Caina nodded and got to her feet, and Kylon followed suit. He didn’t know if they could stop Callatas. He didn’t even know if he could kill Cassander Nilas and avenge Thalastre, or if they could defeat the Red Huntress when she returned. For that matter, Kylon was no longer certain of his place in the world, or if he even had a place. Once he had been a noble of New Kyre, a stormdancer and a thalarchon and a High Seat, a husband and a father-to-be.
What was he now?
Kylon didn’t know.
He did know, however, that he was going to do everything he could to keep Caina alive. She had made powerful enemies, and sometimes she seemed determined to push herself until something killed her. Kylon refused to let that happen. He had seen too many women he loved die in front of him already.
Caina was…
He was not going to let her get killed, and that was that, so Kylon followed her from the wine shop and into the gloom of the Istarish night.
The wine shop sat on the southern edge of the Cyrican Quarter, not far from the merchant halls of the Old Quarter and the grim barracks-like houses of the Tower Quarter. Caina led them into the Cyrican Quarter, keeping to the back streets and courtyards. He understood her reasoning. Press gangs had taken to wandering the streets of Istarinmul at night, kidnapping and conscripting men into the Padishah’s army. Or the Grand Wazir’s army, more accurately, since the Padishah Nahas Tarshahzon had not been seen in years.
A thought occurred to him.
“Did I ever tell you that I met the Padishah?” said Kylon in a quiet voice.
Caina blinked, her eyes glimmering in the dim light from a nearby lamp. “No. When was this?”
“Years ago, the first time I came to Istarinmul,” said Kylon. “When Andromache was plotting with Rezir Shahan to take Marsis. I met him briefly then.”
“What did he look like?” said Caina.
“He looked…ill,” said Kylon. They turned a corner and made their way down an alley. He recognized the neighborhood. They were going to the street of the metalworkers, just off the Cyrican Bazaar itself. Perhaps Caina needed to speak with Nerina Strake. “He was tremendously fat, and I suspect he may not have been able to walk under his own strength. Little wonder he could not stop Rezir from launching his war against the Empire.”
Caina shook her head. “No one has seen him since the war ended. Or his sons, for that matter. I suspect Callatas murdered them, and then covered it up so Erghulan could rule as Grand Wazir in the Padishah’s name. I wish I could have found at least one of the Padishah’s sons. Someone to challenge Erghulan’s authority would have been helpful.”
“You’ve looked for the Padishah and his sons?” said Kylon, surprised. Ghost circlemasters did indeed have their secrets.
“Unsuccessfully,” said Caina. “Nasser looked, too, but he couldn’t find them. And…here we are.”
They stood in alley lined by three-story tall shops and houses, the alley itself ending in a small courtyard. Kylon recognized one of the houses as Nerina Strake’s workshop. Scaffolding covered the house next to hers, surrounding a half-constructed chimney. Her husband Malcolm, newly liberated from the Inferno, had purchased the house, and planned to turn it into an armorer’s workshop. Malcolm was one of the strangest men Kylon had ever met, just as Nerina was one of the strangest women, but he was an excellent armorer. Kylon had the notion of ordering a dagger for Caina once Malcolm opened for business. She did like knives.
“We’re visiting Nerina?” said Kylon aloud.
“No,” said Caina, crossing to the scaffolding and starting to climb. Kylon followed suit. “A Teskilati agent has been watching her workshop for the last few nights. Likely he suspects she’s part of the Ghost circle.”
Kylon nodded. “Then we’re going to kill him?” He disliked killing in cold blood. He was a warrior, not a spy or an assassin, and he preferred to face his opponents openly. Yet he had fallen in with spies and assassins, and the Ghosts’ war with Callatas was different had any he had fought before.
“That would be efficient, but wasteful,” said Caina, crouching on the second level of scaffolding. From here, they could watch the courtyard unseen, and quickly escape if necessary. Or, knowing how Caina usually thought, escape over the rooftops. “Instead, we’re going to confuse him. One of the smiths further down the street is named Kassan Qhoridaz, and he’s an Umbarian agent.”
“I see,” said Kylon, his hand twitching towards his sword belt. He owed the Umbarian Order a debt of pain.
“If we simply killed the Teskilati agent, they’ll get suspicious,” said Caina, watching the courtyard. “Instead, we’ll lead him off to Master Kassan’s shop.” She jerked her head in the proper direction. “Anything that sows discord between the Grand Wazir and the Umbarian Order is a good thing. The Order must not convince Istarinmul to side with them against the Emperor.”
Kylon did not care about the Emperor, and he cared even less about the Empire, but Caina was a Ghost of the Empire, so he supposed it was her task to care. And while Kylon did not care about the Empire, he hated the Umbarian Order, and would prefer to see the Emperor defeat the Order and crush the rebel magi.
“Too complicated,” said Kylon. “I was never very good at politics.”
“I suppose one large battle would simplify matters,” said Caina. “If we lost, though…what then?”
They settled in to wait, concealed by the scaffolding. Kylon kept watch, the arcane senses granted to him by the sorcery of water watching for any foes, his eyes scanning the darkness for motion. He had kept watch many times while sailing with the warships of the Kyracian fleet, and his mind wandered as he did. He was very aware of Caina’s presence next to him, the slow, steady draw of her breath, the cool focus of her emotions brushing against his arcane senses. Again he thought of kissing her. He didn’t think she would stop him.
A wave of guilt accompanied the thought. His wife had only been dead two years, slain upon the Red Huntress’s burning blade. After Thalastre had been killed, Kylon had not thought of other women. He had not thought of living, in truth, of doing anything except dying in the process of his revenge.
Then Caina had walked into his room below the Ring of Cyrica.
Perhaps for the first time in his life, he did not know what to do next. No matter how much he wanted to do it, he could think of numerous reasons why kissing Caina would be a bad idea…
“There,” breathed Caina, her voice barely a whisper.
The Teskilati agent had arrived.
It was almost a relief.
Kylon loosened the valikon in its sheath over his shoulder. The ancient sword had been forged to destroy nagataaru, wrought from ghostsilver and wrapped with the mightiest spells of the ancient loremasters of Iramis. A peculiar sensation went up his hand as he grasped the sword’s hilt, as if the weapon was vibrating beneath his fingers, though he knew it was motionless. The sword had been created to destroy nagataaru, but Kylon had no doubt that it would be equally effective against an agent of the Padishah’s secret police.
Though hopefully they would not have to kill anyone. That wasn’t the goal, at least not tonight.
An Istarish man strolled into the courtyard, wearing the blue robes and turban of a merchant of middling prosperity. A scimitar and a dagger hung at his belt, and despite the man’s casual demeanor, Kylon noted the man’s cautious bearing. He also sensed the man’s emotions, taut with wariness. Yet he didn’t feel like a man watching for a potential enemy. He seemed instead like a man waiting for a dangerous ally…
Caina’s head snapped to the left, so fast that Kylon feared something had hit her. She stared down into the courtyard, her eyes narrowed, and she leaned close to whisper in his ear.
“Do you feel that?” she hissed. “Someone’s using a spell down there.”
He drew upon the power of water sorcery, altering his senses and working a spell in silence. His talents lay with the sorcery of air and water, yet he could recognize other kinds of sorcery when he detected them, an
d he suddenly felt three loci of sorcerous power below, a peculiar mixture of necromantic and elemental spells…
That confirmed his suspicion.
There were three Silent Hunters in the courtyard.
The Imperial Magisterium of the Empire forbade the magi from using spells of necromancy and pyromancy and other forbidden arcane sciences. The Umbarian Order had gleefully cast aside those restrictions, and used their forbidden sciences to created augmented soldiers they could unleash upon their enemies. The Silent Hunters were the Order’s assassins, with spells of necromancy and illusion carved upon their flesh. For one hour of every day, they could turn invisible. The power had limitations – the Silent Hunter had to be naked for it to work, since the sorcery only altered his flesh, and he could not carry any weapons larger than a dagger.
Yet within their limitations, the Silent Hunters were deadly killers.
“Wait,” breathed Caina. If the Silent Hunters wished to kill a Teskilati agent, there was no reason to interrupt them. But if the Silent Hunters and the Padishah’s secret police had decided to cooperate…
Silver light rippled, and a wiry, naked man appeared in the courtyard below, his chest and back scarred with arcane sigils carved into his flesh. He held a dagger in his left hand with a loose, confident grip. The other two Silent Hunters remained unseen.
“You’re late,” said the Teskilati agent in Istarish, his voice annoyed.
The Silent Hunter offered a lazy shrug, his shoulder blades stark against the scarred skin of his back. “There were complications. Such is the nature of our trade.”
“Indeed,” said the Teskilati. “What have you learned?”
“You first,” said the Silent Hunter. “That was the arrangement. The locksmith.”
The Teskilati shrugged. “Very well. The mad locksmith Strake is likely a dead end.”
“You do not believe her to be a Ghost?” said the Silent Hunter.
“No,” said the Teskilati, and Kylon saw Caina smirk with satisfaction. “Her father was Ragodan Strake, a prominent master of the Brotherhood and a friend of Malik Rolukhan. I doubt the daughter of such a man would join a ring of foreign spies. Additionally, the Strake woman is a wraithblood addict, and you know how unreliable they are. Likely she has worked for the Ghosts, but I doubt Strake even remembers, and the Balarigar would be clever enough to use a false name, damn the woman.”
Caina’s smile did not change.
“What about the blacksmith who has taken up residence with her?” said the Silent Hunter, waving a hand at the scaffolding.
“An opportunist,” said the Teskilati. “Despite her madness, Strake is not an unattractive woman, and some men enjoy a certain…instability in their women.” The Silent Hunter gave a derisive snort. “Likely he thinks to profit off her skills while enjoying her company in his bed. No, watching Strake is a dead end.”
“Fortunately,” said the Silent Hunter, “some of us have not been idle. I think I know where to find the loremaster Annarah.”
Caina’s smile vanished at once.
“Indeed?” said the Teskilati. “Where is the sorceress? The Grand Master wants her head almost as badly as he wants the Balarigar’s.”
“Somewhere near the Cyrican Harbor, I believe,” said the Silent Hunter. “She has been working in the hospitals that minister to the wraithblood addicts.” He sneered. “A waste of time and money. The wraithblood addicts are useless beggars. They should be put to death as a drain upon the public coffers. In the provinces ruled by the Order, they would be slain and raised as undead to augment the Order’s armies.”
The Teskilati agent shrugged. “The Grand Master wishes them kept alive. That is why the Grand Wazir permitted the Sisters of the Living Flame to open the hospitals. We in the Teskilati do not question the orders of our superiors. I imagine matters work much the same in the Umbarian Order.”
“You speak wisely,” said the Teskilati. “Which hospital?”
“I do not yet know,” said the Silent Hunter. “One of the three hospitals. She works at all three, and moves between them at need.”
“Good,” said the Teskilati. “We have been hunting the Balarigar since the destruction of the Widow’s Tower, and this is the first solid lead we’ve had since the Kindred failed to kill her. We will post a watch on the hospitals and take the sorceress alive. Once we have her, she can be made to talk…and we shall at last have the Balarigar.”
Caina whispered into Kylon’s ear again. “We have to kill them all. They can’t go back to their masters with this information.”
Kylon nodded. Annarah knew a great many of their secrets. Worse, she knew the location of the Staff and the Seal of Iramis. If the Teskilati torturers forced her to reveal their location, Callatas would claim the relics in short order, and the Apotheosis would come to pass.
“Very well,” said the Silent Hunter. “But should this plan succeed, credit for the Balarigar’s death must go to Lord Cassander Nilas.”
The Teskilati gave an indifferent shrug. “That is not for us to decide. The Grand Master is the true power in Istarinmul, and he does as he wishes, regardless of whatever promises he has made to your master.”
“And the Lord Cassander shall do as he wishes as well,” said the Silent Hunter. “Perhaps the Grand Master ought to tend to his own stables first. If the rebels in the south gain momentum, perhaps in a year’s time Lord Cassander will negotiate with a new Padishah and a new Grand Wazir.”
“Take the Teskilati,” whispered Caina. “I’ll deal with the Silent Hunter.”
“The other two?” breathed Kylon.
He glimpsed her grim smile. “They can’t hide. Not from us. Strike first. I’ll come after you and take the Silent Hunter.”
Kylon nodded and drew the valikon in silence. The ghostsilver blade glimmered a little in the dim light, but fortunately the Teskilati agent and the Silent Hunter were too busy arguing to notice. Caina turned and climbed in utter silence down the scaffolding, a dagger appearing in her hand. Kylon straightened up and took a cautious step forward. The damned scaffolding creaked, but neither the Teskilati agent nor the Silent Hunter noticed.
But the invisible Silent Hunters might have noticed, so it was time to move.
Kylon drew upon the sorcery of water to make himself stronger, the sorcery of air to make him faster, and leaped from the scaffolding. He shot towards the Teskilati agent and the Silent Hunter, the courtyard blurring toward him, and just had time to glimpse the Teskilati agent’s astonished expression.
Then Kylon landed, the valikon sweeping before him with all of his strength and momentum driving the blow, and he took off the Teskilati agent’s head. Blood fountained from the stump of his neck. The Silent Hunter, to his credit, did not hesitate, but raised his dagger to strike. Before he could, Caina melted out of the darkness behind him, one hand seizing his lank hair, the other slashing her dagger across his throat with cold precision. The Silent Hunter fell to his knees, gagging, his death assured as his life bled out through the torn veins in his neck.
But there were still two invisible Silent Hunters.
“Your left!” shouted Caina, throwing herself to the ground. Instead of dodging, Kylon charged to the left, going to one knee and ducking as he did. He felt something tug hard at the leather armor he wore over his tunic, likely the blade of an invisible dagger, and struck with the valikon. The sword caught upon something unseen, the sigils written in the blade flaring with white light, and suddenly a second Silent Hunter appeared before Kylon as the valikon collapsed his spell of invisibility. The Silent Hunter snarled and raised his dagger to strike, and Kylon moved first, driving the valikon through the assassin’s chest. The Silent Hunter went rigid, and Kylon kicked the dying man free from the blade, seeking for the final assassin.
He saw Caina, but no sign of the last Silent Hunter. Caina retreated in a zigzag pattern, dodging back and forth at random. She could not see the Silent Hunter, but her peculiar ability to sense sorcery meant that she knew exactly whe
re the assassin was. Kylon again worked the spell to sense the presence of arcane forces, and detected the peculiar necromantic aura that surrounded the Silent Hunter.
He charged at the aura, sweeping the valikon back and forth in a wide arc, and felt the tip of the blade catch upon something solid. Again the valikon flashed as it collapsed the invisibility spell and final Silent Hunter appeared. Caina flung a knife, the blade sinking into the assassin’s thigh. The Silent Hunter let out a sharp gasp of pain, the sigils carved into his flesh starting to pulse with silver light once more.
Kylon stepped forward, brought the valikon down, and ended the fight.
He lifted the sword, looking around for any more foes, but saw none. Nor did he hear any sounds of alarm. The merchants and residents of the street of the metalworkers had slept through the fight.
“Any others?” said Kylon.
“None,” said Caina, and she gave a disgusted shake of her head.
“What?” said Kylon.
“These idiots,” she said, looking at the dead Silent Hunters. “They trusted too much in their invisibility.”
“If we must have foes,” said Kylon, “then let us pray they are all as incompetent.”
She smiled a little at that. “Agreed. Come. Let’s move the bodies, quickly. I don’t want to leave them behind Nerina’s shop, and I know just where to put them.”
“The doorstep of Kassan Qhoridaz, I presume,” said Kylon, sheathing the valikon and taking the ankles of a dead Silent Hunter.
“Precisely,” said Caina, gripping the dead man under the armpits. “I hope Kassan enjoys explaining to his masters why three dead Silent Hunters and one dead Teskilati agent turned up on his front step. Oh, we’ll need his head, too. Hard to identify a headless corpse.”
The dead men were not heavy, and Kassan’s workshop was not far away. No watchmen or soldiers were on the street, and Kylon and Caina soon had the dead men piled upon Kassan’s steps.
“Pity we can’t do anything about the blood,” muttered Caina, her sense growing colder as she considered the problem. “We left a trail back to the courtyard. Obvious that we killed them there.”
Ghost in the Seal (Ghost Exile #6) Page 3
