then she saw Cassander, and the severity vanished, replaced by fear.
“Lord Cassander,” said Maria, stepping back. “You have returned?”
“Surprised?” said Cassander, Kalgri waiting behind him. “Or disappointed. Not disappointed, I hope.”
“Of course not, lord,” said Maria. “You sent no word for weeks. We feared you had been slain or shipwrecked.” Her eyes flicked over the patchwork scars on the left side of his face, and to her credit, she did not look away. “It seems you encountered…difficulties.”
“They have been overcome,” said Cassander. “I return victorious. Caina Amalas is slain.” He gestured, and Kalgri raised the Ghost’s shadow-cloak and ghostsilver dagger. “Proof of her death.”
“Congratulations, my lord,” said Maria. “This will earn you great prestige among the brothers and sisters of the Order, perhaps even the favor of the High Provost herself.”
“It will also earn the defeat of the Empire,” said Cassander. “In exchange for the death of the Balarigar, Callatas promised to open the Straits to the Order’s fleet.”
Maria’s gray eyes widened. “This is tremendous news, my lord. If the Grand Master keeps his word, Malarae will fall within the year.”
“Indeed,” said Cassander. “Summon the scribes. I wish a proclamation written and posted in every bazaar and pinned to the door of every shop in Istarinmul. Announce that the Balarigar has been slain, that the Umbarian Order has killed Caina Amalas. Then send a messenger to the Grand Wazir to ask for…no, to demand an audience three days from now. I will meet with the Grand Wazir in the Golden Palace, and the Grand Master shall keep his promise to the Order.”
“It will be as you command, lord,” said Maria with a bow.
“Yes,” said Cassander. “It shall be.”
And if not, Callatas would learn to his sorrow what happened to those who crossed the Umbarian Order.
###
The woman who now called herself Kalgri listened to Cassander’s commands with half an ear, her mind elsewhere.
Specifically, she was thinking about a compass she had seen long ago, a very special compass. A needle of ghostsilver had floated on a bed of enspelled mercury, housed within a brass casing carved with sigils. The needle had swung back and forth constantly, but Kalgri thought it might be pointing in one direction now.
She might need it later.
The Voice hissed and snarled and whispered in her thoughts, slithering within her like a restless serpent. The Staff and Seal had been found, the nagataaru seemed to say, and she ought to go to Callatas at once. Then there would be death, so much death, and she could feast as she never had before…
Kalgri was not so sure.
There might be opportunity for more death first.
For Cassander was wrong. Caina Amalas was still alive, healed or perhaps even resurrected by the explosion of silver fire in Rumarah. Kalgri did not entirely understand how it had happened. Yet she knew Caina was alive, and if Kalgri’s suspicions were correct, the Ghost would be far more dangerous than before.
She was not someone Kalgri wanted to confront directly, not yet. Especially not while Kylon of House Kardamnos followed Caina around with that damned valikon.
And now Kylon had twice as much reason to wish Kalgri dead.
She smiled a little at the memory of Kylon’s scream of fury as his pregnant wife had died, of the look on his face as he burst through the door to see Caina dying upon Kalgri’s sword…
>
Her smile soured.
Caina had survived. Somehow, she had survived.
Perhaps Cassander was the solution to that.
For Kalgri had told Cassander the truth upon the steppes. He hadn’t understood it, of course, else he would have tried to kill her then and there. Not even Callatas completely understood. Kalgri did not care about Callatas and his Apotheosis. She did not care about Istarinmul or the war between the Emperor and the Umbarian Order.
She only cared about feasting upon torment and death.
And in Cassander, she saw an instrument to bring about a tremendous amount of death.
The Voice hissed its approval.
Chapter 5: To Catekharon
Caina awoke before dawn, Kylon asleep next to her.
She felt…rested.
Better than she would have expected, really. She looked at Kylon and saw the faint shimmer of his power around him, saw the white light waiting within the pyrikon at her wrist. Caina’s fingers strayed to the golden ring hanging from her neck. That, at least, did not put off a glow of sorcerous power.
She had changed.
Maybe it was time to see just how much she had changed.
Caina swung out of bed, stretched, and started working through her unarmed forms, moving through the High strike, middle block, lower kick, and a score of others. The Ghosts of the Vineyard had taught her the movements long ago, and she had practiced them every chance she could get, over and over until they had been imprinted upon her muscles and she could perform them without thought. They had saved her life time and time again, allowing her to move a half-second before her enemies could react.
As far as she could tell, she could still perform the unarmed moves correctly. Of course, that could just be her imagination. There was another way to test her strength, so she dropped to the floor, spread her arms, and started doing pushups. The last time she had practiced the unarmed forms, on Murat’s ship as they approached Pyramid Isle, she had been able to do one hundred and six pushups before she had to stop.
Today, she got to one hundred and thirteen.
Caina pushed away from the floor and sat at the edge of the hearth, breathing hard, and wiped the sweat from her forehead. She shouldn’t have been able to do that. Kalgri had stabbed her through the heart, and then Caina had spent nearly a month in bed. She should have been barely able to walk. She should not have been able to flawlessly work through the unarmed forms and then do one hundred and thirteen pushups.
The Elixir Restorata was potent.
Caina shook her head, pushing the damp hair from her face. Callatas had put a bounty of two million bezants upon her head. She wondered how he would react if he knew one of his vials of Elixir Restorata had saved her life. Annarah had told her that Callatas had once been known as Callatas the Wise, that he had been the most respected loremaster and physician in Iramis.
Then he had gone to Pyramid Isle and met Kharnaces, and become the man who had unleashed wraithblood upon Istarinmul…
“Do you always exercise naked in the morning?”
Caina blinked, pushing the sweaty hair out of her eyes. Kylon was watching her from the bed.
“Not that I am complaining,” said Kylon. “There are worse ways to wake up. When I was learning the sword, the master of blades awoke us every morning by dumping buckets of cold water over us.”
Caina laughed and rose, stretching as she did. “I am preferable to a bucket of cold water? That is high praise indeed.”
She crossed to the bed and looked at him. His face was unshaven, his eyes a little bloodshot. There were old scars on his chest and arms, likely from before she had met him.
If not for him, she would have died.
“Kylon,” she said. “Thank you.”
He blinked. “For what?”
“For saving my life,” said Caina.
“I’m not sure I can take all the credit for it,” said Kylon.
“What do you mean?” said Caina.
“I was wondering about it,” said Kylon. “I could only save you because Morgant had the wedjet-dahn and you had stolen the Elixir from Callatas. And we only had that…”
“Because Samnirdamnus had told me to steal the Elixir and Morgant to take the wedjet-dahn,” said Caina.
“Yes,” said Kylon. “He’s been manipulating you. He was manipulating me. He’s been manipulating Morgant since before either of us were born. I would like to know why.”
Caina was silent for a moment. “He said he has been looking for someone like me.”
“What does that mean?” said Kylon.
“I don’t know,” said Caina. “You know how he talks. Riddles and allusions and games. Yet…he has not steered me wrong. His advice hasn’t led me to ill.”
“Then what does he want?” said Kylon. “He went to all this effort to save you. Why?”
“I don’t know,” said Caina. “And he didn’t save me. You did.” He opened his mouth to reply, but she kept talking. “You put the wedjet-dahn on me. You made me drink the Elixir. And you were the one who went into my mind when Kharnaces’s poison tried to kill me. I…suppose you saw some strange things in there.”
Kylon shifted. “Less than you might think. It was like your mind had…had fractured into your past selves. I saw you as a child, as a younger woman, as other paths your life might had taken.”
“And all those paths would have ended in the Corsair’s Rest if not you, Kylon,” said Caina. “Thank you.”
“You don’t need to thank me,” said Kylon.
She grinned at him. “Yes, I do. And I think I know just how to do it.”
“Oh?”
“Just lie there,” said Caina, “and I’ll show you.”
###
Later that morning they left Rumarah, heading north to depart the Kaltari Highlands and return to Istarinmul.
Caina knew they were heading into danger. She knew that powerful enemies awaited them. Callatas was preparing his Apotheosis, and the Huntress lurked in the shadows. Tanzir Shahan marched on Istarinmul, and the Padishah’s realm was about to burn with civil war.
Yet for all that, she was in a very good mood.
She thought over her time with Kylon at Drynemet and smiled at the recollection. Istarinmul was just as dangerous as it had been, and her enemies just as powerful.
Yet it seemed better with Kylon at her side.
As she prepared to depart, again she felt the overwhelming urge to simply leave, to ask Kylon to come with her to…somewhere, anywhere, far from all this. Yet she would not. She had her duty. She would not abandon the Ghosts of Istarinmul, Damla and Nerina and Agabyzus and Claudia and the others. If Callatas succeeded, he would kill uncounted millions. No matter how much she wanted to turn away, Caina could not.
She dressed as a man. It was easier for travel, especially given the unsettled state of the Istarish countryside. She chose one of her usual disguises, that of a caravan guard with heavy boots, dusty trousers, leather armor studded with steel rivets, and a ragged brown cloak. Her hair hung in greasy curtains before her face, helping to disguise her features. She wrapped a sword belt around her waist, donning a short sword and a dagger. Caina usually carried her ghostsilver dagger, but Kalgri had taken the weapon. Given its ability to penetrate sorcerous wards, Caina suspected she would miss the dagger sooner rather than later. Kalgri had also taken her shadow-cloak. The cloak protected her from sorcerous observation, though if Annarah and Kylon were right, divinatory spells could no longer detect Caina.
She blinked and looked at the wall. If she concentrated, she could make out the glow of Annarah’s pyrikon somewhere within the hall, or the light from Nasser’s hand or Morgant’s weapons. Caina squeezed her eyes shut and looked away before the vertigo could overtake her.
Just how far did the vision of the valikarion extend? She could distinguish between types of sorcery – the silvery-white glow of Kylon’s spells of air and water looked different from the light of the pyrikons or the glow around Morgant’s weap
ons. Would other kinds of sorcery look different?
Caina didn’t know. She needed to find out. Her ability to sense the presence of sorcerous force, as uncomfortable as it had been, had saved her life on numerous occasions. Her new abilities might do the same, if she understood their limitations.
She collected her pack, holding the items Laertes had taken from the Corsair’s Rest before the silver fire had destroyed it, and left the headman’s hall. The village square was crowded, and Caina saw men leaving their homes, swords and spears and shields in hand. Some of them lingered to say goodbye to wives and children waiting at the doors.
Kylon stood near the doors, arms folded over his chest, the valikon waiting in its sheath over his shoulder. He watched the mustering of Drynemet’s warriors with a distant expression, and blinked as she approached. Then he smiled.
“Even after everything,” said Kylon, “I didn’t recognize you at first.”
“I suppose it would look a bit odd if you kissed me just now,” said Caina. She grinned. “Though we did that already.”
“And again later,” murmured Kylon.
“Yes, indeed,” said Caina. “Where’s Nasser?”
“With Annarah and Morgant and Laertes at the gate,” said Kylon. “He wanted to speak to Strabane before we left.”
“We’d better join them,” said Caina.
Kylon nodded and picked up his pack from where it rested against the wall. “I’ve seen this before.”
“What?” said Caina.
“The mustering,” said Kylon. “The men saying farewell to their wives and sons and daughters. They know they might never see each other again.”
“Aye,” said Caina. “I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.”
“No,” said Kylon. She knew that he understood. They had both lived through it, after all. “But it was the same every time. The men went to war. They didn’t want to, but they did.”
Ghost in the Throne (Ghost Exile #7) Page 7
