Ghost in the Hunt (3 page)

She froze.

“What is it?” said Agabyzus.

“I…” said Caina, frowning.

For just a moment, she had glimpsed a shadow standing on top of the half-constructed building. Had someone been watching them?

But she saw no one, and Agabyzus was bleeding.

“Let’s go,” said Caina, and she helped him along.

Chapter 2 - Voices

“The Tower Quarter?” said Agabyzus, his voice a bit unsteady.

“Yes,” said Caina. 

“The Crows’ Tower is here,” said Agabyzus. “The headquarters of the city watch.”

“This is so,” said Caina. 

“Also a hidden prison for the Teskilati,” said Agabyzus. 

“I’d heard that,” said Caina.

“And you have a safe house here?” said Agabyzus.

“Right here, as a matter of fact,” said Caina, leading him into alley between two of the tall, blocky houses that dominated the Tower Quarter. In the distance she saw the grim battlements of the Crows’ Tower. Dozens of iron cages dangled from the walls, holding corpses in various states of decay. Hundreds of crows circled above the fortress, feasting upon the carrion. 

“Why here?” said Agabyzus.

Caina stopped before the cellar door, undid the lock, and pushed it open. “A widow named Talisla owns the house. I did her a favor once, and the Tower Quarter is heavily patrolled. No one makes trouble here.” 

“Including bounty hunters,” said Agabyzus. 

Caina nodded and helped him into the cellar of the widow’s house. She had prepared the cellar as a refuge, stocking it with cots, weapons, medical supplies, food and drink, and other useful things. Agabyzus staggered to a cot and sat down with a sigh while Caina lit several lanterns and a brazier, placing a cup of wine over the coals to boil. 

“Don’t lie down yet,” said Caina. “We need to clean and close that cut. Open your robe.”

Agabyzus snorted. “Taking off my clothes in front of a woman young enough to be my daughter. Damla would be scandalized.” 

“Since you were wearing nothing but rags when I first met you,” said Caina, “I think that boundary of scandal was crossed long ago.”

“This is so,” said Agabyzus, tugging open the top of his robes and withdrawing his arms from the sleeve. His torso was thin and wasted, the ribs and belly marked with dozens of scars from the tortures of the Widows’ Tower. His back was nothing but a solid mass of whip scars. To judge from the state of the wound in his left shoulder, he would soon have another impressive scar in his collection. 

Caina picked up a tray with the tools she needed, set it upon the cot, and went to work cleaning the wound. Agabyzus winced occasionally, but sat in silence otherwise. She washed out the wound with a mixture of herbs and boiling wine to prevent putrefaction, and then started stitching it closed. 

“You are good at this,” said Agabyzus

“Thank you,” said Caina, working the needle through the torn skin and pulling the stitches closed. It was not that different from cutting a throat. Just a bit more precise. 

“Might I ask how you learned?” said Agabyzus.

“Some practice,” said Caina. “I’ve had to stitch myself up a few times. I had a good teacher. A priestess of Minaerys, a physician.” Komnene had taught her everything she knew about poisons and medicines and treating wounds. Though Claudia Aberon had been a better student by far. Caina had a talent for observation and working mayhem, but Claudia had a gift for medicine, and she had become a capable physician. Caina wondered what had become of her. Likely she had wed Martin Dorius by now. 

“You did,” said Agabyzus, closing his eyes. “I knew Halfdan. He would be proud of the work you have done in Istarinmul.”

“Thank you,” said Caina, her voice quiet. She had failed to save Halfdan, too. She tied off the stitches and scrutinized her handiwork. “Keep that uncovered tonight. I can check it tomorrow. Or, better yet, you can find an actual physician to look at it. I can give you something for the pain. It will put you to sleep, though.”

“Before you do,” said Agabyzus. “I must tell you about the message.” He lifted the satchel and handed it to her.

“Of course,” said Caina. 

“The message was genuine, from Lord Aeolus himself in Malarae,” said Agabyzus. “A new Lord Ambassador is arriving in Istarinmul to represent the Emperor to the Padishah, and the Ghost circlemaster is to aid the Lord Ambassador in his task.”

“Which is?” said Caina.

“To keep Istarinmul,” said Agabyzus, “from siding with the Umbarian Order against the Empire.”

“The Umbarian Order?” said Caina, blinking. “I’ve never heard of them. The word ‘umbarian’ is just the High Nighmarian word for ‘hidden in the shadows’ or ‘beneath the shadow’.”

“Apparently,” said Agabyzus, “the rebels that now control the eastern Empire call themselves the Umbarian Order.”

“A stupid name,” said Caina. “Hard to be a ruler when you go about hidden in the shadows.”

Agabyzus looked almost amused at that. “We operate in the shadows.”

“We are not rulers. We’re the Ghosts,” said Caina. “We’re spies. We’re supposed to operate in the shadows. Did the message say anything about who or what these Umbarians are?” 

“No,” said Agabyzus. He reached into the satchel with his good arm. “You can read for yourself.”

Caina scanned the letter. It contained damnably little information. It merely said that the Umbarian Order was sending an ambassador to the Padishah’s court to persuade Istarinmul to join the war against the Empire. In answer, the Emperor was sending an ambassador of his own to convince the Padishah to remain neutral, a Lord Ambassador named…

Caina blinked. “Oh.” 

“You know this Lord Martin Dorius, then?” said Agabyzus. 

“I know Martin Dorius,” said Caina. “He was at New Kyre, on the day of the golden dead. Though I first met him before that. When he was governor of Caeria Ulterior. There was an…incident.” She looked at Agabyzus. “He is a Ghost.”

“Truly?” said Agabyzus. “A nobleman in the Ghosts? I am surprised.”

“He was at the time, too,” said Caina. 

“You seem displeased,” said Agabyzus.

“Do I?” said Caina. She was usually better at concealing her emotions. But as battered and scarred as Agabyzus was, he was still no fool. “No, not displeased. But we have something of an unpleasant history.”

“Ah,” said Agabyzus. “He is a former lover, then.”

“What? No,” said Caina. “Why would you think that?” 

Agabyzus shrugged. “Forgive my bluntness, but as your nightkeeper it is my duty to offer you honest counsel and…”

“Yes, you’ve given me that speech before,” said Caina. “If you have something to say, just say it.”

“You are not an unattractive woman,” said Agabyzus, “and with your powers of intellect and disguise, I suspect you would find it very easy to charm, shall we say, any man who caught your eye. You looked quite sad for a moment when you read the letter.”

Caina sighed. “Lord Martin’s wife. She…was the sister of someone I knew quite well.”

“The man you lost,” said Agabyzus, voice quiet.

Caina scowled. “Damla told you?”

“Of course not,” said Agabyzus. “My sister knows how to keep secrets. Especially now that our lives depend upon them. But I have observed you for nearly a year, circlemaster, and I have seen how reckless you are with your own life. I concluded you suffered some great loss that made you heedless of your fate.”

“I should have guessed,” said Caina.

“Guessed what?” 

“The danger of employing clever men,” said Caina, looking at the ceiling, “is that they uncover more secrets than you expect. You are right. There was a man. He died. I didn’t. He died saving my life, in truth. His sister blamed me for it. When I came to Istarinmul, she was betrothed to Martin Dorius. Likely they have wed by now.”

“So she will accompany Lord Martin,” said Agabyzus.

“Yes,” said Caina. 

“Is she also a Ghost?”

Caina nodded. Claudia Aberon was other things as well. A physician. A capable sorceress. A former sister of the Imperial Magisterium. And the bastard daughter of Decius Aberon, the ruthless First Magus of the Magisterium. 

She wondered if Decius Aberon had sided with the Emperor or with the Umbarian rebels. 

“Was there any answer to my letters?” said Caina. She did not want to talk about Claudia Aberon. “My warnings about Callatas and the wraithblood?”

“I fear not,” said Agabyzus. “I suspect no answer may come.”

“Why not?” said Caina. “Grand Master Callatas is dangerous. If he finishes his Apotheosis, whatever it is, he will kill thousands of people.”

“Thousands of people in Istarinmul,” said Agabyzus, “and an Istarinmul in chaos is an Istarinmul that cannot ally with the Umbarian Order against the Empire.”

“That’s monstrous,” said Caina. “The high circlemasters want Callatas to succeed?”

“I doubt it,” said Agabyzus. “The Ghosts have stopped sorcerers of Callatas’s nature before. But while the survival of the Empire is at stake, and Callatas’s plans threaten to bring chaos to Istarinmul…they may very likely do nothing to stop him.”

Caina sighed, shook her head, and got to her feet. “Drink this.” She handed Agabyzus a small glass vial. “It will let you sleep without pain. You’ll be stiff and sore tomorrow, but at least you’ll have a good night’s rest.”

“Where are you going, if I may ask?” said Agabyzus. He opened the vial and drank. 

“To steal a corpse,” said Caina. 

Agabyzus nodded, closed his eyes, and lay down upon the cot. “Caina.”

“Yes?” said Caina, surprised. He rarely used her real name.

“Thank you for my life,” he murmured. “Yet again.”

“You are welcome,” said Caina, but Agabyzus did not answer as he sank into a deep sleep. She stared at him, her mind whirling with the news, rebels and Umbarians and Callatas’s dark Apotheosis.

Gods. What would she say to Claudia if they met again? 

Caina crossed the cellar, Agabyzus’s deep snores rattling off the ceiling. She had to act, but before she could act, she needed information. Specifically, more information about this Umbarian Order and the invisible assassins. 

And she had a good idea of where to find it.

Caina opened to a chest and stripped out of her clothes. She wanted a bath and a long sleep, but there was work to do. As she removed her dress, the glint of bronze upon her left arm caught her eye. An intricate torque of bronze-colored metal encircled her left bicep. It was not tight, but it would not fall off, not unless Caina pulled it off. Though that would do little good. She could drop the torque upon the floor and turn away, and a moment later she would find that it had transformed into a bracelet and attached itself to her left wrist. 

For the torque was not simply jewelry, but a pyrikon, an enspelled tool of sorcery. The pyrikons had once been the badges of office of the loremasters, the ancient sorcerers’ brotherhood of Iramis. Callatas had destroyed Iramis a century and a half ago. Yet some loremasters had escaped the destruction, and Callatas had hunted them down and killed them, claiming their pyrikons and using the enspelled devices for his own purposes.

Now one such pyrikon rested upon Caina’s left arm. The thing had bonded to her, Nasser claimed, and Caina had been unable to get rid of it. She hated sorcery and wanted nothing to do with it. Still, the pyrikon had done her no harm, and had aided her several times. 

“The star is the key to the crystal,” muttered Caina, looking at the pyrikon. She didn’t know what those words meant, the strange prophecy the spirit of the Moroaica’s long-dead father had given her. The star had to be the Star of Iramis that Callatas wore. But what was the crystal? 

She didn’t know.

Her eyes turned to Agabyzus. Those invisible assassins had almost killed them both.

Right now Caina had more immediate questions. 

She donned the clothing of a caravan guard. Worn trousers and boots, a loose shirt, and heavy leather armor studded with steel rivets. A ragged cloak hung from her shoulders, and a short sword and a dagger went into sheaths at her belt. She clipped the ghostsilver dagger to her belt, just in case more of these invisible men came calling, and then gave her reflection a quick examination in a small mirror. Caina would have preferred some makeup to create the illusion of stubble, but with her hair short and her figure concealed beneath the armor and cloak, she could easily pass.

She checked her weapons one last time and then left the cellar, circling through the alleys until she came to the main street.

Caina stopped, looking around.

Again she had the damnable feeling that someone was watching her. 

Another woman would have thought that paranoia, but paranoia was the irrational fear of imaginary enemies. Caina had the entirely rational certainty that numerous enemies did in fact want to capture or kill her. She scanned the street, the alleys, and the rooftops. Especially the rooftops. No one ever looked up, and she remembered the shadow she had seen atop the half-constructed merchants’ hall.

But she saw nothing. 

The street and the rooftops were both deserted.

Caina shook her head and kept walking.

###

The assassin lay flat upon the rooftop and watched Caina Amalas, the Ghost nightfighter some called the Balarigar, make her way to the Old Quarter. 

A voice hissed and murmured with furious rage and fear inside the assassin’s head, but she did not mind. 

She had, after all, been hearing a voice inside her head for nearly one hundred and sixty years now. 

Or, more specifically, a Voice. 

The Balarigar’s abilities of disguise were remarkable. If the assassin had not known better, she would have sworn that she watched a tired caravan guard seeking a bed for the night. Not the Balarigar, the famed master thief who had put terror into the Slavers’ Brotherhood, the man who had destroyed the Widow’s Tower and dared to rob the palace of Grand Master Callatas himself. 

A man so notorious that Callatas had hired the deadliest assassin in Istarinmul to dispose of him.

The assassin smiled, the dry breeze tugging at her black hair. 

She looked forward to the expression on Callatas’s face when he learned that the dreaded Balarigar was in fact a woman.