Ghost in the Throne (Ghost Exile #7)

by Jonathan Moeller

  Perhaps more importantly, they had the clever, deadly mind of Caina Amalas.

  Kylon’s own task was simple. He was going to keep her alive, and the gods have mercy upon anyone who tried to stop him.

  They had returned to the Sanctuary of the Ghosts, the hidden underground refuge of the Ghosts beneath the dry fountain in the little square behind the House of Agabyzus. It was not safe, not truly. The Huntress had been following Caina for months, and likely knew all of Caina’s safe houses. Yet so far the vile creature had showed no sign of herself.

  The Sanctuary was as likely to be as safe as anywhere they could find. Certainly the Huntress could not cut her way through the door without making a tremendous amount of noise. The stone walls of the Sanctuary were thick, light coming from enspelled glass spheres on iron stands. Long wooden tables held supplies and cosmetics and clothing of every kind, and tall cabinets stored more clothing. Kylon had stayed here the first night after Caina had found him in Istarinmul, recovering from the wounds he had taken in their fight with the Kindred and the Adamant Guards and the Sifter.

  Caina stood before a table holding a variety of weapons, donning the clothes she used as a Ghost nightfighter, her reflection showing in a small mirror standing atop the table. She pulled on black trousers, black boots, and a black jacket lined with thin steel plates to deflect blades. A belt holding throwing knives, lockpicks, and a collapsible grapnel with a slender coiled rope went around her waist, and more throwing knives went up her sleeves and daggers into sheaths concealed in her boots. She dressed and armed herself with practiced, smooth motions, moving with the efficient calm of someone who had done it many times before.

  There was one difference, though. This time, she had no shadow-cloak, nor a ghostsilver dagger upon her hip. The Huntress had taken both items. Instead Caina donned a mask of black silk that concealed everything except her eyes, and then a black mantle with a deep hood. It did a good job of concealing her features and helping her to hide in the darkness.

  Though not as good a job as her shadow-cloak would have done.

  “I thought you would have chosen another cloak,” said Kylon, coming up behind her. His own preparations were simpler. Chain mail, trousers, and boots, the valikon in its shoulder scabbard, and a row of daggers sheathed at his belt.

  She drew back her cowl and pulled off the mask, reaching up to tie back her black hair with a leather cord. It had gotten long enough that it would get in her way if she didn’t secure it first.

  “No,” she said. “Too heavy. It would be too easy to get tangled up in a normal cloak. The shadow-cloak weighed almost nothing, and it blended with the shadows. Made it easier to hide.” She smiled a little. “It also protected me from divinatory and mind-reading spells, though I suppose I don’t need to bother with that now.”

  “No,” said Kylon, coming to stand behind her. Caina leaned against him with a little sigh, reaching up with her left hand to pull his right hand close. The contact of her skin brought her emotions against his arcane senses. He felt the usual cold ice of her mind wrapped around the fire of her heart, the low level of anger that never quite seemed to leave her, the anger that sometimes blazed into the wrath that had defeated Rezir Shahan and the Sifter and so many others.

  Now, though, the fire had burned low. A thread of something wove its way through the ice of her mind. Fear, maybe?

  No, not that. It was doubt, uncertainty.

  The Huntress’s attack had left its mark upon her.

  “Reading my mind?” said Caina, her voice soft.

  “I can sense your emotions,” said Kylon. “I can’t read your mind. I’ve seen you keep a perfectly calm expression and level tone while angry enough to kill someone.”

  She smiled a little. “I had a good teacher.”

  “And a lot of practice,” said Kylon.

  “That, too.”

  “I can hide almost anything from anyone,” said Caina, “but not from you, not anymore.” Her fingers squeezed his. “I don’t know if I can do this any longer.”

  “Do what?” said Kylon. For a grim moment he wondered if she meant that a Ghost circlemaster could not afford to take a lover, but then he realized she was talking about something else.

  “If I asked you to leave with me, would you?” said Caina.

  “To go where?” said Kylon.

  “Anywhere,” said Caina. “Somewhere far from Istarinmul, far from the Empire. Far from the wars. Maybe one of the free cities. Someplace where we could live anonymously and quietly.”

  “I don’t think you would ask that,” said Kylon. “Just as you would not have asked me to stay with you in Drynemet.”

  “Maybe not,” said Caina. “But if I did ask that, if I asked you to leave Istarinmul…would you come with me?”

  “Yes,” said Kylon.

  She closed her eyes, resting the back of her head against his chest. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me, Kylon. After Rumarah…something changed, and I don’t understand what.”

  “Before Rumarah, you were convinced you were going to die,” said Kylon. “Then you were poisoned, had part of your memory removed, two new languages stuffed into your head, stabbed, and almost consumed by the shadow of a Great Necromancer, and for some reason the process made you into a valikarion. If surviving all that didn’t change you, then something would be wrong.”

  “I suppose,” said Caina.

  “And we’ve had this conversation before,” said Kylon.

  He saw her blink in the mirror. “When? You mean at Drynemet?”

  “No. After the Inferno burned, after you destroyed the Subjugant Bloodcrystal and freed the Undying,” said Kylon. “You said you were tired of death, of fighting. If you felt that way before Rumarah…”

  She closed her eyes and let out a little sound that wasn’t quite a laugh. “What happened at Rumarah wouldn’t have changed my mind.”

  “No,” said Kylon. “But you won’t run.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because,” said Kylon, “you’ve seen the truth. You know what is happening in Istarinmul. You cannot turn away from that. No more than I can.”

  “Is that why you’re still here?” said Caina.

  “Partly,” said Kylon. “I came here to avenge my wife. Then I saw that Thalastre’s death was only part of the evil that had festered in Istarinmul. That was how it began for me. But the main reason I stayed is for you.”

  A little shiver went through Caina, and he felt the surge of her emotions.

  “I love you, Kylon,” she said, her voice very, very soft.

  “I love you, Caina,” he said, and her hand gripped his so hard that it hurt a little.

  “I forgot what it was like,” whispered Caina, “to have someone who you couldn’t hide from. To have someone I could tell these things.”

  “I suppose it was always like that for me,” said Kylon.

  She frowned at the mirror. “What?”

  “You could tell where I had been by the dust on my boots or what I had eaten for dinner by the crumbs on my sleeve,” said Kylon. “Or I would say something, and you would reason out what I was thinking. So it is only fair.”

  She turned and looked up at him. “I am really so obnoxious?”

  “Insightful, let’s say,” said Kylon.

  Caina laughed and kissed him. “I’m not the only one who is insightful, it seems.”

  Kylon shrugged. “I’ve had a long time to watch you now.”

  “Some more insight,” said Caina, stepping back. “I used to have a friend who said that the best cure for sorrow was work. Let’s go ruin Cassander’s plans. That sounds like a good night’s work.”

  Kylon nodded and followed her to the shaft at the back of the Sanctuary. Caina unlocked and lifted the grate, revealing a rope that climbed down into Istarinmul’s maze of sewers. They descended into the tunnels and started making their way through the malodorous darkness to the Emirs’ Quarter.

  His breath came slow and steady, his mind preparing it
self for battle.

  Kylon might have found a higher purpose than vengeance, but he had come to Istarinmul to kill Malik Rolukhan and Cassander Nilas. Rolukhan’s ashes were entombed in the wreckage of the Inferno, but Cassander Nilas had escaped Rumarah.

  Kylon did not intend to let the Umbarian magus escape a second time.

  And if the Huntress showed herself, he would not let her harm Caina again.

  ###

  Darkness hung over Istarinmul as Caina heaved herself out of the sewer grate. Kylon lowered a hand, and she gripped it, and he pulled her up the rest of the way. She shot a quick look around the alley. It ran between the back walls of two smaller palaces, and as far as she could tell, it was deserted.

  Yet through the wall she saw the shimmering haze of the Umbarians’ warding spells. The sorcery of water and air that Kylon wielded looked like silvery-blue light. The Words of Lore commanded by Annarah seemed like a blaze of white flame. Claudia’s wards were like glowing walls of gray steel. The Umbarian spells were veils of thick mist, designed to conceal whatever lurked beneath them.

  Not even the sight of the valikarion could penetrate that haze.

  “Anyone?” whispered Caina. Kylon gave a sharp shake of his head. His arcane senses detected no one nearby. Caina nodded, paused long enough to pull on her mask and cowl, and led the way around the alley and across the street.

  The palace of Fariz Terdagan rose against the starlit night, a wide dome of white marble surrounded by two wings, twin slender towers flanking the dome itself. A wall of white stone, ten feet tall and topped with iron spikes, encircled the palace’s relatively cramped gardens. Four men stood guard at the gate, wearing long cloaks and the spiked helmets of Istarish soldiers. Beneath their cloaks Caina saw the ghostly green glow of necromantic spells.

  The men were Adamant Guards…and behind them she saw the greenish-silver gleam of Silent Hunters wrapped in their invisibility spells. Two Silent Hunters, she thought, invisible in the illusion spells the Umbarians had granted them.

  Of course, when dealing with a valikarion, the Silent Hunters were not necessarily the ones doing the hunting.

  A shadow moved near Kylon, and Caina turned, reaching for her weapons. The shadow resolved into the gaunt shape of Morgant the Razor, his black coat buttoned to the throat, scimitar and dagger ready at his belt. He carried a rough leather satchel, the strap across his chest.

  “Such a touching sight,” said Morgant. “Two young lovers out for a stroll. Though you really aren’t dressed to allure, and…”

  “You can indulge your pretensions to wit after we are successful,” said Caina. “Are the others here?”

  “In position,” said Morgant. He tapped the satchel. “Merely awaiting our signal.”

  “Good,” said Caina. “Four Adamant Guards at the gate, two Silent Hunters, both invisible.”

  “I don’t sense anyone else on the palace grounds,” said Kylon.

  Morgant grunted. “Best to wait until the Silent Hunters burn up their invisibility, then.”

  Caina shook her head. “I don’t think they will.”

  “Silent Hunters can only remain invisible for an hour a day,” said Morgant.

  “I’m not sure,” said Caina, considering the greenish-silver glows, “but I think…I think the Umbarians improved the spells. If a Silent Hunter is moving, he’ll use up his hour. So long as he remains motionless, though…I think he can stay invisible indefinitely.”

  “They were dangerous enough already,” said Kylon. “Now they can lie in wait for their prey as long as they don’t move.”

  “They’re not dangerous to me,” said Caina. “I’ll deal with the Silent Hunters. Can you take down the Adamant Guards before they can raise the alarm?”

  Kylon nodded, and Morgant grinned. “We’re going to find out, aren’t we?”

  “Western side of the wall,” said Caina. “Let’s go.”

  She led the way around Fariz’s palace, keeping to the shadows and out of the sight of the Adamant Guards. So far, the Guards had given no sign of alarm. Caina preferred to have both the Guards and the Hunters think that nothing was amiss right up until the blade entered their hearts.

  She stopped halfway along the wall’s western side and nodded. Kylon jumped with a flicker of the sorcery of water, grabbed the iron spikes, and pulled himself up. Caina jumped next, and Kylon pulled her to the top of the wall with a smooth motion. Morgant scrambled up next, and caught his balance with fluid grace. Despite his great age, he never seemed to have difficulty with extended physical exertion. Perhaps it was a gift of the djinni who had extended his life. Or perhaps he was so old that there was nothing left of him but bone, gristle, and sinew.

  Caina jumped into the garden below, legs collapsing to absorb the shock. The grass of the palace’s gardens made no sound against her boots. The emirs and wealthy merchants of Istarinmul liked to have lush gardens around their palaces to flaunt their wealth, which Caina always appreciated, since it was much easier to move in silence across grass than gravel or flagstones. Kylon and Morgant landed next to her, and Caina led the way forward, making her way from tree to tree and bush to bush. The gardens were dark, but the glow of the spells surrounding the Silent Hunters and the Adamant Guards meant that she could find them with ease.

  They could not escape her.

  A peculiar mixture of uneasiness and a fierce thrill went through her at the thought. Perhaps this was why the sorcerers of the ancient world had so feared the valikarion and their blades. What could Caina had done if she had possessed the sight of the valikarion earlier in her life? She might have been able to save Halfdan and Corvalis. Perhaps she could have stopped the Moroaica long before the day of the golden dead, or…

  Caina put the wild speculations out of her mind. The past was gone. She ought to focus upon the present before it killed her.

  She glided behind the Silent Hunters and beckoned for Kylon and Morgant to move to the right. They did so in silence, drawing their weapons. Caina slid one of the daggers from her belt and eased towards the nearest Silent Hunter’s glowing form.

  Then she reached up, seized the invisible man’s hair, jerked his head back, and opened his throat. Blood sprayed into the night, and the Silent Hunter appeared in front of her, naked and scarred and dying as he collapsed to the ground.

  For a moment no one noticed.

  Then the Adamant Guards stared to turn, and Kylon and Morgant attacked. Kylon struck first, moving with the speed granted by the sorcery of air, the valikon a silvery blur in his hands. The blade nicked one of the Adamant Guards on the arm, and the Umbarian soldier staggered as the ghostsilver sword disrupted the spells binding him, forcing him to feel the full weight of his armored carapace. Kylon’s next blow drove the valikon halfway into the Umbarian soldier’s neck.

  Morgant was already moving, his crimson scimitar in his right hand, his black dagger in his left. He parried the first swing of the Adamant Guard nearest to him, rocking back as the Guard’s broadsword rebounded from his crimson scimitar. The Guard prepared another attack at once, but Morgant was already moving. He slashed his black dagger down, and the enspelled blade sliced through the Guard’s steel carapace like soft butter. The Guard reeled, the severed edges of his carapace glowing white-hot, and collapsed to his knees.

  The second Silent Hunter turned, preparing to spring upon Kylon. Caina acted first, snatching a knife from her sleeve and throwing it at the silvery-green outline. The Silent Hunter staggered back as the knife sank into his right thigh, and a moment later he appeared as he charged at Caina, dagger in hand, the scars upon his chest and arms flashing with silver light. She slashed at the Silent Hunter, and by instinct the assassin dodged, his weight going upon his injured right leg. The limb went rigid, the Hunter stumbling, and Caina drove her dagger between his ribs. The Silent Hunter fell dying, and Caina ripped her dagger free and turned towards the others.

  Kylon finished off the last Adamant Guard as she turned, the Umbarian soldier falling upon the
soft grass. Morgant stepped over the corpses and strolled to the gate, slashing through the chain and locks with a few flicks of his black dagger. He pushed open the gate, and it swung open as he sheathed his weapons and began rummaging in his satchel. Caina turned towards the palace itself, retrieving her throwing knife from the dead Silent Hunter. As far as she could tell, no had noticed their presence save for the guards, and they were in no condition to warn anyone.

  “Anything?” whispered Caina.

  Kylon shook his head. “No one is in the gardens. But I can’t sense anyone in the palace proper.”

  Morgant produced a torch and a small vial of clear fluid Caina had given him. He dumped the liquid over the torch, tucked the vial into his satchel, and ignited the end of the torch. It burst into bright purple flames, throwing an eerie glow over everything.

  “Nice trick,” said Morgant, waving the torch back and forth.

  “It’s used in Imperial opera,” said Caina, looking between the palace and the street. “Sometimes the script calls for a villainous sorcerer to appear in a flash of purple smoke. I just altered the formula a little.”

  Figures appeared on the far side of the street, and Morgant extinguished the torch. A row of Imperial Guards came into sight, hurrying forward with their shields raised and their broadswords in hand. Lord Martin walked at their head, clad in the armor of the Guard, a plumed helmet upon his head. After the Guards came Nasser, Laertes, Nerina, Malcolm, and Azaces, all of them screening Annarah and Claudia. Annarah had shifted her pyrikon to its staff form, the bronze length of metal glimmering with white light. Claudia seemed energetic enough, but again Caina wished that she had remained behind.

  A stray memory flashed through her mind. Nearly five years earlier, she and Ark had accompanied the men of the Imperial Legion as they attacked Lord Naelon Icaraeus’s lair in Marsis. That had almost ended in disaster, and the entire struggle against Naelon Icaraeus’s band of slavers had so occupied the attention of Caina and the Ghosts of Marsis that they had not realized Rezir Shahan and Andromache planned to attack the city until it was too late.