There was no need for additional histrionics. She lifted her chin into the air with a sniff of contempt, turned, and strode away, making sure her heels clacked loudly against the floor. The murmur of conversation rose again from the floor, and Caina headed for the stairwell. She climbed the stairs to the third level, keeping her expression angry and hurt.
But her mind remained cold and focused, and she felt the weight of the throwing knives within her sleeves.
The third-floor balcony was crowded with merchants and minor nobles speaking in low voices. No doubt Nalazar preferred a crowd. It made it easier to hide. She swept along the aisle between the rows of booths, chin raised, but her eyes scanned back and forth for Nalazar.
She saw him disappearing down the stairs at the other end of the balcony. Caina whispered a curse through clenched lips and started after him, moving as fast as she dared. She wanted to run, but that would draw too much attention.
Not that she could have run anyway in these damned boots.
Caina descended the back stairs and returned to the main floor just as Nalazar and another man strode through the front doors. Nalazar did not look the part of an assassin. He wore a close-fitting black coat, brown trousers, and gleaming black boots. He looked like a merchant of middling prosperity, perhaps the seneschal of a minor lord. The man with him wore polished chain mail and carried an expensive sword. He looked like an officer from an elite mercenary company.
They walked through the doors and strode into the crowds of the Imperial Market. Caina wondered if she should pursue them, but there was no guarantee she could find them again in the crowds. For that matter, her red gown and jewelry would stand out, and they might realize she was following them.
That could prove fatal.
But Caina doubted that Nalazar had realized Muravin and Mahdriva were hidden in the cellar. He had come here for information, seeking clues on where Muravin might have gone…and where better to go than the House of Kularus?
And, she realized, he would be back.
Shaizid appeared at her side. “Mistress? One of the Kindred was here.”
“Where?” said Caina.
“Talking to the Istarish merchant in the black coat,” said Shaizid.
“That was Nalazar, one of the Istarish Kindred,” said Caina. “You know the man with him?”
“Yes, mistress,” said Shaizid. “He calls himself Tasca, though I suspect that is not his real name. He is a Kindred of the Malarae family, and arranges meetings with clients.”
“And fellow Kindred, it seems,” muttered Caina. So Nalazar had turned to the local Kindred for help. That meant Nalazar would have more men at his disposal. On the other hand, the Ghosts knew many of the Malarae family’s members, and it gave them a better chance of tracking Nalazar’s movements.
And perhaps it would keep the Malarae Kindred from going after Tanzir Shahan, if someone hired them to kill the new Lord Ambassador.
“If they return, mistress, shall I have them killed?” said Shaizid.
“No,” said Caina. “Just have them followed. Discreetly. See where they go. Once we know more, then we can act.”
“It will be as you say,” said Shaizid with a bow.
Caina returned to the table where Corvalis sat with Halfdan. A few of the nearby merchants watched her from the corners of their eyes. No doubt they wanted to see how the little drama with the slap played out.
“Well?” said Halfdan.
Caina sat down. “That was Nalazar. Shaizid says he was with one of the local Kindred agents, a man named Tasca.”
“A Speaker,” murmured Corvalis. “A brother who negotiates with the clients, or arranges deals with the other families, is a Speaker.”
“Then it would seem,” said Halfdan, “that Nalazar has decided to engage Malarae’s Kindred family for help.”
Corvalis frowned. “Then he didn’t follow Muravin here?”
Caina shook her head. “As far as I can tell, he came here for information and to meet Tasca.”
Halfdan laughed, long and loud.
“What is it?” said Caina.
“This,” said Halfdan, gesturing at the tables around them. “What a perfect little trap you have constructed for us, my dear. Tracking down the secrets of our foes is hard work. Yet now they come to the House of Kularus to plot, and we need only sit and wait for them.” He lifted his cup. “All while drinking fine coffee. Though truly civilized men prefer wine, of course.”
“Thank you,” said Caina. “I had Shaizid keep watch for them. I suspect both Nalazar and Tasca will return. When they do, Shaizid can have them followed…and we’ll know where Nalazar is hiding. Then we can settle with him, and Muravin and Mahdriva can go on their way.”
“Good,” said Halfdan, finishing his coffee and standing. “Well, we have work to be about.”
Corvalis stood and took Caina’s hand. “Kiss me.”
“What?” said Caina.
“We quarreled, you slapped me, and you ran off,” said Corvalis. “Now you are overcome with desire for me, and have returned to my side once more.” He smiled. “Our audience deserves a resolution to our little drama, do they not?”
“Oh, of course,” said Caina. “And the fact that you would enjoy it is a mere coincidence?”
“A fact of no consequence whatsoever,” said Corvalis.
Caina laughed, took his head in both hands, and kissed him long and hard upon the lips. She heard the murmurs of amusement from the nearby tables, but did not care.
It was part of her disguise as Sonya Tornesti.
And masquerading as Sonya Tornesti did have some compensations.
Chapter 6 - The Gardeners
Eight days after leaving Muravin and Mahdriva at the House of Kularus, Caina awoke before dawn and practiced the unarmed forms.
She moved over and over again through the forms Akragas had taught her at the Vineyard, years ago. The high block. The middle palm strike. The unarmed throw, the middle kick, and the leg sweep. Between sets she stood balanced upon one leg, her other foot raised above her head, or gripped a rope set into the bedroom rafters and pulled herself up by the strength of her arms over and over again.
When she finished, her breath came fast and quick, her heart pounded, and sweat soaked her thin shift, but she felt better. Even if the knowledge of unarmed combat had not saved her life again and again, she would still practice the unarmed forms for the clarity they brought to her mind.
After she bathed and dressed in another red gown. It was going to be a hot day, so she picked a gown with a neckline lower than she would have liked, but at least it was cooler. The sleeves and tight bodice were adorned with black scrollwork, and she put a black leather belt around her waist.
She clipped her sheathed ghostsilver dagger to the belt. The curved blade had been fashioned by from ghostsilver, harder and lighter than normal steel. The weapon also had the ability to resist almost all forms of sorcery.
That, too, had saved her life more than once.
She paused one more time to check her jewelry and her makeup – she wore too much of both – then donned a pair of high-heeled sandals and left the bedroom.
Corvalis awaited her in the front hall, working his sword through a number of forms. He wore his usual black coat, boots, and trousers over a white shirt, and looked very good.
He saw her, grinned, and slipped the sword back into its scabbard. “You look lovely.”
Caina laughed. “I look like I have poor taste and spent too much of your money on ill-suited jewelry.”
“Well,” said Corvalis. “Technically, it is your money. You may spend it on as much ill-suited jewelry as you wish.”
“How gracious,” said Caina. She touched her hair. “And on bad dye.”
“I would say it suits you,” said Corvalis, “but I know you hate it, so I will not.”
She laughed. “You listen to me so closely, then?”
Some of the amusement drained from his eyes. “As I should have done.”
> “You should stop blaming yourself for that,” said Caina.
“It was my fault,” said Corvalis. “What happened in Catekharon.”
“It was,” said Caina, “but it was just as much my fault. If I had not gone after Sicarion by myself, if I had gotten help from Halfdan or Kylon first…maybe I would have been killed anyway.”
Odd that she had never blamed Corvalis for the near-disaster in Catekharon. But he had been listening to his sister, to the only family he had left. If Caina’s father had still been alive, if he had told her to do something against her better judgment, she would have heeded him.
“Corvalis,” said Caina. “I could have died a hundred times in the last ten years. And I could die of a hundred different things today.” She shook her head. “Maybe this damned dye will poison me for all I know. So we must use the time we have as well as we can.”
She leaned up and kissed him.
“Aye,” said Corvalis. “Let’s go meet the Lord Ambassador.”
###
Crowds of nobles, merchants, magi, and priests lined the stone quay.
A portion of Malarae’s vast complex of docks was reserved for warships of the Imperial navy. Many of the quays were empty, since Kylon Shipbreaker had sent most of the Emperor’s warships to the bottom of the western sea. The notables of Malarae stood on the empty quays, watching the Lord Ambassador’s ship maneuver to the docks. Some commoners stood watching from the streets leading to the warehouses, held back by lines of black-armored Imperial Guards.
For a moment Caina remembered Rezir Shahan’s ambush in the Great Market of Marsis, remembered the screaming people fleeing from the Immortals, and went cold despite the hot sun overhead.
She shivered.
“Are you all right?” said Corvalis.
“I’m fine,” lied Caina. Malarae was not Marsis, Tanzir Shahan had come to make peace, not to start a war, and Nicolai and Tanya and Natasha were safe at the foundry. Some of the dark memories faded away.
But they did not go away, not entirely.
“It’s just as well we are so close to the quay,” said Caina, hoping to change the subject.
Corvalis snorted. “Anton Kularus has friends. Specifically, Master Basil Callenius of the Imperial Collegium of jewelers. Master Basil is friends with Lord Titus Iconias after our little adventure in Catekharon. Since Lord Titus is greeting the emir at the quay, we get to stand and watch.”
And, hopefully, they would keep any assassins from reaching the Lord Ambassador.
Corvalis and Caina walked onto the quay, past the more powerful lords surrounding Lord Titus himself. A few of the lords gave Corvalis irritated looks, which he ignored with blithe indifference. The nobles regarded Anton Kularus as an upstart, as a peddler of coffee who had no place among the councils of the mighty. Yet nonetheless Corvalis looked like a gaunt wolf among the plump nobles in their robes and finery.
Caina could only imagine what they thought of her. No doubt they believed her a scheming whore drawn to Anton for his sudden rise in wealth and status.
But that made it all the easier to steal their secrets.
She spotted Halfdan standing next to Lord Titus Iconias and a knot of black-armored Imperial Guards. Lord Titus was a stout man in his middle forties with a perpetually disgruntled expression. He was a strong supporter of the Emperor and one of the most powerful men in the Empire.
“Master Basil,” said Corvalis. “Thank you for inviting me.”
“Master Anton,” said Halfdan. “Good of you to come.”
“Eh?” said Titus, looking away from the Istarish ship. “Who’s this, Basil?”
“Anton Kularus,” said Halfdan, “our rising young master of the coffee trade.”
Titus looked at Corvalis, at Caina, took a longer look at Caina’s neckline, and then back at Corvalis. Caina stifled a laugh. Titus had seen them both a dozen times in Catekharon, but he did not recall either of them.
“Yes, of course,” said Titus. “My seneschal is buying some of your wares. A pity I didn’t think of starting the coffee trade in Malarae myself. I could have made a fortune.”
“Business favors the bold, my lord,” said Corvalis.
“Indeed, Master Anton,” said Titus. “I may bring the emir to your establishment. The protocols of diplomacy require that I entertain him for a few days, and I understand they are fond of coffee in Istarinmul.”
“I should be honored, my lord,” said Corvalis. “All men of good will desire peace between our noble Emperor and the Padishah.”
Titus snorted. “And peace will make it all the easier to ship coffee from the plantations of Anshan and Cyrica?”
“Well, yes, that too.”
The Istarish warship pulled up to the quay, and Titus fell silent. The Istarish ship was a huge wooden galley, propelled by three masts and two banks of oars, its decks lined with ballistae and Istarish soldiers in spike-topped helmets. The ship came to a stop, and dockhands rushed forward with mooring lines. The crew lowered a gangplank, the soldiers stirring.
The Immortals came ashore.
Caina kept her face calm. The Immortals wore black chain mail and plate armor, their face-concealing helmets worked in the shape of grinning skulls so that the Padishah’s enemies might know death came for them. A pale blue glow shone in the depths of the skulls’ eye holes, a result of the sorcerous elixirs the Immortals consumed. Caina remembered running from the Immortals in the streets of Marsis, remembered fighting them…
She wondered again why Nalazar had brought Immortals in pursuit of Muravin and Mahdriva.
A score of Immortals assembled upon the quay, carrying lances with the Padishah’s banner, a crimson field with a black sword and crown. An Istarish soldier stepped forward, clad in the cloak of a khalmir, an Istarish officer. He took a deep breath and began to shout.
“Hearken!” he yelled in Istarish, his voice rolling over the docks. “He comes! He who is the Emir of the Vale of Fallen Stars! He who is Captain of the Southern Towers! He who is Lord Ambassador to the Empire of Nighmar, and high in the favor the Most Divine Padishah! Tanzir Shahan comes!”
Caina remembered Rezir’s herald shouting those words in the Great Market moments before the fighting began.
The similarities were eerie, and made her skin crawl.
She looked to the top of the gangplank as Tanzir Shahan himself appeared.
And just like that, the similarities stopped.
Rezir had been a warrior, tall and strong and hard with muscle. He had almost killed Caina, had almost strangled her to death one-handed in front of Andromache and Kylon. He had come within a hair’s breadth of seizing Marsis.
Tanzir Shahan Lord Ambassador of the Padishah, was nothing like his brother.
He was short and fat, at least two hundred and fifty pounds, a thick black beard masking his double chin. Unlike Rezir, he wore elaborate ceremonial robes of red and gold instead of armor, possibly because no armor would fit him. A jeweled turban rested askew atop his head, and his nervous black eyes darted back and forth in his face. He was younger than Corvalis, no more than twenty-three or twenty-four.
He hesitated atop the gangplank, and a long, awkward silence fell over the quay.
Halfdan muttered something, and Lord Titus cleared his throat and stepped forward.
“Emir Tanzir,” said Titus in High Nighmarian, “I am Titus, Lord of House Iconias and an emissary of our Emperor. In the name of the Emperor Alexius Naerius of Nighmar, I greet…”
Tanzir took a deep breath and started forward.
Then his foot slipped, and to Caina’s horror Tanzir tumbled down the gangplank, coming to a hard landing on the stone quay. She stepped forward, expecting to see a Kindred assassin atop the ship, hands extended from a shove.
But the Istarish soldiers atop the ship gaped at Tanzir, and Caina realized the emir had simply slipped.
For a moment no one moved.
Then Tanzir sat up with a groan, and the khalmir barked a command. Two of the Immortals
stooped and helped the sweating emir to his feet. Titus blinked, nodded to himself, and stepped forward.
“My lord emir,” he said in High Nighmarian, “are you injured?”
“I…I am well, I think,” said Tanzir in the same language. His voice quivered with nervousness. “Yes. I am well. These robes. Very long. I tripped. You understand.”
“Ah…yes,” said Titus. “On behalf of the Emperor of Nighmar, I bid you welcome to Malarae. If you will permit, it will be my honor to escort you to the residence of the Padishah’s Lord Ambassador.”
“Ah,” said Tanzir. “Yes. That is a…good idea, yes. To the residence. Um.” He looked back at the ship. “Ah…the rest of my party. We should wait for them.”
“Of course,” said Titus with smooth aplomb, and the rest of Tanzir’s men began to make their way down the gangplank.
Caina felt a sudden icy tingle against her skin, the muscles of her stomach clenching.
The presence of sorcery.
Ever since Maglarion had wounded her all those years ago, she had gained the ability to sense the presence of sorcery. The ability had become sharper as she grew older, and now she could often distinguish the degree and intensity of spells.
A man of about forty descended the gangplank, his gold-trimmed white robes gathered in one hand. He had a stern, hard face, with short black hair and a close-cropped black beard. The robed man reminded Caina of Rezir more than Tanzir did. Yet the robed man was not an emir or a soldier, but an Alchemist, a brother of Istarinmul’s College of Alchemists. The Padishah ruled in Istarinmul…but the foundations of his power rested upon the sorcerous knowledge of the Master Alchemists.
Perhaps Tanzir had been sent as a figurehead, and this Alchemist would do the real negotiating.
Yet an oddity caught Caina’s attention.
She had not seen many Alchemists, but she knew the patterns of their robes. A Master Alchemist wore a ceremonial white cloak with a gold-trimmed cowl. This man only wore a gold-trimmed white robe without a cloak. A full Alchemist, then, but not a Master.
Odd, that.
Jonathan Moeller - The Ghosts 07 - Ghost in the Ashes Page 6
