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

“An ambush,” said the Silent Hunter. “For the Balarigar. Lord Cassander knew the Balarigar would be there, so he laid a trap for her. Yet she eluded him, and he left the city in a rage the next day, I know not where.”

“Pursuing the Balarigar, I presume,” said Claudia.

“Yes,” said the Silent Hunter, bobbing his head. “The red woman told him where to go.”

“Red woman?” said Claudia, a little chill running down her spine.

She remembered the Red Huntress’s mask of crimson steel, remembered the woman slashing through the Immortals at the Court of the Fountain like a wolf savaging sheep. 

“The red woman,” said the Silent Hunter. “Lord Cassander did not tell us who she was. Yet she visited him often, and after her last visit, he gathered many Adamant Guards and Silent Hunters and sailed from the Alqaarin harbor.”

“Did he say when he would return?” said Claudia. 

“No,” said the Silent Hunter. “There has been no word from him since. The other magi of the embassy have been…restless.”

“Probably slithering around each other like snakes in a bucket,” muttered Claudia, remembering some of the brothers of the Imperial Magisterium that she had met. Ranarius and her late half-brother Torius Aberon would have made fine candidates for the Umbarian Order. She would have thought her father an Umbarian as well, if not for the fact that the Order had spent the last two years trying to kill him. 

“There has been some…discord,” said the Silent Hunter. 

“Undoubtedly,” said Claudia. If the Red Huntress was after Caina again, she had to be warned. Yet Caina had departed nearly a month and a half ago, and Cassander had disappeared soon after. Their confrontation had likely already happened. 

It was possible that Caina was dead, that Cassander was on his way in triumph to Istarinmul. Erghulan Amirasku had promised to open the Starfall Straits to the Umbarian fleet if Cassander slew Caina, and the thought filled Claudia with fresh dread. Caina had been certain the Huntress would not return for at least a few more years, and if the Huntress had taken Caina off guard…

The fate of the Empire might already have been decided. 

It was out of Claudia’s hands. She had to deal with more immediate problems.

“My lady,” said Tylas. “What should we do with him?”

“I answered all your questions,” said the Silent Hunter. “I...I was helpful.”

“Yes,” said Claudia. “You were.”

Her hand settled upon her belly. 

She saw the panic flash over the assassin’s face as he realized his fate.

“Centurion,” said Claudia, “please kill that man.”

Tylas was good at his work. The Silent Hunter barely had time to scream. After it was done the Guards dumped his body in an alley, and they continued to the mansion. Claudia walked in silence, her mind upon something other than her aching ankles. She had just ordered the death of a man without blinking, without even looking away. Five years ago that would have been unthinkable for her. 

Now she had done it without hesitation…and without the slightest hint of regret. 

Her hand stroked the front of her gown.

She hoped the gods would have pity upon anyone who threatened her husband or child, for Claudia would surely not.

###

That night Claudia sat at her desk in the solar, writing letters. 

By tradition, the senior wife of an Istarish nobleman handled his social engagements and correspondence. Claudia was damned certain she was going to remain Martin’s one and only wife, so the duty fell to her. Most of the letters came from various minor nobles and wealthy merchants, cautiously wondering whether the Empire would favor Erghulan Amirasku or Tanzir Shahan in the coming civil war. Those she passed off to Martin’s scribes, and they wrote more or less the same reply, that the Emperor wished for friendship and amity with the Padishah of Istarinmul, and that how the Padishah and his nobles chose to govern their realm was no concern of the Emperor of Nighmar. A few the letters dealt with more sensitive matters, and Claudia answered those in her own hand. She could write quickly and accurately when she put her mind to it, and as a child she had begrudged all the hours spent with her handwriting tutor.

Now she was grateful for them. 

The door to the solar opened, and Claudia looked up, her hand already starting to work a spell. 

But it was Martin Dorius.

“Husband,” said Claudia, getting to her feet, her pained ankles for a moment forgotten. 

Martin Dorius was tall and strong, with gray eyes and black hair that seemed to acquire more gray with every passing day. He looked tired. Claudia understood why. The fate of the Empire and millions of lives might depend on what happened in Istarinmul.

“Wife,” said Martin. “You should be sitting.”

“Then I could not do this,” she said, and she hugged him as tightly as her belly would allow. 

“I am glad you are well,” said Martin. “Tylas said there had been another attack.”

Claudia nodded. “Just one, this time. The Silent Hunter wasn’t terribly competent. Tylas and the Guard made short work of him.” 

“We have killed so many Silent Hunters,” said Martin. “You would think the Order would run out of them sooner or later.” 

“It appears the necromantic spell to create them is rather simple,” said Claudia, “and can be worked by even a magus of mediocre skill. I fear as many of the Silent Hunters as we kill, the Umbarians can simply create more of them.” 

“Did he know anything useful?” said Martin. 

Claudia sighed. “Only things we already suspected. Cassander had indeed set a trap for Caina in the Alqaarin harbor. She must have escaped it, because Cassander left the city in pursuit of her.” Claudia hesitated. “The Silent Hunter claimed there was a woman in red armor with Cassander, advising him.”

Martin frowned. “Red armor?”

Claudia nodded. “Like the Huntress.” 

“We shot her with a ballista bolt and she fell off the side of a mountain,” said Martin. “It is hard to see how she could recover from that.”

“The Huntress’s nagataaru could rebuild her,” said Claudia. “Caina thought it could, anyway.”

“She thought it would take several years,” said Martin.

“Apparently, she was wrong,” said Claudia. “Did she tell you why she was leaving Istarinmul?”

Martin shook his head. “She told me the same thing she told you. She had found something that would disrupt Callatas’s Apotheosis, and had gone to find it. If the Huntress has been advising Cassander, she must have sent him after her. I suppose there is nothing we can do to aid the circlemaster. It is out of our hands, and we have our own problems.”

“How was the day with Erghulan?” said Claudia.

Martin’s mouth twisted with disgust. “Gladiatorial games. The realm of Istarinmul totters upon the brink of ruin, and the Grand Wazir decided to spend the day at the games.”

“Likely he sponsored them to appease the populace, to keep them from rioting,” said Claudia.

“Likely,” said Martin, “but Tanzir and his allies are marching for Istarinmul. If Erghulan is not careful he shall find himself deposed as Grand Wazir and his head upon the executioner’s block. He ought to be gathering troops and allies. Instead he spent the day at the games with all the ambassadors and wazirs, telling his interminable hunting stories over and over again. The man is a fool.”

“A fool, perhaps, but a confident one,” said Claudia. “He will not act because he believes Callatas’s sorcery will destroy the rebels utterly.” 

“He may be right,” said Martin. “If he is, then we are the fools, not Erghulan.” He sighed. “Yet perhaps that will aid our mission.”

“How?” said Claudia. 

“With Erghulan and Callatas focused upon the rebels,” said Martin, “they have paid no heed to the civil war within the Empire. The Starfall Straits have remained closed to the Order. Cassander has been gone for nearly two months now. Without Cassander whispering in the Grand Wazir’s ear every day, I doubt Erghulan has spared the Umbarians more than a thought since the destruction of the Inferno. Our task was to make sure that the Padishah did not ally with the Order.” He shrugged. “If Cassander gets killed chasing Caina, we may succeed through Erghulan’s sheer laziness.”

“Unless Cassander slays Caina,” said Claudia, “and Callatas keeps his promise to open the Straits in exchange for her death. Or Callatas finishes his Apotheosis and destroys us all.” 

“Sorcerous catastrophes are beyond my authority,” said Martin with a flicker of humor. “Let us hope that Caina kills Cassander, or that he chokes upon his dinner.”

Claudia laughed, harder than she expected. The image of Cassander Nilas, the grim lord and magus of the Umbarian Order, choking to death on a piece of fruit was more absurd that she would have expected. “We are not that fortunate, husband. If we were, then…”

A spasm went through her back muscles, and she grimaced, grabbing at the edge of the table for support.

Martin was at her side in an instant. “Is it time?”

Claudia blinked. “What? No, no. The baby’s not coming. Not yet, anyway. My back seized up a little, that’s all.” She sighed. “I wish the baby would come already. Gods, but I want to get this over with.”

“I wish you were safe back in Malarae,” said Martin. “I wish I had not brought you here.” 

“No,” said Claudia. “If you hadn’t brought me, the Silent Hunters would have killed you months ago. No, we shall see this through to the end. Together.”

Martin nodded and took her hand, and she squeezed his fingers. 

She left unspoken the very real possibility that they might die together.

Chapter 4: Victorious

Cassander Nilas felt…off. As if he had been shattered and put back together incorrectly. 

That should have troubled him. He knew it ought to have troubled him. 

Instead he found the sensation fascinating. 

He walked across the arid plains of the Trabazon steppes, the grass crunching beneath his boots, his long black coat rippling around his legs in the dry wind. He had not seen anyone else today, whether travelers or nomads or bandits, which was a pity because he really wanted to kill someone. 

That was new. 

Cassander had been in the Umbarian Order for most of his adult life, rising to high rank, and an Umbarian did not reach high rank without a great deal of ruthlessness. Cassander had killed enemies, repeatedly and without hesitation, and had no qualms about killing people if it was the most efficient way of achieving his goals. True, he had enjoyed killing his enemies, but the killing itself had simply been another chore to be done, like lacing his boots or maintaining his defensive wards. 

Now, though…he enjoyed killing on the visceral level that some men enjoyed drink or drugs or sharing a bed with a woman. 

It was possible that he had done something to himself. 

He smiled at the thought.

The motion hurt. The explosion at the Corsair’s Rest had cost Cassander his left arm and most of the left side of his face. A reservoir of life force in one of his bloodcrystals had kept him alive and lucid. He had stumbled away from Rumarah and into a band of Istarish nomads. 

Cassander had killed them all…and from their corpses he rebuilt himself.

He smiled again, flexing the fingers of his new left hand. It was a little bigger than his original hand, and his balance was off. Yet it functioned without any problems. Using necromancy, he had taken the arm from a dead Istarish nomad and grafted it to his charred shoulder, the necromantic power weaving together flesh and bone. He had done the same for the damaged side of his face, grafting skin over the charred flesh. 

It hurt quite a lot. Yet the pain seemed…abstracted. Almost as if it was happening to someone else. He found the pain fascinating now, the same way death fascinated him. 

It was possible, Cassander supposed, that the necromancy had warped something within him, had given him a lust for violence and death that he had not previously possessed.

It was just as well.

Unless Cassander missed his guess, he was going to have to kill a lot of people soon. 

“You keep smiling,” said a woman’s voice, low and sardonic and amused.

Cassander looked at his companion. She was a young woman with a pretty face, her eyes bright and blue and her hair long and blond. The woman wore armor the color of blood, and a Ghost shadow-cloak hung from her shoulders, rippling and snapping in the wind like a haze of shadow. 

She looked young and harmless, but Kalgri the Red Huntress was neither. 

“And why should I not?” said Cassander. He knew Kalgri was dangerous, that he should not trifle with her, but for some reason he could not make himself care. “It is a fine and lovely day, and I am walking through the countryside with a beautiful woman at my side.” His voice had changed as well, becoming a hard rasp. Likely some of the silver fire had damaged his throat. 

Kalgri smiled. “Flattery was more effective before you burned half of your face away.” 

“I didn’t burn it,” said Cassander. “Caina Amalas did that.” Rage stirred within him. “And you failed to warn me.” 

She offered an indifferent shrug. “If you failed to notice the obvious, that is not my fault. Perhaps you should have realized something was amiss when I ran out the door.”

His fury subsided. She did have a point. “Perhaps.”

In hindsight, he realized what had happened. Caina must have stolen a vial of Elixir Restorata from an Alchemist. Yet Cassander had spent a great deal of time studying Caina Amalas, and knew that her mother Laeria Scorneus had sold Caina to one of the disciples of the Moroaica. Obviously Caina had survived the experience, but her time with the necromancer must have damaged her aura. Alchemical Elixirs often reacted badly when ingested by those with damaged auras. Mortally wounded by the Huntress, Caina must have realized that her death was at hand, and had decided to perish in a blaze of silver flame.

Taking her enemies with her. 

It had almost worked. All of Cassander’s Adamant Guards and Silent Hunters had been killed in the explosion. He assumed that Nasser Glasshand and Kylon of House Kardamnos had escaped in the chaos, taking the Staff and Seal of Iramis. That could prove a problem. Kylon had sworn vengeance upon Cassander for the death of his wife, and he had an Iramisian valikon that could penetrate any defensive ward. For that matter, Cassander still wanted to get his hands on the Staff and Seal of Iramis.