Ghost in the Seal (Ghost Exile #6)

by Jonathan Moeller

  “Go,” said Caina. “I’ll be fine.”

  Kylon hesitated, his mind churning with a dozen different things he wanted to say to her. Every one of them ran up against the cold, hard fact that she was dying, that the poison was twisting her mind. Until it was cured, he would not burden her with anything else.

  “All right,” said Kylon.

  She smiled at him, and Kylon turned and left the room, closing the door behind him.

  ###

  Caina walked to the sideboard, poured herself a cup of wine, and drained it in three swallows. She never really liked wine, but her throat felt as dry as the Desert of Candles, and she thought she might be able to keep it down.

  She wished…she wished she could do something more for Kylon. She wished that Sulaman’s prophecy wasn’t coming true. At least the Staff and the Seal were in good hands, and the Ghost circle would continue its work once she died. Caina finished another swallow of wine and set the cup down. Perhaps the wine would help her fall asleep before the hallucinations began.

  She turned towards the bed and froze.

  Something metallic lay upon the pillow, glinting in the dying light from the shutters.

  Caina was certain, absolutely certain, that the pillow had been empty just a moment before.

  She stepped forward, reaching for her ghostsilver dagger, and a jolt of fear went through her.

  A small knife lay on the pillow, its delicate blade curved. Caina had seen that knife before. No, rather, she had seen knives identical to it, left all over Istarinmul outside of her safe houses.

  And now one had just appeared in the room with her.

  Before she could turn, before she could even react, a hard hand clamped over her mouth and jerked her backward. Pain exploded through her back and chest, and Caina would have screamed, but suddenly she had no strength left in her. She looked down and saw a length of ghostsilver beaded with blood.

  A sword blade. It had been driven into her back and through her chest.

  The hand over her mouth jerked her back, and Caina felt hot breath against her neck.

  A familiar voice hissed in her ear.

  “Remember me?” whispered Kalgri the Red Huntress. “I’ve been looking forward to this for a very long time.”

  ###

  The Voice screamed in exultation as Caina struggled in Kalgri’s grasp.

  It was all Kalgri could do not to giggle. Caina’s efforts were useless, her blood draining away with every beat of her heart. Kalgri had aimed her thrust with a precision of a surgeon, and Caina had only a few moments left before her damaged heart gave out. Her agony and fear washed over Kalgri, and it was good, so good, better than any other possible pleasure that could have existed.

  “There’s not time to do this properly,” murmured Kalgri into Caina’s ear. Caina sagged, clawing at Kalgri’s arm, but her strength was failing, and only Kalgri’s grasping arm kept Caina from collapsing. “I wanted to cut you in half the way you did to me. But, well, sometimes the simplest ways are the best. So I want you to think on this. In a few moments Kylon is going to come up those stairs to check on you when Cassander attacks. He’ll come through the door…and he’ll see your head sitting on the pillow, staring at him. Just. Like. His. Wife. Think about that. That’s what I want you to think about as you die. The expression on his face.”

  Caina’s agony and fear and rage melded together into something…indescribable. The Voice feasted on her pain, strength surging through Kalgri.

  This time she did giggle.

  ###

  Kylon walked back into the common room. Nasser and the others sat at one of the tables, awaiting the jewel merchant. He thought it strange that the Rest’s common room was so empty. The slavers of Rumarah did not seem the sort of let a little violence get in the way of their drinking and whoring, but Kylon had been wrong before.

  He stopped, something seeming to whisper in the depths of his mind.

  Wrong before…

  Was he missing something important?

  He extended his arcane senses to the limit, sensing the emotions of everyone around him. Nasser and Annarah and the others were wary but not immediately alarmed. The slaves and porters of the Rest seemed tense, likely because of the risk of violence in the city. His sense reached up, seeking for Caina. She was farther away and harder to reach, but his sense touched her…

  And her terror and pain flooded through him.

  Kylon snatched the valikon from its sheath, and Nasser and the others sprang to their feet.

  “Defend yourselves!” he shouted. “The enemy comes!” He raced up the stairs three at time, the sorcery of air and wind giving him inhuman speed. Caina’s pain and rage and fear beat against his senses, stronger than anything he had ever felt from her. Yet he sensed no one near her. Had the poison spiraled out of control?

  He reached the door and tried to open it, only to find that someone had locked it. Kylon kicked, drawing on the sorcery of water, and the door exploded open.

  The valikon shuddered in his hand, burning with white fire.

  A dark shape in a shadow-cloak stood in the center of room. The shape whirled as Kylon stepped forward, and he found himself looking at the cold crimson mask of the Red Huntress. She held Caina before her, her left hand clamped over Caina’s mouth, a foot of bloody ghostsilver jutting from Caina’s chest.

  Time seemed to slow down.

  He saw Caina’s eyes, slowly going out of focus as her blood pumped from the wound in her chest.

  He saw the shadow-cloak hanging around the Huntress, and realized why he could not sense her. He saw the curved knife lying on the pillow, and he realized the Huntress’s plan all at once. The months of the curved knives. The shadow-cloak. A long, slow, subtle plan, a plan that had culminated in this moment, with Caina dying upon her sword.

  The Red Huntress was laughing at him.

  “Kylon, Kylon, Kylon,” she crooned. “Look at how history repeats itself.”

  Kylon roared and shot forward, all his strength and sorcery and rage driving the valikon blade forward. Let her laugh when it pierced her skull!

  The Huntress leapt backwards over the bed like an insect, the bloody short sword still in her hand. Caina fell in a limp pile to the carpet. Kylon lunged after the Huntress, and the assassin sprang out the window, still laughing wildly. She hurtled towards the ground, the shadow-cloak billowing around her, and landed in the bazaar forty feet below in the midst of dozens of Adamant Guards charging towards the Corsair’s Rest.

  Kylon shoved away from the window and ran back to Caina.

  The wound was mortal. He saw that at once. Kylon had seen many men fall in battle, and he knew a mortal wound when he saw one. He grabbed her hand, her pulse weak and faltering. Her eyes rolled towards him, and she tried to say something, but she could not seem to draw breath.

  Footsteps thundered in the hallway, and Kylon looked up as Morgant burst into the room, scimitar and dagger drawn, the dagger’s pommel glowing with harsh red light. He looked down at Kylon, and then at Caina, and for an instant looked as shocked as Kylon had ever seen the man.

  “Oh,” said Morgant. “Damn it.”

  A moment later Nasser and Laertes and Annarah retreated into the room. Annarah’s pyrikon had taken its staff form again and blazed with white fire. She looked down at Caina and her eyes widened, her expression grim.

  “What happened?” she said.

  “The Huntress,” said Kylon. He barely recognized his voice. “She was waiting for us. The knives in Istarinmul? That was her doing. She’s been following us for months. I suspect she was the one who told Cassander our plans. Gods of storm and brine, I’ve been a fool…”

  “We can chastise ourselves later,” said Nasser. “We must to decide what to do. There are at least two hundred Adamant Guards out there, and I suspect they have us surrounded.”

  Chapter 20: Prophecies

  Cassander stared at the Corsair’s Rest, listening to the centurion’s report.

  “We en
gaged them in the common room, Lord Cassander,” said the centurion in his cold, metallic voice. “Seven of us fell, and our foes withdrew up the stairs to the top level of the inn. We are watching the stairs and all entrances to the inn.”

  “Good,” said Cassander. “The innkeeper and his slaves have withdrawn?”

  “They have, my lord,” said the centurion.

  “Very well,” said Cassander. Not that he cared for the fate of such scum. But he had paid the innkeeper to keep his establishment clear until Caina and her party arrived, and the Umbarian Order needed friends everywhere. “Prepare to set fire to the inn. That will force them to flee, and we can take them when…”

  A shadow stirred in the twilight, and a red shape cloaked in darkness strode towards him. The centurion cursed and raised his weapon, as did the other Adamant Guards. Cassander only waited as Kalgri strode towards him, drawing back the cowl and lifting her red mask. Her eyes were wide and wild, her face flushed, her breathing coming hard and quick.

  He could not quite recall ever seeing her so…ecstatic.

  “It’s done, then?” said Cassander.

  “Almost,” said Kalgri. A flicker of annoyance cut through her bliss. “Kylon interrupted me before I could finish…but he was too late. I wounded her heart. Not even a loremaster can do anything about that. She has perhaps five minutes left.” She laughed, wild and high. “You should have seen the look upon his face!”

  “Perhaps I’ll let you keep it as a trophy,” said Cassander. “Which room were they in?”

  Kalgri pointed at the open shutters on the third floor.

  “Splendid,” said Cassander, and he raised his armored gauntlet, fire burning around its fingers.

  ###

  “Can you do anything?” said Kylon.

  “I shall try,” said Annarah, though he heard the doubt in her voice. Her pyrikon folded itself back into a bracelet, and Annarah knelt over Caina, white light flaring. The white light leapt from her fingers and sank into Caina, and Caina let out a long gasp, her eyes opening wide, and then she sank back against the floor, eyelids fluttering, her lips tinged with blue.

  The pulse in her wrist remained weak, fading.

  “It’s mortal, isn’t it?” said Kylon.

  “Yes.” Annarah closed her eyes and bowed her head. “The blade pierced the heart. It cannot be healed. My spell slowed its failure somewhat, but…Kylon, Ciaran has a quarter of an hour. At best.” She shook her head, and Kylon saw tears in her eyes. “I thought…I thought Ciaran would be the one, that…”

  “Annarah!” shouted Nasser, and Kylon felt the sudden surge of pyromantic sorcery around them.

  Cassander was casting a spell.

  Annarah jumped to her feet, her pyrikon transforming back into a staff, and thrust it out the window. White light shimmered in the gathering night, and an instant later there was an explosion, the Corsair’s Rest trembling. Snarling fire pulsed and lashed against Annarah’s ward, but the Words of Lore held fast against the power of the Umbarian magus.

  “Stay on watch,” said Nasser, his face grim. “He shall likely try to attack again. We must formulate a plan of escape.”

  “Over the rooftops?” said Laertes. “That is what Master Ciaran would have suggested.”

  Morgant shook his head. “No. The Corsair’s Rest is the tallest building here. Cassander could pick us off one by one.”

  “I fear the only choice is to pick an entrance and charge,” said Nasser. “We shall have to fight our way clear and escape Rumarah. The Staff and the Seal cannot fall into the hands of Cassander Nilas.”

  “That’s a foolish plan,” said Morgant.

  “Do you have anything better?” snapped Nasser, his usual calm eroding.

  Morgant sighed and looked at Caina. “I do not.”

  “Very well,” said Nasser. “I suggest that we choose the back entrance. It is nearer to alleys that will…”

  “No,” said Kylon, looking at Caina’s face. “That’s not what we’re going to do.”

  “You have a plan?” said Morgant.

  “I’m going to stay with Ciaran until the end,” said Kylon. “It…it shouldn’t be long now.” He couldn’t tell if she was aware of her surroundings or not. All he felt from her sense was a steady pulse of pain. “When she dies, I’m going to kill Cassander and the Huntress. I’ll likely die in the process, but I’m going to take at least one of them with me. While I distract them, you can escape with the Staff and the Seal. Take them to Catekharon. It is what Ciaran would have wanted.”

  “There is no need for you to sacrifice yourself,” said Annarah from the window.

  “I failed,” said Kylon. “I’ve failed again and again. I can do this right, at least. I can make sure the Staff and the Seal are never put to evil use.” Caina’s eyes had closed, her breathing coming slower. Her face had taken on the grayish tinge he had seen just before men died. “And I can make Cassander or Kalgri pay for what they have done. Maybe even both.”

  “We will need your help in days to come,” said Annarah. “We…”

  “Annarah,” said Morgant. There was something strange in his emotional sense. Not grief, not precisely, nor even regret. But his sense seemed colder and sharper, the lines in his gaunt face deeper as he looked at Caina. “If that is what he needs to do…then that he what he needs to do.”

  Annarah fell silent, bowing her head, and then blinked and looked out the window.

  “I will distract Cassander until the time has come,” said Nasser. “When you are ready, let me know. We will try to escape to the alleys as you strike down Cassander and Kalgri.” He squeezed Kylon’s shoulder. His emotions were heavy and grim, but charged with the iron determination that had carried him through the long decades of struggle against Callatas. “Perhaps you shall be victorious, and we shall all meet again in Istarinmul and raise a glass to our fallen friend.”

  “Perhaps,” said Kylon.

  “Watch the door,” said Nasser. Morgant nodded and moved to stand guard at the door, Laertes at his side, and Nasser moved to the window, shouting for Cassander to come forth and parley. A moment later Cassander’s voice boomed over the bazaar, demanding their surrender.

  Kylon barely heard it. He watched Caina’s breathing grow more erratic, felt her pulse fading. It would not be long now. In the Craven’s Tower, Kylon had been mortally wounded in the fight against the Sifter, and Caina had used the Elixir Restorata to heal his wounds. He could not do the same for Caina. The Elixir would react with her damaged aura, the scars that let her sense the presence of sorcery, and unleash a catastrophic explosion. He could do nothing to help her.

  Just as he had been unable to save Andromache, to save Thalastre.

  “My fate,” he whispered, “is that I watch the women I love die, and I can do nothing to stop it.”

  Caina shifted a little, but her eyes did not move.

  And then the world went gray around Kylon, all the colors leaching away.

  He blinked, and his first thought was that there was something wrong with his eyes, or that Cassander had used some kind of sorcery. The world had frozen around him. Nasser and Annarah stood motionless as statues at the window, Nasser’s mouth open in mid-shout. Laertes had just started turning his head to say something at Morgant, while the old assassin stared into the corridor, his eyes narrowed.

  The world had frozen.

  “The time has come,” said a familiar voice, “my stalwart stormdancer.”

  Kylon looked up.

  Andromache leaned against the wall, and unlike the rest of the world she was in color, her eyes blazing with the smokeless flame of the djinn of the Azure Court.

  “You,” said Kylon.

  “Yes, me,” said Samnirdamnus.

  “Why didn’t you help her?” said Kylon. “You told me she was going to die. You said she was the one you were looking for.”

  “I said I thought she might be the one I’m looking for,” said Samnirdamnus, stepping forward. “Whether she lives or dies…that is
up to you.”

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” said Kylon, his rage finding a new target. He wondered if the valikon would work against Samnirdamnus in this strange dream state.

  “Today is the day, Kylon of House Kardamnos,” said Samnirdamnus, and Andromache’s voice was deadly serious, the tone she had used when commanding the men of New Kyre in battle. “This is the day that you decide whether the world lives or dies. Whether you live or die. Perhaps you will let the world live today…or perhaps you will let it die, and you will join your family and your wife in death.”

  “Gods damn you,” said Kylon. “I am sick to death of riddles and prophecies and oracles. If you have something useful to say, then say it, otherwise be gone.”

  “You have the means to save her life,” said Samnirdamnus. “An Elixir that will heal any wound.”

  “It will kill her,” said Kylon. “You know that as well as I do. It will react with the damage to her aura, summon too much power, and kill her.”

  “Yes, I am aware of that,” said Samnirdamnus, “along with many other things that you are not, my stalwart stormdancer. You see, today you decide whether or not the world lives or dies…but you’re not the only one who has made that choice.”

  The burning eyes turned towards Morgant.

  “Morgant?” said Kylon. “What about…”

  He fell silent.

  The golden torque of the wedjet-dahn dangled from Morgant’s coat pocket, no doubt stuffed there hastily when the Adamant Guards attacked.

  Something started to stir in Kylon’s mind, the edges of some massive idea.

  “That can’t help her,” said Kylon. “It’s damaged.”

  “So is she,” said Samnirdamnus, flicking one of Andromache’s hands towards Caina. “Her aura is damaged from the scars she took as a child. The wedjet-dahn is damaged from a duel long before either of you were born. Perhaps they shall fit together.”

  “But it wouldn’t work,” said Kylon. At least, he didn’t think it would work. From what Annarah had said, the wedjet-dahn would absorb any arcane force directed at its bearer, only to amplify that force tenfold and pour it back into whatever unfortunate wore it. Caina couldn’t use the Elixir Restorata because of her damaged aura. A single touch had set the Elixir to boiling in its crystalline vial. If she drank it while wearing the wedjet-dahn, the damaged torque would summon a tremendous amount of power…