Ghost in the Inferno (Ghost Exile #5) (17 page)

“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 squat, 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.”

“Wait,” said Caina. Mazyan’s scowl deepened, and he reached for his sword, but Sulaman stopped him. “Since you are so well-informed, you have probably guessed what I plan to attempt.” 

“Some of it,” said Sulaman. “You are with Nasser, so likely you share the same goal.”

Caina wondered how much Sulaman knew about Nasser. Did he know that Nasser had once been the last Prince of Iramis? Nasser and Sulaman had clearly worked together in the past. How much did Nasser know about Sulaman? For that matter, did Tanzir know about either of them? And that did not even factor in whatever game Samnirdamnus was playing with her and Morgant. 

No wonder Caina had been so agitated lately. She was in the middle of a web of secrets and lies, and though she had constructed much of it herself, she could not see all of it. 

“Any counsel you can give me?” said Caina. “You’ve aided me before. Against the Huntress, and when I sought Morgant the Razor.”

“Yes,” said Sulaman. “I heard that you had found him. Tell me, Master Ciaran. Do we share the same goal?”

“You told me,” said Caina, “that you wanted to protect the people of Istarinmul. If Callatas is not stopped, he will kill the people of Istarinmul. That alone, I think, should be reason to help me.” 

Sulaman inclined his head. “Very well. When you go to the Inferno, you must do as you have always done, or you shall perish.”

“And what have I always done?” said Caina. 

“Break the chains,” said Sulaman. “Shatter the bonds. Free the slaves.” 

“I don’t understand,” said Caina.

“You shall,” said Sulaman, “when the hour is upon you, for it is in your nature. That is all the aid I can give you for now, I fear.” He hesitated. “One secret I shall share with you, and one only.”

Mazyan growled. “Master…” 

Sulaman raised a hand, and the hulking bodyguard fell silent, though he kept glowering at Caina. 

“Callatas knows of me,” said Sulaman, “and he suffers me to live, for he thinks he may have need of me in the future. Yet if he realizes that I am his enemy, that I have aided his foes, he will either kill me or imprison me in a place like the Inferno. So I am limited in what I can do. Those words, scanty as they are, are all the aid I can give you for now.”

“I understand,” said Caina. “And your aid has saved my life more than once before. Thank you.” He had told her where to find Morgant the Razor, which in turn had led her to finding Kylon in the Ring of Cyrica. And if she had not found Kylon and Morgant on that day, if she had been alone, the Sifter would have killed her. 

“I am glad,” said Sulaman. “May the Living Flame watch over you.” The poet bowed to her, and she bowed back. Sulaman left the room. Mazyan glared a little longer, and then turned and departed as well.

A few moments later Tanzir Shahan, emir of the Vale of Fallen Stars, walked into the tower chamber.

He had changed so much that Caina barely recognized him at first. 

In Malarae he had been fat, so fat that he had trouble walking long distances. Tanzir had lost a great deal of weight since then, and while he was still stout, the climb up the tower stairs had not winded him. He wore chain mail and plate armor without discomfort, as if he had grown used to it. His face was harder, leaner, with fresh lines marking his bronze-colored skin despite his youth. He looked, in fact, like his dead brother, and Caina felt a twinge of alarm. Just how much like Rezir had Tanzir become?

Then he stopped and stared at her, the astonishment plain upon his face, and Caina remembered the terrified young man that had come to Malarae to negotiate peace between the Padishah and the Emperor.

“Sonya Tornesti?” Tanzir said. “It truly is you?”

Caina bowed. “My lord emir. It has been a long time.” 

Tanzir started to pace back and forth. That was new, too. He had never preferred to stand when a chair was at hand. “When my khalmir told me that the mercenaries claimed to have a message from you, I was sure it was a trick. Or a trap. The Living Flame knows that the Teskilati have tried to have me killed a half-dozen times since I had my mother and brother exiled…”

“My lord emir,” said Caina, but Tanzir kept talking. He had used to stutter, but that seemed to have become a tendency to ramble. 

“Though I should have guessed,” said Tanzir, still pacing. “All those stories coming out of the capital about a black-cloaked master thief terrorizing the Brotherhood? A thief who called himself the Balarigar? It had to be you. Who else could it have been? But for my life I could not imagine why you would be in Istarinmul, not when the Empire was ripping itself apart in civil war.” 

Caina opened her mouth to speak, but Tanzir kept talking. 

“I suppose it has something to do with the Umbarian Order,” said Tanzir. “That must be why you’re here. To make sure the Padishah does not ally with the Umbarians against the Empire. Of course, the Padishah disappeared before I returned to Istarinmul, and no one knows where he is. You’ll have to deal with Callatas, and Callatas…the man has been a malignant blight upon Istarinmul for decades, and he has been growing worse. He’s unleashed the Collectors upon the southern emirates, and if something isn’t done soon Istarinmul will have its own civil war.” His face hardened, and he looked more like Rezir than ever. “And we shall be right to do it! Callatas and his demands are ripping Istarinmul apart.” He blinked several times and focused upon Caina. “Oh. I forgot. Is Anton Kularus with you? I have some questions for him.”

Caina swallowed. “He’s dead.” 

“Oh.” The energy seemed to drain out of Tanzir. “I am sorry. When…”

“The day of the golden dead,” said Caina. “He…died valiantly.” 

“I am sorry,” said Tanzir. “I had hoped to ask him about the Kindred of Istarinmul. You see, to my chagrin I have become something of a leader to the southern emirs, and so the Grand Wazir has hired the Kindred to kill me. I’ve evaded them, but a man’s luck will only last for so long.” 

“Actually,” said Caina, thinking of Morgant. “I have an expert on the Kindred with me. Perhaps he can tell you something of their techniques.” 

“Good,” said Tanzir. “Thank you, yes. That…ah, that will be helpful.” 

They stood in silence for a moment. 

“How have you been?” said Caina. “Since you returned, I mean. You seem…”

“Thinner?” said Tanzir.

“Different,” said Caina. 

Tanzir snorted. “A diplomatic way of putting it. But I’ve had nothing but diplomacy for the last four years. That, and people trying to kill me.” He shook his head. “I took your advice and exiled my mother and my brother as soon as I returned, and set about…oh, cleaning house, you could say. I got rid of my mother’s loyalists and installed my own men throughout the magistracies of the Vale. Then the day of the golden dead happened, and all has been chaos since. The Vale of Fallen Stars is the most powerful emirate of the south, and the other emirs traditionally look to the House of Shahan for guidance. Which means me. By the Living Flame! If I had known all this was going to happen, I would have stayed in Malarae. The book shops were most pleasant.”

“I wish I was still in Malarae, too,” said Caina, “but I fear that is not possible.” 

He hesitated, stared at the ceiling for a moment, and then looked at her. “Why are you here? Istarinmul is about to explode, and suddenly you turn up at the border of my lands.” 

Caina took a deep breath. “Because I need your help.”

At once he looked guarded. “Why? I will not aid the Ghosts against Istarinmul. Nor will I argue that Istarinmul should join the war against the Umbarian Order. The Order is as vile as the Great Necromancers of old or the Magisterium of the Fourth Empire, yes. But Istarinmul should stay neutral in that war.”

“I’m not going to ask for that,” said Caina. “I will ask for two things. That you allow us to pass through the Vale, and that you do not warn the Inferno or anyone in Istarinmul when we kidnap the emir Kuldan Cimak.” 

She had just thrown the dice. She hoped her assessment of Tanzir was correct. 

Tanzir blinked. “You want to kill Kuldan? Why? He is quite harmless. A bit too fond of his own poetry, to be sure…”

“Not to kill him,” said Caina. “Kidnap him. Then I will masquerade as him and enter the Inferno.”

“Why?” said Tanzir. “That is utter madness. The Inferno is where men are tortured into Immortals. It is an evil place, and the Master Alchemist Rolukhan is cruel even by the standards of the College of Alchemists. Why would you want to infiltrate the place?”

Caina took a deep breath. “I could tell you…but the answer would put you in danger.”

“Why?” said Tanzir again, meeting her eyes. He had indeed grown since their last meeting. Once he would not have been able to look her in the eye. Now she saw only a weary determination there. 

“Because Callatas would kill me for what I know,” said Caina.