Ghost in the Winds (Ghost Exile #9)

by Jonathan Moeller

  “Thank you,” said Damla.

  “No one in the Empire can do proper coffee,” said Tomazain. “One must go to Istarinmul. And, apparently, to the House of Agabyzus.”

  “Again you flatter me, sir,” said Damla, though she did smile back. He was appealing a rough sort of way…but she was too old to be swept off her feet by a charming smile. “One wonders what manner of work causes you to travel so widely.”

  “I was in the Imperial Legion for sixteen years,” said Tomazain, “and once I finished my term of service, I found myself at loose ends, and so went into business for myself.”

  “Tomazain is a mercenary,” said Agabyzus, “and quite skilled. That is why I have hired him. I fear we shall have need of his skills at once.”

  “What happened?” said Damla.

  “Grand Master Callatas has returned to the city,” said Agabyzus.

  A shiver of dread went down Damla’s spine.

  “I see,” she said. “Has the circlemaster contacted you?”

  “No,” said Agabyzus. “She has not spoken with you, I assume?”

  Damla shook her head. If Caina had gone in pursuit of Callatas, and only Callatas had returned to the city, then Caina was almost certainly dead…

  “No,” said Damla. “I will not believe that she perished. Lord Cassander proclaimed her death, and a few days later she walked through the front door. I will not believe it until I see her corpse with my own eyes.”

  “Nor will I,” said Agabyzus, though his tone was grim. “Yet I fear in her absence, we must act. I believe that Grand Master Callatas is preparing to cast the Apotheosis.”

  “What?” said Damla.

  “My informants report that he has driven all the slaves and magistrates and scribes from the Golden Palace, and barricaded himself inside with the remaining Immortals guarding the gates,” said Agabyzus. “Strange lights and sounds have been coming from the Court of Justice, and I do have a few informants among the Alchemists. They say tremendous sorcerous power is gathering within the Golden Palace, power enough to wreak a terrible catastrophe like the day of the golden dead or Lord Cassander’s rift.”

  “Then it is happening, just as the circlemaster warned us,” said Damla. “The Apotheosis is coming.”

  “I believe so,” said Agabyzus. He took a deep breath. “And it is up to us to stop it.”

  “Us?” said Damla, incredulous. “How? You are a spy. I am a coffee merchant. Callatas is…is a devil in the flesh, a sorcerer of power. How can people like us possibly hope to oppose him?”

  “Because there is no one else,” said Agabyzus. “We are not warriors like the Exile or sorcerers like Lady Claudia, but we are well-positioned to take effective action.”

  “And you are not alone,” said Tomazain. For wild moment Damla thought the mercenary was about to proposition her, but he kept speaking. “The emir Tanzir’s army arrived a few hours ago. Even now is the emir’s soldiers constructing siege camps outside the walls.”

  “The Grand Wazir himself returned to the city earlier this morning and went straight to the Golden Palace,” said Agabyzus. “Some of my informants learned the whole story from his soldiers. Evidently, Lord Tanzir inflicted a crushing defeat upon the Grand Wazir’s army, and Master Alchemist Rhataban was slain in the battle.”

  “Truly?” said Damla. All of Istarinmul had known of Rhataban and feared his wrath. When Rezir Shahan had launched his ill-advised war against the Empire, the war that had killed Damla’s husband, only Rhataban had won any victories against the Emperor’s Legions.

  “Truly,” said Agabyzus. “It seems a hundred witnesses saw him die…and that Lord Kylon killed him.”

  Some hope went through Damla’s doubts. “Then the circlemaster is with the army.”

  “Perhaps,” said Agabyzus. “None of the witnesses saw her.”

  Damla shook her head. “They wouldn’t have. You know how she can disguise herself.” She looked at Tomazain. “You might be the circlemaster with a clever disguise.”

  Tomazain laughed. “Indeed? I’ve been called many things, mistress Damla, but never have I been mistaken for a Nighmarian girl.”

  “Perhaps I did not speak precisely before,” said Agabyzus. “We do not need to stop Callatas ourselves. We merely to need to arrange for others to stop him.”

  “How?” said Damla. “Master Tomazain might have good taste in coffee, but I doubt even he could kill the Grand Master by himself.”

  Tomazain snorted. “Nor would I even wish to attempt such a thing.”

  “We could not do it,” said Agabyzus, “but someone like Lord Kylon could attack Grand Master Callatas with a chance of success. That sword he carries is an Iramisian valikon, capable of piercing a sorcerer’s defenses. The circlemaster herself has a ghostsilver dagger. We simply need to get the emir’s army inside of the city. Then they can stop Callatas and his Apotheosis.”

  “How is the army to enter the city?” said Tomazain. “Whatever else the failings of the Grand Wazir, he did not neglect Istarinmul’s defenses. The walls are tall and strong, and there are enough men to defend them. Five hundred competent men with catapults and Hellfire could defend Istarinmul from half the Legions of the Empire.”

  “Aye, Tomazain,” said Agabyzus. “We have little time. The emir Tanzir cannot starve the city out before Callatas finishes the Apotheosis.”

  “You would not want to be trapped in a starving city in any event,” said Tomazain, voice grim with some dark memory.

  “Then how can we help?” said Damla, but her mind flashed through her memory of Istarinmul’s history. Not that she had ever made a study of it, but she had lived in Istarinmul all of her life, and she knew Istarinmul’s history as well as any other subject of the Padishah. “You want us to find a way to open the gate to the rebels.”

  “If it makes you feel better,” said Agabyzus, “they’re not rebels. They claim to have found Prince Kutal, the last trueborn son of the Padishah, and are marching to restore him to the throne.”

  “But to open the city’s gates, brother?” said Damla. “We are not soldiers. We are barely spies. The Grand Wazir will guard the gates with his most loyal soldiers, maybe even Immortals. How can we do such a thing?”

  “Because we have no other choice,” said Agabyzus. “The circlemaster might be dead, and even if she is not, she is not here. If we do not get Tanzir’s army into the city before the Grand Master finishes his spells, then we shall all die anyway…and many, many more people will die with us. It is us, sister, because there is no one else to do it.”

  Damla closed her eyes and let out a long breath. By the Living Flame, she was tired of wars, tired of living in fear of the Teskilati and the Grand Master. Perhaps this had always been unavoidable. Perhaps she and her sons had always been destined to die when the Grand Master finished his Apotheosis.

  She remembered the day that her sons had been taken, remembered the despair that had gripped her. Caina had talked her through it, had insisted that her sons could be saved. Damla still remembered the cold fire in the younger woman’s eyes as she had spoken.

  No. Damla had not despaired then. She would not despair now.

  “If we must do this, then we must do this,” said Damla, opening her eyes. “How will we open the gate to Lord Tanzir’s army?”

  “I have some thoughts on the matter,” said Agabyzus, and the three of them started to plot.

  Chapter 6: Sentinels

  “How long will she stay unconscious?” said Morgant.

  “I don’t know,” said Caina.

  They stood on either side of Annarah, gazing down at her. Caina had asked her pyrikon to take its staff form, and a steady white glow came from the end of the ghostsilver staff, illuminating the glittering armory. Light flashed off gems and jewels and golden blades and polished armor, and Caina’s eyes made out the rows of Maatish hieroglyphs upon the walls. Kharnaces might have been a heretic and a traitor to the pharaoh, but the solemn tradition of the Maatish demanded that he still be bu
ried as befitting a Great Necromancer, so he had been buried as a Great Necromancer, albeit with many notations upon the walls denoting his crimes.

  The Great Necromancers had been rigid and legalistic in their cruelties. No wonder the Moroaica had hated them so much.

  “We could carry her out of here,” said Morgant, glancing at the shimmering white wall of light that sealed off the doorway.

  “We could,” said Caina, “but the nagataaru will sense her. She can’t shield herself while she’s unconscious.”

  “Then tell your pyrikon to shield her,” said Morgant.“I’m…not sure that would work,” said Caina. “The pyrikon might just work for me. We won’t know until we test it, and if we test it and it doesn’t work, we’re dead.”

  “So we wait until she wakes up?” said Morgant. “That could be days.”

  “I know,” said Caina. A dozen undead baboons waited outside the archway, staring at Annarah with their empty eyes. “Kylon was unconscious for several days after he took the Elixir. I was in a coma for nearly a month.”

  “Yes, but you’re special,” said Morgant.

  Caina gave him a flat look.

  “The shadow-cloak,” said Morgant. “We wrap her in the shadow-cloak, and we carry her out of the Tomb.”

  “If we drop her,” said Caina, “or if we bump into one of the nagataaru, we’re finished. It’s hard to avoid the undead while carrying an unconscious woman.”

  “If we wait a few days for Annarah to wake up,” said Morgant, “by the time we get to the beach, Murat will have departed.”

  “I know that, too,” said Caina. “I’m not going to leave her here for the nagataaru to kill.”

  “Then what do you suggest we do?” said Morgant. “I don’t want to leave Annarah here to die, but if we don’t leave soon, she’ll wake up to a world overrun by Callatas’s monsters. Or she’ll starve to death before she wakes up.”

  Part of Caina’s mind whispered that it was futile, that Callatas would complete the Apotheosis long before they ever returned to Istarinmul. Why not lie down and die? They had already lost.

  “I need to think for a moment,” said Caina. She sighed, stepped back, and picked up a golden helmet from one of the stone tables. “Wait here. I need to relieve myself. Please don’t stare.”

  “While wearing a helmet?” said Morgant. “That’s very strange. Do you always wear a helmet while you…”

  Caina sighed and turned over the helmet. “As a bucket. I’m going to use it as a bucket.” She waved a hand at the doorway. “If the nagataaru break into here, I’d rather not fight them while slipping in our own wastes.”

  She expected another barbed remark, but Morgant only nodded.

  “Sensible,” said Morgant, and he turned his back to her to watch the nagataaru. “Though I suppose I’m not taking that helmet back with me to sell in Istarinmul.”

  “I wouldn’t advise it,” said Caina, retreating to the corner of the armory.

  For all the time she had spent disguised as a man, she had never wanted to be one, but there were times it had to be more convenient, and by the gods, this was one of them. At least Kalgri wasn’t here to make observations.

  Once she had finished, Caina returned from the corner, a plan forming in her mind.

  “I carried Annarah’s pyrikon for months before we found her in the Inferno,” said Caina.

  “I remember,” said Morgant. “So?”

  “I asked it to do things, and it did them,” said Caina. “If I ask Annarah’s pyrikon to shield Annarah from detection, it will probably listen.”

  “And then it will stop maintaining the ward, the nagataaru will swarm inside, and kill us,” said Morgant.

  “Not if we elude them,” said Caina. “We can manage to carry Annarah between us for a little while. If we can get to the library, maybe we can work up a sled from the shelves, and…”

  Annarah took a deep, heaving breath, and then sat up, her green eyes blinking open.

  “Oh.” She looked at her glowing pyrikon, at the ward over the door, and then at Caina and Morgant. “We’re still alive. That’s good.”

  ###

  Morgant was surprised to find himself smiling.

  Annarah’s death would not have sent him into a pit of despair, or driven him on a mad quest for bloody vengeance. He was not the Kylon of House Kardamnos, for the gods’ sake, and he was too old to feel such emotions vividly.

  Nevertheless, he was glad she was still alive. He liked her, and he could not say that of many people. That, and he had devoted such energy to searching for her that he would hate for it to go to waste so soon.

  “Did you enjoy your nap?” he said.

  “Not particularly,” said Annarah, rubbing the heels of her hands over her forehead. The light from her pyrikon bracelet threw shifting shadows over the walls.

  “How do you feel?” said Caina.

  “As if I have just run twenty miles while carrying buckets full of sand,” said Annarah. She offered Caina a shaky smile. “Which is still better than how a knife in the neck felt. Thank you. I would have died if you had not acted.”

  Caina shrugged. “You saved my life many times. You tended to me when I was recovering in Drynemet. It would be a poor show of gratitude if I failed to repay you.”

  “If we tried to repay you for all the lives you have saved, we shall be here until the sun burns out,” said Annarah, trying to rise. Caina helped her to stand.

  “How did you wake up so soon, by the way?” said Caina. “Kylon was out for days. I was out for nearly a month.”

  “I am a loremaster of Iramis,” said Annarah, “and learning to wield the Words of Lore trains us to handle sudden surges of arcane power. Elixir Restorata generates a tremendous amount of heat and fire, as you have seen…”

  Morgant laughed. “An understatement. Ask anyone in Rumarah.”

  “So I was able to channel that power into a form of attack,” said Annarah. “For you, the power reacted to your damaged aura, and you needed longer to recover, though you did become a valikarion in the process.” She blinked, and then laughed a little.

  “What is it?” said Caina.

  “It is a silly thing, but I am grateful it did not burn away my clothes,” said Annarah. “When you were naked in front of all those men in Rumarah…by the Divine, in your place, I would have died of utter embarrassment.”

  Caina smiled. “It helps that I don’t remember any of it.”

  “The only man who has seen me undressed has been my husband,” said Annarah, “and I wish for that to remain so.”

  Caina blinked, seemingly puzzled. “Your husband? Why…” She frowned for an instant, and then shook her head. “Never mind. We have more immediate problems.”

  “Yes,” said Morgant. “Like getting off this damned island.”

  Annarah nodded and looked at the warded door. “They’re waiting for me, aren’t they? I’m the only one they can sense at the moment.”

  “Aye,” said Caina. “Morgant’s got his ring, and they can’t sense me. I thought your pyrikon could shield you from their senses…”

  “It can,” said Annarah.

  “But to do that,” said Caina, “you’ll have to drop the ward.”

  “I can raise it again in a few minutes,” said Annarah, “but by then, they will have swarmed into this chamber.”

  “Yes,” said Caina, looking around. “But they can’t sense us, and I can only see baboons in the hall. None of the undead warriors with the seeing spells on their helmets.”

  “Where did they go?” said Annarah.

  “An excellent question,” said Morgant. “It appears they wandered off.” He thought that suspicious. Those undead warriors were the most powerful fighters on Pyramid Isle. So why had they left Morgant and Caina and Annarah unattended? It did not make sense.

  “The nagataaru have trouble perceiving the physical world when they do not possess a host with functional eyesight,” said Caina, “and the baboons are just rotting shells.”

/>   She took a few quick steps back, looking around, her gaze sweeping the ceiling. Morgant had to admit the ceiling was aesthetically pleasing, adorned with patterned constellations in the stylized Maatish style. He did not see anything useful, though.

  “There,” said Caina, pointing at the wall.

  Morgant considered the wall. “You want us to stand on the spears?” Bronze spears, their blades no doubt protected from corrosion by spells, stood in niches along the walls. A flat ledge ran along the wall, perhaps a dozen feet off the floor.

  “No,” said Caina. “We’ll remove the spears and stand up there.”

  Morgant grunted. “You think that will work?”

  “People never look up,” said Caina. “Have you noticed that? The nagataaru have trouble perceiving the physical world in three dimensions. If people never look up, do you think the nagataaru will?”

  That…actually made sense, come to think of it. At least, Morgant couldn’t think of anything better.

  “So once we’re up there,” said Morgant, “what then?”

  “The nagataaru will search for us,” said Caina. “When they don’t find us, they’ll assume we slipped past them somehow. So they’ll search for us, and if we’re careful, we can slip past them and make our way to the exit.”

  “I do not see any other option,” said Annarah. “Even with your new valikon and the Words of Lore, we cannot fight our way past so many nagataaru.”

  Morgant shrugged. “Well, why not? If we die, at least we’ll die while looking ridiculous.”

  “Yes,” said Caina. “I’m sure the real tragedy will be that you won’t get to paint a picture of our deaths. Come on, help me get these spears down.”

  ###

  A short time later Caina braced herself on the narrow ledge. There was just enough room to get her feet settled, and if she stood motionless, she could keep her balance without too much difficulty. Morgant made it up to the ledge with catlike grace, and Caina suspected that he had spent a great deal of time skulking along rooftops and ledges, just as she had. Annarah had a harder time, but she did not flinch from the effort, and once Caina and Morgant got her to the ledge, she braced herself against the wall, her pyrikon clinking against the stone.