Ghost in the Seal (Ghost Exile #6) Read online

  “Ah,” said Sulaman, and his stern face flickered in a brief smile. “You think I have lured you here to kill you, then?”

  Caina shrugged. “It’s how I would do it.”

  Mazyan let out a disapproving rumble.

  “No, you are in no danger from me,” said Sulaman. “I told you once that I wish what is best for the people of Istarinmul. Killing you would not be in their interest. And why should I wish to live in idle luxury? I enjoy reciting the epic poems of my nation.” He almost sounded wistful. “It is the closest thing to honest labor I have ever performed.”

  “I see,” said Caina, considering that. Did that mean Sulaman was an Istarish noble? One, like Tanzir, dissatisfied with Callatas’s murderous hand upon Istarinmul?

  “Perhaps it is time,” said Sulaman, “for some plain speaking between us.”

  “I would welcome that,” said Caina. “Are you going to tell me who you really are?”

  “No,” said Sulaman. “No more than you are.”

  “I don’t need to tell you who I am,” said Caina. “Walk a few yards until you see a bounty decree. It shouldn’t take long. Then you’ll know who I am.”

  “You know,” said Sulaman, “something of me already. You know the gift and the curse of my blood.” Suddenly she felt a sorcerous aura flare to life around him. “You know I am blessed and burdened with visions of the future.”

  “Yes,” said Caina. Her mouth went a little dry. Sulaman had told her of his visions, and they usually heralded some deadly danger. “You’ve had another one?”

  “You speak truly,” said Sulaman, and his eyes flickered with gray light, similar to the eerie light that came from an opened Mirror of Worlds. “You are about to undertake a great task. A terrible and dangerous task, yet one that you must perform.”

  Caina’s mouth went a little drier. “This is so.” Even now Nasser was preparing their expedition to retrieve the legendary Staff and Seal of Iramis from the Tomb of Kharnaces.

  “And you have no other choice?” said Sulaman. “You must do this?”

  “I must,” said Caina. “If I can do this, I can stop Callatas. I can make sure the Apotheosis never happens.”

  “Then they have been found,” said Sulaman. “The Staff and Seal. The loremaster Annarah has returned to the waking world.”

  Caina said nothing. For Sulaman, that was as good of an answer.

  “Caina Amalas,” said Sulaman, and Caina blinked, stunned. Sulaman had never called her by name before. “Listen to me. I have seen a vision. If you undertake this task, if you claim the Staff and the Seal, then you shall surely die.”

  “You mean you see the possibility of death before me,” said Caina.

  “No,” said Sulaman. “I see the certainty of your death.”

  “You’ve death in my future before,” said Caina. “When I went to the Widow’s Tower. When I went the Maze, or when Callatas sent the Red Huntress after me. When you sent me to find Morgant the Razor.”

  “That was only the possibility of death,” said Sulaman. “My visions are rarely certain…but when they are, they close around the future with the implacability of an iron shackle. Thrice before I have seen visions of such certainty, and thrice before men died.”

  “There you go,” said Caina, trying to keep her voice light. “I’m a woman.”

  “If you undertake this task, if you take the burden of finding the Staff and the Seal, then you will die,” said Sulaman. “It is unavoidable. All paths lead to that fate.”

  Caina said nothing, gazing at the poet. Mazyan looked back and forth, scowling at the courtyard.

  “Fine,” said Caina. “What happens if I don’t go after the Staff and the Seal?”

  Sulaman hesitated. “Callatas succeeds. All paths of the future then lead to his victory.”

  “And if I do this?” said Caina. “If I take the Staff and the Seal and I…die, then what happens?”

  “I do not know,” said Sulaman. “That future is clouded.” The gray gleam faded from his eyes. “My visions do not extend beyond that possible future.”

  Caina said nothing for a long moment. She found herself thinking of Kylon. Of Nerina Strake and Azaces and Damla and the other Ghosts in Istarinmul. Her thoughts went further back, to those she had lost, to Corvalis and Halfdan and her father.

  Caina had been certain that she was about to die so many times.

  What was one more time?

  “So be it,” said Caina.

  “You would do this, knowing it will lead to your death?” said Sulaman.

  Caina shrugged. “You could be wrong.”

  “No,” said Sulaman. “You may not believe me. But my vision is not wrong. Not in this.”

  “Everyone dies,” said Caina. “I should die doing something worthwhile.” She shook her head. “I started all this.”

  “It started,” said Sulaman, “long before you or I were born.”

  “But I accelerated it,” said Caina. “I made the Brotherhood desperate. I destroyed the Inferno. I started the civil war. I didn’t meant to do any of that, but I did. Now I have to see it through to end.” She took a deep breath, and her voice came out mostly steady. “If that…if that means my death, then so be it.”

  They stared at each other in silence for a moment. Mazyan kept scowling. He seemed warier than usual for some reason.

  “Caina Amalas,” said Sulaman, shaking his head. “If it was in my power to reward you, I would.”

  Caina laughed a little at that. “I’m a spy, master poet. A liar and a trickster and a schemer. People like me…I don’t think people like me get rewards. The best we can hope for is results.” She gazed up at the distant lights of the Golden Palace and the College of Alchemists for a moment. “Everyone in the city will die if Callatas succeeds.”

  “Beyond all doubt,” said Sulaman.

  “Then maybe they can enjoy the rewards I will never have,” said Caina.

  For a long moment Sulaman was silent. For the first time since Caina had met him two years past, the poet seemed…tired, sad even.

  “Very well,” said Sulaman. “May the Living Flame go with you, for…”

  Mazyan growled, shoved Sulaman back with one hand, and took several steps forward, his scimitar drawn. For an instant Caina thought the man had decided to attack her, and she yanked the ghostsilver dagger from its sheath. Mazyan ignored her, his eyes looking back and forth over the surrounding buildings.

  “What?” said Caina. “What is it?”

  “It is,” said Mazyan. He fell silent, his scowl sharpening further. “It is…nothing. There is nothing there.” He shook his head, his anger plain. “But there should be. I do not understand.”

  “We’ve lingered here long enough,” said Caina. “It’s time to go.”

  “Agreed,” said Sulaman. “Farewell, Balarigar. I fear we shall not meet again in this life.”

  “Thank you for all your help,” said Caina, bowing again.

  Sulaman bowed back, and then Mazyan escorted him from the courtyard.

  For a moment Caina stared after him, cold sadness heavy within her. She had known her death was likely, perhaps even certain, but to her Sulaman prophesy it with utter conviction was chilling.

  Perhaps it was just as well she hadn’t gotten any closer to Kylon.

  Caina rebuked herself. There was work to be done.

  She looked around the courtyard once more, trying to find what had spooked Mazyan.

  Nothing showed itself, and after a moment Caina left.

  ###

  The woman who now called herself Kalgri crouched upon the edge of the rooftop, wrapped in her stolen shadow-cloak, and watched Caina leave the courtyard.

  She felt a mad smile spread across her face, the face that now so closely resembled Caina’s features now, and the Voice hissed and spat its hatred in her mind, urging her to kill, kill, kill.

  Patience, Kalgri reminded herself. Patience…but not for very much longer.

  The meddling poet’s enspelled gu
ardian had almost detected Kalgri’s presence. Kalgri feared nothing, but she knew her limitations, and she did not want to fight the guardian in anything like a fair fight. She must have gotten sloppy, let the shadow-cloak’s cowl fall back long enough for the guardian to sense the power of the Voice.

  No matter. The poet, like Kalgri, knew his limitations, and would not meddle further. Kalgri was not stupid enough to attack Caina while the poet and his guardian were nearby.

  She would wait until Caina was alone, until the moment had come at last.

  And then, at long last, Kalgri would strike down Caina and feast upon her death.

  How Kalgri looked forward to seeing the knowledge in Caina’s eyes, the certainty and horror of her own death!

  She would have giggled behind her mask, but she had been the Red Huntress for a very long time, and was far too experienced to let her cravings override her thinking. No, cautious patience was the best approach. Kalgri would wait, and then she would feast upon Caina’s death.

  And then, if her plan for the Staff and the Seal held true…she would feast upon the death of an entire world.

  How she thrilled to think of it!

  Kalgri moved in silence from rooftop to rooftop, following Caina as she walked deeper into the Cyrican Quarter of Istarinmul.

  Chapter 2: The Business Of Spycraft

  Kylon of House Kardamnos sat alone a table in the wine shop, holding a clay cup of cheap, bitter wine and watching the patrons around him.

  His eyes kept straying to the bounty decrees posted to the shop’s door.

  The wine shop was an unremarkable place, a large brick vault little different than a hundred other cheap wine shops scattered throughout Istarinmul. Men, mostly laborers and poorer merchants, sat at long tables of cheap wood, drinking even cheaper wine in copious quantities. A dozen different games of cards and dice and chess were underway, and hulking bouncers kept close watch, making sure the gambling did not degenerate into violence.

  Kylon could have killed all the bouncers in the space of a few heartbeats. They were not a threat to him. As far as he could tell, no one in the room was a threat. The emotions of the men washed over his arcane senses, drunkenness and amusement and boredom and anger, but no one paid any attention to him.

  Fortunately, no one was paying attention to the bounty decrees upon the door.

  One offered a reward of two million bezants for the Ghost assassin called the Balarigar, along with lifetime remission from taxes, a title of nobility, and the personal gratitude of Grand Master Callatas and Grand Wazir Erghulan Amirasku. There were petty tyrants near New Kyre, Kylon reflected, who did not have fortunes of two million bezants. A second offered a million bezants for the sorceress Annarah, a harlot and a charlatan who claimed to be a loremaster of lost Iramis. A third decree exhorted the citizens of Istarinmul to loyalty to the Padishah and his magistrates, and offered a reward for any reports of treason among the nobility. That, Kylon knew, was aimed at Tanzir Shahan and his allies.

  There was absolutely no mention of Kylon.

  He supposed he should have been insulted. But given the deadly stakes of their business, it was just as well.

  The door to the wine shop swung open, and a short man strode inside. He wore chain mail and leather, a short sword and a dagger at his belt, and a badge with a crown-and-scimitar sigil that marked him as a courier for the Padishah’s magistrates. He had greasy black hair and a black beard that shaded a thin face, and walked with the brisk purpose of a man who had places to go.

  Then he sat across from Kylon.

  Kylon’s hands twitched towards the dagger at his belt, and then he sensed the man’s emotions, cold ice over a long-burning core of old anger. Then he recognized the man…who really wasn’t a man at all.

  “You know,” said Kylon, “you look positively villainous.”

  Caina Amalas blinked at him, and then grinned behind the false beard. “That is the point.”

  “Isn’t it punishable by death to impersonate an officer of the Padishah’s government?” said Kylon.

  “Torture, followed by death,” said Caina. She shrugged, adjusting her satchel. “It would be rather less effective the other way around. But no press gang in its right mind would try to conscript one of the Padishah’s couriers. Easier to move around the city this way.”

  Kylon nodded, watching her. Her skill at disguise still astonished him. He could usually recognize her now, given enough time, but her ability to disguise herself was remarkable. It was not just the clothes and the makeup. Her posture and voice and mannerisms all changed as well. It was as if she became another person entirely. It was remarkable how well she masqueraded as any number of rough-looking men, given how lovely she looked once all the makeup and disguises were gone…

  “What?” said Caina, smiling a little. Something else flickered through her aura, tentative and uncertain.

  Kylon realized that he was staring at her, and turned his mind to the matter at hand.

  “This message of yours,” said Kylon. “Was it anything serious?”

  “No,” said Caina. “Nothing of importance.” A dark flicker went through her emotions, adding to the grimness he had sensed in her ever since the destruction of the Inferno. “One of the circle needed my help with a minor matter, that was all.”

  He didn’t think she was telling the truth, at least not all of it. If she needed his help, he knew that she would ask for it. The dangers they faced were tremendous, and the odds against them grew every day. Kylon had come to Istarinmul to kill Malik Rolukhan and Cassander Nilas, to avenge his wife’s death. Rolukhan had burned with the Inferno, but Cassander was still the Umbarian Order’s ambassador to the Padishah’s court, surrounded by his Adamant Guards. Kylon could not get close enough to kill him.

  His revenge, though, no longer seemed so important. Rolukhan and the Red Huntress had been the outer edges of an evil that had festered in Istarinmul for centuries. If Callatas was not stopped, uncounted millions would die in agony just as Thalastre and her unborn child had died.

  “Very well,” said Kylon.

  “He did think I take too many risks, though,” said Caina.

  “Who?” said Kylon.

  “The man I spoke with,” said Caina. He didn’t expect her to tell him more. A Ghost circlemaster had to keep secrets. “He thinks I take too many risks, that sooner or later they will get me killed.”

  “You do,” said Kylon, “and they will. But not unless I can help it.”

  This time her smile seemed genuine, and a brief flicker went through her emotional sense. “Thank you. I…” She hesitated and looked away, staring at the hearth on the far wall of the wine shop. “Thank you.”

  “You do need help,” said Kylon. “Not even the Balarigar can do everything alone.”

  “Bah,” said Caina. “There is no such man as the Balarigar. A story the Slavers’ Brotherhood made up to cover their failures.”

  “Nasser’s almost ready?” said Kylon. He had not seen much of Caina since they had returned from the Inferno’s wreckage. She had been busy preparing the Ghost circle for her absence, and Kylon had only seen her when she needed help with something. Every time she had been a bit grimmer, as if some worry was eating at her mind.

  “Tomorrow,” said Caina. “We’ll meet at the Shahenshah’s Seat tomorrow night. Apparently Nasser had to call in quite a few favors.”

  Kylon snorted. “I’ve met the man. He likely has favors in every tavern and town from here to Anshan.”

  “You can’t be a legendary master thief for a century and a half without making a few friends,” said Caina.

  “Probably not, no,” said Kylon. “Which means you need my help with something tonight.”

  She raised one eyebrow. “Did you sense that in my emotions?”

  “No,” said Kylon. “I figured it out by myself. You’re not the only one who can employ logic from time to time.”

  She smiled wider at that and leaned closer. “If you’re so clever, what do I wan
t you to do?”

  A dozen different answers came to Kylon’s mind, ranging from humorous to serious…and one that was deadly serious. What he wanted to do was to reach across the table, pull her close, and kiss her. He wanted that very badly. And then…

  “You need me to kill someone,” he said, pushing aside the notion. The thought of kissing Caina summoned a welter of emotions, a combination of guilt and affection and simple raw desire. It was not something he wanted to dwell on just now.

  No matter how enticing the prospect.

  “Actually, I’m hoping to avoid that,” said Caina. “I need you to help me trick someone. If we do it right, no one gets killed, and we hinder our enemies.” She gestured at the wine shop. “Unless you would prefer the luxury of our current surroundings.”

  “Gods of storm and brine, no,” said Kylon. He hesitated. “There is something else, though.”

  “What is it?” said Caina.

  “Those curved knives,” said Kylon. “Have you seen any more of them?”

  Caina went motionless, her sense turning cold. Someone had been following Caina, leaving peculiar curved knives for her to find. They didn’t know who had been leaving the knives, though Kylon was entirely certain that it was one of Caina’s enemies.

  “Just one,” said Caina, gazing at the flames. “The night before Annarah told us the truth. I was going…I went out the back of the House of Agabyzus, and one of the knives was lying in the courtyard. I haven’t seen one since.”

  “Where were you going?” said Kylon. “Perhaps whoever has been following you knew where you intended to go.”

  Caina opened her mouth and then closed it again, as if the question had unsettled her.

  “It’s not important,” she said. “I was the only one who knew where I intended to go. It was,” she took a deep breath, “it was a…foolish impulse, a whim. Not one I should have indulged.”

  “I don’t understand,” said Kylon.

  “Neither do I,” said Caina. “It doesn’t matter now. We have work to do. Will you help me do it?”

  “I shall,” said Kylon.