“He doesn’t want war,” said Caina, “so he can focus upon his Apotheosis and the production of wraithblood.” She looked at them both. “What I am about to tell you will put you in danger. If Callatas has the slightest notion that you know the truth, he will likely have you killed.”
“What truth is that?” said Martin.
“This is about the wraithblood, isn’t it?” said Claudia. “The things you were telling me.”
Caina hesitated. “I started to tell Claudia before you arrived. You saw the wraithblood addicts on the streets?” Martin nodded. “Callatas makes the wraithblood from the blood of murdered slaves. He has murdered tens of thousands of slaves over the last six or seven years and created wraithblood from their deaths, which he then distributes among the population of Istarinmul.”
“But why go to such expense and effort?” said Martin. “The wraithblood addicts are harmless, confused men and women.”
“He is working on something,” said Caina. “Something he calls the Apotheosis. I don’t know what it is. But he has a pact with the nagataaru.”
“I’ve heard that word before,” said Claudia. “My father mentioned it during his discussions with Ranarius. Some kind of spirit…”
“A kingdom of malevolent spirits from the netherworld,” said Caina. “Most of the spirits of the netherworld have no interest in mortals. The nagataaru are different. They regard mortals as prey, can feast upon pain and torment to make themselves stronger. I don’t know why Callatas has a pact with them, or what he intends to achieve. But I have seen his wraithblood laboratories. He is preparing a sorcerous catastrophe on the level of the golden dead. He has to be stopped.”
Martin and Claudia shared a look.
“That explains the rumors,” said Martin.
“What rumors?” said Caina.
“About the Balarigar,” said Martin. “You have caused more disruption than you know. Istarinmul is the center of the slave trade for a dozen nations, and the slave traders of Istarinmul are living in fear. After your exploits in Marsis and New Kyre, there were already rumors of the Balarigar circulating throughout the Empire. Now rumor claims the slave traders of Istarinmul are terrified of the Balarigar. Consequently the price of slaves has trebled or even quadrupled in every nation that permits slavery.”
“Good,” said Caina with more heat than she intended. She hated slave traders, and her experiences with Istarinmul’s Brotherhood had only hardened her feelings. “But that is only a pleasant side benefit. Without a steady stream of slaves to murder, Callatas cannot create new wraithblood. He cannot work his Apotheosis without a steady supply of wraithblood.”
“The Umbarians deal in slaves,” said Martin. “As you might expect, they have reinstituted slavery in the provinces they rule. Anything that weakens the Slavers’ Brotherhood of Istarinmul is to the Empire’s advantage, but we have more immediate concerns. It seems I will meet with the Grand Wazir, but I must persuade this villain Callatas to stay out of the war. How shall I do that?”
“Callatas does not want another war,” said Caina. “He wants stability and order so he can work his Apotheosis without interruption. He wanted to avoid the first war with the Empire for precisely that reason, but Rezir Shahan had enough prestige to persuade the nobles otherwise. If you can give him enough reasons to stay out of the war, he will do so.”
“Of course,” said Claudia, “your own actions might force Istarinmul into the war.”
“How?” said Caina.
“All your games with the slavers,” said Claudia with a flick of her hand. “You terrorized them. You’ve driven up the price of slaves, made it harder for the Brotherhood to find new ones. Well and good. But all you’ve done is make them desperate. Callatas needs a fresh supply of slaves to make wraithblood, you say? The Umbarians have more slaves then they need. Perhaps Cassander will offer them to the Brotherhood in exchange for aid against the Empire.”
Caina opened her mouth, closed it again.
She…hadn’t thought of that.
“Considering how the last war went for Istarinmul,” said Martin, “that is a tremendous risk to take for a few slaves.”
“The Empire was stronger before the war,” said Caina, “and it was not fighting the Umbarians. Callatas might do it, but if the Empire is in poor condition, Istarinmul’s is worse. The Padishah has not been seen in public for years. There are bandits and brigands in the countryside, and if Erghulan marches against the Empire, half of the emirs might decide to stay home. If Istarinmul does go to war, the Shahenshah of Anshan and the sultans of Alqaarin might decide to attack while the Padishah’s soldiers are focused upon the Empire. Callatas could gain the slaves he needs if Istarinmul allies with the Order, but he might lose much more if the Shahenshah’s army marches into Istarinmul.”
“Then our course is clear,” said Martin. “We must persuade Callatas that he has more to lose by joining the war than by staying out of it.”
“And that if Istarinmul remains neutral,” said Claudia, “he will have a free hand to deal with his problems here.” She looked at Caina and raised her eyebrows. “You are chief of those problems, I imagine. I saw the proclamations nailed to every door in the city. Two million bezants for your death or capture? With that kind of money, Callatas could buy an entire city’s worth of slaves.”
“Not any more,” murmured Martin, “given how the price of slaves has risen.”
“You meet with the Grand Wazir in three days, you say?” said Caina, hoping to forestall another argument with Claudia.
“Aye,” said Martin. “A banquet at the Golden Palace, offered by the Grand Wazir in honor of the ambassadors from the Empire and the Order. I can bring a number of guests, and I wish for you to be among them.” Claudia frowned, but said nothing. “With your skill at observation, you might notice something of importance. We need every advantage that we can find.”
“The dead Silent Hunters might help with that,” said Caina. “I suspect the Grand Wazir will take it amiss if an ambassador tries to murder a rival upon Istarish soil.”
“He would prefer that we wait until we are outside the city walls to kill each other in a civilized fashion,” said Martin, voice dry. “Select an appropriate disguise, and I shall include you as my guest to the Golden Palace.”
“Kyrazid Tomurzu,” said Caina, “a factor for some of the lords of Imperial Cyrica. I’ve used the alias before, so it has some established history.”
“Very well,” said Martin. “Have ‘Master Kyrazid’ meet us here in three days’ time. Then we shall proceed to the Golden Palace and do what we must.”
“Thank you,” said Caina. She turned towards the door.
“No, thank you,” said Martin. Caina looked back at the Lord Ambassador. “Your assistance will be most welcome. We have need of every ally.”
Claudia said nothing, her face expressionless, her green eyes flat.
Caina inclined her head once more and left the Lord Ambassador’s mansion to prepare.
###
Claudia let out a long breath, staring at the closed door.
“We’ll need to preserve these corpses,” said Martin. “Discreetly. If I accuse Cassander of having sent Silent Hunters after the Emperor’s ambassadors, I need more than eyewitness testimony.” He snorted. “Especially since all the eyewitnesses are Ghosts.”
“I’ll have Tylas and Dromio see to it,” said Claudia, still staring at the door. “Some brine and salt should do it. Though we should not keep them too long. I would hate to get in the habit of storing corpses in the cellar.”
Martin looked at her, at the door, and back at her.
“You really do hate her,” he said, “don’t you?”
There was no point in lying to him. He knew her too well by now.
“Yes,” said Claudia.
“She did save your life,” said Martin. “Not just today, but many times before.”
“I know,” said Claudia. “But she came back, husband. She came back out of the netherw
orld and Corvalis did not. I cannot…I cannot forgive her for that.” She felt Martin’s hand settle upon her shoulder, and she reached up and took it. “I cannot. Before you, my brother was all the family I had in the world. Then he met Caina Amalas, and she took him from me.”
“She took his loss just as hard,” said Martin.
“Perhaps,” said Claudia. “I don’t know.” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “It doesn’t matter what I think or feel. There’s too much at stake. I could hate her with all of my heart, and it wouldn’t matter in the slightest. She’s good at what she does, and we need help.”
“We do,” said Martin. “Well, we stood against an ancient Maatish priest and the Moroaica herself. Someone like Cassander Nilas should hardly prove a challenge.”
Claudia shook her head, grateful for her husband’s presence. Ever since Corvalis’s death, she had been prone to rages and black moods, but Martin always knew how to talk her down.
Gods, but she loved him so much.
She didn’t want to lose him, didn’t want him to go into danger. But Martin Dorius would always do his duty. Claudia vowed to do whatever necessary to keep him safe.
Even if it meant working with Caina Amalas.
Chapter 6 - Poems
Night fell, and Caina entered the House of Agabyzus.
She had not told Claudia or Martin about the coffee house and her connection to it. The members of a Ghost circle were often kept in isolation from each other. That way, if Claudia or Martin were taken prisoner and forced to reveal their secrets, they would not put Damla or Agabyzus or Nerina Strake or any of the other Ghosts of Istarinmul into danger.
Only Caina knew them all. Given that she had a bounty of two million bezants upon her head, it seemed likely that her enemies would kill her before she was forced to give up any secrets. It occurred to her that if the Ghost circle in Istarinmul kept growing, she needed to choose a potential successor, someone to take her place if she was killed. Agabyzus, perhaps, though he had been circlemaster before.
Caina shook her head and dismissed the thought. Right now she needed to focus upon a more urgent matter.
Namely, keeping Cassander Nilas from making an alliance with Istarinmul.
The common room of the House of Agabyzus was crowded, the air heavy with the smells of roasting coffee and baking bread. Merchants and minor nobles sat at the low round tables and in the wooden booths, drinking coffee and eating cakes and discussing the affairs of the day. Serving maids hurried back and forth with food and drink. Some were slaves, but ever since her sons had been kidnapped by Ulvan of the Brotherhood, Damla had been hiring more freeborn servants. A dais stood against the far wall, and a tall man with an ascetic look waited upon the dais. He wore only a simple robe, his hair and beard close-cropped, and he could have been anywhere between thirty-five and fifty. His name was Sulaman, and he recited epic poetry to the patrons. The Istarish were mad for poetry, specifically the complex, intricate epics of the Istarish past, and a poet who could successfully memorize the long epics and recite them with the appropriate flair could become wealthy.
He also, apparently, had some sorcerous ability to see the future, something he had inherited from his father. Caina did not know who Sulaman was or what he wanted, but the poet claimed he had Istarinmul’s best interests at heart. He had aided Caina more than once, and had arranged for her to meet Nasser.
Damla wove her way through the crowds and came to Caina’s side. “Master Marius, it is good to see you.”
“And you, mistress,” said Caina. She had donned the disguise she had first used when visiting Istarinmul, the guise of Marius, a courier for the Imperial Collegium of Jewelers. She wore a loose brown coat, loose trousers, and heavy boots, a short sword and a set of daggers at her belt. It let her move about the city with some degree of anonymity.
But how much anonymity? Had those Silent Hunters been at the Lord Ambassador’s mansion to kill Martin and Claudia?
Or had they followed Caina there?
It was a disturbing thought. There had been a bounty upon her head for nearly the entire year she had been in Istarinmul, and Caina had successful avoided all her hunters. But if the servants of the Umbarians were clever enough to track her, they wouldn’t even need to kill her themselves. They could simply to give her location to the Teskilati or one of the bounty hunters seeking the Balarigar.
Caina would not survive that.
“You want to see him, I expect?” said Damla, shaking Caina out of the dark reverie.
“Is he here?” said Caina.
“This way, sir,” said Damla, guiding her across the common room to a booth not far from Sulaman’s dais. Sulaman’s bodyguard and drummer, a squat, scowling man named Mazyan, sat upon the dais, his eyes scanning the crowds for any threat. Caina felt Sulaman’s eyes on her as she passed.
A middle-aged man sat alone in the booth, frowning into a cup of coffee. He wore the bright robes and turban of a prosperous Cyrican merchant, a close-cropped, graying beard covering his lean, lined face. It took Caina a second to recognize Agabyzus, and she laughed at herself. The man had simply cut his hair and beard, and it had wrought an immense change in his appearance.
Of course, she knew the trick herself. Her hair had once hung past her shoulders, and she had cut it all off in a fit of grief during her first day in Istarinmul. She missed it, but she had to admit that it was cooler under the harsh Istarish sun…and most useful for disguise.
Caina slid into the booth across from Agabyzus.
“How is the shoulder?” said Caina in a low voice.
“Stiff,” said Agabyzus, looking up from his coffee. He even spoke Istarish with a Cyrican accent. “But thanks to your help, it is not infected, and it will heal in time.”
“You shaved the beard,” said Caina.
“A necessary element of disguise,” said Agabyzus, scratching at the shorter beard. “Itches damnably, though. But if those assassins could follow me, it behooved me to change my appearance.”
“It suits you,” said Caina.
He seemed almost amused by that. “A compliment from a pretty young woman. A rare enough thing at my age.”
Caina raised an eyebrow. “I had damn well better not look like a pretty young woman at the moment.”
“Worry not,” said Agabyzus. “If I did not know you, I fear I would be in danger of being mugged.” He sipped his coffee and sighed with contentment. “How did the meeting with the Lord Ambassador go?”
“The assassins,” said Caina. “They’re called the Silent Hunters. The Umbarians create them, use necromancy to write a spell of invisibility into their flesh that they can access for an hour a day.”
“The Lord Ambassador encountered them before?” said Agabyzus.
“The topic came up,” said Caina, “when two of them attacked us. They might have been there for the Lord Ambassador’s wife. Apparently the Umbarian Order has a habit of targeting the family members of their foes. Or they might have followed me there. Either way, we saw the trap in time and killed the Hunters before they killed us.” She told Agabyzus everything else she had learned about the Silent Hunters and the Umbarian Order.
“When does the Lord Ambassador present himself to the Grand Wazir?” said Agabyzus.
“In three days,” said Caina, “at the Court of the Fountain in the Golden Palace. Erghulan is holding a grand banquet to honor the new ambassador…and to also honor the ambassador from the Umbarian Order.”
“At the same time?” said Agabyzus. “That will make for a tense dinner. It is the sort of thing Erghulan would do. He enjoys watching his inferiors compete for his attention.”
Damla approached the table. “I am glad you are both well. Master Marius, forgive my negligence. Would you like some food and coffee? There is yet time before the poet begins his recitation.”
“There is no negligence,” said Caina. “In fact, you are probably the least negligent woman I have ever met.” Damla smiled at that, and Caina realized that she h
ad forgotten to eat today, something that had happened more and more as her work with the Ghost circle absorbed all her time. That was foolish. “And food would be wonderful, thank you.”
Damla smiled again and departed, and Caina turned back to Agabyzus.
“The Umbarian ambassador is a former high magus named Cassander Nilas,” said Caina. A flicker of recognition went over Agabyzus’s face. “You know him?”
“I do,” said Agabyzus. “He has visited Istarinmul several times before.”
“Recently?” said Caina.
“No, not recently,” said Agabyzus. “Years ago. Before Callatas even began producing wraithblood. He was simply a brother of the Magisterium then, not yet a master magus or one of the high magi.”
“What did he do during his visits to Istarinmul?” said Caina.
“He was interested in the relics and history of Iramis,” said Agabyzus.
“Why?” said Caina.
“I know not,” said Agabyzus. “Perhaps an academic interest. Perhaps he sought secrets of power in the ashes of the past. Does not Callatas himself do the same? Cassander went on multiple expeditions into the Desert of Candles, seeking something. His last visit would have been…seven years ago, I think. Callatas started distributing wraithblood soon after that. I don’t know if Callatas forbade him from returning, or if Cassander was too busy to come back. Certainly the war against New Kyre and Istarinmul would have kept a high magus busy. Perhaps the Order chose him as its ambassador because of his familiarity with Istarinmul.”
“Or he came back for reasons of his own,” said Caina. “How did you know about him?”
“The high circlemasters wanted him killed, if it all possible,” said Agabyzus. “It was not. He was too careful, and kept himself well-guarded.” He leaned forward. “It is ill news that he is the ambassador. Cassander Nilas was clever and powerful, and most eloquent as well. He could well persuade Erghulan Amirasku to support war with the Empire.”
“Callatas doesn’t want war,” said Caina.
“He did not want war the last time,” said Agabyzus. “Callatas is powerful and influential, but he is not all-powerful. If enough nobles support war, he will not be able to stop them.”
Ghost in the Hunt Page 7
