Ghost in the Throne (Ghost Exile #7)

by Jonathan Moeller

  “What is it?” said Caina as Martin hurried to her.

  “I think it’s time,” said Claudia. “I think the baby is coming.”

  Chapter 21: Remember Who You Are

  For a moment Caina stared at Claudia, trying to think of what to do, only to come up with nothing. Caina wanted children, had wanted children ever since she had been a child, and while she hadn’t exactly made peace with the fact that she would never have them, she had at least learned to live with it. When she had been at the Grand Imperial Opera, some of the costumers had given birth in the cellars of the Opera, and Caina had tended to them until the midwife from the temple of Minaerys arrived, so she knew what was involved in childbirth.

  Yet a battlefield had to be the worst place to give birth, and Caina could not think of what to do. For an absurd moment, she felt a surge of raw irritation at Claudia, but shoved it aside. Claudia’s help against the ursamorphs and the ifrit at Fariz’s palace had saved many Imperial Guards, and even if Claudia had stayed secure in the Imperial embassy, nothing would have changed. The baby would still have come tonight.

  And the baby would burn with everyone else unless they stopped Cassander.

  Annarah hurried forward. The loremaster went to one knee before Claudia, placed a hand upon her belly, and whispered a spell, white light flashing around her fingers.

  “The child is coming,” said Annarah.

  Claudia groaned. “I could have told you that.” Malcolm and Nerina held her arms, and if not for their help, Caina suspected Claudia might have collapsed.

  “Nothing seems amiss,” said Annarah. “I think it will be quick birth, and a relatively easy one…but you must lie down at once.”

  “Not here,” said Claudia, her face glittering with sweat. “Not out here.”

  “There,” said Caina, pointing at one of the shops lining the Bazaar. If she remembered right, it sold shoes, but the door had been thrown open and the shutters smashed, the interior dark. Likely the owner had fled for his life, and the looters had moved over the shop and passed on. “That’s as safe as we are likely to find.”

  “Agreed,” said Annarah. “Malcolm, Nerina, please help Lady Claudia into the shop. Lord Martin, she will need something to lie upon, so I counsel sending men to quickly secure blankets. Also, clean water, or at least watered wine.” She cast a worried glance at the rift in the sky, and then back at Claudia. “Quickly, please.”

  Lord Martin barked orders to his men, and Nerina and Malcolm started helping Claudia to the gutted shop, Azaces following. Annarah was usually so soft-spoken, and did what Caina or Nasser asked without a word of complaint. Yet something like iron authority had settled over her in the last few moments, the authority of a loremaster of Iramis.

  Or the authority of a loremaster of Iramis who had delivered a great many children.

  “We cannot stay here,” said Kylon in a low voice.

  “I know,” said Caina, watching Claudia.

  “You will have to convince Lord Martin of that,” said Nasser.

  “No, he knows his duty,” said Caina. “He’ll leave Claudia here with some men to guard her. We should leave Annarah here as well, along with Nerina and Malcolm and Azaces.”

  “We might need Annarah’s power against Cassander,” said Nasser.

  “Claudia needs it, too,” said Caina. “Annarah’s the only one of us who has ever delivered a baby. And if more undead Legionaries or another cataphractus shows up…at least they’ll have a fighting chance.” Claudia and her helpers disappeared into the shop, Lord Martin following. “Wait here. I’ll get Martin, and then we’ll head for the Umbarian embassy.”

  “Annarah is right,” said Nasser. “Hasten.”

  Caina nodded and ran into the shop.

  The interior was a mess, with overturned tables and smashed shelves. Yet the Imperial Guards had cleared a space, and had somehow located blankets. Claudia lay upon them, breathing hard and sweating, her face tight with pain. Martin knelt next to her, gripping her hand.

  “There’s a wine cellar, my lord,” said one of the Imperial Guards, “but it’s locked, and the door’s too thick to break down.”

  “There is a high probability the lock is of dubious quality,” announced Nerina. She reached into her dusty brown coat and produced a lock pick. “I will have it open within one hundred and eighty-nine seconds.”

  “Keep an eye on her,” said Martin, and Malcolm and Azaces followed Nerina to the stairs at the back of the shop. He looked at Caina and grimaced. “I know, I know. We have to go.”

  “You must,” said Claudia, her voice a tight croak. “You must. Gods, I wish you could stay. I wish we could be anywhere but here. But you have to go. You…” She closed her eyes and winced, gripping his hand so hard the knuckles shone white. “You have to. Cassander will…Cassander will…”

  “I will stop him,” said Martin.

  “Promise me you’ll come back,” said Claudia.

  “I will,” said Martin, “even if I have to cut down every one of Cassander’s damned abominations with my own hands.”

  Claudia closed her eyes and nodded, and Martin leaned forward and kissed her. Then he took a deep breath, got to his feet, and pulled his helmet back on.

  “I will leave ten men to guard this shop,” he said to Caina. “We shall have to make do with the rest.”

  Caina nodded, and Martin strode back to the Bazaar, already calling for Tylas. She started to follow him.

  “Wait a moment,” said Annarah. “I want to cast wards around the shop. They should obscure us from any undead still in the city.”

  “And thieves and looters?” said Caina.

  “The Imperial Guards have more expertise in that matter,” said Annarah. “Stay with her. I will be just a moment.”

  “Do you,” said Claudia, swallowing, “do you really know what you are doing?”

  “Yes,” said Annarah. “In Iramis I delivered hundreds of children. I bore two myself, before Callatas burned Iramis. I promise you, Claudia Aberon Dorius, that if we live I will see you to the other side of this.”

  If they lived.

  “Thank you,” said Claudia.

  “Don’t thank me yet,” said Annarah, and she vanished out the back door. A moment later Caina saw the flare of power as Annarah began working spells. Caina knelt next to Claudia, and to her surprise Claudia’s hand reached out and seized hers.

  “I would wager,” whispered Claudia, wincing, “that you’re grateful you can’t have children just now.”

  “No,” said Caina. “Pain doesn’t frighten me.”

  “I am frightened,” said Claudia. “I’m so frightened. Not of the pain, though gods I do not enjoy it. My child is coming on a battlefield, in a city that is about to burn. Gods. What kind of world I am bring this child to?” She shook her head, sweat sliding down her jaw. “I should have stayed back, I should…”

  “You saved men who might otherwise have died,” said Caina. “No one else could have dealt with that fire elemental as swiftly.”

  “And there is no safe place in Istarinmul,” said Claudia. “Not now. Maybe not ever. Oh, I wish Martin could stay. I wish…”

  “I’m sorry,” whispered Caina.

  Claudia blinked. “What?”

  “It’s my fault,” said Caina. “All of this.”

  Claudia stared at her.

  “What,” she said at last, “the hell are you talking about?”

  “I should have died in Rumarah,” said Caina. “If I had died in Rumarah and taken Cassander with me as I planned, none of this would have happened. Cassander would never have come back and summoned that circle.”

  “Caina,” said Claudia, but Caina kept talking, the worlds tumbling out of her. The rational part of her mind pointed out that this wasn’t the best time to talk about such things, but she could not make herself stop.

  “And I was a fool, a stupid, blind fool,” said Caina. “I was too focused on Callatas and the wraithblood to see what Cassander was doing under my n
ose. And then when I came back, I didn’t know myself anymore. I should have died but Kylon brought me back, and it changed me.”

  “Caina,” said Claudia again.

  “I don’t know what I am any longer,” said Caina, “and I failed. I didn’t see what Cassander planned, and now Istarinmul is going to pay the price for my failure. I should have seen it coming, I should have realized the truth sooner, I…”

  Claudia slapped her, hard enough that Caina’s head jerked to the side.

  For a moment Caina was too astonished to speak.

  “You hit me,” said Caina at last.

  “Because you are saying foolishness,” said Claudia. “For the gods’ sake! This isn’t your fault! You want someone to blame, then blame Cassander.”

  “But I should have…” started Caina.

  “Shut up!” said Claudia. “This is not your fault. Cassander Nilas is the one who’s going to try and murder everyone in Istarinmul, not you. You’re the one beating herself up because she can’t save everyone in the world.”

  “That’s not true,” said Caina.

  “Bah,” said Claudia. The sound was filled with derision, or pain, or most likely both. “Yes, it is. I know you too well for that. And you’re a valikarion now. You’re scared because it’s a change and you don’t completely understand how it works. Well,” she waved a hand at herself, “you’re not the only one.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Caina. “I…”

  “If you’re really want to apologize,” said Claudia, “then go stop Cassander. Go cut off his wretched head and save the city. Go be the Balarigar and save the day.”

  “There’s no such thing as the Balarigar,” said Caina.

  “Rubbish,” said Claudia. “There’s you. The only reason anyone ever talks about the Balarigar is you. So go be the Balarigar. Go save my child. Go save everyone’s children. It’s what you do.” She leaned up a little, a strange light in her eyes. “Go save Corvalis’s nephew. It’s what he would want.”

  Something sharp and painful twisted in Caina. “That’s cruel.”

  “It’s true, isn’t it?” whispered Claudia. “You’re not the only one who’s frightened. My husband and child are about to burn alive, and I will do anything to save them. And if reminding you of my brother is what it takes to snap you out of this nonsense, that I will keep doing it. Corvalis. Corvalis.” She kept repeating his name. “Corvalis. Corvalis. Corvalis…”

  She sounded so petulant that Caina laughed.

  Claudia fell silent, letting out a long breath.

  “Claudia,” said Caina at last. “Thank you. I…may have deserved that.”

  Claudia closed her eyes and said nothing.

  “Also,” said Caina, “that was a really terrible slap.”

  Claudia opened her eyes again. “I didn’t hit you that hard.”

  “That’s what I meant,” said Caina. “It was an… incompetent slap.”

  “Incompetent?”

  “You should have locked your wrist more, not let your hand flop about like a dead fish,” said Caina.

  “Alas,” said Claudia, “I was distracted by the knowledge that I am about give birth to my first child!” She gritted her teeth and closed her eyes, squeezing Caina’s hand. “If we live through this, I shall be delighted to slap you over and over again until I finally master the proper form.”

  Caina started to answer, and then Annarah returned. Malcolm and Azaces came with her, both carrying jugs of watered wine, while Nerina had somehow found another blanket.

  “We are ready here,” said Annarah. “Go.” She offered a smile. “We shall await word of your victory.”

  “Hopefully I can tell you of it in person,” said Caina. She squeezed Claudia’s hand once more, stood, and started to turn towards the door.

  And as she did, something tumbled through one of the broken windows, a small, dark, shadowy shape. Caina stepped back, drawing a dagger, and Annarah’s pyrikon leapt back into the form of a staff, shining with white fire. Claudia raised her hand and started a spell, or tried to, but she winced and slumped against the blankets.

  The dark shape was a shadow-cloak, rolled up into a tight bundle. Caina nudged it with her boot, and the cloak unfurled, revealing…

  Her breath caught in her throat.

  She remembered the sword erupting from her chest, the pain flooding through her.

  A ghostsilver dagger rested in the cloak.

  Caina’s ghostsilver dagger, the weapon the Huntress had taken from her at Rumarah.

  Which meant that Kalgri was here right now.

  Chapter 22: Huntress and Prey

  A flicker of motion caught Kylon’s eye, and he stared to turn, wondering if the undead Legionaries had scaled the roof of the ruined shop and planned to attack from overhead.

  Then a familiar presence brushed against his senses.

  A familiar presence, pulsing with malevolence and power and hunger.

  The valikon shuddered in his hand, and started to burn with white fire.

  It was her.

  Kylon whirled, bringing his sword up, and saw the Red Huntress standing not twenty yards away, the shadow-cloak rippling around her in the warm wind blowing through Istarinmul. She had drawn back the cowl, which was why he could sense her, and the serene mask of red steel gazed at him. He felt the malignancy of the nagataaru within her, the hunger and the power and the fury.

  It was no match for his own rage.

  This was the creature that had murdered Thalastre and their unborn child. This was the creature that had nearly killed Caina in Rumarah, laughing with glee as she lay bleeding to death on the floor. This was the monster that had carved a trail of murder and blood and misery for decades before Kylon had been born, gorging herself upon despair and death and laughing at the torment of her victims.

  “To arms!” roared Kylon. “The Huntress! The Red Huntress! To arms!”

  The Imperial Guards spun, turning towards the red-armored assassin. They had faced her before, Kylon realized, when she had attacked at the Golden Palace. He took a step forward, the valikon snarling with white fire. It would end here. Right here, right now, he would avenge Thalastre and his unborn child and make the Huntress pay for her countless crimes…

  “Stay where you are!” said the Huntress, her voice booming over the Bazaar.

  The shadow-cloak billowed out behind her, and Kylon froze.

  The Huntress held a child.

  The child was about a girl about a year old, maybe old enough to walk. The Huntress held her cradled in her left arm, fingers clamping over the girl’s mouth to keep her from crying. The poor child’s black eyes rolled back and forth in terror, and had her mouth been free she would have loosed the piercing, wailing cry of a child frightened beyond all reason. Her emotions, her sheer, unthinking terror, pounded against Kylon’s arcane senses.

  In her right hand, the Huntress held the sword of the nagataaru an inch from the girl’s face. The shaft of writhing shadow and purple flame could cut through solid stone. The little girl’s head would not slow it down at all.

  “Stay right where you are,” said the Huntress, and Kylon heard the gloating satisfaction in that hated voice. “Stay right where you are, or the child dies.” The serene steel mask turned in Kylon’s direction. “And the poor former Archon has already seen one child die in front of him, hasn’t he?”

  The valikon remained motionless in Kylon’s hands, though the flames along the blade howled in in time to his rage.

  “And you, Razor,” said the Huntress. “You stay right there.” Morgant stepped to Kylon’s side, black dagger and red scimitar in hand. “All these noble heroes might care about the little brat, but Morgant the ruthless Razor would not. You would kill a thousand children to keep your word. Think of how your precious loremaster and your noble Balarigar would look at you if you sent this child to her death.”

  Morgant grinned that toothy, skull-like grin at her. “You put your faith in a thin shield indeed if you think such things matter
to me.”

  But he did not step past Kylon.

  “That’s better,” said the Huntress. “Shall we chat, Lord Kylon? It’s been such a long time. The last time we met, you were spattered with the blood of your wife and child. Tell me, do you like exile? Istarinmul is so much drier than New Kyre. You’ve traded seawater for sand.”

  “What do you want?” said Kylon, looking at the little girl. He wondered if he could move fast enough to strike the Huntress before she killed the child, but even with the sorcery of air, it was just too far.

  The Huntress had planned this well. She always planned things well.

  “Just to talk,” said the Huntress. “There’s never any time to talk. Everyone is in such a hurry these days. Though I do wonder something. Have you taken the Ghost into your bed yet? She really wanted you to, you know. One night she even got all dressed up and went out to seduce you, but changed her mind at the last minute when she saw a little present from me.”

  “Those damned curved knives,” said Kylon.

  The Huntress giggled. It was a reedy, coquettish sound, the sort of giggle an insipid young woman might make. Not an ancient creature drenched in the blood of countless victims.

  “Oh, you know how our Caina thinks,” said the Huntress. Her voice switched to a mocking impression of Caina’s. “Our ruthless enemies are after me. Sooner or later they’ll find me and kill me. I’d better keep to myself to save my precious friends…and oh, dear, who is that waiting for me in the shadows?”

  “You,” said Kylon.

  “Yes, me,” said the Huntress. “She should have died at Rumarah. How did you save her, by the by? That Elixir Restorata should have killed her and everyone else for a hundred yards.”

  “Perhaps,” said Morgant, “you should have been a little more ruthless.”

  The Huntress stared at him for a moment, and then the red mask turned again.

  “Glasshand!” she shouted. “You should have been dead long ago. Tell me, how did Caina survive?”

  Nasser stepped forward, the white smile on his dark face like the gleam of dagger’s edge. “As I recall, my dear Huntress, you tried to kill Caina Amalas at the Golden Palace, Drynemet, Silent Ash Temple, and Rumarah. Perhaps it is less a question of her survival and more a question of your gross incompetence.”