Except…
Years of practice kept the surprise off her face.
Except that one of the men wore a bola at this belt.
The Bostaji were here, too? Were they working with Nalazar and the Kindred?
“To hell with that,” said Caina. “Let’s go.”
Corvalis scowled at her. “He might have work for us.”
“What, washing his floors?” said Caina. She pushed away from the bar. “I need a piss.”
“Up the back stairs and into the alley,” growled the landlord. “You piss on my floor, I’ll beat you black and blue.”
Caina gave him a rude gesture, walked across the common room, and climbed the stairs at the far end of the cellar. The stairs ended in a narrow wooden door that opened into the alley behind the tavern. To judge from the stench, the alley had an opening directly into the city’s sewers. But the stairs continued towards the upper levels of the Serpents’ Nest.
She shot a quick glance over her shoulder, saw that no one had followed her, and reached into her coat pocket for the blood compass. The tingling grew stronger as she lifted it, so strong it felt as if tiny knives stabbed into her skin.
Nalazar, she suspected, was somewhere above.
Caina took a deep breath, ignoring the smell, and glided up the stairs, taking care to keep her boots from making any sound. She went up one flight of stairs, and then the next, following the feel of the blood compass until she came to the top floor. Corvalis had seen a lookout keeping watch over the street, and she wondered if the Kindred had made their lair up here.
She crept down the hallway, straining not to make a sound, waving the compass back and forth.
There. The tingling was strongest in front of that door. She suspected it opened into the lookout’s room.
And she heard voices coming from within.
Caina hesitated, decided to take another gamble, and pressed her ear against the door.
She heard Nalazar’s voice.
“We need more men to pull this off, Tasca,” said Nalazar. “The Ghosts moved the damned girl to the Lord Ambassador’s residence, and they’ve got three or four hundred Imperial Guards crawling around the place.”
“Then send a lone assassin to take her,” said Tasca, “rather than this nonsense about open attacks. Which, I should point out, I told you was a bad idea at the House of Kularus.”
“Don’t remind me,” snapped Nalazar. “And there are too many Guards for an infiltration. We can’t get at the girl, and we’re running out of time. The client wants the girl, alive, with her child yet unborn. She will give birth any day.”
“Why does the client want an unborn child, anyway?” said Tasca.
“Do I look foolish enough to ask?” said Nalazar. “But I need more men.”
“And you will not have them,” said Tasca. “The Elder of Malarae is…sympathetic to your plight. But you already lost the men he loaned you at the House of Kularus, men that represented years of training. Their skills are now lost to the Kindred of Malarae, and you will have no more help from us.”
“Damn it,” said Nalazar. “That is not good enough.”
Caina could almost hear Tasca’s shrug. “That is not my concern, nor is it the Elder’s. If you had wished to avoid this difficulty, then you should have taken the girl alive while she was still in Istarinmul.”
Nalazar barked a curse. “I would have, if not for her damned father. Who knew one old man could put up such a fierce fight?”
“You ought to have killed him in his sleep first,” said Tasca.
“Thank you for that helpful advice,” said Nalazar, his voice heavy with annoyance. “If the Elder will not spare any more brothers, then perhaps he might assist with coin? With proper planning, a small team of skilled mercenaries could break into the Lord Ambassador’s residence and steal away the girl before the Imperial Guards react.”
“Perhaps,” said Tasca, “though such mercenaries would require a great deal of coin. The Elder would like to see some return on this investment.”
“He will,” said Nalazar, “once we are successful. The client is desperate for the girl’s child, and will pay any sum we ask.”
“The best kind of client,” said Tasca with a laugh. “Why not ask the Bostaji for help?”
“No,” said Nalazar. “Absolutely not.”
“Why not?” said Tasca. “You both need to get into the Lord Ambassador’s mansion. And the Bostaji want that fat buffoon of an emir, not the girl. You can work together to obtain your goals, and then go your separate ways.”
“Because the Bostaji are madmen,” said Nalazar. “We are Kindred, Tasca. We are the wolves that cull the weak from the herd of humanity, making the race of man stronger and fitter. But the Bostaji are fanatics and nothing more. They believe their Shahenshah is the chosen of the Living Flame, the representative of the divine on earth, and they will do anything in his name. If they think it necessary to kill us all to reach Tanzir Shahan, they would do it. I could see the Bostaji agreeing to a joint attack with us, only to betray us and kill the emir while we’re busy getting slaughtered by the Imperial Guards.”
“Then the answer is obvious,” said Tasca. “Speak to your client and ask for his assistance. Surely he has certain…skills that could aid you.”
“He does,” said Nalazar, “but I am not particularly eager to ask him.”
“He made those blood compasses for you,” said Tasca.
“He only did that,” said Nalazar, “grudgingly, once Mahdriva eluded us. A sorcerer like him, Tasca…no one in their right mind trifles with such a man. Bad enough to admit failure to him once. But twice? He might decide to kill us all and hire someone else for the task.”
Tasca laughed, long and loud. “Surely one man is incapable of posing such a threat.”
“This man is,” said Nalazar. “He is not the most powerful sorcerer I have ever encountered, true…but he is desperate, and desperation mated to power is a dangerous combination.”
“Desperate enough,” said Tasca, “to aid you? If he so desperately needs the girl and her unborn brat for some sorcerous purpose, then he will give you whatever aid you require. It’s all a matter of phrasing, brother Nalazar. Simply tell him that you have a plan for success, but it requires some arcane assistance. Your client will fall over himself to aid you. Desperate men do not think clearly.”
“Perhaps you are right,” said Nalazar. “I shall think on it.”
“Think quickly,” said Tasca. “As you said, the girl shall give birth any day…and if she does, this will all have been for nothing.”
“Indeed,” said Nalazar. “Come! Let us get some food. This wretched landlord is incapable of preparing any meal without boiling it into tasteless mush…”
Caina pushed away from the door and moved towards the stairs as fast as she dared. She had no doubt that other Kindred were resting in the nearby rooms, and they would wake at Nalazar’s call.
If Nalazar saw her, she was going to die.
She glided down the stairs, back to the cellar and the common room. Caina hesitated for a moment, hand on her dagger hilt. But no one appeared on the stairs.
Nalazar and Tasca had gone for food…and they had not noticed Caina.
She let out a long breath, thanking Halfdan for all those years he had made her practice stealth at the Vineyard.
Then she strode into the common room, making no effort to muffle her footfalls. Corvalis still leaned against the bar, gesturing with his cup of beer. The landlord scowled up at her.
“What the hell took so long?” he said.
“I ate a lot of cabbage,” said Caina, using her disguised voice. She jerked her head at the door. “Let’s go. The stench of this place is turning my stomach.”
Corvalis shrugged, set down his cup, and followed her into the street.
They walked in silence for a moment, waiting until they were out of earshot and sight of the Serpents’ Nest.
“I did get a job,” said Corvalis. “It seems
our landlord has a lucrative sideline in stolen goods, and wished to hire me to steal items from his rival. I trust your time was as profitably spent?”
“It was,” said Caina. “I overheard Nalazar and Tasca. They’re both here, Corvalis, the Bostaji and the Kindred. They’re here, and they don’t know that we know they’re here. We’ve got them caught like rats in a trap.”
“Or snakes in a nest,” said Corvalis.
“Droll,” said Caina. “If we move at once, we can take them all. Both Mahdriva and Tanzir will be safe. And perhaps we can find who hired the Kindred to murder Muravin’s daughters and their husbands.”
“I don’t suppose Nalazar gave a name?” said Corvalis.
“No,” said Caina. “But they mentioned him. Some kind of sorcerer. Apparently he wants all three unborn children for some sort of spell. Though it sounds like the spell, whatever it is, will only work if the child is unborn. So if we can keep this sorcerer away from Mahdriva for a little while longer, she should be safe once the baby is born.”
“A sorcerer,” said Corvalis. “Sounds like the work of a necromancer.”
“Aye,” said Caina, her voice full of loathing. “Maybe one of Maglarion’s old students. Or another disciple of the Moroaica.”
“Like Ranarius,” said Corvalis, his voice distant.
“Like Ranarius,” said Caina. “We stopped Ranarius, and we’ll stop this sorcerer, too.”
“Once Nalazar tells you who he is,” said Corvalis.
“Or we find out,” said Caina, “from his papers.” She looked back at the receding shape of the ramshackle tavern.
“I suspect,” said Corvalis, “that Nalazar might not live out the night.”
“I’d prefer not to kill him,” said Caina. She had grown weary of killing. “I’d prefer that he tells me whatever he knows.” She shrugged. “But if he doesn’t…if he doesn’t, he killed two innocent women and their husbands, along with their unborn children. He killed Mahdriva’s husband and tried to kill her. I wouldn’t shed any tears for his death.”
“Then,” said Corvalis, “let’s get started.”
They walked back to the townhouse.
Chapter 16 - Paths
“Well done,” said Halfdan. “Well done, indeed.”
Caina smiled.
They stood in the solar of the Lord Ambassador’s residence. Like every other room in the mansion, it was furnished lavishly in Istarish style, with pillows encircling a low round table. A brazier sat on the center of the table for burning incense. Caina again wore the gown and jewels of Sonya Tornesti, while Corvalis had returned to his fine black coat and trousers and boots.
She would, she suspected, wear more utilitarian clothes tonight.
“And they suspected nothing?” said Halfdan.
“I don’t think so,” said Corvalis. “In fact, the landlord of the Serpents’ Nest thinks I’m meeting him tonight to help rob a rival.”
“Yes, I know him,” said Halfdan. “Cornan Bascaii, petty thief, fence, and trader. I suspect he ran slaves for Haeron Icaraeus a few years ago, but he was clever enough not to get caught. And now with Lord Haeron dead, it seems he has found a new patron with the Kindred.” He nodded. “Renting his tavern to the Kindred is exactly the sort of thing he would do.”
“And the Bostaji,” said Caina. “The amirja Ashria might have sent Sinan to make sure that Tanzir dies, but I’m certain he has something to do with the Kindred as well.” Perhaps he had hired the Kindred himself. Or perhaps he was the student of another, more powerful sorcerer, and had been sent to seize Mahdriva at his master’s bidding.
“Either way,” said Halfdan, “we shall end it tonight. I’ve sent word to our friend Tomard in the civic militia. He will send a cohort of the militia to surround the Serpents’ Nest. When they do, we’ll flush out both the Kindred and the Bostaji.”
“And send them running into Tomard’s waiting arms,” said Caina.
“That is the plan,” said Halfdan. “I would prefer to take as many of them alive as possible. They may know useful things – the location of the Kindred Sanctuary in Malarae, for one, or who hired the Kindred to go after Mahdriva.” He shook his head. “But I suspect most of them will fight to the death. The Kindred will not want to face the wrath of their Elder. And the Bostaji are glad to die in the service of the Shahenshah.”
Caina nodded. “How are the negotiations?”
“Proceeding well, from what I understand,” said Halfdan. “Most of it is a formality at this point…a river there, a hill there. But a necessary formality. Neither the Emperor nor the Padishah want to lose face, and this treaty is the way to accomplish it. It will be finished in a few days, and then the war with Istarinmul will be over.”
“And no one will have any more reason to kill Tanzir,” said Corvalis.
“His mother might,” said Caina, “mostly out of spite.”
“Once he returns to Istarinmul, that is his responsibility, not ours,” said Halfdan. “Incidentally, Tanya is here, if you want to speak with her.”
“What is she doing here?” said Caina.
“She’s checking on Mahdriva,” said Halfdan. “Apparently the two of them have become fast friends.”
“I’ll talk to her,” said Caina.
“I will head back to the townhouse,” said Corvalis, “and get our equipment. I suspect it is going to be another long night.”
###
Caina walked alone through the upper corridor of the Lord Ambassador’s mansion.
It was, she had to admit, a splendid house. The narrow windows admitted sunlight, illuminating the mosaics upon the floor and the frescoes upon the wall. They showed stylized scenes from nature, or Istarish nobles upon horseback hunting lions and hippopotamuses.
Though, she noted sourly, the nobles were often attended by their slaves.
An odd emotion swept over her, and Caina stopped for a moment.
She had almost died last night. But she had almost died many times, had come within a hair’s breadth of death more times than she could even remember. And if she had died, it would have been in a worthy cause. Caina had risked her life to free slaves before, so often that the ridiculous legend of the Balarigar had grown up around some of her deeds.
The thought of death did not trouble her. For she would die one day, no matter what she did, and perhaps it was better to die in pursuit of a noble cause than alone in bed decades from now.
Yet Corvalis had almost died, too.
And that troubled Caina a great deal. The thought of losing him burned like a knife in her flesh. Worse, what would happen to him if she were killed? So many people had betrayed Corvalis. His father had turned him into a brutalized killer. Nairia, the one woman he had loved before her, had tried to kill him. Claudia had led him astray and almost gotten them both killed at Catekharon.
If Caina died tonight, if she left him alone, would that be a betrayal?
She leaned on a windowsill for a moment, surprised at the intensity of the emotion that washed through her.
Perhaps the time had come to stop risking her life so often.
She had become a Ghost nightfighter in rage and pain, determined to avenge her father’s death at Maglarion’s hands, to avenge the children she would never bear, to keep others from suffering as she had. Yet even after Maglarion was dead she had continued to serve the Ghosts as a nightfighter, driven by the fury and the hate that burned in her chest.
But time had passed, and then she had met Corvalis.
And she no longer felt so angry.
The pain of her father’s murder would never leave her. Yet she had grown accustomed to it, the way a woman could grow accustomed to a missing finger or a constant limp. It would always be part of her, but she could live with it.
But she wanted to live, and to live with Corvalis. Caina had been a Ghost nightfighter her entire adult life. Could she leave it and do something else?
If she declared herself openly, as Theodosia suggested, she certainly would not leav
e the Ghosts. She could become a Ghost circlemaster, could command her own circle of eyes and ears and nightfighters. And with the prestige of a Countess’s rank and the wealth of Anton Kularus, she could do great things for the Empire. She could smuggle escaped slaves out of Istarinmul and Anshan, could foil the plots and schemes of the magi, could place bounties upon the heads of renegade sorcerers.
She could wed Corvalis.
The vision of that life floated before her eyes, and she wanted it as badly as anything she had ever wante …
Caina realized she was standing alone in a corridor, lost in her own thoughts while there was work to be done. She rebuked herself and kept walking, pushing aside the dream for now.
But it still lingered.
She came to the guest room. Mahdriva lay upon the overstuffed bed, propped up with pillows, her face wan but relaxed. Tanya stood next to the bed, wearing a blue dress that matched her eyes, and Muravin stood on the other side, arms folded over his massive chest.
“You are certain she is well?” said Muravin in Istarish. The sight of the hulking gladiator, the brutal killer, hovering over his daughter like a concerned bird was so incongruous that Caina almost laughed.
But it spoke well of him.
Tanya nodded. “Yes, Master Muravin.” She spoke perfect Istarish. Given that she had spent five years imprisoned by Naelon Icaraeus’s slavers, that was not surprising. “She is as well as can be expected. I think the delivery will go as well, and my friends at the temple of Minaerys will come as soon as we receive word.”
“Will it hurt?” said Mahdriva.
“Quite a lot, I am afraid,” said Tanya, “but it passes.” She shrugged. “Like many things worth doing, there is a lot of pain…but all pain passes, in time.”
Caina walked closer to the bed.
“Sonya,” said Tanya.
“Tanya, it is good to see you,” said Caina, speaking Istarish with her Szaldic accent. “And it is very kind of you to look after Mahdriva.”
Jonathan Moeller - The Ghosts 07 - Ghost in the Ashes Page 17
