“Which way?” said Claudia.
“I don’t know,” said Caina.
“You don’t know?” said Claudia. “What kind of spy are you?”
“Let me think,” said Caina. The side doors? No, both Erghulan and Martin had probably withdrawn to a more fortified portion of the Golden Palace, most likely to await aid from the College of Alchemists. If the Immortals could not defeat the Huntress, Erghulan would summon the Alchemists to use their sorcery against the assassin.
“The inner courtyard,” said Caina. “Look for Immortals and follow them. Erghulan will have gone somewhere secure to wait for the Alchemists to arrive, and he probably forced Martin to accompany him. Run!”
They started running down the grand hall, Claudia’s skirts gathered in her hands. Caina wondered if Grand Master Callatas himself would come to the defense of his ally Erghulan. But the Red Huntress had a nagataaru inside of her, and Callatas commanded the nagataaru, or at least was allied with them. Why had Callatas sent a nagataaru-possessed assassin after Martin Dorius? Callatas did not want war with the Empire, but killing the Emperor’s ambassador was a superb way to start one. Even if he wanted Martin dead, why send the Huntress? The Kindred could have done the job discreetly with a dash of poison in Martin’s wine. The Red Huntress’s massacre would be the talk of Istarinmul for weeks…
A pulse of sorcery washed over Caina, burning and hot.
It was identical to power she had felt years before in Rasadda.
“Stop!” she shouted, grabbing Claudia’s shoulder, and a heartbeat later a curtain of searing yellow-orange flame erupted from the floor. It spread from wall to wall, sealing off the hall. The heat of it washed over Caina’s face, and she staggered back, pulling Claudia along with her.
Caina turned to see a half-dozen Adamant Guards walking towards them, the fire reflecting upon their steel carapaces. Cassander Nilas walked in their midst, his armored right hand extended. The crimson bloodcrystal glowed, and Caina felt the currents of pyromantic sorcery binding the curtain of flame to the black gauntlet.
“Claudia Aberon Dorius,” said Cassander, a smile on his handsome face. “Leaving so soon? The festivities are just beginning.”
“You did this, you murderous swine,” said Claudia. “You loosed that monster upon my husband. All those people dead!”
“Believe what you like,” said Cassander. “But you are coming with me.”
Caina looked back and forth. There was no way through the flames, and she suspected that attacking either Cassander himself or his Adamant Guards would end badly. A statue of an armored warrior stood in its niche at the edge of the flames, and an idea took hold in Caina’s mind.
Claudia gave a haughty laugh. “A preposterous thought. Why would I do that?”
“Because,” said Cassander, “you’re going to convince Lord Martin to do exactly what I want.”
“The Grand Wazir will take it ill if you abduct an ambassador’s wife from the Golden Palace,” said Claudia.
Cassander’s perpetual smirk widened. “The Grand Wazir will never know. There was a panic and the slaves stampeded and, oh, Lady Claudia disappeared, the poor dear. But you will come with me, and you will remain a hostage for your husband’s good behavior. You will also tell me everything you know about Caina Amalas. The High Provost has decreed her death.”
“How like an Umbarian,” spat Claudia. “You are too much of a coward to face my husband, so you kidnap me instead? He will not yield.”
“Oh, I think he will,” said Cassander. “Especially after I start sending him your fingers one by one. Or maybe your nose and ears, perhaps?”
“All this is moot,” said Caina, “if the Red Huntress kills us first.”
“Kill the Cyrican,” said Cassander, pointing at Caina. “Take Lady Claudia alive. If she resists, you can amuse yourself with her once we return to the mansion.”
The Adamant Guards started forward, and Caina ran at the wall. The Adamant Guards laughed and followed her, smiling as they reached for her weapons. Caina sprang into the niche, braced herself against the wall, and shoved with both her legs, her muscles straining.
The statue fell forward into the wall of flames, creating a bridge through the inferno.
“Go!” yelled Caina, running at the fallen statue.
“Stop them!” shouted Cassander.
Claudia was already scrambling over the statue, and Caina followed a heartbeat later. The wall of flames started to shrink as Cassander withdrew his power, but for a moment it would stop the Adamant Guards from pursuing. Caina sprinted down the hall, and then slowed to keep pace with Claudia. Claudia’s face was red, her breath coming hard and fast. Likely the wife of a Lord Ambassador did not do a great deal of running. On her own, Caina could have outrun the Adamant Guards. With Claudia, she did not have a chance.
Which meant she had to find someplace to hide.
They had almost reached one of the inner courtyards. It was smaller than the Court of the Fountain, with several level of balconies climbing the walls. Balconies were good. Balconies meant hiding places, and…
“Stairs,” said Caina. “Go!”
Claudia nodded and kept running, and Caina started forward just as metal flashed over the wall of flame. One of the Adamant Guards jumped over the fire, his sorcery-enhanced strength carrying him safely to the other side.
The others would soon follow.
They darted into the stairs, and Caina passed the second floor, and then the third, Claudia breathing hard behind her. As she reached the fourth floor she heard the Adamant Guards run into the stairwell. Caina veered onto the fourth floor, Claudia stumbling after her, and Caina closed the door and barred it behind them.
“That won’t hold them,” gasped Claudia.
“I know,” said Caina, looking around. They were on a balcony overlooking the inner courtyard. Broad strips of earth had been laid across the floor, and flowering plants and bushes rose from the dirt, no doubt tended by armies of slaves. The bushes were thick, but not thick enough to conceal them. More doors led deeper into this wing of the palace, and Caina looked around, trying to find a place to hide.
A flicker of motion caught her eye.
Three women burst from the bushes and ran towards the doors. They wore little more than feathers and masks, and Caina realized they were dancers from the Court of the Fountain. The dancers vanished through the doors, which likely led to the quarters for the female slaves.
An idea came to Caina.
“This way,” said Caina, urging Claudia forward. She pushed open the doors and found herself in a long, narrow hallway. Doors of unadorned wood lined the corridor, some standing ajar. Through the opened doors Caina saw small rooms, furnished with narrow beds and wooden wardrobes. The sounds of panic and fear came from a set of closed doors at the end of the hallway.
“This is a dead end,” said Claudia, turning as Caina barred and locked the door behind them. “We’re trapped here. What the devil are you looking for?”
“This,” said Caina, stepping through a narrow doorway. Beyond was a large room lined with shelves holding various costumes and masks. A mirror and a table of cosmetics stood against one wall. “A dressing room for the dancers. Take off your clothes.”
“What?” said Claudia.
“Quickly,” said Caina, pulling off her turban and fake beard.
“Have you gone completely mad?” said Claudia.
“You’ve known me long enough to know the answer to that question,” said Caina, sliding out of her robe. “We need a disguise. Cassander and his men are looking for the Lord Ambassador’s wife and a Cyrican man, not two terrified slave dancers. Now shut up and change clothes, quickly.”
Claudia scowled, started tugging off her dress. Caina removed the rest of her clothes, hastened to the shelves, and seized an appropriate costume. A short, tight skirt of red silk that maybe reached a third of the way down her thighs, and a matching strip of silk that coiled around her breasts and back. A gleaming red woo
den mask covered her face, leaving only her mouth exposed.
Caina turned as Claudia struggled into a similar costume, albeit one of green silk. She had gained weight since New Kyre, her hips a bit wider, her belly rising in a gentle curve. Claudia saw Caina looking and glared.
“What?” spat Claudia.
Caina scooped up her discarded clothes in a bundle and plucked out the pins holding Claudia’s hair in place. It fell to the middle of her back, blond and gleaming.
“Get a mask and let’s go,” said Caina. Claudia slid a matching green mask over her face. “Hurry. And let me do the talking.”
“Could I stop you?” said Claudia, trying to pull her skirt lower and failing.
Caina opened the door. The corridor was deserted, though she heard the Adamant Guards smashing through the door to the balcony. She jogged down the corridor to the double doors at the far end, clothes tucked beneath her arm.
“This is a bad idea,” muttered Claudia.
“Probably,” said Caina, and opened the doors.
Beyond was a dining hall furnished with a long table and rough benches. Dim light came from a pair of lanterns upon the table. Nearly thirty women in the scanty costumes of dancers stood clustered against the walls, some of them clutching stools and candlesticks to use as improvised weapons.
As one, every eye turned to look at Caina and Claudia.
###
Claudia hated letting so many strangers see her in a state of near-total undress. Thank the gods that there were no men in the room. Yet the dancers’ eyes seemed to sink into Claudia, and she fought a desperate urge to cover herself. Her stomach roiled with discomfort. Damn that Istarish food!
Caina stepped forward. She looked taut and lean, and wore that scandalous costume without the slightest hint of embarrassment. Yet she began to shake, her limbs trembling with fear, and she looked back and forth wildly, her red mask flashing in the light of the lanterns.
The woman could put on a show when she felt like it.
“Is she here?” said Caina in flawless Istarish, her voice quaking with fear. “The Huntress? Is she here?”
“No,” said one of the women. “We came here to hide. We were performing for the Grand Wazir, and then the red shadow came over the wall and started killing.”
“Oh, thank the Living Flame,” said Caina, leaning upon the table for support. Claudia followed her into the room, arms crossed over her chest. “I think the Immortals are fighting those strange steel soldiers. My friend and I saw them fighting, and we ran…we didn’t know where to go…”
The sound of splintering wood filled her ears.
“They’re coming!” shouted another woman, younger than the first. “The soldiers!”
“No, the Huntress!” said another.
The room dissolved into pandemonium, some of the dancers shouting in fear, others pressing themselves against the wall as if to hide, others arguing about a course of action. Caina gripped Claudia’s arm and steered her into the dining room. A young woman crouched on the floor next to Claudia, rocking back and forth as she whispered a prayer to the Living Flame.
The doors burst open, and two Adamant Guards stepped into the room, weapons in hand.
The pandemonium ceased, and the deadly silence of fear fell over the dancers.
Claudia could see the dull scarring around the steel bars and plates grafted into the Guards’ flesh, could see their cold expressions and their empty, lifeless eyes. The Guards regarded the room of half-dressed women like a butcher contemplating strips of meat. For a terrible moment Claudia was sure the Guards would stride into the room, would start killing and torturing and ravishing…
Claudia did not need to feign fear. Perhaps Caina did, but Claudia did not.
“She is not here,” said one of the Guards.
“Hasten,” said the other, and both men turned and ran down the corridor, vanishing back through the balcony doors.
Claudia let out a shaking breath. The ruse had worked?
The moment of silence stretched on, and then all the women started talking at once.
Caina tapped Claudia on the shoulder, and she glided back to the corridor. They hurried to the balcony door, leaving the dancers behind. Caina peered into the balcony, but it was deserted. Below Claudia saw another pair of Adamant Guards hurrying toward the entrance hall, but no sign of any others.
“I think we eluded them,” said Claudia.
“Not yet,” said Caina. “We’ll still need to be careful. Come on. If anyone sees us…”
“Let you do the talking,” said Claudia, “and pretend to be a terrified slave dancer.”
Caina grinned beneath the mask. “I’m glad you understand.”
She led the way deeper into the Golden Palace, and Claudia followed.
###
A short time later Caina adjusted her turban, check her fake beard and mustache once more. She hoped the rubbery gum she used as adhesive would last a little while longer. It would look suspicious for Kyrazid Tomurzu to return clean-shaven after having fled the Court of the Fountain with a beard. Next to her Claudia finished tugging on her clothing, sighing in relief as she did so. Caina had never seen a woman so relieved to get dressed.
Not that she could blame Claudia. Caina hated feeling exposed. But there had been no choice. Strength would have been useless against both Cassander and the Red Huntress. Where strength failed, deception had to take its place.
In this case, deception had been successful.
Had it not, Cassander would have killed Caina and taken Claudia prisoner.
“This time,” said Claudia, “I think you should let me do the talking.”
Caina nodded and touched the hilt of her ghostsilver dagger for assurance. “Lead on, my lady.”
“Don’t patronize me,” said Claudia, but she led the way from the small room where they had taken shelter and into one of the high, grand corridors of the Golden Palace. The corridor was deserted, but they turned a corner and spotted the Immortal patrol that Caina had seen earlier. Standing near the alchemically-altered soldiers still made Caina’s skill crawl.
Yet the Red Huntress had still slain them so easily.
Still, if they encountered more Adamant Guards, the Immortals would come in handy.
“Halt,” said the lead Immortal in Istarish, pointing his scimitar at them, his voice metallic from the skull-mask. “Identify yourself.”
“Foolish man!” said Claudia in accented Istarish, drawing herself up with offended hauteur. Even with her hair and clothing in disarray, she still projected all the arrogance of an Imperial noblewoman. Caina suspected it came naturally. “Do you not recognize me?”
“You are the Lady Claudia Dorius,” said the Immortal, the skull-mask turning back and forth as he regarded them. “And one of Lord Martin’s retainers.”
“That is quite right!” said Claudia. “I demand that you take me to my husband at once. At once, I say! I have been wandering this dreadful place since that horrid red shadow attacked. I say, I shall have words with the Padishah himself and report this egregious negligence, this…”
“You will come with me,” said the Immortal. “The Grand Wazir and the Lord Ambassador await you in the Old Armory. Come at once.”
“I will permit you to lead me,” said Claudia with a condescending sniff.
She started forward as if she knew where she was going, and this time Caina followed her. The Immortals fell in around them, and much as Caina disliked the soldiers, she was glad of their presence. If the Adamant Guards returned, the Immortals could hold them off.
If the Red Huntress struck again, they could distract her for a few moments.
Yet Caina saw no other corpses. Perhaps the Immortals had actually been successful in killing the Red Huntress. Or perhaps the assassin had withdrawn from the Palace, waiting for a better opportunity to kill Martin.
Neither Adamant Guards nor assassins appeared, and they soon came to the Old Armory.
The Golden Palace was opulent,
but the Old Armory was stark and grim, a small fortress within the heart of the Padishah’s palace. It was a squat, ugly tower, topped with battlements and war engines. A separate curtain wall surrounded the tower, and Immortals with crossbows stood guard upon it. Likely it had been constructed as a refuge within the sprawling Palace, a sanctuary for the Padishah in the event of treachery. A single gate breached the curtain wall, sealed by a steel portcullis, which rattled open as the Immortals approached.
Caina walked with Claudia into the Old Armory’s courtyard and into the middle of an argument. Martin stood facing Erghulan, his face almost purple with fury, and the Grand Wazir looked on the verge of violence himself. Tylas stood between the two men, his face hovering near his sword hilt, and Imperial Guards and Immortals faced each other, the tension crackling in the air.
“You will let me out of this place, now,” said Martin.
Erghulan shook his head. “Not until the Alchemists arrive to deal with the Red Huntress. If she slays you, the Padishah will owe a debt your Emperor, and I shall not see Istarinmul’s honor shamed so.”
“Your honor?” said Martin. “You left my wife out there, and your Immortals forced us to withdraw here! By the gods of the Empire, my lord, you will let look for her!”
“The risk is too great,” said Erghulan with a snarl.
“Are all the men of Istarinmul so craven?” said Martin.
Erghulan made a fist, opened it again. “Since you are overwrought, I shall forgive that. But I will note that you did not rush out to rescue Lord Ambassador Cassander.”
“I am not married to Lord Ambassador Cassander,” spat Martin. “And the honorable emissary of the Umbarian Order did not lift a finger to aid us. No, he stood back and let the Huntress slaughter our men.”
“That did not escape my notice,” said Erghulan, his scowl deepening. “One grows suspicious of Lord Cassander’s motivations.”
Ghost in the Hunt Page 12
