The eyes of the mask shone with the smokeless flame of the djinn.
“I do not know if you are the one I have sought or not,” said Samnirdamnus. “But if the Huntress kills you, then I shall never find out. I would have warned you. But the high lords of the nagataaru have great power, and the Voice is my equal in strength. It can shield itself from my sight.”
Caina frowned. “Then the Huntress’s nagataaru is truly called the Voice?”
“The nagataaru do not have names,” said Samnirdamnus. “They have no need of them. Mortal minds require names, and mortal minds bestow names upon the nagataaru. The mortal woman who became the Huntress named the nagataaru within her the Voice, for it whispers in her ear constantly. Urging her to kill so it can feast upon the released energies. It returns some of that stolen energy to her as power, allowing her to kill more victims, providing more pain and death upon which the Voice can feast.”
“A cozy little partnership,” said Caina, remembering how blindingly fast the Huntress had been able to move. “What can you tell me about the Huntress?”
“The Voice is older than this world, as I am,” said Samnirdamnus. “Before this world congealed out of the dust of an exploded star, the nagataaru and the court of the Azure Sovereign battled each other across the netherworld’s infinite reaches. We wielded weapons beyond your comprehension, blades wrought of thought and elemental power, engines fashioned of sorcery and raw power. Many times I fought the Voice, and sometimes I prevailed, and sometimes it triumphed. It is little different than any other nagataaru. It despises creatures weaker than itself, and regards mortals as prey, as food.”
“But what can you tell me about the Huntress herself?” said Caina. If the nagataaru despised humans as food and nothing more, why would it have stayed in the Huntress’s head for so long? Or, for that matter, why would the Huntress have continued working with the Voice? Perhaps the Voice had overridden the human woman’s mind and transformed her into a puppet of flesh, wearing her body like a suit.
“A curious question,” said Samnirdamnus. “Does not the Huntress derive all her power from the Voice?”
“I’m a curious sort of woman,” said Caina. “Answer the question.”
“Why do you wish to know?” said Samnirdamnus.
“Because I cannot fight and defeat the Red Huntress,” said Caina. “She is too fast, too strong, too skilled. If I try to take her in a straight fight, she’s going to kill me.”
“Ah,” murmured Samnirdamnus. “But you are not a warrior, are you, my darling demonslayer? You strike from the shadows. You arrange for your foes’ downfall.”
“I need to know about the woman who became the Huntress,” said Caina, “because I need to know her weaknesses. The way her mind works. Because I can’t fight her. I can only hope to outwit her. If I don’t outwit her, she’s going to kill Martin.”
“My dear Balarigar,” murmured Samnirdamnus, and his form blurred and shifted to become that of Martin Dorius, stark in black coat and trousers, “what makes you think that Lord Martin is in any danger whatsoever?”
“If you have been watching me,” said Caina, “then you have failed to note the obvious.”
“Well,” said Samnirdamnus. “I am not the only one to make that mistake.”
Caina wondered what that meant.
“But,” said the djinni, “I know a little of the Voice’s host, the woman you know as the Huntress. She is old, easily over a century and a half old, her flesh sustained by the power of the Voice. I do not know her name, but that is of no importance, because she herself has forgotten it. She works in full cooperation with the Voice, and has grown to take delight in killing and joy in torment. She was once a slave, but loathes weakness of any kind and holds it in contempt.”
“A slave?” said Caina.
“Belonging to Grand Master Callatas,” said Samnirdamnus. “One of his earliest experiments, before Iramis even burned. Before he had fully even conceived the Apotheosis, though he did not summon me to guard his Maze until several years later. Callatas had already summoned minor nagataaru and bound them to corpses to create minions, but they were mindless things driven only by hunger. At last he had the idea of summoning a greater nagataaru and binding it to the flesh of a living mortal, to create a servant that possessed the power of the nagataaru and could still reason and think. So he summoned the Voice, a greater lord of the nagataaru…”
“And bound it to the flesh of a slave,” said Caina with disgust. “Someone expendable, someone he did not care about.”
“You reason correctly,” said Samnirdamnus.
“The experiment succeeded,” said Caina. “Callatas created the Red Huntress.”
Samnirdamnus smiled. “Not entirely. The slave and the Voice created the Huntress in equal measure.”
“What do you mean?” said Caina.
“The slave was hardly an innocent woman,” said Samnirdamnus. “She had already killed other slaves, those who threatened her or annoyed her. In her the Voice found neither an empty vessel nor a beast of burden, but a willing partner to its appetites. The Voice twisted her, but she joyfully embraced the twisting. She became the Huntress, and soon was strong enough that Callatas could not completely control her.”
“He could not?” said Caina. “So that was why she went on a rampage at the Golden Palace. He has tried to keep the nagataaru and the source of the wraithblood secret. Having the Huntress go on a public killing spree doesn’t help keep his secrets. It draws attention.”
“This is so,” said Samnirdamnus. “Callatas uses her only as a weapon of last resort, when other means of removing a threat have failed. She is almost always successful, though she tends to inflict a great deal of…incidental damage, shall we say.”
“If Callatas can’t control her, why didn’t he kill her?” said Caina. “He’s not the sort of man to use weapons he cannot fully control.”
“He is unable to kill her,” said Samnirdamnus.
Caina blinked. “He…can’t?” She had seen Callatas’s sorcery in action, had seen his wraithblood laboratories and sensed the power and intricacy of his spells. Grand Master Callatas was one of the strongest sorcerers she had ever encountered. “Why not?”
“She is too strong for him,” said Samnirdamnus.
“Then why hasn’t she killed him?” said Caina.
“Likewise, she cannot,” he said.
“He’s too strong?” said Caina.
“The Voice will not kill its superior,” said Samnirdamnus.
“Superior?” said Caina. “Then you mean…Callatas is possessed? He has a nagataaru within him as the Huntress does? But one of higher rank?” That was an extremely disturbing thought. The might of his native sorcery joined to the power of a nagataaru lord…little wonder no one had defeated Callatas in a century and a half.
“Alas,” said Samnirdamnus, “on this topic, I cannot speak.”
“Because you are bound,” said Caina.
Samnirdamnus said nothing, which was as good as an answer.
“Can you tell me how to kill her?” said Caina.
“You are upon the right path,” said Samnirdamnus. “The only hope you have of defeating the Huntress is in the weapons of ancient Iramis. If you can find the valikon and wield it, you have a chance of victory. But you have already committed one great failure.”
“What is that?” said Caina.
“You do not understand the Huntress,” said Samnirdamnus. “You do not understand what she seeks.”
“And if I fail to understand her purpose?” said Caina.
Samnirdamnus shrugged, the smokeless flames of his eyes blazing brighter. “I think you are the one I have sought…but I have been wrong before.”
The Desert of Candles dissolved into nothingness.
###
Caina awoke and sat up with an alarmed hiss, reaching for the dagger next to her pillow. At the last moment she remembered that she had fallen asleep beneath one of the wagons, but not in time to stop herself fr
om hitting her head on the axle overhead.
Gods, but that hurt.
“Damn it,” she whispered, rubbing her head. At least she hadn’t broken the skin, or worse, cracked her skull. It would have been bitterly amusing to have escaped from mortal peril again and again only to bash her head open on a wagon after a bad dream.
But that hadn’t been a bad dream, had it? That had been a vision, a message from Samnirdamnus.
Caina lay back down, trying to ignore her throbbing head.
She had to understand the Red Huntress. But what was there to understand? Callatas had sent the Huntress to kill Martin Dorius, and the Voice within her feasted upon pain and death. It was a simple explanation, one that explained everything that had happened, though Caina still could not imagine why Callatas wanted Martin dead.
She closed her eyes and tried to sleep.
But sleep did not come as dark thoughts chased themselves around her head.
Chapter 13 - The Headman
Three days later, they came to a village atop the hill.
The road had climbed higher as they went further south, and it was the coldest weather Caina had encountered since leaving Malarae. Here and there she saw clumps of towering pine trees, and large portions of the hillsides had been cut into terraces to grow crops. Today great fingers of gray mist wound their way through the rocky hills, cool and damp against Caina’s face.
“What is that place?” said Martin, peering through the mist.
The village topped one of the larger hills, fortified within a stockade of piled stone crowned with wooden stakes. Caina saw dozens of houses built in the ancient Caerish style, round stone walls topped with conical roofs of thatch. A long stone hall with a timber roof occupied the center of the village, a dark green banner adorned with a black Kaltari knot flying overhead.
Many of the houses bore skulls over their doorway, and dozens of skulls adorned the walls of the stone hall.
“That, my lord ambassador,” said Nasser, “is the village of Drynemet.”
Martin grunted. “More demon-worshippers?”
“Not unless they have conquered the village within the last few weeks,” said Nasser. “Drynemet lies on the final stage of the road to Silent Ash Temple. The villagers here make their living from farming and selling goods to pilgrims on their way to visit the Emissary’s altar.”
“And raiding, I expect,” said Claudia, looking at the village’s skulls with suspicion.
“Well.” Nasser turned his brilliant smile toward her. “We are in the Kaltari Highlands, my lady.” He turned back to Martin. “My lord, if I may presume to offer advice, I suggest we stop here for the night. Your Imperial Guards, while valiant and doughty, would benefit from some rest and hot food, and we can purchase supplies for the final leg of the journey.” He glanced at Caina. “And we can gather any local news. Scout the land, as it were.”
“Assuming the locals do not knife us in our sleep,” said Claudia.
“I think that unlikely,” said Nasser.
“When one makes a living by selling goods to pilgrims,” said Caina, “murdering guests is bad for business.”
“This is so,” said Nasser. “Additionally, the current headman of Drynemet is a former business associate of mine.”
“Trustworthy?” said Martin.
“Not particularly,” said Nasser, “but he is a reliable man, and will not harm us without good reason.”
“Very well,” said Martin. “Tylas, you had better run up the banner. Master Nasser, Master Ciaran, if you will accompany me.”
For a moment all was organized chaos as Tylas brought up the eagle banner of the Empire and chose Imperial Guards to accompany Martin. At last Martin started forward, one Guard holding the banner, six more screening Martin. Caina and Nasser followed Martin, and Laertes followed Nasser. He had not been invited, but no one stopped him.
A short time later they came to the stockade’s gate. Four Kaltari warriors stood upon the rampart, glaring down at them.
“Aye, travelers?” called one of the warriors in Istarish with a thick Kaltari accent, a skull swinging from his belt. “What is your business here?”
“I am Martin of House Dorius, the Emperor’s Lord Ambassador to the Padishah of Istarinmul,” said Martin. “I am traveling on pilgrimage to the altar of Silent Ash Temple, and wish to rest and purchase supplies at your village.”
“An Imperial lord making a pilgrimage?” said the Kaltari warrior. “A most peculiar thing.”
“But not unknown, I assume,” said Martin. “Is it customary to keep your gates closed to travelers?”
“It is not,” said the warrior, “but the demon-worshippers have been stirred up. Usually they keep to their high altars, but of late they’ve been attacking villages. They think the end of the world is coming.”
“We had to fight our way through one such group on our way here,” said Martin.
“You could be demon-worshippers in disguise,” said the warrior.
“My lord, if I may?” said Nasser. Martin nodded, and Nasser stepped closer to the wall, his Anshani robes rippling in the cool breeze. “I suggest, noble warrior, that you fetch your headman and tell him that an old friend has come calling.”
The warrior frowned. “Which old friend?”
“A friend from the seat of the Shahenshah,” said Nasser, and Laertes gave a quiet snort. “He shall understand what it means, I promise you.”
The warrior disappeared into the stockade, and a few moments later the gates swung open. A towering giant of a Kaltari warrior walked out, clad in leather and mail, the hilt of an enormous greatsword rising over his right shoulder, two skulls hanging from his belt. There were scars on his hard face and massive hands, and he moved with the efficient movements of a veteran killer.
Caina recognized him at once. His name was Strabane, and he had once been a gladiator, fighting in the pits and arenas of Istarinmul for gold and glory. After killing or crippling one too many opponents, he had been forced out of the games and had gone into mercenary work and occasional thieving. He had been part of the crew Nasser had hired to help rob Grand Master Callatas’s laboratory. After the successful heist, Strabane had prudently left Istarinmul rather than risk facing the Grand Master’s wrath.
Strabane stopped, looked from Martin to Nasser and Caina, and then barked a harsh laugh.
“I’ll be damned, Nasser,” said Strabane. “I expected you turn up someday. But traveling with an Imperial lord and his bodyguards is a surprise.”
Nasser smiled and spread his hands. “I have found that surprise is the spice of life.”
Strabane snorted. “If that is so, you overspice the meat.” He looked up at Martin. “Are you actually the Emperor’s Lord Ambassador, or is this another one of Nasser’s games?”
Claudia bristled, but Martin laughed. “Aye, I am the Emperor’s Lord Ambassador to Padishah. To the best of my knowledge, anyway.”
The big warrior inclined his head in a shallow bow. “I am Strabane, headman of Drynemet, and I welcome you. Can your men behave themselves inside my walls?”
“Of course,” said Martin.
“Then they are welcome to enter and purchase supplies,” said Strabane.
“I suspect,” said Nasser, “that you will wish to speak in private with Lord Martin.” He smiled and at gestured at Caina. “And with his loyal friends, of course.”
Strabane snorted. “Indeed. Follow me.”
###
Claudia was not sure what to make of the Kaltari.
They seemed fierce and merciless fighters, prone to warring with each other at the slightest cause. On the other hand, all the villages they had seen so far had been prosperous, and save for Aiovost’s cultists, they had not been attacked since entering the Highlands. Nor did she see any slaves among the Kaltari. There was no sign of the wretched poverty and squalor that was so common in Istarinmul. If not for the different trees and the warmer weather, Drynemet would have seemed little different than the villages of
Caeria Ulterior or Caeria Superior.
Certainly the Kaltari had the same love of skulls. Skulls stared from the doorways of every house and hall, and many warriors wore skulls dangling from their belts, no doubt the cherished trophies of vanquished foes. Grisly trophies, to be sure, but Claudia had seen worse things in Istarinmul.
Strabane led them to a broad stone terrace behind the headman’s hall. The terrace joined to the outer wall, and Claudia edged forward and saw that the terrace terminated in a cliff that fell to a rocky gully below. If she lost her balance and fell, she would not stop until the boulders terminated her descent two hundred feet below.
She made sure to stay well away from the edge.
“A fine view, Strabane,” said Nasser, gazing into the Highlands. Claudia had to admit that he was right about that. Through the mists she saw the Highlands rising higher into rocky hills and even low mountains. Strabane’s bondsmen appeared with platters of bread and sausage and goat cheese.
“Aye,” said Strabane, turning to his bondsmen. “Leave us, and see to it we are not disturbed.” The servants bowed and departed. “We made so much money from the last enterprise. I decided to invest in some land.” He barked a laugh and took a cup of wine. “To think when I was a boy I wanted nothing more than to leave the Highlands forever.”
“Age mellows a man,” said Nasser.
“And to bold new enterprises,” said Strabane. He grinned, his scars making the expression terrifying. “Though there’s fighting enough.”
“New enterprises?” said Caina.
“You ought to join me, Ciaran,” said Strabane. “I could use a clever man.”
Despite herself, Claudia was impressed at the effectiveness of Caina’s disguise. Strabane was clearly a man who enjoyed female companionship, and she had caught him admiring her a few times. It would have been flattering, had she not been married. And she had spotted Strabane sharing looks with a half-dozen women on his way into the headman’s hall. Claudia suspected Strabane was a man who enjoyed a great deal of variety in his female companionship. Yet there was no hint that he even suspected that Caina was a woman. Claudia could not have pulled off such an impersonation, nor maintained it over such a long stretch of time.
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