“There is a woman,” said Caina. “She calls herself Kalgri, though that is not her real name. In legend and myth she is known as the Red Huntress. She is possessed by a powerful nagataaru spirit that she calls the Voice. The nagataaru gives her power to become a deadly assassin. Grand Master Callatas has sent her to kill me. I have been told that you have a valikon, an ancient Iramisian weapon forged to kill both spirits of the netherworld and their mortal hosts. I have come here in hopes that you will lend me the weapon so I can rid the world of the Huntress’s evil.”
The Emissary nodded, rubbing one of her hips as if it pained her. “I thought as much.”
“About my request?” said Caina.
“No,” said the Emissary. “About you.”
“What about me?” said Caina.
“You changed the world,” said the Emissary.
“I fail to see how,” said Caina.
“You killed the Moroaica,” said the Emissary, still watching Caina. “The ancient sorceress, the one who had moved for centuries across the world. She was as old as Iramis. Older, even. She made kings and nations dance to her will for centuries, and she would have killed the world. But you stopped her, freed her from the enslavement of her past. But I fear that paved the way for Callatas’s Apotheosis.”
“The cracks between the worlds,” said Caina.
The Emissary nodded. “The knight of wind and air showed them to you, did he not?”
“You mean Samnirdamnus?” said Caina. “He did. And I saw them myself in the netherworld.”
“I can see the marks of the journey upon you,” said the Emissary. “Callatas plotted his Apotheosis for a long, long time. He is almost ready, and needs only a few things more. The cracks were one of them.”
“Yes,” said Caina. “And I…need to ask you a few things about that.”
“In due time,” said the Emissary. “You need to ask a question of yourself first.”
“You mean you want to ask me a question,” said Caina.
“No,” said the Emissary, rubbing her hip again with a sigh. “You need to ask the question of yourself. Otherwise you will not know yourself, and when you are tested, you will fail.”
Martin grunted. “If you will forgive my blunt speech, that sounds like mystical nonsense. We have come a long way in hopes of concrete aid, not empty words.”
Caina expected the Emissary to take offense, but she only smiled. “It seems like nonsense to you, my lord ambassador, because you already know yourself. You are a man of duty. Duty to your Empire, to your province, to your Legion, to your wife. Duty that you will never relinquish, no matter the cost to yourself.”
“I am a lord of the Empire,” said Martin. “My duty is plain, regardless of how I feel about it.”
“Is your way so unclear?” said the Emissary.
“It is not,” said Martin. “My task is to keep Istarinmul from allying with the Umbarian Order.”
The Emissary smiled. “Then why are you at Silent Ash Temple? The Umbarian Order is far from here, as is the Empire. Turn around and go back to Istarinmul.”
“There are threats to the Empire,” said Martin, “other than the Umbarian Order. I am convinced that Callatas and his Apotheosis are a threat to not only Istarinmul, but to the Empire and the rest of the world.”
“Wisely spoken,” said the Emissary. “That wisdom will serve you well in your new responsibility to come.”
“What responsibility is that?” said Martin.
The Emissary looked at Claudia. “That of a father.”
Caina blinked. Sudden facts clicked together in her mind. Claudia’s irritability and mood swings. Her nausea, which she had blamed upon the Istarish food.
“What?” said Claudia, blinking. “But…I…I….oh.”
Martin’s hand closed on her shoulder, and she leaned against him, stunned.
“But your child,” said the Emissary, “may not have a future.”
“Is that a threat?” said Caina.
“No,” said the Emissary. “Merely an observation. Callatas’s Apotheosis will soon reach its conclusion, his pact with the nagataaru fulfilled. Many more children than the one in Claudia Aberon’s womb will die if the Apotheosis is completed. For that matter, you may not live to see the Apotheosis if the Huntress finds you first.”
“Which is why we are here,” said Caina.
“And why you must answer this question,” said the Emissary.
“Fine,” said Caina. “What is the question?”
“Why?” said the Emissary.
“Why?” said Caina. “Why what?”
“Why are you doing this?” said the Emissary.
“Because I need a weapon to fight the Huntress,” said Caina.
“No,” said the Emissary. “I speak of a larger reason. Why do this? Why come to Istarinmul, a land far from your home?”
“Because I was banished from the Empire,” said Caina.
“So you were,” said the Emissary. “But there was no bond upon you to obey the Emperor’s command. With your skill, you could easily have vanished and started a new life under a new name anywhere you chose. Instead you remained in Istarinmul. Why?”
“To stop Callatas and his Apotheosis,” said Caina.
“But when you first arrived,” said the Emissary, “you knew nothing of the Apotheosis, nothing of the wraithblood, nothing of events afoot in Istarinmul. You only discovered the truth after involving yourself in the affairs of those who needed your help. Why did you remain in Istarinmul?”
“Because,” said Caina. She did not like to think on those first few days in Istarinmul, when she had been half-crazed with grief, her mind so choked with sorrow that she had been nearly suicidal. It had taken Ulvan’s abduction of Damla’s sons to snap Caina out of her grief, to give her a purpose again. “Because I could think of nothing else to do.”
“Why?” said the Emissary.
“For the gods’ sake,” said Caina. “Is that not enough?”
“It is not,” said the Emissary. “Not if you wish to succeed. Why do this? Vengeance for your father, perhaps, who died before your eyes? For your mentor, stabbed in the back? Or your lover, slain beneath the Moroaica’s spells?” Nasser glanced at Claudia, but Caina barely noticed, the entirety of her attention fixed upon the Emissary. “Do you wish vengeance for them?”
“Yes,” whispered Caina. “But that’s not enough to live on. It won’t change anything. I could spill the blood of every sorcerer and Alchemist and occultist in the world, but it won’t bring them back. I would still have the pain of their loss. It…won’t ever leave me, not now, not ever.”
The Emissary inclined her head. “Then why? Why do what you do?”
“Because I don’t want anyone else to endure what I have had to endure,” said Caina.
“Even knowing,” said the Emissary, “that such a task is impossible? Pain and loss are woven into the very fabric of life.”
“I know that,” said Caina. “But if I can stop another man like Callatas or Ranarius, if I can stop them from killing more fathers and mothers and sons for their damned sorcerous plots…that means less loss. Less grief. Fewer people who have had to endure what I have endured.”
They stood in silence for a moment. Caina heard a sniffling noise, and realized that Claudia had started crying.
“Well spoken, Ciaran,” murmured Nasser.
“Then you know yourself,” said the Emissary, “and the knowledge will prove a source of strength to you during the trials to come. For there are trials coming, and you shall need weapons to face them.” She nodded at the stone bench that held her tools and potted flowers. “There, the bundle on the edge. Take it.”
Caina took a deep breath and crossed to the bench. A cloth-wrapped bundle the length of her arm lay next to the potted flowers. She reached for it and hesitated. Potent sorcery radiated from the bundle, and the pyrikon upon her arm stirred, seeming to react to the power beneath her fingers.
She looked at the Emissary, and t
he woman nodded.
Caina picked up the bundle, drew aside the cloth, and found herself holding a sheathed sword. It was a falchion, the curve of the blade not as sharp as the classic Istarish and Anshani scimitar. The hilt seemed to throb and pulse with arcane power beneath her fingers, yet it was a different vibration than the spells she usually sensed. These vibrations seemed like a counterpoint, as if they were designed to cancel the power of spells.
Any spells.
She drew the sword. It was lighter than she expected, the double-edged blade shining with the gleam and sharpness of ghostsilver. Iramisian characters had been written upon the blade, and the sword’s balance felt perfect in her hand.
“The valikon,” murmured Nasser.
“A weapon forged by the loremasters of Iramis of old,” said the Emissary, “to fight the dark spirits of the netherworld and slay their hosts.”
“You will loan it to us?” said Caina.
“No,” said the Emissary.
Caina frowned. “Then you have a price?”
“It is not mine to give,” said the Emissary. “I was its custodian for many years. Now you, Balarigar, you are the valikon’s custodian. You will know upon whom to bestow the blade.”
“Nasser,” said Caina. “Take it. You’re the best swordsman among us. You’ll have the best chance against the Huntress if you have a weapon that can actually hurt her.” She slid the valikon back into its sheath, reversed the sword, and offered it to Nasser. “No offense, Martin.”
“None taken,” said Martin. “I am competent with a blade, but I saw Nasser fight. I am a bricklayer, but he is a sculptor.”
“That is very kind, my lord ambassador,” said Nasser, taking the valikon and clipping the scabbard to his belt. “I will put the blade to good use.”
“We shall return it,” said Caina, “if we are successful.”
“No,” said the Emissary.
“We will not be successful?” said Caina. “You have foreseen that?”
“I mean that there is no need to return the weapon,” said the Emissary. “I was its custodian. Now I am not. You are the custodian of the blade, and you shall know upon whom to bestow it.”
“I take it that means,” said Nasser, “that I will not be the final bearer of the weapon?”
“No,” said the Emissary.
“Then we…we will be successful?” said Claudia. It was the first time she had spoken since the Emissary had told her that she was pregnant.
The Emissary sighed. “If you are successful, then the Balarigar shall continue to serve as the valikon’s custodian. If you are not successful, the Huntress will kill you all.”
“Thank you,” said Caina.
“You may not want to thank me,” said the Emissary, “once you learn what will come to pass. But you have more matters to discuss with me, do you not?”
“A question,” said Caina, remembering her promise to Nasser.
“Ask.”
“The Staff and Seal of Iramis,” said Caina. “Callatas needs them for the Apotheosis. Where are they?”
“I do not know,” said the Emissary.
Nasser sighed.
“Wait,” said Caina. “Someone must know where they are.”
The Emissary’s lip curled in a small smile. “This is so.”
“Is there anyone who knows where the Staff and Seal are?” said Caina.
The Emissary inclined her head.
“Who?” said Caina.
“The loremaster Annarah,” said the Emissary, “the last of the loremasters of Iramis, to whom the Prince entrusted the Staff and the Seal when he realized that doom was at hand. Of all the mortals of this world and all the spirits of the netherworld, she is the only one who knows where the Staff of Iramis and the Seal of Iramis are hidden, for she was the one that hid them.”
“But she is dead,” said Nasser.
“She has been dead for a hundred and fifty years,” said Caina. “We found her journal in Callatas’s library. Callatas almost certainly killed her. And even if he didn’t kill her, if she somehow eluded him, it has been a century and a half. She would have died of old age long ago.”
“Truly?” said the Emissary. “Callatas has lived for over two centuries. The Moroaica lived for millennia.”
“Through necromancy,” said Caina. “Has Annarah turned to that? Or to some sort of alchemical Elixir?”
“Neither,” said the Emissary. “There are…levels of life, and Annarah occupies one of them. She yet lives, though even I know not where. Find her, and she can tell you where the Staff and the Seal rest.”
“So be it,” said Caina. “Thank you.” She turned back to Nasser and the others. “I think we have what we came for. Best to be gone before we bring the Huntress down upon the monks.”
“Agreed,” said Martin. “We can return to Drynemet and…”
“Wait.”
Caina turned back to the Emissary.
“You may ask me,” said the Emissary, “one further question.”
“I thought you only permitted pilgrims to ask one question of you,” said Caina.
“You are not most pilgrims,” said the Emissary. “You are the Balarigar, the demonslayer, the liberator, perhaps even the one the knight of wind and air has sought. You must know, and there is a question that burns upon your heart. Ask it. Ask it!”
“The star is the key to the crystal,” whispered Caina. “What is it? What does it mean?”
“It is the Apotheosis,” said the Emissary.
“It don’t understand,” said Caina.
“It is the Apotheosis,” said the Emissary, “the terrible work to which Callatas has devoted centuries. You already know what the Star is. It is the Star of Iramis, the great gem of power, which Callatas carries with him.”
“What is the crystal?” said Caina.
“The fountain,” said the Emissary. “In the heart of Iramis of old, there stood a great fountain wrought of crystal. That is the crystal of which the prophecy spoke. The Star of Iramis is the key to that crystal.”
“Ah,” said Nasser.
“But why? What does that mean?” said Caina.
“I am sorry,” said the Emissary, “but I do not know.”
Caina looked at Nasser.
“Neither do I,” said Nasser. “The fountain was enspelled to generate water for the entire city. What use Callatas has for it, I know not.”
“That crystal,” said Caina. “If it stood in Iramis, it’s in the Desert of Candles now.” She remembered the visions she had seen of the desert, of the thousands of jagged crystalline pillars rising from the lifeless sand, each glowing with its own pale blue light. “Was it destroyed when Callatas burned Iramis? Or did he take it back with him to Istarinmul?”
“I believe I know the crystal of which the Emissary speaks,” said Nasser. “It still in the Desert of Candles, in the location where the central plaza of Iramis itself once rested.”
“Then why hasn’t Callatas destroyed it?” said Caina. “Or taken it back to Istarinmul, if he needs it for the Apotheosis?”
“I do not know,” said Nasser.
“Nor do I,” said the Emissary. “That is all I know of the question written upon your heart, Balarigar. The star is the key to the crystal. The star is the Star of Iramis, which Callatas holds. The crystal waits in the heart of the Desert of Candles, where Iramis of old once stood. I can tell you no more.”
“Cannot, or will not?” said Caina, failing to keep the exasperation out of her tone. She was desperately tired of riddles and prophecies and ominous spirits telling her of the future. If these oracles and spirits ever gave her a straightforward answer to a question, perhaps the sun would freeze overhead.
On the other hand, Kalgri had been very straightforward. Maybe directness was overrated.
“Cannot,” said the Emissary with a sad smile. “That is all I know. Even my sight cannot extend into every possible future.”
“Emissary.” Karzid approached, leaning upon his cane, and t
hree other monks followed him. “The watchmen report. It is time.”
“And so it is,” said the Emissary.
“Time for what?” said Caina.
“The Red Huntress comes,” said the Emissary. “She has followed you here, and will arrive within an hour.”
“We’ve got to go,” said Caina, turning back to the others. “If the Huntress finds us here, she’ll kill the monks. We…”
“It is too late, Balarigar,” said Karzid. “The Huntress and her followers already ascend the great stair. There is no other way in or out of Silent Ash Temple.”
“Do not fear for us,” said the Emissary. “This has been foreseen. The monks and I shall withdraw into the vaults below the temple and await the outcome of your confrontation.” Already more monks crossed the garden, heading with solemn haste to the great fane at the center of the temple.
“Will you not aid us?” said Claudia. “The Huntress is invading your home.”
“In pursuit of the Balarigar and companions,” said the Emissary. “True, as hosts we have the obligation to defend our guests. But we have no defense against the Huntress. If we close our gates, she will rip them down. If we fight her, she will slaughter us all.”
“Couldn’t you use you power against her?” said Martin. “Tell her the truth? I understand that is often unsettling.”
The Emissary smiled. “Some men already know the truth of themselves, Martin Dorius. As you do. As the Huntress does. To my sight she is a murderous devil, a fiend utterly divorced from any scrap of conscience or mercy, a monster that delights in the torment of the innocent. All this I could tell her…and all this she already knows, and rejoices in it. Spare no pity for her, for I fear she is beyond all redemption”
“And you already have given us,” said Caina, looking at the valikon on Nasser’s belt, “the best weapon we have against the Huntress.”
“Yes,” said the Emissary, limping to join Karzid. “It is in your hands now, Balarigar. All possible futures hinge upon the next hour. Either you shall defeat the Huntress…or she shall slay you here, and the Apotheosis shall arise unhindered. May the Living Flame go with you.”
She hobbled from the garden, Karzid and the other monks following, and soon Caina, Claudia, Nasser, and Martin stood alone among the flowers and the trees.
Ghost in the Hunt Page 25
