Ghost in the Winds (Ghost Exile #9)

by Jonathan Moeller

  Kylon grunted as he looked at the embassy from New Kyre.

  “What is it?” said Caina, touching his arm.

  “My cousin Ramphias,” said Kylon with a scowl. “The Assembly appointed him the new High Seat of House Kardamnos after I was banished.”

  Caina spotted Ramphias on the other side of the Court of Justice. He looked a great deal like Kylon, albeit older and more weathered. Ramphias’s eyes widened as he saw Kylon, and he stepped away from the other Kyracian lords and stormsingers and stormdancers as if intending to approach Kylon, but the press of the crowd separated them. Of course, Caina and Kylon had come with the embassy of Nasser, Prince of Iramis, and they stood not far from the dais and the throne itself.

  So Caina had a good view as the Emissary of the Living Flame, by ancient tradition, placed the diadem of red gold upon the head of Kutal Sulaman Tarshahzon, Mazyan scowling from a short distance nearby. The Emissary proclaimed that it was the manifest will of the Living Flame that Prince Kutal take the throne of his father. Before his assembled nobles. Sulaman recited the oath of coronation, promising to defend his subjects from all dangers, to see that justice was done fairly, to favor neither rich nor poor nor weak nor powerful, to see to the welfare and prosperity of his realm, to succor the widow and the orphan in their hour of need.

  The crowds cheered, loud and long, and the emirs bowed as the new Padishah of Istarinmul took the seat of his fathers.

  Tanzir Shahan, resplendent in the formal robes and turban of the Grand Wazir, stepped forward, an Alchemist trailing after him. The Alchemist cast a spell to amplify Tanzir’s voice, and the Grand Wazir started reading the decrees of the Padishah.

  First, war was declared upon the Umbarian Order for the monstrous treachery of Cassander Nilas. Istarinmul was in no shape to wage war against anyone, but the Starfall Straits were closed to the vessels of the Order, while ships of the Emperor could pass freely, along with any privateers wishing to prey upon the fleets of the Umbarians.

  Caina, remembering Cassander Nilas’s plan to destroy Istarinmul and send the Umbarian fleet through the Starfall Straits to attack Malarae, smiled at that.

  Tanzir read more of the new Padishah’s decrees. The ancient alliance of Istarinmul to Iramis, broken by the treachery of Callatas, was reaffirmed once more. For aiding Cassander, the Brotherhood of Slavers was declared outlawed, its treasury and the palaces of the cowled masters to be used for the rebuilding of Istarinmul and the housing of those left widowed and orphaned by the recent upheavals. Slavery was not outlawed, and neither were the gladiatorial games, but the buying and selling of slaves were banned, and only volunteers were allowed in the games, and the Padishah hoped that the practice of slavery would soon wither away without violent revolution. Tanzir read a letter from the Master Alchemists, pledging their loyalty to the Padishah and asking him to appoint a new Grand Master to oversee the College and rebuild it from Callatas’s misrule.

  After that, the Padishah gave rewards and gifts. Individual soldiers and nobles received the praise of the Padishah for their valor in the siege and the battle. A stipend was given to the Sisters of the Living Flame to see to the care and recovery of the wraithblood addicts. The arid steppes around Istarinmul proper, once useless even to the nomads, would become prosperous farmland thanks to the sudden new rainfall, and the Padishah announced that any man wishing to serve in the army of Istarinmul would receive a grant of land once his service was done.

  “Lastly,” said Tanzir with stentorian flair. He had developed quite a knack for public speaking, a far cry from the timid man Caina had met in Malarae years ago. “For their part in insuring our victory, the Padishah is pleased to grant Damla of the House of Agabyzus, Nerina Strake the locksmith, and Malcolm the armorer remission from taxes for the remainder of their natural lives. Furthermore, the scribe Agabyzus is at this moment appointed to the post of Chief of Scribes, to oversee the scribes of the Padishah’s household.”

  Caina laughed a little. “I suppose they can’t be spies any longer, either.”

  “There are worse fates,” said Kylon.

  “To Kylon of House Kardamnos,” said Tanzir, and Kylon frowned in surprise. “Countless soldiers of our army watched you defeat Rhataban in single combat, and you led the attack upon the walls that allowed us to enter the city. For your bravery, the Padishah is pleased to grant you the rank of an emir of Istarinmul, and should you wish it, the estate and magistracy of your choice.”

  Kylon offered a deep bow to the throne, and Tanzir continued reading his decrees.

  “You could become the lord commander of the Istarish navy,” said Caina in a low voice.

  “If you don’t have something else in mind for me to do,” said Kylon.

  Caina frowned. She wondered what that meant. He was smiling at her. So was Nasser, come to think of it.

  “What?” said Caina.

  “It is not often that we can surprise you,” said Kylon, “but…”

  Sulaman raised a hand, and a hush fell over the Court of Justice.

  “By ancient tradition,” said Sulaman in his quiet voice, the spell of the Alchemist carrying his words to the crowd, “the Padishah of Istarinmul addressed only the gravest and most serious matters in the Court of Justice. Lord Tanzir has dealt ably and well with the matters I set before him, but there is one affair I must judge myself.” He turned his head. “Caina Amalas, you will come before me.”

  Caina blinked in surprise, but gathered up her skirts and walked to the base of the dais of the Padishah, the weight of thousands of eyes upon her.

  “Caina Amalas of Malarae,” said Sulaman, “you entered the city as the spy of the Emperor, and you embarked on a campaign of terror and fear against the cowled masters of the Brotherhood. It is my understanding that Lord Tanzir’s predecessor in the office of Grand Wazir put a bounty of two million bezants upon your head. After that, you destroyed the Inferno and waged war against the Umbarian Order through the streets of Istarinmul despite the prohibition of the Grand Wazir. If I were to recite all the mayhem you have unleashed, we will be here until the next sunrise. Grand Wazir?”

  Tanzir struck his staff of office against the ground. “Shall anyone speak for Caina Amalas?”

  “I shall,” called a woman’s voice.

  Caina blinked again and half-turned as Damla emerged from the Imperial embassy, followed by Bahad and Bayram. Tomazain stood with the boys, and Caina had noticed that both Damla and her sons seemed increasingly fond of the House of Agabyzus’s new chief baker.

  “Speak,” said Tanzir.

  “My name is Damla, daughter of Torzamus, sister of Agabyzus chief of the royal scribes, and widow of Bahlar, who died at Marsis,” said Damla. She took a deep breath, nervous to speak in front of so many. “On the day Caina Amalas came to Istarinmul, the Master Slaver Ulvan illegally kidnapped my sons to sell them to Grand Master Callatas, to kill them in his vile wraithblood laboratories. I despaired utterly of ever seeing them again. Yet Caina promised me she would rescue them, and I thought her a madwoman. She kept her word and brought my sons out of captivity, and laid Master Ulvan low. By the Living Flame, I swear my words are true and trustworthy.”

  “Who else shall speak?” said Tanzir.

  “My name is Claudia Aberon Dorius,” said Claudia, stepping forward next to Damla, “wife of the Lord Ambassador Martin Dorius, and former sister of the Imperial Magisterium. When the Red Huntress came for us, Caina fought her. At Silent Ash Temple, where the Emissary who placed the diadem upon my lord Padishah’s brow gave Caina a valikon of ancient Iramis, and with that valikon she challenged the Huntress, even though it meant her death.” She smiled at Caina, her green eyes glittering. “She saved my life, and my husband’s life, and the life of my son. By the gods of the Empire, I swear my words are true and trustworthy.”

  “Who else shall speak?” repeated Tanzir.

  “My name is Annarah of Iramis,” said Annarah, her valikon staff tapping against the ground, her white robes resplendent in the mo
rning sun as she stepped away from the Iramisian embassy, “wife of Mishan, and sister of the order of the loremasters of Iramis, keepers of the Words of Lore since the dawn of time. To thwart from the power of Callatas, I concealed the relics of the Princes of Iramis and then hid in the netherworld so he might not find them. For a century and a half I languished there until my only friend left in the world,” she looked at Morgant, who stood a few paces away, looking mightily amused by the whole ceremony, “went into the netherworld to rescue us. Without the help of Caina Amalas, we would have both perished and Callatas would have triumphed in his evil. More, I saw Caina outwit and defeat the Great Necromancer Kharnaces, who set Callatas upon his dark path. By the will of the Divine, I swear my words are true and trustworthy.”

  “Who else shall speak?” said Tanzir, rapping his staff against the ground again.

  “Aye, I’ll say my piece!” bellowed Malcolm from the Imperial embassy. “Name’s Malcolm, and I’m the best damned armorer in Istarinmul. So I was kidnapped and sold to the Inferno to make armor for the Immortals, and I thought I’d die down there.” Nerina smiled at him, and then at Caina. “I would have died down there, but the Balarigar came for us. She freed the slaves, and she even freed the undead in the depths of the Inferno. Aye, I’ll swear by any gods you want that my words are true and trustworthy.”

  “Who else shall speak?” said Tanzir.

  “By your leave, Grand Wazir,” said Nasser, walking to Caina’s side.

  “Your words are always welcome in the court of Istarinmul, Prince Nasser,” said Tanzir.

  “Thank you, Grand Wazir,” said Nasser. “I am Nasser, Prince of Iramis, and for a century and a half, I sought for a way to defeat Callatas and free my people from their imprisonment in the netherworld. A dozen times I tried, and I dozen times I failed. Then I met Caina Amalas, and she set us upon the path to victory. She became the first valikarion to walk beneath the sun for a hundred and fifty years, and as a valikarion, she defeated Cassander Nilas. More, she was the one Annarah had foreseen so long ago, the one to take up the regalia of the Princes and call Iramis back to the waking world. Caina Amalas! For your deeds and your valor, for your kindness to us, by my authority as Prince of Iramis, I give you the title Liberator of Iramis.”

  Caina felt a surge of stunned emotion. She had heard Annarah mention the “liberator to come” a few times. Kharnaces had forced the knowledge of the Iramisian tongue into Caina’s mind, and she knew the Iramisian word for “Liberator.” It was the highest honor a Prince of Iramis could bestow upon anyone. Throughout the millennia of Iramis’s long history, it had only been awarded a few dozen times, and Caina had seen the statues of past Liberators standing outside the Towers of Lore, next to stelae proclaiming their deeds. Children of Iramis learned their names by rote as part of their lessons of history, as exemplars of courage and virtue.

  “I…” said Caina. “Nasser, I…this is not something I deserve, nor that I want. I could not have survived without the help of so many others. I could…I could not have…” She took a long breath and offered a deep bow to him. “Thank you.”

  “Will anyone else speak?” said Tanzir.

  “I,” said Sulaman, “Kutal Sulaman Tarshahzon, Padishah of Istarinmul, shall speak.”

  He rose from his throne and descended the dais until he stood a few paces from Caina. To judge from the shocked silence that fell over the Court of Justice, this was not part of the usual ritual of the Istarish court.

  “My…lord Padishah?” said Tanzir. He seemed surprised.

  “All of Istarinmul knows the fate of my father,” said Sulaman, his voice ringing in the tone he had used when reciting epic poems in Damla’s coffee house. “All of Istarinmul knows how I concealed myself within the city, speaking the epics of our nation as I sought for a way to defeat Callatas. As I searched, I met a young woman, banished from her homeland and maddened by grief. I thought she would slay herself in despair, but instead, she challenged the corrupt masters of the Brotherhood and made them know fear for the first time in many years. I saw Callatas send his minions to slay her, and I thought her death certain. Yet she outwitted them and brought them to ruin. I saw the certainty of her death in her fate, yet she returned as the first valikarion of this age of the world. I saw the treachery of the Umbarians threaten to destroy our nation, and I saw her defeated Cassander Nilas. I saw her free my father from his imprisonment, and fulfill his final command, to liberate our people when he lacked the strength to do so. I saw Iramis rise out of the dust of death, returned to the mortal world once more. All these wonders I have seen and more, and I swear by the Living Flame that my words are trustworthy and true.”

  “You make it sound,” said Caina in a low voice, “so much more…dramatic than it really was. Better than it really was.”

  Sulaman smiled and answered in the same low voice. “Is that not the duty of the poet?”

  The Padishah raised his voice once more. “I told you once, Balarigar, after you rescued the sons of Damla, that if it was within my power, I would reward you. Therefore it shall be so. Let it be known that I adopt Caina of the House Amalas into the House Tarshahzon. Henceforth she is an amirja of the realm of Istarinmul, and is to be known as the Padishah’s most noble sister.”

  Caina kept her face a calm mask, but her mind wheeled in shock. Gods – the Padishah’s sister? That made her one of the most powerful women in Istarinmul, second perhaps only to whoever would become Sulaman’s consort and senior wife. Gods, she would have estates, and servants, and people trying to gain her favor and patronage, and…

  “Does this mean, my lord Padishah,” said Tanzir, “that I ought to cancel Erghulan Amirasku’s bounty upon her?”

  “It seems to me,” said Sulaman, “that the Padishah’s magistrates should not be placing bounties upon the Padishah’s sister, no?”

  A rumble of laughter went up from the crowds.

  Tanzir lowered his voice. “A long way, is it not, from that pier in Malarae where we first met? I fell upon my face, and you pretended to be a coffee merchant’s mistress.”

  “A long way,” answered Caina, still stunned. “A long way.”

  What would have Halfdan thought? She looked at Kylon, but he only smiled.

  “Balarigar,” said Sulaman, “let it be known that I wish to give you a gift for the great service you have given to our nation. Ask anything you wish of me, and if it is within my power, I shall grant it.”

  Caina stared at him. What she wanted, if she was really honest with herself, was to settle down somewhere to live quietly, marry Kylon, and have him father children upon her.

  But only some of that was possible, and she knew better than to pine for things that could never be.

  “What I wish, my lord Padishah,” said Caina, “is for you to rule wisely and well, and to administer your people with justice. I wish for your people to have no need of a Liberator or a Balarigar, and for Callatas to always be remembered, lest another follow in his path. I have no wish for riches or titles or power. What I ask you is for Istarinmul itself – Istarinmul ruled with justice and mercy. That is what I ask.”

  “A costly gift,” said Sulaman, “but if it is within my power, I shall grant it to you gladly.”

  A cheer rose from the Court of Justice.

  Chapter 32: Summons

  “Now that you’re the Padishah’s sister,” said Morgant, “it’s traditional for you to commission works of art. Paintings, of course, since that is the best form of art. Ah!” He grinned his toothy grin. “Perhaps I’ll paint you. Standing at the Court of Justice, arm outstretched as the crowd applauds…”

  “If you do that,” said Caina, “I will have you killed.”

  Morgant laughed. “Already the power goes to your head.”

  “No one thanked you,” said Caina.

  Morgant snorted. “Who wants thanks?”

  She and Kylon had drawn away from the crowds draining out of the Court of Justice. Traditionally the Padishah threw a great banquet upon
his coronation, hosting the nobles in the Golden Palace and providing free food and drink for all in the Tarshahzon Gardens. Sulaman had not abandoned the tradition, and now the guests departed to begin eating. A few of the more ambitious nobles had already approached Caina, but thankfully Nasser had lent her some of his guard, and she could converse in relative privacy.

  “As loathe as I am to admit it,” said Kylon, his callused fingers warm against Caina’s, “we could have done none of this without you.”

  “Bah,” said Morgant. “I kept my word. That is all that matters to me. Well, that, and we did kill some people who deserved killing. What more do I need? Certainly not thanks.”

  “Well,” said Caina. “You have my thanks, anyway.”

  Before Morgant could stop her, she leaned over and gave him a quick kiss on the check. He flinched as if she had struck her, his pale eyes wide and unblinking.

  “Thank you, Morgant,” said Caina.

  He scoffed again. “I think I will paint that portrait of you. Except you’ll be gazing up at the Kyracian with rapturous adoration.”

  “Why not paint it that way?” said Caina. “It’s the truth, isn’t it?”

  “Bah,” said Morgant again. “I am going to go eat some of Sulaman’s food and drink some of Sulaman’s wine. I suppose Annarah will want me to talk to Mishan. The fool wants me to teach his sons swordplay, did you know that? No doubt they’ll grow up to become valikarion to stand scowling behind their mother.”