Ghost in the Throne (Ghost Exile #7) (10 page)

“Really?” said Kylon. He seemed half-amused, half-incredulous. “You were an opera singer’s maid?”

“Technically,” said Caina, “I was the maid of the leading lady of the Grand Imperial Opera. Theodosia would be quite insistent upon that.” 

“You have had an unusual past,” said Kylon.

“I suppose I have,” said Caina.

He smiled. “I look forward to hearing more about it.” 

She smiled back, forgetting for a moment about her fears and doubts. “I look forward to telling you.” 

They reached the square below the village’s gate. Strabane’s chief warriors stood there, grim in their chain mail and leather, the skulls of their ancestral enemies hanging from their belts. Laertes waited near the gate, holding a string of a dozen horses. As ever, the supplies and mounts had been well-organized. No wonder Nasser relied upon the former centurion so much. Nasser and Annarah stood talking with Strabane himself, Morgant waiting behind them like a dark shadow. Nasser held a leather-wrapped spear in his right hand, topped with a length of razor-edged steel. 

It wasn’t really a spear. 

The vision of the valikarion proved that.

To Caina’s altered gaze, the Staff of Iramis blazed with power in Nasser’s hand. The spells were powerful and incredibly complex, woven with skill beyond Caina’s ability to grasp. A wheel of similar light rested against Annarah’s chest, hidden beneath her dress. Nasser had given the Seal of Iramis to Annarah to carry. Splitting up the two pieces of the regalia made it less likely Callatas or Kalgri or some opportunistic sorcerer could carry off both of them.

“The Divine go with you, my lord headman,” said Nasser. “I hope to meet you soon at the gates of Istarinmul.”

“Safe journey, Glasshand,” said Strabane. “Hasten to Catekharon and return to us. We’ll throw Erghulan out on his ear and show Callatas how the Kaltari deal with sorcerers.” 

“And how do the Kaltari deal with sorcerers?” said Morgant. 

“In a way you’d approve,” said Strabane. “With two feet of steel down the gullet.” His hard eyes turned to Caina. “The man who became a woman has become a man again.”

“Easier to travel in these clothes,” said Caina.

Strabane grunted. “And to run for your life.”

“That, too,” said Caina.

Strabane scowled. “How the devil do you do that? I look at you know and would swear you were a man, except for the voice. Which you can change, I know.”

Caina shrugged. “Posture, stance, costume, some makeup.” She glanced at Kylon. “I spent some time with an opera singer who had a gift for costuming when I was younger.” 

Kylon’s lips twitched at that. 

“Well, if your trickery helps us defeat our foes, I am all for it,” said Strabane. “Safe travels, Glasshand. I hope to raise a cup of wine in the Golden Palace of Istarinmul before the year is out.”

Caina found her horse, climbed into the saddle, and followed Nasser and the others as they departed Drynemet. 

###

“This,” announced Morgant, “is an immense waste of time.”

Caina shrugged. “Do you have anything better to do?”

Morgant let out an irritated grunt and turned his attention back to his notebook. He propped it open against the horn of his saddle, letting his mount follow the others as his pencil flickered over the pages. He had been sketching the first time she had met him in the Ring of Cyrica, and all his acerbic boasting aside, he really was a skilled artist. She might have been content to watch him draw, but she had other things to do.

Specifically, finding out the limits of a valikarion’s abilities. 

The road wound its way through the Kaltari Highlands, following the slope of the hills and dipping through valleys as it made its way to the Trabazon steppes. Nasser and Laertes took the lead, Laertes guiding the remounts and pack horses with a confident hand. Annarah rode behind them, her eyes distant as she gazed at the hills. Caina rode next to Morgant, and she could not see Kylon at the moment. 

She still knew exactly where he was.

A rocky hill rose to her left, its boulder-strewn slopes dotted with bushes and thick, tough pine trees. It offered ample opportunities for concealment, and if Caina had wanted to, she could have remained unseen at a dozen different places on its slope. The shadow-cloak would have helped with that, but Caina had lost hers and she didn’t know how to get another one. 

Right now, she focused upon finding someone else. 

Caina watched the silvery-white glow moving back and forth behind the hill. From time to time a pulse of blue light surrounded the aura, dimming after a few moments. She waited, watching the glow as it began to draw nearer. 

“This is a waste of time,” said Morgant. 

“No, it’s not,” said Caina. “I don’t know what the valikarion could do, and it’s not as if there are any valikarion left to teach me. So if I’m going to have the damned headaches from the vision, I may as well learn what the vision can do.” 

“And what practical things can it do?” said Morgant.

“Your dagger is in your right interior coat pocket,” said Caina.

Morgant raised an eyebrow.

“I can see it glowing,” said Caina. 

“Or its weight pulling at the cloth” said Morgant.

“That, too,” said Caina. 

“You would have liked the valikarion,” said Morgant, turning his attention back to his notebook. “They had your same inflexibly rigid sense of justice.” 

“You knew valikarion?” said Caina.

He smiled briefly. “If you want to call it that.” 

Caina decided not to think about that further. A moment later Kylon jogged down the slope. He came to a stop next to Caina’s horse. Despite his exertions, he wasn’t breathing very hard. 

“Well?” said Kylon.

“You ran behind the hill, using the sorcery of air to enhance your strength,” said Caina, remembering what she had seen. “You almost came to the crest of hill, not high enough that I could see you. Then you went back down the slope, and you cast the spell of water to enhance your strength…five times, I think?”

“Six, actually,” said Kylon.

“Six,” said Caina. “Then you released all the spells, circled through that ravine, and rejoined us here.”

“And you saw the…glow the entire time?” said Kylon. 

Caina shook her head. “Almost. You disappeared for a little while. How far did you go?”

“About a mile, I think,” said Kylon. “Maybe a little further. I didn’t want to go too far in case you came under attack. And you saw the…glow the entire time?” 

“A mile, then,” said Caina. “The sight of a valikarion extends for a mile.”

“It might go further,” said Kylon. “I am not particularly powerful, and my spells are not that potent. If Nasser wandered off with the Staff, perhaps you could see that from a greater distance.”

“No,” said Caina. “Nasser shouldn’t wander off with that.” She shrugged. “When we reach Istarinmul, perhaps I will be able to see a wraithblood laboratory from a distance, or a Mirror of Worlds. That could be useful.” 

“Then these experiments of yours have a practical point?” said Morgant. 

“Yes,” said Caina. “It occurs to me that I need to carry an enspelled object with me. Something marked with a powerful spell, but one that doesn’t do anything.”

“What use would that serve?” said Morgant.

“A beacon,” said Kylon.

“Aye,” said Caina. “Drop that in a man’s pocket, and I could follow him anywhere. Through a crowd, through the spectators at a gladiatorial game or a chariot race, anywhere. Even a wall wouldn’t hide the aura. I could follow him through floors and stairs and houses. So long as he stayed within a mile, he couldn’t get away.” She looked at Morgant. “That would have been useful when I was trying to find you.” 

Morgant snorted. “It would work, I suppose. Though as I recall, you saw the Kyracian sweating and fighting in a loincloth, and you went running off after him. Rather a nice bit of foretelling, wasn’t it?”

Kylon scowled, but Caina answered before he could speak.

“I went after him,” said Caina, “and you went after me. Now what did that foretell?”

“That I’m damned fool, if nothing else,” said Morgant. “Come along, Kyracian. It’s time we had a look around. It would be a grim fate, if an amusing one, if we were taken by bandits while you and the Balarigar were playing games.”

Kylon looked at Caina. 

“For once, he’s right,” said Caina.

“Just don’t talk too much,” said Kylon.

“The young should be honored to listen to the speech of their elders,” said Morgant. 

“That’s why he never stops talking,” said Caina. “He’s so old that he has forgotten how to shut up. If you go with him, you can cut down any foes that are drawn by his rambling.” 

Morgant gave her a sour look. 

Kylon laughed. “As usual, you are right.” Caina handed him the reins to his horse, and he swung up into the saddle. For a man who had spent much of his life aboard a ship, he rode quite well. 

“Tell me, Kyracian,” said Morgant. “Did I ever tell you about the time I killed a Kyracian thalarchon?”

“Please don’t.”

“Well,” said Morgant, “it would have been about a hundred and sixty-five years ago. I happened to be in Istarinmul, and…”

Kylon sighed. Morgant’s voice trailed off as he followed Kylon into the hills, still talking. 

Caina rode alone for a while, watching the glow from Morgant’s weapons and Kylon’s valikon until they vanished from sight. As she had guessed, they disappeared after about a mile, which seemed to be the effective range of a valikarion’s sight. The valikon’s glow remained visible for several moments longer. Likely the spells upon the valikon were far more potent than those upon Morgant’s scimitar and dagger. She glanced at the pyrikon bracelet around her left wrist. Her mortal eyes saw the ghostsilver, but the sixth sense of the valikarion saw the steady power of the spirit within, waiting to be called forth. 

For a moment her skin crawled at the thought. She had hated sorcery for more than half her life, yet it was now a part of her more than ever before. Now that she was a valikarion, it had been woven the fiber of her being. 

Her hands tightened against the reins, the knuckles shining white beneath her skin. 

“How goes the practice?”

Nasser’s sonorous voice cut into Caina’s dark musings, and she rebuked herself for inattention. Nasser dropped back to ride next to her, the disguised Staff laid across his saddle like a lance. Annarah had ridden ahead to join Laertes, and from the sound of the conversation, Laertes was explaining his difficulty finding suitable husbands for all his daughters. 

“Well enough,” said Caina. “I think I can see sorcerous auras for a mile in all directions, regardless of any obstacles.” She reached over and tapped the leather-wrapped Staff with one finger, and her hair all but stood on end in reaction to the mighty power within the ancient relic. “I haven’t lost my old sensitivity to sorcery, either.”

“A rare gift,” said Nasser. “Most people are completely unaware of the presence of a spell until it does them harm.” 

“I wish you knew more about the abilities of the valikarion,” said Caina. “Or that Annarah did. Any advice would be helpful.”

“The valikarion were quite secretive about their abilities,” said Nasser. “Their task was to guard the loremasters, yes, but they had responsibilities beyond that. Sorcerers who abused their powers or turned to the forbidden sciences might find the valikarion arriving upon the doorsteps. It often caused problems with neighboring nations. The Magisterium, in particular, was not at all fond of the valikarion or of Iramis.” 

“I can imagine,” said Caina. She considered for a moment. “You said the valikarion guarded the loremasters. Did their responsibilities include…policing the loremasters?” 

“Yes,” said Nasser. “It was rare for a loremaster to abuse his power. But all mortals are fallible, are they not? The valikarion kept an eye upon the loremasters as well.”

“How did they miss Callatas, then?” said Caina.

They rode in silence for a little while. 

“I do not know,” said Nasser. “Nor do I know what happened to…change him so. Not even Annarah knows, and she was perhaps closer to him than anyone, but that was not very close.”

“What does that mean?” said Caina. 

“Callatas was not close to anyone,” said Nasser. “He had a towering reputation, true, and was renowned as the greatest healer and loremaster of Iramis. Certainly his skill had earned him the title of Callatas the Wise. Yet he had no family, no close friends. Only influential admirers and students.”

“What did you think of him?” said Caina. “Before he destroyed your homeland, I mean?”

“He had already been a loremaster for decades when I ascended the Prince’s throne,” said Nasser. “To be honest, I thought him pompous and rather full of himself. And…brittle, too.”

“Brittle?” said Caina.

“Brittle,” repeated Nasser. “He had a vision of how the world ought to be, a world of perfect justice and fairness. I need not tell a circlemaster of the Ghosts that such a world is simply not possible.”

“No,” said Caina. Halfdan had been fond of saying that from the crooked timber of humanity no straight thing could be made, quoting some long-dead philosopher or another. Caina had not yet seen anything to disprove that. 

“Then one day he left Iramis,” said Nasser. “We knew not where he had gone. A few years later he took command of the College of Alchemists of Istarinmul and proclaimed himself the Grand Master. Later, of course, we learned that he had gone to the Tomb of Kharnaces and learned dark secrets there. He had stolen the Star of Iramis, and demanded the Staff and the Seal. I refused him…and, well, you know what happened next.” 

“And you don’t know what drove him to it?” said Caina.

“No,” said Nasser. “He told no one. Kharnaces told you the Apotheosis is about destroying the old humanity and replacing it with a new, superior one, at least one that he considers superior. Maybe it has been his goal for so long that he himself has forgotten why he started upon his path.”

“And you?” said Caina. “You’ve been working as long as he has. Have you forgotten?”

“No,” said Nasser. “My goal is far simpler. To stop Callatas, to keep him from destroying any more nations the way he has destroyed Iramis.”