Ghost in the Throne (Ghost Exile #7) (12 page)

“I am sorry,” said Martin. “But Cassander is not a fool. I doubt he would lie so blatantly about Caina’s death, not unless he had seen her fate with his own eyes.” He let out a long breath. “I fear that the circlemaster is indeed dead.”

“Gods save us,” muttered Claudia. “I never thought she would die. She took such risks, and she did such amazing things.”

“I saw some of them,” said Martin. “Caer Magia and that Great Necromancer.” 

“Or the day of the golden dead,” said Claudia. “Or the Huntress. I thought…well, I suppose no one lives forever.”

“We’ll find the truth soon enough,” said Martin, “and I fear we must prepare ourselves for another danger.”

Claudia let out a bitter little laugh. “What is one more at this point?” 

“We need to consider,” said Martin, “what Cassander will do.” 

“I can’t imagine,” said Claudia, “that he will take Callatas’s betrayal calmly. Not a man like him.”

“I suspect Callatas hasn’t considered it either,” said Martin. “Perhaps that is a risk when a man like him lives for centuries. He loses the ability to consider lesser men a threat. Perhaps he thinks Cassander will simply give up and go home. Or maybe he thinks that Cassander isn’t a threat.”

“Is he a threat to Callatas?” said Claudia.

“You’ve met him,” said Martin. “What do you think?” 

Claudia considered, trying to push aside the tangle of warring emotions in her head. She remembered how Cassander had almost taken her captive at the Golden Palace, smoothly seizing the chaos of the Huntress’s attack to work towards his own goals. If Caina had not been there, Cassander might well have taken Claudia prisoner. 

“I think he’s underestimating Cassander Nilas,” said Claudia in a whisper. “I think he’s making a mistake. What should we do?”

“I don’t know,” said Martin. “I do not think we should warn Callatas.”

“No,” said Claudia. “You’ve seen the wraithblood addicts. You know how many people Callatas had to murder to create them. If Cassander can hinder his work, all to the good.” 

“But if Cassander can actually kill Callatas, he’ll be able to seize control of the city,” said Martin. “Or maybe part of the city long enough to allow the Umbarian fleet passage.” He rubbed his face for a moment. “It is impossible to make a plan. We shall have to see what happens and react as best we can.”

Claudia frowned. “You told me that the man who takes the initiative on the battlefield, who forces others to react to him, will likely take the victory.”

“I did,” said Martin. “Unfortunately, Cassander Nilas has the initiative. We shall have to see what he does, and what Callatas does, before we can decide upon a plan of battle.” 

“A plan of battle,” murmured Claudia. “That’s not going to be a metaphor, is it?”

“Perhaps,” said Martin. “Perhaps not.” The coach came to a stop. “We will soon find out, I fear.” 

Claudia looked out the window and saw a wall of snowy white marble rising over them like a cliff of pale ice, albeit ice adorned with geometric designs of intricate beauty. 

They had arrived at the Golden Palace, seat of the Padishah of Istarinmul. 

Claudia took a deep breath as the Imperial Guards opened the door. Martin got out first, adjusting his coat, and Claudia followed. To her great irritation, it took her two tries to get to her feet. Gods, but was she really that weak? If she lived through both the childbirth and the next few weeks, she resolved to take more exercise. More than once Caina had offered to teach her the principles of the strange form of unarmed combat she used, but Claudia had always declined. Perhaps she ought to have accepted if only to make herself stronger and fitter. 

Now, if Caina was truly dead, Claudia would never have the chance.

She accepted Martin’s help getting out of the coach. Tylas and a dozen Imperial Guards surrounded them, faces grim, hands hovering near their sword hilts. Claudia was grateful for their vigilance. If Cassander Nilas was indeed coming to the Golden Palace, he would have an escort of Adamant Guards, maybe even Silent Hunters and some of the other pet horrors of the Umbarians. One of them might get ambitious and try to kill Martin. 

Yet for now the broad avenue beneath the Palace’s outer wall was orderly. Istarish nobles in robes and turbans or armor strode through the gate and into the Court of the Fountain, escorted by their bodyguards. The embassies of other powers came as well, the ambassadors from Anshan and New Kyre and the Alqaarin sultanates and the free cities. After a year in Istarinmul, Claudia knew them all by sight, and also knew a great deal about their wives and children and mistresses.

Four black-armored Immortals stood guard at the archway, their faces concealed beneath their skull-masked helmets, an eerie blue glow shining from their eyes. The alchemical elixirs they ingested gave them superhuman strength and speed at the cost of a constant sadistic bloodlust. Of course, there were fewer Immortals in Istarinmul than once there had been. The Immortals had been trained in the Inferno, and the Inferno had burned to ashes.

Claudia wondered if that fire would spread to consume all of Istarinmul. 

The Immortals permitted them to pass, and a plump slave with a robe of gray silk and a silver collar directed them to their place. They walked into the massive Court, the walls rising around them like hills. A huge three-tiered fountain bubbled in the center of the courtyard, adorned with statues of naked women. Claudia remembered the first time she had seen Cassander Nilas here, the day the Huntress had attacked. She had thought the Red Huntress had come for Martin, but the nagataaru-infested assassin had actually been after Caina. Claudia and Martin had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Caina had saved Claudia’s life, disguising them both as the scantily-clad dancers that had been part of the evening’s entertainment. Claudia wondered what the costume would look like on her now that she was nine months’ pregnant, and the thought was so ridiculous that she laughed aloud. 

“What is it?” said Martin.

“Old memories,” said Claudia. She had been too embarrassed by that incident to tell Martin the entire story of their escape. A wave of sadness went through Claudia as she thought of it. If the Balarigar had indeed met her final end in Rumarah…well, maybe she was with Corvalis now. Caina had never really seemed to recover from his death. As far as Claudia knew, she had never taken another lover. 

Claudia and Martin walked to their assigned place near the fountain. A group of a dozen Immortals moved around the circumference of the fountain, and stopped facing the gate to the Court of the Fountain as the other embassies took their place. A band of armored nobles followed the Immortals, wearing chain mail and carrying swords, and Claudia saw Erghulan Amirasku walking at their head. The Grand Wazir of the Padishah’s court was in his late fifties, yet his love of hunting and fighting had kept him lean and fierce. His receding gray hair was close-cropped, and his nose resembled the beak of a proud bird of prey.

One of the younger nobles stepped forward, a man Erghulan had appointed to serve as his herald. 

“Behold!” boomed the herald. “He comes! He who is the Emir of the steppes of Trabazon! He who is Captain of the Towers of the Sea! He who is the magistrate of magistrates, the Wazir of the Wazirs, and the strong right hand of the Most Divine Padishah Nahas Tarshahzon! Erghulan Amirasku comes!” 

Claudia had heard the formula so often that she could have mouthed along with it, but that might have caused an incident. Erghulan’s pride was as large as Istarinmul itself, and he would not tolerate any jokes about his office. 

Behind Erghulan walked a shorter man of about the same age, clad in the brilliant gold-trimmed white robes and turban of a Master Alchemist. He had the gaunt face of an ascetic, with a close-cropped gray beard and hard gray eyes like disks of steel. A slender gold chain hung from his neck, supporting a chunk of crystal about the size of a man’s fist that rested against his chest. It seemed to gleam with a pale azure light.

A star…

A jolt of terrific fear went through Claudia. Suddenly she recognized the man. She had seen him once in Catekharon, years ago, but only from a distance, yet suddenly she knew who he was. 

“Husband,” she hissed. “Is that him?”

Martin nodded, and the herald started to declaim again.

"Behold!" he boomed. "He comes! He who is the Grand Master of the Alchemists! He who is the Most Divine Padishah’s trusted advisor and counsellor! He who is the Destroyer of Iramis and the master of all the mysteries of sorcery! Callatas comes!"

Callatas, Grand Master of the College of Alchemists and the creator of the wraithblood, stepped to Erghulan’s side, watching the proceedings with a faint expression of distaste. Claudia worked a minor spell, moving her hand in a quick gesture. She cast the spell to sense the presence of sorcery, and the aura that surrounded Callatas almost knocked her over. Defensive spells ringed the Grand Master like fortress walls, giving his robes the strength and resilience of steel, and he carried several other enspelled objects as well. Yet even those mighty spells were as nothing against the power of the Star of Iramis on his chest, sorcery as strong as anything Claudia had encountered in Caer Magia or on the day of the golden dead. According to the story, Callatas had lifted the Star and burned Iramis to ashes, destroying all his enemies with one spell.

The Grand Master’s gray eyes shifted in her direction, and with a surge of alarm Claudia realized that he had sensed her spell. For a moment she was terrified that the Grand Master would order her arrest, or worse, would lift his hand and call upon his sorcery to destroy her. If he had worked the spells that warded his robes and rings, he could crush her without exerting himself. 

Yet Callatas only stared at her. His expression did not change, and at last the Grand Master’s gaze turned towards the gate. 

“What was that about?” said Martin. 

“I don’t know,” said Claudia, still shaken. 

“That is not a man whose attention you wish to draw,” said Martin.

“I know,” said Claudia. The dread would not leave her. This was the man that Caina had sought to defeat? Claudia was not sure that Callatas could be defeated. No single magus of the Magisterium, not even the high magi, could have challenged Callatas for long. Maybe someone like the Moroaica or the Great Necromancer Rhames could have defeated him, but they were both dead. 

“Here he comes,” said Martin. “Be ready.”

Claudia turned her gaze from Callatas as the first of the Adamant Guards marched into the Court of the Fountain, their steel-shod boots ringing against the flagstones. Her skin crawled at the sight of them. The Adamant Guards looked as if they wore close-fitting cuirasses of overlapping steel plates, but Claudia knew better. Those enspelled steel plates had been grafted to their flesh, and the spells gave them superhuman speed and strength, even as it dulled their emotions and made them susceptible to the orders of the Umbarian magi. 

Claudia wondered if those Guards had been the ones who had chased her through the vast gleaming labyrinth of the Golden Palace. 

After the Adamant Guards came a tall, blond-haired man in a greatcoat of black leather, a golden medallion of a winged skull resting against her chest. Claudia felt herself scowl as she recognized the familiar, hated features of Cassander Nilas, and…

She blinked.

Something was wrong with Cassander. 

For all that she hated him, for all that she would have killed him if given the chance, she had to admit that he was a handsome and charismatic man. 

That had changed.

The right side of his face remained unchanged. The left side…it looked as if it had been patched together from ragged strips of leather. No, that wasn’t quite right. It looked as if he had rebuilt the left side of his face with pieces of skin cut from corpses. His right eye remained a clear, crystalline blue, but the left had turned a venomous orange-yellow color, almost like molten sulfur. 

He looked like…he looked a lot like…

“Gods, husband,” whispered Claudia. “Do you remember Caer Magia?”

“Sicarion,” said Martin. “The Moroaica’s pet assassin. It seems that Cassander had to resort to necromancy to heal himself.”

“Caina put up a fight, then,” said Claudia. Yet her heart sank into her stomach. If Cassander had suffered this much injury and still been victorious…

It was true. Caina was dead…and the Ghost circle that she had created in Istarinmul might be all that stood between the Empire and catastrophic defeat. 

Cassander stopped before the fountain and offered an elaborate bow to the Grand Wazir. As he straightened up, his mismatched eyes flashed across Claudia and Martin, and she saw the malice there. No, the Umbarian magus had not forgotten that she had escaped him once. She doubted a single grievance had ever escaped Cassander’s steel-trap mind.

At least until it had been washed clean in blood. 

“Lord Cassander,” said Erghulan. “So good to see you again.”

“And to see you once more, my lord Wazir,” said Cassander, his deep voice raspier than it had been before. He spoke better Istarish than Claudia could manage. It was petty, but she hated him for that, too. 

“It seems you have suffered some…setbacks since last we enjoyed the honor of your presence,” said Erghulan.

“Scars of battle, my lord,” said Cassander. “I had hoped to tell you the tale when I was next summoned into your august presence.” 

“In point of fact, my lord Cassander,” said Erghulan, “you invited yourself into our august presence with your little…publication. You were not invited. In fact, the last time you were summoned to the Golden Palace was to explain the riot at the Alqaarin harbor, and you fled the city before you could account for yourself.” 

“A trap, Grand Wazir,” said Cassander. “As I told you when I first arrived in Istarinmul, the Balarigar was in fact a Ghost nightfighter named Caina Amalas, sent by the Emperor to destabilize the realm of Istarinmul.” Again his mismatched eyes glanced at Martin. “I laid a trap for her in the Alqaarin harbor, but she was able to elude me. So I left in pursuit of her at once.”