Ghost in the Throne (Ghost Exile #7)

by Jonathan Moeller

  Claudia wondered if that fire would spread to consume all of Istarinmul.

  The Immortals permitted them to pass, and a plump slave with a robe of gray silk and a silver collar directed them to their place. They walked into the massive Court, the walls rising around them like hills. A huge three-tiered fountain bubbled in the center of the courtyard, adorned with statues of naked women. Claudia remembered the first time she had seen Cassander Nilas here, the day the Huntress had attacked. She had thought the Red Huntress had come for Martin, but the nagataaru-infested assassin had actually been after Caina. Claudia and Martin had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Caina had saved Claudia’s life, disguising them both as the scantily-clad dancers that had been part of the evening’s entertainment. Claudia wondered what the costume would look like on her now that she was nine months’ pregnant, and the thought was so ridiculous that she laughed aloud.

  “What is it?” said Martin.

  “Old memories,” said Claudia. She had been too embarrassed by that incident to tell Martin the entire story of their escape. A wave of sadness went through Claudia as she thought of it. If the Balarigar had indeed met her final end in Rumarah…well, maybe she was with Corvalis now. Caina had never really seemed to recover from his death. As far as Claudia knew, she had never taken another lover.

  Claudia and Martin walked to their assigned place near the fountain. A group of a dozen Immortals moved around the circumference of the fountain, and stopped facing the gate to the Court of the Fountain as the other embassies took their place. A band of armored nobles followed the Immortals, wearing chain mail and carrying swords, and Claudia saw Erghulan Amirasku walking at their head. The Grand Wazir of the Padishah’s court was in his late fifties, yet his love of hunting and fighting had kept him lean and fierce. His receding gray hair was close-cropped, and his nose resembled the beak of a proud bird of prey.

  One of the younger nobles stepped forward, a man Erghulan had appointed to serve as his herald.

  “Behold!” boomed the herald. “He comes! He who is the Emir of the steppes of Trabazon! He who is Captain of the Towers of the Sea! He who is the magistrate of magistrates, the Wazir of the Wazirs, and the strong right hand of the Most Divine Padishah Nahas Tarshahzon! Erghulan Amirasku comes!”

  Claudia had heard the formula so often that she could have mouthed along with it, but that might have caused an incident. Erghulan’s pride was as large as Istarinmul itself, and he would not tolerate any jokes about his office.

  Behind Erghulan walked a shorter man of about the same age, clad in the brilliant gold-trimmed white robes and turban of a Master Alchemist. He had the gaunt face of an ascetic, with a close-cropped gray beard and hard gray eyes like disks of steel. A slender gold chain hung from his neck, supporting a chunk of crystal about the size of a man’s fist that rested against his chest. It seemed to gleam with a pale azure light.

  A star…

  A jolt of terrific fear went through Claudia. Suddenly she recognized the man. She had seen him once in Catekharon, years ago, but only from a distance, yet suddenly she knew who he was.

  “Husband,” she hissed. “Is that him?”

  Martin nodded, and the herald started to declaim again.

  "Behold!" he boomed. "He comes! He who is the Grand Master of the Alchemists! He who is the Most Divine Padishah’s trusted advisor and counsellor! He who is the Destroyer of Iramis and the master of all the mysteries of sorcery! Callatas comes!"

  Callatas, Grand Master of the College of Alchemists and the creator of the wraithblood, stepped to Erghulan’s side, watching the proceedings with a faint expression of distaste. Claudia worked a minor spell, moving her hand in a quick gesture. She cast the spell to sense the presence of sorcery, and the aura that surrounded Callatas almost knocked her over. Defensive spells ringed the Grand Master like fortress walls, giving his robes the strength and resilience of steel, and he carried several other enspelled objects as well. Yet even those mighty spells were as nothing against the power of the Star of Iramis on his chest, sorcery as strong as anything Claudia had encountered in Caer Magia or on the day of the golden dead. According to the story, Callatas had lifted the Star and burned Iramis to ashes, destroying all his enemies with one spell.

  The Grand Master’s gray eyes shifted in her direction, and with a surge of alarm Claudia realized that he had sensed her spell. For a moment she was terrified that the Grand Master would order her arrest, or worse, would lift his hand and call upon his sorcery to destroy her. If he had worked the spells that warded his robes and rings, he could crush her without exerting himself.

  Yet Callatas only stared at her. His expression did not change, and at last the Grand Master’s gaze turned towards the gate.

  “What was that about?” said Martin.

  “I don’t know,” said Claudia, still shaken.

  “That is not a man whose attention you wish to draw,” said Martin.

  “I know,” said Claudia. The dread would not leave her. This was the man that Caina had sought to defeat? Claudia was not sure that Callatas could be defeated. No single magus of the Magisterium, not even the high magi, could have challenged Callatas for long. Maybe someone like the Moroaica or the Great Necromancer Rhames could have defeated him, but they were both dead.

  “Here he comes,” said Martin. “Be ready.”

  Claudia turned her gaze from Callatas as the first of the Adamant Guards marched into the Court of the Fountain, their steel-shod boots ringing against the flagstones. Her skin crawled at the sight of them. The Adamant Guards looked as if they wore close-fitting cuirasses of overlapping steel plates, but Claudia knew better. Those enspelled steel plates had been grafted to their flesh, and the spells gave them superhuman speed and strength, even as it dulled their emotions and made them susceptible to the orders of the Umbarian magi.

  Claudia wondered if those Guards had been the ones who had chased her through the vast gleaming labyrinth of the Golden Palace.

  After the Adamant Guards came a tall, blond-haired man in a greatcoat of black leather, a golden medallion of a winged skull resting against her chest. Claudia felt herself scowl as she recognized the familiar, hated features of Cassander Nilas, and…

  She blinked.

  Something was wrong with Cassander.

  For all that she hated him, for all that she would have killed him if given the chance, she had to admit that he was a handsome and charismatic man.

  That had changed.

  The right side of his face remained unchanged. The left side…it looked as if it had been patched together from ragged strips of leather. No, that wasn’t quite right. It looked as if he had rebuilt the left side of his face with pieces of skin cut from corpses. His right eye remained a clear, crystalline blue, but the left had turned a venomous orange-yellow color, almost like molten sulfur.

  He looked like…he looked a lot like…

  “Gods, husband,” whispered Claudia. “Do you remember Caer Magia?”

  “Sicarion,” said Martin. “The Moroaica’s pet assassin. It seems that Cassander had to resort to necromancy to heal himself.”

  “Caina put up a fight, then,” said Claudia. Yet her heart sank into her stomach. If Cassander had suffered this much injury and still been victorious…

  It was true. Caina was dead…and the Ghost circle that she had created in Istarinmul might be all that stood between the Empire and catastrophic defeat.

  Cassander stopped before the fountain and offered an elaborate bow to the Grand Wazir. As he straightened up, his mismatched eyes flashed across Claudia and Martin, and she saw the malice there. No, the Umbarian magus had not forgotten that she had escaped him once. She doubted a single grievance had ever escaped Cassander’s steel-trap mind.

  At least until it had been washed clean in blood.

  “Lord Cassander,” said Erghulan. “So good to see you again.”

  “And to see you once more, my lord Wazir,” said Cassander, his deep voice raspier than it ha
d been before. He spoke better Istarish than Claudia could manage. It was petty, but she hated him for that, too.

  “It seems you have suffered some…setbacks since last we enjoyed the honor of your presence,” said Erghulan.

  “Scars of battle, my lord,” said Cassander. “I had hoped to tell you the tale when I was next summoned into your august presence.”

  “In point of fact, my lord Cassander,” said Erghulan, “you invited yourself into our august presence with your little…publication. You were not invited. In fact, the last time you were summoned to the Golden Palace was to explain the riot at the Alqaarin harbor, and you fled the city before you could account for yourself.”

  “A trap, Grand Wazir,” said Cassander. “As I told you when I first arrived in Istarinmul, the Balarigar was in fact a Ghost nightfighter named Caina Amalas, sent by the Emperor to destabilize the realm of Istarinmul.” Again his mismatched eyes glanced at Martin. “I laid a trap for her in the Alqaarin harbor, but she was able to elude me. So I left in pursuit of her at once.”

  Callatas shifted, his gaze fixed upon Cassander.

  “And did you find her?” said Erghulan.

  “Indeed I did,” said Cassander. “I tracked her to a town named Rumarah, a den of smugglers on the coast of the Alqaarin Sea.”

  “I have heard of it, yes,” said Erghulan in a dry tone.

  “There we fought,” said Cassander. “Her reputation for cunning was well-deserved, and I took the injuries which are obvious to your eyes.” He gestured with his black-armored hand, the red bloodcrystal on the back of the gauntlet flashing. “Yet in the end she took refuge at an inn, and I burned it down around her. I watched her burn alive before my eyes. Caina Amalas is dead, Grand Wazir. The Balarigar has been slain.” He smiled, the damage to his face making the expression look grisly. “Perhaps you ought to summon the cowled masters to the Golden Palace, so they may rejoice to learn that the lone woman who almost brought Istarinmul to its knees has been slain at last.”

  “Do not presume to command me,” said Erghulan. “I am the Grand Wazir of Istarinmul.”

  The rebuke should have stung. Yet Cassander only smiled. He looked…eager.

  Almost hungry, really.

  “Do forgive my impertinence, noble Grand Wazir,” said Cassander. “Alas, my enthusiasm is simply overflowing.”

  “These claims you bring before the Grand Wazir,” said Callatas, speaking for the first time. His voice was dry, dusty, scholarly, and put Claudia in mind of some of the libraries she had visited in the Empire. “Do you offer proof?”

  “Ample proof,” said Cassander. He beckoned, and one of the Adamant Guards stepped forward, holding a bundle of cloth. Cassander unwrapped the bundle, and Claudia caught a glimpse of silvery metal. “Behold.”

  Cassander lifted a dark, rippling shape from the cloth, and Claudia did her best not to flinch. It was a cloak of strange dark fabric that seemed to blur and shift, trying to merge with the shadows. Claudia had seen a cloak like that many times before.

  “The shadow-cloak of a Ghost nightfighter,” said Cassander, “once worn by Caina Amalas.” He lifted a gleaming dagger of ghostsilver from the bundle, the same ghostsilver dagger that Claudia had seen Caina use. “And a ghostsilver dagger, both of which were carried by Caina Amalas before I killed her.”

  Callatas scowled. “That dagger was stolen from my library.”

  “By the Balarigar,” said Cassander. He tossed the weapon to himself and caught it by the hilt. “I found it when I killed her. You are welcome to have it back, if you wish.”

  “So you claim to have killed the Balarigar,” said Erghulan. “Well and good. How very civic-minded of you. I suppose you are here to claim the reward?”

  “The two million bezants?” said Cassander. “I confess I might think of a use or two for the money, my lord, but I have no need of the coin. No, I have something else in mind for my reward.”

  “And that is?” said Erghulan, his voice low and dangerous.

  “The simple fulfillment of your promise,” said Cassander, his eyes turning toward Callatas. “I have rid you of the Balarigar. I ask that you open the Starfall Straits to the Umbarian fleet, my lord Wazir. Simply let the fleet of the Order pass. We do not ask for aid in our war to restore sound governance to the Empire. We do not ask for provisions or weapons or troops or support. Simply let our fleet pass, and you shall have the lasting friendship of the Order. Our goodwill has already rid you of the Balarigar. What else might our friendship accomplish?”

  For a moment Erghulan said nothing, his face hard. Claudia waited, her heartbeat drumming in her ears. Uncounted lives hung on what the Grand Wazir might say next. Erghulan glanced to the side, and Callatas offered him a shallow nod.

  A fresh wave of dread went through Claudia. Callatas had decided to keep his bargain. The Umbarian fleet would attack Malarae, and…

  “Where is the body?” said Erghulan.

  Claudia blinked.

  “The body?” repeated Cassander.

  “The corpse of Caina Amalas,” said Erghulan. “I wish to look upon this woman who has caused us so much trouble.”

  “She is ashes,” said Cassander. “She burned in Rumarah.”

  “Ah,” said Erghulan. “How very convenient.”

  “I offer proof,” said Cassander.

  “A dagger and a cloak,” said Erghulan. “Those could have come from anywhere.”

  “Are you saying,” said Cassander, “that I am lying?”

  “I think,” said Erghulan, “that you are trying to defraud the Padishah’s magistrates, my lord Cassander. I think you failed to kill the Balarigar at all, and I have even greater doubt that one foreign woman could have caused all this trouble. I think you are trying to drag Istarinmul into the petty war between the Emperor and the Order. Istarinmul has enough troubles of its own, my lord Cassander. We require none of yours.”

  Cassander lifted his chin. “Then you are calling me a liar, my lord Wazir?”

  “Did you fail to notice?” said Erghulan. “I shall be blunt. You will not gain military aid for Umbarian Order by passing this…this ridiculous fraud upon us, Cassander Nilas. The Padishah will not take sides in the Empire’s civil war, and that is all there is to say upon the matter.”

  A quiver of relief went through Claudia. Her husband had been right. Callatas’s own treacherous nature had defeated Cassander’s ambitions. For herself, Claudia had no doubt that Caina was dead. Yet she realized that the actual death did not matter. Even if Cassander had dumped Caina’s body at Erghulan’s feet, Callatas would have still reneged on the agreement.

  Martin had been right. The question was, of course, how Cassander would react to this betrayal.

  She looked at Cassander, expecting to see rage, to see cold, affronted pride.

  Instead, the Umbarian magus looked…pleased. Gleeful, even. Again she was reminded of the way that Sicarion had looked as he killed, the perverse delight that had filled the scarred necromancer’s features.

  “So,” said Cassander, “it is time for blunt speaking, is it? I am glad to hear it, and I thank you for the harsh words, Erghulan Amirasku. I would speak with the ruler of Istarinmul now.”

  Erghulan stepped forward, his anger plain. “I am the ruler of Istarinmul. In the name of our noble Padishah, of course. But I am the ruler of…”

  Cassander laughed, mocking and loud. “Indeed, Erghulan? So might a puppet painted to be a king think that he is the true master of the kingdom, heedless of the strings upon his arms. For you are a puppet, and your puppeteer’s arm is so far up your rear that I am surprised that you do not taste his fingers upon your tongue.”

  “You will retract that insult,” snarled Erghulan, “or I shall have you…”

  “Grand Master Callatas!” said Cassander. “Why don’t you step forth and speak plainly? We all know that you are the true ruler of Istarinmul. After all, Erghulan and the Brotherhood of Slavers have so devotedly carried out your policies that they have driven all the so
uthern emirs and many of the northern ones to rebellion against the Grand Wazir.”

  Callatas said nothing, contempt upon his expression.

  “Come now, my noble lords,” said Cassander, gesturing to the crowd of emirs and ambassadors and bodyguards. “Would you not like to know the truth?”

  “Umbarian,” roared Erghulan, “you will be…”

  “The reason for the civil war is quite simple,” said Cassander. “Callatas has been producing wraithblood in great quantities. Alas, wraithblood can only be made from the blood of a murdered man, so the Brotherhood obtained vast numbers of slaves for him, which he then murdered to produce the drug to addict the poor of Istarinmul. The Balarigar disrupted this cozy little arrangement with her campaign of terror against the Brotherhood, and all of Callatas’s servants could not rid him of Caina Amalas. So he made a deal with me – if I killed the Balarigar, he would open the Straits to the Umbarian fleet. Alas! The Alchemists are known for their powers of transmutation, but it seems that not even alchemy could transmute the word of Grand Master Callatas into something valuable.”

  Shocked murmurs rose up from the crowd, some of them angry. Many of the emirs looked at Erghulan and Callatas, fear and disgust on their faces. There were already countless dark rumors about Callatas. The man had destroyed Iramis, boasted of it openly, had even commissioned a mural showing him lifting the Star of Iramis and using its power to murder hundreds of thousands of people. It was not a far leap to believe such a man would murder slaves to feed their enspelled blood to his own people for some dark purpose.

  Especially since every single one of Cassander’s accusations were true.

  “What is he doing?” said Martin. “Is he trying to provoke a fight with Callatas right here?”

  “I don’t know,” said Claudia. Certainly Erghulan looked furious, but the cold fury of Callatas seemed more dangerous by far. “Husband, if…if he does, if Cassander and Callatas start casting spells at once another, we must run. A sorcerous contest between them would destroy the Court of the Fountain and kill everyone within.”