A flash of recognition went through Caina.
Anburj. The man who had claimed to be the head of Ulvan’s guards, the man who had led the raid upon the House of Agabyzus. Caina had not seen him during Ulvan’s ascension and the resultant chaos. That had not troubled her. Thousands of people had filled the gardens during the celebrations, and in the chaos she might have simply missed him.
Yet now he was taking more slaves to the Widow’s Tower. Had Ulvan recovered from his disgrace? No, the slaves had been branded with the sigil of another cowled master.
So what was Anburj doing here?
The wagons turned towards the Tower, the donkeys grunting. Anburj and the mercenary spoke in low voices, and Caina edged closer, hoping to overhear their discussion.
And as she did, Anburj’s hard eyes fell upon Caina.
Did he recognize her? He snapped his fingers, two of the Immortals stepping to his side. Anburj strode toward her, the mercenary and the two Immortals following him.
A jolt of fear went through Caina, and she considered her options. She could try to run, but there were too many Immortals. Fighting was out of the question. That left only bluffing.
She settled her face into a truculent glare and scowled at Anburj.
Anburj, the mercenary, and the Immortals stopped a few paces away.
“You seem,” Anburj said in a quiet voice, “most interested in us, boy. Why is that?”
“Damned steppe vermin,” said the mercenary. There a slur in his voice, and Caina wondered if he was drunk. “The Padishah ought to have killed you all years ago. It…”
“Be silent, Yunus,” said Anburj. “Boy. Explain your presence here.”
“Goat,” said Caina in a thick voice.
“What about a goat?” said Anburj.
“I want my goat,” said Caina.
Anburj sighed and drew a dagger, the blade glinting. As he shifted the blade to point at her, another shock of recognition went through Caina. She recognized the way he held the weapon, the way his stance shifted as he gripped it. She had seen it before, again and again. Corvalis had used the same stance and grip when wielding a dagger.
Anburj was an assassin of the Kindred.
“Let us be candid with each other, shall we?” said Anburj, the point of his dagger motionless a few inches from her face. “I would prefer not to kill you.” He grabbed her shoulder and jerked her forward, the Immortals closing around them. “The last thing I need is some damned Trabazon tribesmen lurking outside the walls, and if I kill you, we’ll have a blood feud with your tribe. I’d prefer not to be knifed in my bed. But I have no trouble sending you back to your tribe without a hand or an ear. So you’re going to tell me what you are doing here, or else I will cut pieces off until you do. Do we understand each other?”
Caina was relieved. He did not recognize her. Amazing was a false beard, a burnoose, and some dust could accomplish.
“You took my goat,” said Caina in her thick voice.
“Goat?” said Anburj. “What goat?”
Yunus snorted. “The damned tribesmen. Goat humpers, every last one of them.” He laughed. “He probably took the goat into his bedroll and made it his wife.” He laughed again. No one joined him.
“I told you to shut up,” said Anburj. “What goat?”
“One of our goats, it wanders off,” said Caina, gesturing. “My father, he sends me to find it. The soldiers in the fortress take the goat and eat it.”
“No,” said Anburj. “They are not to leave the fortress for any reason. Their orders are very clear…and the penalty for disobedience is death.”
“Then where is my goat?” said Caina.
“Do I look like I give a damn?” said Anburj. His free hand blurred, and before Caina could react, he backhanded her across the face. She lost her balance and landed hard, spittle and blood flying from her mouth.
When her eyes cleared she found Anburj’s scimitar resting on her throat.
“I don’t want trouble with your tribe,” said Anburj, “so I’m not going to kill you. But take a message back to your elders. You will stay away from the Widow’s Tower, all of you. The fortress is under the authority of the College of Alchemists, and they do not tolerate interference. If I see any of you near the Tower again, any of you at all, I will have you killed. Do you understand me?”
Caina nodded. And as she did, she saw the ring of keys hanging from Anburj’s belt. They were the same design as the keys Ulvan and many other of the cowled masters had possessed.
Nerina Strake had made the locks for the Widow’s Tower.
“Run as fast as you can,” said Anburj. “Now.”
Caina scrambled to her feet and ran for the road. She heard Yunus’s spiteful laugh, but ignored it. She kept running, and heard the creak as the wagons continued into the Tower’s gates. Caina veered northwest, followed the road, found a likely boulder, and hid herself to watch. Anburj and his men would kill her if they saw her again, but she would be careful.
And she suspected she might have found a way into the Tower.
She waited. A few hours later, the portcullis in the outer wall rattled open, and the empty wagons rolled out, escorted by a few Immortals. Anburj and Yunus walked in front, still talking. Yunus looked the worse for wear, his eyes bloodshot, his face pale. The looks Anburj gave him were contemptuous, but Yunus seemed not to notice. Anburj’s eyes roved over the boulders, but Caina remained hidden, and the Kindred assassin did not see her. Why was a Kindred assassin collecting slaves for Callatas? Perhaps the Master Alchemist needed competent underlings, so he had hired the Kindred. Or perhaps something else was going on.
Caina waited until the wagons were a safe distance ahead, and started following them.
Dusk had fallen by the time they returned to the walls of Istarinmul, the smell from the harbor flooding Caina’s nostrils. She waited until the carts had passed into the gate, and then entered into the Alqaarin Bazaar beyond. She spotted the carts heading one way, Anburj striding in another, and Yunus moving in still a third.
She decided to follow Yunus. He looked like the weakest link in the chain.
The mercenary vanished into a seedy-looking tavern in alley off the Bazaar. Caina considered following him, but Yunus emerged a few moments later, a look of quivering excitement on his face. He strode into the littered, weedy yard behind the tavern. Caina ducked behind a barrel and watched. Yunus looked back and forth, but did not see Caina, and the courtyard was otherwise deserted.
Yunus opened his fist, and Caina saw something glinting in his hand.
He lifted a vial of cheap glass, filled with something thick and black. In one smooth motion, he opened the vial, lifted it to his lips, and drained it.
A look of shivering ecstasy went over his face, and Caina felt the faint pulse of sorcery.
Wraithblood. He had just consumed a vial of wraithblood.
And Caina suddenly knew exactly how she could get into the Widow’s Tower.
Chapter 16 - The Desert Maiden
The tavern’s name was the Desert Maiden, and Caina spent a great deal of time there over the next week.
It was a dive, but she had been in worse places. The Dead Fish Tavern in Marsis, for one, where Naelon Icaraeus’s followers had lurked. The Serpents’ Nest in Malarae, where the Istarish Kindred had laired while trying to kill Tanzir Shahan. And Caina had been to the netherworld twice – the Desert Maiden was certainly more pleasant than that.
Though comparing a tavern to the netherworld was hardly high praise.
Still, the food did not poison the patrons, and a quartet of scowling former gladiators kept the peace in the common room. And no one ever stayed for long. The Desert Maiden catered to caravan guards, teamsters, cooks, porters, and the other men who traveled with the endless merchant caravans traveling to and from Istarinmul. Such men generally wanted a good meal, a whore, and a warm bed before they set off in the morning.
And, for whatever reason, Yunus lived here.
At first Cain
a visited the Desert Maiden in a different guise every night – a caravan guard, a tribesman, a teamster. She always disguised herself as a man. The only women in the Desert Maiden were prostitutes, and that would draw more attention than she wished. Finally, she settled upon the guise of a Caerish mercenary named Logar. Logar claimed to have once been the guard of a merchant who had undertaken an expedition to Cyrioch, an expedition that had gone bankrupt when the Kyracians had sunk the expedition's ships during the war. Since then, Logar had wandered around the Padishah’s domain taking what work he could find and enjoying games of dice and cards.
And as it happened, Yunus also enjoyed games of dice and cards.
Caina made sure to lose at least every two out of three times, wagering sums that would not be unreasonable for an unemployed mercenary. After a few days she became a regular at Yunus’s table, gambling with him, some of his favorites, and whoever else happened to wander into the tavern.
“That’s Captain Yunus to you,” said Yunus in a slurred voice, leveling a finger at the teamster who had dared to address him without his proper title. “Captain Yunus. Captain. Yunus. I am the captain.” He began drinking as soon as he returned from the Widow’s Tower, but usually did not start wraithblood until after dark.
“Aye,” said the teamster, a scowling Alqaarin man with a dusty turban and a bushy gray beard. “Captain of what? A ship?”
“Ha!” said Yunus, thumping his chest. “What does captaining a ship get you? Bilge water and buggery, that’s what.” He laughed at his own joke, and few of his lieutenants did as well. “No, I am the captain of my own mercenary company, and we have the exclusive contract to guard the Padishah’s citadel at the Widow’s Tower.”
Caina grunted. “That the fortress along the Alqaarin road? The ones with all the bones by the cliff?”
“Aye,” said Yunus. “The Alchemists require many slaves for their work, and the disobedient are thrown over the walls. Helps keep the others in line.”
“I thought the Immortals guarded the place,” said Caina. “Been past it a few times, and I always see spooks in black armor with glowing eyes.” A few of the gamblers muttered appeals to various gods to ward off evil.
“Yes, yes,” said Yunus impatiently. “The Immortals guard the Alchemists’ laboratories on the top levels of the Tower. They make Hellfire there. Which is why Istarinmul shall never fall to the barbarians of the north and the south! Never!” He lifted his cup, laughed, and drained off a large quantity of wine.
“Captain, perhaps we should not speak so freely,” said one of his lieutenants, and the others nodded their agreement.
“Aye, I might be a spy for all you know,” said Caina, and the others laughed.
The night wore on, and Yunus drank more and more, as did the others. Caina took a sip from time to time, but remained sober as the others grew drunker.
“You are clearly a nobleman, Captain,” said Caina. “Why are you here, drinking and dicing with us common vermin?”
“Ha!” said Yunus. “You are perceptive, friend Lugar! I am indeed of noble birth. My father is the emir of the town of Kanyaz, near the border with Imperial Cyrica. That is what led to my august position. My father is a close confidant of Erghulan Amirasku himself.”
“The Grand Wazir?” said Caina, letting her eyes go wide.
“You have heard of him!” said Yunus. “Such is the prestige of the noble lords of Istarinmul that even foreigners know of them. My father is a close friend of the Grand Wazir, and spoke highly of my valor and courage. So when the Grand Wazir needed someone for a position of trust, my father recommended me, and I have served at the Widow’s Tower ever since.”
“Then you are the emir’s eldest son?” said Caina, raising her cup. “A toast to you, my lord! I never thought I would drink with an emir.”
“Ah, well, not quite,” said Yunus. “I am my father’s sixth son. But I have risen high, and I shall rise higher yet. So it is good to make friends with me now.”
“Indeed,” said Caina, and lost another hand at cards.
She felt bad for Yunus. His father had clearly sent him to Istarinmul to be rid of him. Caina wondered if Anburj and Ricimer knew just how bad Yunus’s drinking and wraithblood addiction had gotten. Most likely Yunus knew enough to keep himself under control in front of his superiors.
“Look at this,” said Yunus, after a long game of cards.
He reached into his belt and drew out a vial of cheap glass. The darkness of the black wraithblood within looked like a bottomless black void, a pit into nothingness. A faint aura of sorcerous power radiated from the fluid within the glass.
“What’s that?” said Caina. “Poison?”
“It is,” said one of the other mercenaries with a scowl.
“No!” said Yunus, jerking his hand back as if Caina would steal it. “It is joy. Euphoria. Bliss beyond words. Not even the greatest of poets could describe the visions I see.”
“Wraithblood,” said another mercenary.
Caina frowned. “Isn’t that the stuff the beggars use? The ones with blue eyes?”
“The same,” said the first mercenary.
“They were weak,” murmured Yunus, gazing at the vial. “Too weak to control the splendor of the visions.”
“What does it do?” said Caina.
“It gives bliss,” said Yunus. “You see things…such wonderful things…”
“The beggars all seem to see nightmares,” said Caina.
A brief look of despair flitted over Yunus’s face, but he opened the vial and downed the contents with a single gulp.
The despair melted into euphoria, and Caina knew she would get no further useful information out of him. Yunus continued to drink himself senseless, and later she helped one of his lieutenants half-carry, half-push the captain to his bed as he raved incoherently about golden fields and naked women.
“He’d better wake up on time,” grunted the lieutenant.
“Why’s that?” said Caina, wincing as Yunus leaned upon her. Gods, but he smelled bad.
“Because,” said the lieutenant. “Our company’s contract is with Lord Ricimer, the Wazir of the Window’s Tower. We are to supply a hundred men, rotated in shifts. If we’re short even one man, if the captain doesn’t show up, there will be hell to pay.”
“I see,” said Caina, an idea coming to her.
###
The next night Caina returned to the Desert Maiden and found Yunus pacing back and forth, his features twitching and jerking.
“You’re not looking well, captain,” said Caina. “Need a drink?”
“Logar,” croaked Yunus. “You…have to come with me now. You must. You must!”
Caina blinked. “Why? What happened? Are you ill?”
“Yes, yes,” said Yunus. “I am ill. I am very ill. Please, come with me to the physician.”
Caina suspected that he had in fact run out of wraithblood. She had heard his lieutenants grumbling about it, and guessed that one of them had finally worked up the courage to steal the captain’s supply of wraithblood.
“Very well,” said Caina.
If she knew where Yunus got his wraithblood, perhaps she could learn more about it.
And perhaps she could keep the poor fool from killing himself.
Yunus hurried from the Desert Maiden and into the darkened maze of the Alqaarin Quarter. Caina knew why he didn’t want to go alone. Occasionally gangs of thieves prowled the Quarter in the darkness, and the bolder Collectors came here to find unwary foreigners to sell to the Brotherhood.
Though not so often now, not after the Balarigar’s reign of terror had fallen upon the cowled masters.
A short time later they came to a narrow street, the whitewash of the walls cracked and crumbling. Yunus stopped before a shop with a splintered wooden door. The sign of a pawnbroker hung over the door, creaking as it dangled from its rusted chains. Yunus bounded up the stairs and pounded on the door.
“Moriz!” he bellowed. “Moriz, get out here!”
/> After a long moment, the door swung open, and a gaunt Istarish man in his sixties appeared, a crossbow in his hands, his ragged robe dangling around his ankles. “I am not open for business until tomorrow. Go away or…oh, Captain Yunus.”
“You have more?” said Yunus. “You must have more. I have to have more.”
“Be patient,” said Moriz. “Yes, I have some. Come inside.”
The interior of the pawn shop looked like a graveyard of discarded refuse, plates and knives and robes and goblets and a thousand other things lining the shelves. Moriz limped to the counter, drew out a wooden case, and opened it. Inside Caina saw dozens of vials of wraithblood waiting in cloth loops.
“How many?” said Moriz.
“A dozen,” said Yunus, hands shaking as he fumbled at his belt for his coin pouch. “No, two dozen.”
“It’s the usual rate,” said Moriz.
“Fine, fine,” said Yunus, slapping a handful of bezants on the counter. Moriz made the money disappear, and Yunus grabbed the vials of wraithblood from the case. He downed one at once, and then a second.
Moriz cackled. “Don’t want to use them all at once, you know.”
Yunus, humming contentedly, did not answer. He staggered towards the door, opened it, and slumped upon the steps, still humming to himself.
For a moment Caina and Moriz stared at each other.
“You want any?” said Moriz.
“I think,” said Caina, “that drinking a cup full of posion would be safer.”
“Smart man,” said Moriz.
“Where do you get wraithblood?” said Caina. “Do you make it yourself?”
Moriz snorted. “What am I, an apothecary? No. I don’t make it.”
Ghost in the Cowl Page 19
