Ghost in the Hunt (21 page)

“Why do they hate each other?” said Laertes. 

“Master Ciaran detests sorcery,” said Nasser, “and Claudia blames Ciaran for the death of her sister, who was Ciaran’s lover.”

“Ah.”

“For the gods’ sake,” said Caina. “You two gossip like old women.”

“It passes the time,” said Laertes. 

“I don’t hate Claudia,” said Caina. “Perhaps she is right to hate me…but we have the same task. We will do what must be done. Regardless of how we happen to feel about it.” 

“But to return to the main point,” said Nasser, “your story is a lie. I am reasonably certain that at some point you encountered a master magus turned necromancer who wounded you. Perhaps at a young age. But you were never an initiate of the Magisterium.”

“I suppose not,” said Caina. 

“If we gossip to pass the time,” said Laertes, shaking his head, “what about you two madmen? Telling each other lies, each bigger than the last, and looking for the holes?” He shook his head. “Sane men just play dice.” 

“Everyone needs a hobby,” said Caina.

“It helps keep the wits sharp,” said Nasser. He looked to the south. “Which, given what awaits us, is likely a good idea.”

###

Four days after leaving Istarinmul, they came to a three-pronged fork in the road.

The Great Southern Road proper continued southeast, cutting across the Trabazon Steppes to the Vale of Fallen Stars and then on to Anshan. The southwestern fork of the road went through the fertile fields of Akasar and then to Istarish Cyrica and Imperial Cyrica. 

The southern road itself went to the Kaltari Highlands, a dark mass spreading away across the horizon. 

All of the merchant caravans went southwest or southeast.

None of them went to the Kaltari Highlands. 

“That is an ominous sign,” said Claudia, watching as the caravans rolled away in clouds of dust. Claudia had forgotten how much she preferred to travel via ship. A ship might sink, but at least on a ship she did not have to contend with the endless dust and a thousand pounds of hot, sweaty horseflesh beneath her. Right now she wanted to find a bath and soak for a week, but she knew such luxuries were a long way off.

Did the Kaltari even have baths in their Highlands?

“Alas, my lady Claudia,” said Nasser. Claudia was not sure he was trustworthy, but he was unfailingly polite and quite charming. “The Kaltari Highlands have something of an evil reputation.”

“Entirely deserved,” muttered Laertes.

“Why is that?” said Martin, who had started relying upon Nasser as a local guide. “Are not the Kaltari of Caerish descent?”

“They are,” said Nasser. “Originally. During the Second Empire, when the Caerish barbarians warred against the Empire, a confederation of Caerish tribes migrated south, rampaged through Cyrica, and came to Istarinmul. Rather than attack the walls of Istarinmul, they drove off the original inhabitants of the Highlands and settled there. Ever since they have been known as the Kaltari Highlands.” He shrugged. “The Caers of the Empire have, for the most part, accepted the gods and culture of the Empire. The Kaltari keep many of their ancient practices.”

“Like headhunting,” said Caina. Claudia flinched. She had not heard Caina approach. “Like the ancient Caerish, the Kaltari believe the head is the seat of the soul, and so keep the skulls of their foes as trophies.” 

“They form warbands in the ancient tradition as well,” said Nasser, “and sometimes go raiding.”

Martin frowned. “Are they not subjects of the Padishah? Does not his law run here?”

Nasser smiled. “It does, but creating the law and enforcing it are different matters entirely. The Kaltari have formed the backbone of the Padishah’s infantry for years. They regard war as a high honor and hold hardship in scorn. And when there are no wars for them, they turn to raiding their neighbors.” 

“Eighty Imperial Guards ought to go a long way to encourage neighborly behavior from the Kaltari,” said Martin.

“I quite agree,” said Nasser. “I have some friends among the headmen of the Kaltari. Though there is one other matter we should guard against.”

“Isn’t there always?” said Caina. 

“The faith of the Living Flame is prominent among the Kaltari,” said Nasser. “But a minority among the Kaltari hold to the…old ways, the old religion.” 

“Old religion?” said Claudia.

“They worship the darker spirits of the netherworld,” said Caina, voice quiet, “and sometimes summon them up and do their bidding. You remember those dolmen-style tombs we saw in Caeria Ulterior? The reason so many of them lie undisturbed is that the ancient Caerish shamans bound powerful spirits to watch over the tombs.”

“These darker spirits,” said Martin. “Could they include the nagataaru?” 

“Possibly,” said Nasser. “Though the Kaltari would not call them by that name. ‘Nagataaru’ is an Iramisian word that filtered into the Istarish, Cyrican, and Anshani tongues. I suspect the Kaltari would refer to such spirits as the ‘lords of the night’ or the ‘princes of the void’ or some such other overly poetical appellation. The practice has been banned by the Padishah’s law, since the practitioners of the old religion have a regrettable tendency towards human sacrifice, but they still conduct their rites in secret and summon up the spirits they worship.” 

“If the Voice speaks to other nagataaru,” said Caina, “and those nagataaru speak to their worshipers here, the Huntress might have set traps for us.”

“You could have warned us of this risk,” said Martin, scowling at Nasser.

Nasser shrugged. “Would it have changed anything? None of us have seen the Huntress without her mask. For all I know she is one of the cooks in the other caravans, and is even now circling ahead to ambush us.” 

“The weapon that can kill the Huntress is at Silent Ash Temple,” said Caina. “We either go on the offense and kill her first, or wait in the Lord Ambassador’s mansion for her to kill Martin.” 

“Tell me, Master Glasshand,” said Claudia. “Are you truly so concerned for my husband’s life, or do you merely want to ask your questions of the Emissary?”

Nasser turned that charming white smile in her direction. “Why should our interests not overlap?”

“Wars are not won through defense,” said Martin, “and the Red Huntress has declared war upon us. So we shall claim the valikon and take the fight to her. There is risk, my wife…but waiting for the Huntress to strike again is just as great a risk.” He turned to Nasser. “Lead on.” 

The column continued into the hills.

###

Three days after that, Caina walked along the narrow road, her face turned toward the sky. 

Around her rose the rocky hills of the Kaltari Highlands, bleak yellow stone dotted with tough, spiny bushes. Pine trees with black bark rose from the hillside, their branches spreading overhead. Here and there grim stone menhirs stood alongside the road, carved with intricate designs of flowing knots and braided cords. A light drizzle fell from the sky overhead, and it had dampened the mood of the Guards.

“Why are you smiling?” said Claudia. The rain had not improved her mood, and she had been increasingly short-tempered ever since they had left Istarinmul. 

“The rain,” said Caina, wiping some droplets from her face. “I haven’t seen any since I left New Kyre.” She looked at the dampness upon her fingers. “Istarinmul is so dry. The aqueducts make sure no one dies of thirst, but it’s still as dry as a bone.”

“According to legend,” said Nasser, “it is a punishment of the gods, or perhaps the Living Flame, for the destruction of Iramis. After Callatas burned Iramis, the gods cursed Istarinmul and decreed that the city would never again feel a drop of rain.”

“That does not seem just,” said Claudia. “Callatas destroyed Iramis, not the people of Istarinmul. If the gods were truly just, they would have smote Callatas for his crime, not punished the Istarish.”

“I happen to agree,” said Nasser. “As it is, I think the story merely a legend.”

“It would be easy to confirm,” said Martin. “Do not the Padishahs keep annals of their reigns? It would be easy to go back and look for accounts of famines and droughts…” 

“My lord!” 

One of their scouts ran forward, an Imperial Guard who had traded his black steel plate for leather and a dust-colored cloak to blend with the hills. 

“Soldier?” said Martin. “You have something to report?”

“Armed men await us,” said the scout. “Perhaps thirty. They are blocking the road ahead.”

“Armament?” said Martin.

“Spears and swords, some axes,” said the scout. “A few men have chain mail, but most are clad in leather. They have the look of brigands.”

“If I recall correctly,” said Nasser, “the road widens a mile ahead. That would be an admirable place to see the famed shield wall of the Imperial Guard.”

“Aye,” said Martin, looking at Nasser in surprise. “You have military experience?”

Nasser smiled. “Oh, here and there.” 

“Very well,” said Martin. “Tylas!”

“Form up!” roared the centurion. “Shields and javelins ready. The century will advance at a trot!”

The Imperial Guards hurried forward, and Caina and Nasser and Laertes pressed themselves to the hillside to let the black-armored soldiers pass. Caina jogged behind the Guards, Claudia urging her horse forward, the wagons creaking up the narrow road. As Nasser had promised, the road widened ahead, and the Guards reached it first. They formed into a shield wall, presenting a solid barrier of sturdy wood and black steel. Martin reined up behind the shield wall, and Caina waited.

A moment later the first of the Kaltari came into sight.

They were large men, their hair and beards long and ragged, their faces and chests painted with blue war paint in imitation of the ancient Caers of the Second Empire. They bore axes and swords of steel, and some had the spiked helmets of Istarish footmen. Caina wondered how many of the men were veterans of the Padishah’s army.

Perhaps some of them had even been at Marsis. 

Many of the warriors wore skulls hanging from their belts, some old, some fresh. Perhaps they hoped to take some new ones.

“These men,” murmured Nasser in a low voice, “are almost certainly raiders. You will have to fight.”

“Are they servants of the nagataaru?” said Martin.

“I fear I do not know,” said Nasser. “I expect we shall find out shortly.”

Martin nodded and spurred his horse forward a few paces. 

“Greetings,” called Martin in Istarish. 

The biggest of the Kaltari warriors, a towering man with gray-shot hair, stepped forward. He carried a massive greatsword in one fist, and his bare chest had been marked with dozens of ugly scars.

“You are not of this land,” said the warrior in a booming voice.

“We are not,” said Martin. “I am Martin of House Dorius, the Lord Ambassador of the Empire of Nighmar to the Padishah of Istarinmul.”

“I am Aiovost,” said the big warrior, his hostility plain, “headman of the village of Trokmi. This is our land, stranger. Do not think that the laws of the Padishah will protect you here. What is your business?”

“I am traveling to the ancient altar at Silent Ash Temple,” said Martin, “to offer sacrifices in thanksgiving for my deliverance from an assassin.” 

“A false god and her whore of a prophetess,” sneered Aiovost. “The Living Flame is nothing but a collection of lies. You should turn your devotion to more potent gods.”

“Oh?” said Martin. “I suppose you have particular gods in mind, then?” 

“The great lords of the void,” said Aiovost. 

Caina shared at look with Nasser.

“And who are these nobles of the void?” said Martin.

“The true masters of the netherworld and the mortal world,” said Aiovost. “The day of the golden dead was the omen of their return. Behold! The false kings and the false emperors will soon fall. The lords of the void shall return and elevate their faithful to power and glory!” 

“They sound potent,” said Martin.

Aiovost did not detect the sarcasm. “Indeed they are. You can share in their power, Martin of House Dorius. The lords of the void require only one thing of you.” 

“What is that?” said Martin. 

“Surrender the demonslayer to us,” said Aiovost.

Caina felt a chill sweep down her spine.

“The demonslayer?” said Martin. “I know of no such person.” 

“The lords of the void have spoken,” said Aiovost. “The demonslayer is among you, and stands in opposition to the great lords of the void. Surrender the demonslayer to us, and you shall have the friendship of the lords.”

“An intriguing offer,” said Martin. “If I refuse?” 

Aiovost grinned. “That would be unwise, Nighmarian lord. This is our land.”

“I am traveling upon the Padishah’s road,” said Martin, “and I have the right to travel without harassment.”

“The Padishah is a feeble old fool,” said Aiovost. “So are the Emperor of Nighmar and the Shahenshah of Anshan! All shall bow to the lords of the great void! Surrender the demonslayer to us, Martin Dorius, or you shall regret it.” 

“I think not,” said Martin. “Kindly remove yourselves from my path.”

Aiovost snarled and raised his greatsword, and the Kaltari raiders started forward. 

“If you will not hand over the demonslayer,” said Aiovost, “then we shall carry out the will of our gods by force!”

Caina tensed, reaching for her weapons, and Nasser’s fingers coiled around the hilt of his scimitar. Claudia drew herself up in the saddle, sweeping her hand before her as she summoned power for a spell, the crackle of arcane force tingling against Caina’s skin. Martin remained unmoved.

“Centurion!” he said. “Clear the road!”

Tylas barked a command. In one smooth motion the Guards reached over their shoulders and drew short javelins, their razor edges gleaming in the gray light. The Kaltari kept charging, heedless of their danger. Tylas shouted another command, and the Guards drew back their arms and flung the javelins in a high arc overhead, causing a rain of steel to fall into the charging Kaltari raiders.

The effect was impressive.

The Imperial Guards had been ineffective against the Red Huntress. But the Guards were still some of the best-disciplined and best-trained soldiers in the world, and Caina had seen them prove their worth at Marsis and New Kyre. The javelins ripped into the Kaltari, flinging half of them to the ground, the screams of their wounded filling the air. Tylas shouted a command and drew his broadsword, and the Guards followed suit. They advanced in a solid wall, shields raised, swords drawn back to strike. Aiovost screamed at his quailing followers, and they charged piecemeal at the shield wall, shouting half-mad battle cries.