Ghost in the Inferno (Ghost Exile #5) Page 13

  “For the gods’ sake,” said Caina. “I’m a spy. Dramatic gestures are the last thing I should do.”

  “Said the man who robbed half the cowled masters of the Brotherhood and blew up the Widow’s Tower,” said Nasser. He beckoned. “Come! We should return to camp. I wished to pay my respects to my wife and children, and have done so.” He took one last look at the statues, nodded to himself, and turned away. “Work lies before us, and I suggest that we get a good night’s sleep. The next few days, I suspect, shall be eventful.”

  He looked and sounded calm, but Kylon sensed the old grief and regret behind his mask. He understood. Even if Kylon lived for two centuries, he knew the grief and the regret of Thalastre’s death would never leave him.

  “Very well,” said Caina. “I suppose you have other secrets.”

  “But of course,” said Nasser. “And you have yours. Though I suppose you would not be willing to share a few of them now?”

  “No,” said Caina. “I did the hard work of finding yours. You can do the hard work of discovering mine.”

  “Well.” Again Nasser’s white smile flashed over his face. “A man needs challenges in his life. Would you not agree, Lord Kylon?”

  “In all candor,” said Kylon, “I think we have enough challenges.”

  ###

  Caina pulled the tent flap closed and lay down to sleep.

  Part of her wanted to go to Kylon, to continue their discussion from earlier, but she was too exhausted to contemplate the possibility. She also knew this was not the time. Later, once they had returned to Istarinmul, once they had rescued Annarah. Not now, not in the midst of this dangerous gamble.

  But if they died in the Inferno, she would never have the chance.

  Caina closed her eyes, her mind whirling with the things she had learned.

  In all the activity, she had almost forgotten about the shadow. She must have imagined it, or it must have been a passing horse or mercenary. That was the most likely explanation.

  The unease remained with her until she finally sank into a black and dreamless sleep.

  Chapter 9: Sparks

  “We may have a problem,” said Nasser.

  “Oh?” said Caina. “Just the one?”

  Six days had passed since they had departed the haunted, crystalline pillars of the Desert of Candles. They had avoided the dust storm, swung through the southern Desert, and returned to the steppes of Trabazon and the Great Southern Road. From there the Road continued through the Plains of Izmri, scrublands and patches of small forest that were nonetheless far more arable than the steppes. Peasants and small freeholders farmed these lands, and they watched the Black Wolves and the Company of Shopur pass with hard eyes, weapons ready in their callused hands. Caina saw many burned-out houses and abandoned farms, proof of the ravages of the Collectors.

  Soon after the elevation began to rise, the Road climbing into hills, and the temperature dropped while the lands around them grew greener. Caina knew that the Great Southern Road passed through the mountains, under the watchful eye of the fortresses known as the Seven Towers, and then into the Vale of Fallen Stars. The Vale was the best farmland in southern Istarinmul, and it was the most direct route from Istarinmul to Anshan, making it a locus of trade.

  It was also the emirate that had once belonged to Rezir Shahan, at least until Caina had killed him. It had passed to his brother Tanzir, whose life Caina had saved several times in Malarae. She wondered if Tanzir would be glad to see her if their paths happened to cross. He had been bookish and quiet and easily flustered, but the rumors claimed he had found his backbone. Perhaps he would blame Caina for the chaos that had come to Istarinmul.

  “An immediate problem, let us say,” said Nasser, sweeping his hand towards the mountains the filled the horizon to the south. “We are almost to the Seven Towers. I suspect any moment now that one of Shopur’s scouts will return with a report of an army in our path.”

  “An army?” said Kylon, adjusting his sword. “Why?”

  “Because,” said Caina. “Tanzir and the other southern emirs have taken their defense into their own hands. Two hundred heavy horsemen will draw notice.”

  “So would a hundred Immortals and an emir from the north, I calculate,” said Nerina.

  “You are correct, Madame Strake,” said Nasser. “However, Kuldan Cimak is a representative of the Padishah’s government, while we are merely…”

  “Brigands, assassins, and thieves,” said Morgant. He grinned. “The sort of scum any well-meaning ruler wants kept well away from his lands. Oh, did I ever tell you? I may have killed one of Tanzir Shahan’s ancestors.”

  “That is a story you should keep to yourself,” said Kylon.

  “But it’s a funny one,” said Morgant. “The emir commissioned artists to create a book full of pictures of his concubines and harem slaves, all of them unclad. Of course, he liked to lick his fingers before turning the pages of his book. Uncouth habit, really. So all I had to do was to smear poison across the pages, and…”

  Azaces let out the short, harsh grunt that was his equivalent of a laugh.

  “Ah,” said Nasser. “Here comes the scout. I suggest we join the captains.”

  He urged his horse forward, and Caina, Kylon, Morgant, Azaces, and Nerina followed. Shopur and Dio called for a halt, and the column of horsemen reined up, the supply wagons creaking to a stop behind them. One of Shopur’s archers galloped down the road, a small plume of dust rising behind his mount, and came to a stop before the captains.

  “You have a report?” said Kazravid, who had taken on the role of Shopur’s lieutenant.

  “Aye,” said the scout. “A large band of armed men has blocked the road ahead.”

  “Bandits?” said Dio.

  “No,” said the scout. “They have chain mail and spiked helms, and both the footmen and the horsemen conduct themselves with discipline. They are Istarish soldiers, I deem. They fly a banner marked with the symbol of seven towers arrayed in a ring.”

  A flicker of unpleasant memory went through Caina. That was the personal sigil of the House of Shahan. Rezir’s personal guards had worn it in Marsis, and she had seen Tanzir wearing a brooch with that sigil in Malarae.

  Shopur grunted. “Those would be the emir’s men, then.”

  “I think the emir might be with them, sir,” said the scout. “They were led by a horseman in expensive armor.”

  “Either the emir himself or one of his khalmirs,” said Dio.

  “Capital,” said Nasser.

  “Capital?” said Kazravid. “Capital? How is that possibly good? If Tanzir’s kept a firm hand on his lands, he won’t be happy to have two hundred mercenaries riding across his Vale.”

  Dio shrugged. “Maybe he won’t mind. Shopur and I were on our way to the Vale to take service with the emir before Nasser hired us. Rumor has it the emir’s hiring mercenaries left and right. Wants an army of his own to deal with the Brotherhood’s Collectors.”

  Caina blinked. “The Collectors.” Something else came together in her mind. “Nasser. You know Tanzir, don’t you?”

  “Not personally, no,” said Nasser, “though I expect that is about to change. Our mutual friend Strabane of the Kaltari Highlands is an acquaintance of the emir, and we have exchanged correspondence with Strabane acting as intermediary.”

  Caina remembered the papers Nasser and Laertes had taken with them when the Sifter had burned down the Shahenshah’s Seat.

  “It’s not just Tanzir who is building an army. You are, too,” she said in a quiet voice.

  Dio snorted. “Seems like we might be part of the emir’s army before all is said and done.”

  “A moment, Ciaran,” said Nasser. “I wish to speak with you alone.”

  Caina nodded and they rode ahead a few paces as the scout finished delivering his report to the captains.

  Nasser drummed the fingers of his right hand upon the pommel of his saddle. “I take it you know the emir Tanzir? I guessed as much from some of the thin
gs you have said.”

  “Yes,” said Caina.

  “From what I understand, the Balarigar killed his brother,” said Nasser. “It may be best to keep yourself concealed.”

  “He hated his brother,” said Caina, “and I saved Tanzir’s life several times.”

  “Truly? Capital, then,” said Nasser. “He will be all the easier to persuade. Let us return to the captains and proceed.”

  “If you need me to talk to Tanzir,” said Caina, “tell him that I have a message from Sonya Tornesti.” That had been the name Tanzir had known her by in Malarae.

  “A Szaldic name,” said Nasser. “Might I ask who Sonya Tornesti is?”

  “A Ghost that Tanzir met in Malarae,” said Caina. That, at least, was entirely true. “She saved his life, and I suspect he will remember her favorably.” She hoped that part was true.

  “I see,” said Nasser with a slow nod. “And you remember her favorably, then?”

  “I’m sorry?” said Caina.

  “You have dug into my past,” said Nasser, flashing his white smile at her, “so it seems only just that I repay you with the same coin. I suspect you lost someone of significance to you before coming to Istarinmul. Was this Sonya Tornesti a lover, then?”

  Caina blinked in astonishment, and just barely kept herself from erupting with laughter.

  “Sonya Tornesti?” said Caina. “Oh, aye, I fear you’ve caught me out. I took one look at her and I was mad with passion.” Nasser’s eyebrows started to climb his forehead. “That long blonde hair, those blue eyes, and, gods, she had strong legs…”

  “There is no need,” said Nasser, “for excessive…”

  “You did ask,” said Caina. “I was mad for her. Maybe it was the accent. I could never resist a woman with a Szaldic accent, you know? We took each other morning, noon, and night. It was never enough for me. We…”

  “Despite how annoying you find Morgant,” said Nasser, “I begin to see why you two work so well together.”

  “Now that’s an insult,” said Caina, grinning at him.

  Her smile faded as they returned to the mercenaries. Someday, perhaps, she could tell Nasser the truth, and he would understand the joke. Not today, though.

  First they had to live through today.

  “What was that about?” said Kylon.

  “Sonya Tornesti,” said Caina, and Kylon nodded. He had known her by that name from when he had visited Malarae to escort the Emperor to New Kyre. “Nasser wondered if Tanzir would remember her.”

  “Who the devil is Sonya Tornesti?” said Morgant.

  “A coffee merchant’s mistress,” said Caina. “Wore too much makeup, too much jewelry, and dresses that were too tight and too gaudy. You really wouldn’t have liked her.”

  Morgant snorted, and Caina felt a twinge of sadness. Morgant would not have liked Sonya Tornesti…but Caina had liked pretending to be Sonya Tornesti, had enjoyed the dresses and the jewels. She had enjoyed running the House of Kularus even more, had enjoyed living with Corvalis.

  It was the happiest she had been in her adult life, and she had lost it all.

  She felt Kylon looking at her. No doubt he had sensed the emotions roiling within her skull. Gods, but she had been wound up lately.

  “Let’s go meet the emir,” said Caina.

  Nasser conferred with Laertes, Kazravid, and the captains for a moment longer, and then the horsemen started forward again. Shopur and Dio passed orders down the lines of horsemen, commanding them to sheathe their weapons and not to draw them unless they came under attack. Neither mercenary captain wanted to risk irritating an Istarish emir. Given that the emir might become their employer in the near future, Caina understood.

  A few minutes later the Istarish soldiers came into sight. The footmen had formed a shield wall across the road, blocking it, and archers waited behind the shields. Wings of horsemen stood on either side of the road, ready to screen the archers’ flanks. A group of horsemen waited behind the archers, lances in hand. The standardbearer held a lance with two standards. One banner displayed the crown-and-sword sigil of the Padishah himself, while the other showed the seven towers of the House of Shahan.

  “Hold!” thundered the standardbearer, a tall man in plate armor with a spiked helm that concealed his face. “In the name of Tanzir of House Shahan, Emir of the Vale of Fallen Stars and Captain of the Seven Towers, stand and identify yourselves.”

  “Best put that silver tongue of yours to use,” said Kazravid.

  Nasser nodded and steered his mount forward with his knees, his hands raised.

  “Greetings!” he called out. “I seek audience with the noble emir of the Vale of Fallen Stars. Is he among you?”

  “You will identify yourself,” thundered the standardbearer.

  “I am a messenger,” said Nasser.

  “Indeed?” said the standardbearer. “A messenger that requires such a formidable guard? For whom do you carry a message?”

  Nasser glanced at Caina, and she nodded, bracing herself.

  “Tell the emir,” said Nasser, gesturing back at Caina, “that I come bearing news from Strabane of Drynemet, and that that this man has a message from Sonya Tornesti of Malarae.”

  That got a reaction.

  One of the horsemen snapped a command, and a quiet conference took place behind the archers and the shield wall. Caina waited, feeling sweat trickle down her back. If Tanzir decided that it was a trap, or if one of his khalmirs was in command of the soldiers instead…

  “The messenger from Sonya Tornesti,” said the standardbearer at last. His voice had not decreased in volume, but now he sounded thoroughly confused. “What color are his eyes?”

  Nasser blinked. “Blue.”

  “You will accompany us to the First Tower,” said the standardbearer. “The messenger will meet alone with the emir there, and we shall then decide what to do with you.”

  “Very well, then,” said Nasser. “By all means, lead the way.”

  ###

  Two hours later, Caina stood alone in the highest chamber of the First Tower.

  The First Tower looked a great deal like the Craven’s Tower, at least until she and Nasser and Nerina had blown the Craven’s Tower to smoking rubble. The fortress perched on a hill over the road, grim and strong. It had the same central drum keep and curtain wall, though unlike the fortresses in Istarinmul itself, there were no Immortals upon the walls. It would take a small army to besiege it, and an even larger one to actually conquer it. Tanzir’s men had gone into the Tower, while the mercenaries waited outside.

  Caina had gone alone into the First Tower with Tanzir’s men.

  Kylon had not been at all happy about that. Neither had Caina, but she hadn’t seen a way around it. Undoubtedly Cimak had already reached the Vale of Fallen Stars. The plan had been to snatch Cimak and replace him before his caravan had even reached the Seven Towers, but that would have been easier on the chaotic steppes than in the Vale.

  If they were going to pull this off, if they were going to rescue Annarah from the Inferno, they needed Tanzir’s help.

  So Caina stood alone in the tower room and waited.

  She suspected that Tanzir had spent a lot of time here recently. A table stood in the center of the room. Books and scrolls had been piled on the table and stood in stacks around the floor. Most of them were in Istarish, but some were in Anshani or Kyracian, and there was one written in High Nighmarian. Caina recognized that book at once. It was a history of the Emperors of the Nighmarian Empire, and Corvalis had given it to Tanzir during his visit to Malarae.

  All the other books were histories of war.

  It seemed Caina was not the only one who expected civil war.

  The door to the tower opened. Caina looked up, expecting to see Tanzir himself, or maybe more soldiers. A jolt of surprise shot through her, and only long experience kept the shock from showing on her face.

  The last two men she had expected to see walked into the room.

  The first was squ
at, with the musculature of an experienced blacksmith. He scowled constantly behind his thick black beard, a scowl that did not waver when he saw Caina. He wore a plain turban, chain mail, and carried both a scimitar and a small drum at his belt. The second man was tall and wore a simple robe and turban, a close-cropped graying beard shading his lean, ascetic features. It was hard to tell his age. Caina would have guessed about forty, but he could easily have been older or younger.

  “Sulaman?” said Caina, astonished.

  The poet Sulaman and his bodyguard Mazyan came into the room. Caina had met Sulaman during her first night in Istarinmul nearly two years ago. Somehow he knew things about her, and had given her aid and counsel more than once. He had the peculiar ability to see glimpses of the future, and had warned her against the Red Huntress.

  He had also told her where to find Morgant the Razor, though she had not realized it at the time.

  “Master Ciaran,” said Sulaman in his quiet voice.

  “I suppose this explains why Damla was unable to hire you to recite in the House of Agabyzus,” said Caina.

  He smiled. “You have your secrets, and I have mine…”

  “And our secrets protect us,” said Caina. “You told me that before.” She considered. “Am I about to learn some of yours?”

  “Not unless you puzzle them out for yourself, I fear,” said Sulaman. “I had business of my own with the emir, and he mentioned that his men had found a man claiming to be one of the Ghosts. Before he spoke with you, he wished to make sure that you were not a Kindred assassin or a Teskilati informant.”

  “And you could tell that simply by looking at me?” said Caina.

  “Yes,” said Sulaman.

  There was no boasting in his voice, no arrogance. Merely a simple statement of fact.

  “A useful talent, I imagine,” said Caina.

  “The legacy of my blood, the sight I am given,” murmured Sulaman. “It is often more curse than gift, more pain than benefit. But for sifting truth from falsehood, it is most useful.” He bowed. “I shall tell the emir that you are who you claim to be.”