Ghost in the Hunt (38 page)

“So you truly slew her?” said Erghulan.

He stood near the table, a glass of wine in his hand, Martin at his right and Cassander on his left. At the base of the wall the dancers whirled and spun through their elaborate routines. Claudia remembered wearing one of those costumes and shuddered. Then she laughed at herself. After everything she had endured in Istarinmul and the Kaltari Highlands, it was odd that the memory should still embarrass her. 

“Aye, my lord Wazir,” said Martin. “The monks of Silent Ash Temple witnessed the battle, and would be happy to testify if you doubt my sincerity.” 

Erghulan waved a hand. “You are a man of honor, my lord, and I do not doubt your word.” He gave a dismayed shake of his head. “Still, assassins daring to profane a sacred monastery? Truly, we live in dark times.” 

“A grievous affront, my lord,” said Cassander, his smile never wavering. “Yet one easily explained. I doubt Lord Martin’s claim…”

“You are calling me a liar?” said Martin. “A curious claim from a man who brought assassins into the Padishah’s capital.”

“Not at all,” said Cassander without missing a beat. “I suspect Lord Martin simply slew an impostor, a woman dressing up as the legendary Red Huntress to…”

“I suspect that as well,” said Erghulan, “but it is entirely irrelevant. You saw the woman’s prowess yourself, Cassander. One woman slaying fifteen Immortals singlehandedly? I would not have believed such a tale had I not seen it with my own eyes. Yes, the assassin was a sorceress who masqueraded as the Red Huntress, but she was nonetheless a deadly and capable foe. You are to be commended, my lord Martin, for ridding the Padishah’s realm of such a dangerous creature.”

For just an instant Cassander’s glassy smile flickered into a scowl.

Martin bowed. “The pleasure was entirely mine, Grand Wazir.” He smiled. “Given how she was trying to kill me, after all.”

“Ha!” said Erghulan. “Bold! I like that. Though it does make me wonder,” his eyes turned to Cassander, “who would send assassins after Lord Martin.”

Cassander shrugged. “Doubtless Lord Martin has many enemies within the Empire.”

“Doubtless,” said Martin, his voice bland. “And among the rebels of the Umbarian Order, I would imagine.” 

“I object, my lord Wazir,” said Cassander, “to these unjustified aspersions upon the honor of the Umbarian Order…”

“Unjustified?” snorted Erghulan. “I have seen the bodies of your Silent Hunters. I saw how your Adamant Guards suspiciously failed to fight against this so-called Huntress when she tried to assassinate Lord Martin. Dozens of witnesses saw your Adamant Guards running through the Golden Palace.” 

“They merely wished to defend the Padishah,” said Cassander, “if the assassin decided to turn her malevolent attentions towards the most divine ruler.”

“Yes, I am sure you were deeply concerned with the Padishah’s welfare,” said Erghulan. “I shall be plain, my lord Cassander. You were sloppy. I have no doubt you intended some plot…but Silent Hunters running amok in Istarinmul? A sorcerous assassin attacking the Golden Palace? I have no proof you are behind anything, but I am not a blind man.”

“Is that an accusation, my lord?” said Cassander, his deep voice taking a hard edge.

“Not at all,” said Erghulan. “I make no accusations and I offer no threats. I do, however, promise you that that the Empire and the Order will keep their quarrel outside of both Istarinmul and the entirety of the Padishah’s domain. The Padishah will tolerate no violence between the Empire and the Order, or their agents and emissaries, within his borders. I trust I have made the Padishah’s will clear?”

Or, Claudia thought, the will of Grand Master Callatas.

“Perfectly clear, my lord,” said Martin with a bow. “The Emperor shall be most delighted to leave his brother monarch the Padishah in peace, so long as the Padishah is willing to return that courtesy to the Emperor.” 

“The Umbarian Order,” said Cassander, his bright blue eyes like disks of ice, “merely wishes to restore order and good governance to the Empire under the wise hands of the Provosts. We have no desire to interfere in the internal business of Istarinmul.”

“Splendid,” said Erghulan, a thin smile on his lips. “Istarinmul will remain neutral in the war between the Emperor and the Order. No warships shall be allowed to pass through the Starfall Straits, and no foreign armies shall be permitted to cross Istarish soil. Trade vessels shall be permitted, as shall caravans, but no armies or fleets.”

Claudia fought the urge to smile. They had been successful. Despite everything, they had been successful. The Istarish would not aid the Umbarians against the Empire. 

“The Padishah is both gracious and wise,” said Martin.

“Indeed he is,” said Cassander, his rage plain behind the smiling mask of his face. “The Umbarian Order shall remember his wisdom and act accordingly.”

Erghulan smiled, clearly enjoying the discomfiture of his inferiors. “As will the Padishah, my lord Cassander.” 

Later Claudia walked with Caina through the Court of the Fountain. They were hardly alone, with the dancers whirling below the walls and the various guests and soldiers filling the courtyard. Yet they were out of earshot of anyone else, and the noise from the musicians masked their words. 

“We did it,” said Claudia. “Istarinmul will stay neutral.”

“For now,” said Caina. She wore again the white robes and turban of Kyrazid Tomurzu, factor to the lords of Imperial Cyrica, her face disguised with the fake beard. She moved a bit stiffly, still recovering from the battle at Silent Ash Temple. “Cassander will not give up. You will have to be on your guard against him.”

“And you, too,” said Claudia. “He knows you are in Istarinmul. If he can find you and kill you, or take you alive, that might give him enough favor with Callatas to bring Istarinmul into the war.”

“I know,” said Caina. “I suppose we will both have to be careful.”

They walked in silence for a moment.

“How is the leg?” said Caina at last.

“Sore,” said Claudia. “Itching. Which is a good sign. It’s healing. And I’m…frightened. And hopeful, too. I…wish I could bring the child into a more peaceful world. But since I cannot, I am hopeful anyway.” 

“You remind me of Mahdriva,” said Caina.

“Oh? Who is that?” said Claudia. “Someone good, I hope.”

“She is,” said Caina. “She was an Istarish woman who fled to Malarae to get away from an Alchemist who wanted to murder her unborn child. She had lost her husband and her sisters, but hadn’t given up hope.” Her voice grew quieter. “Perhaps there is a lesson in that.”

“Oh!” said Claudia. “I know her. Muravin’s daughter?” Caina nodded. “She married again. One of Arcion’s foundry workers. She was pregnant again when we left Malarae.” 

Caina smiled. “That is good news.”

“I’ve been thinking about names,” said Claudia. “If the child is a boy…I think I will persuade Martin to name him Corvalis.”

Caina stopped, blinked several times, looked away.  

“A good name,” she said at last.

“If the child is a girl, we’ll name her after you,” said Claudia.

“What?” said Caina. “Absolutely not. Absolutely not! Cassander is looking for me. Don’t you think it will be a little suspicious if you suddenly have a child with my name? I…oh.” She stopped as Claudia laughed. “You’re joking.”

“Yes,” said Claudia. “But only a little. If I could, though…I would.”

Caina nodded again. “Thank you.” She looked at where Martin and Erghulan stood talking. “I should disappear for a while, especially if Cassander starts looking for me. I don’t want to be near you or Martin if he decides to come for me. I will set up a system of messengers, so you can summon me if necessary, and I can inform you of anything you need to know.”

“We should stay in touch regularly,” said Claudia, “if we are to keep Istarinmul neutral…and if we are to stop Callatas’s Apotheosis.”

“You see the importance of that now?” said Caina.

Claudia nodded. “I didn’t, not at first. But, gods, all those wraithblood addicts. And seeing what the Huntress could do, how she reveled in slaughter…if that was what the nagataaru are like, then they have to be stopped.” 

“Yes,” said Caina. “You understand.” She looked towards Cassander and then looked away before the Lord Ambassador noticed. “I should go. I’ll slip away quietly. Likely Cassander will remember me as just another minor merchant, if he even remembers me at all.”

“Wait,” said Claudia. She hesitated, unsure of how to proceed. “I don’t…think I should give you advice. Not after everything we’ve been through together. But…”

Caina’s smile was wry. “That’s not going to stop you, is it?”

“No,” said Claudia. “What I have to say is…I don’t think you should mourn forever.” Caina’s wry smile faded. “You’ve always taken mad risks. But since New Kyre, since…Corvalis, it seems like you are taking even more of them, risks you don’t even need to take. It’s not hard to guess why.” Caina said nothing.  “This is presumptuous of me to say…but Corvalis wouldn’t want you to get yourself killed mourning him. Or maybe I’m wrong.”

“You’re not wrong,” said Caina in a soft voice.

“I…don’t think he would want you to be alone for the rest of your life, either,” said Claudia.

Caina laughed without mirth at that. “Probably not, no. But…what do I have to offer? I cannot have children, nor…”

“You’ve very rich,” said Claudia, trying to lighten the mood, “from all those slavers you robbed.”

“True,” said Caina. “Perhaps I can find some impoverished younger son of a minor noble house. But, Claudia…I appreciate what you are saying, but almost everyone in Istarinmul thinks that I am a man. Hard to draw the attention of suitors that way. There are so many powerful men who want me dead. One of them will succeed sooner or later. I know what it is to lose someone you love. I can’t inflict that on someone.”

“I’m sorry,” said Claudia. “I wish…I wish I could do more for you.” 

“You can,” said Caina. “We can stop the Apotheosis, we can keep Istarinmul out of the war. We can keep another sorcerous catastrophe like the day of the golden dead from ever happening again. We can work to make the Empire peaceful, so your sons and daughters will grow up without knowing the sort of pains that we have.”  

“Do you think that’s even possible?” said Claudia.

“Perhaps,” said Caina. “Perhaps not. But it’s worth trying, isn’t it?” She smiled. “Be well, Claudia.”

She turned and walked alone from the Court of the Fountain, and Claudia watched her go. 

###

Slowly, slowly, Kalgri opened her eyes.

Even that hurt. 

Whispers echoed inside her throbbing, aching head. 

Whispers? Why should she have voices inside of her skull?

The Voice. Yes, that was it. The Voice.  

Pieces of her shattered memory began to float to the surface. She had carried the Voice within her for over a century and a half. Killing, so much killing, and she had rejoiced in it, feeding upon the deaths. Callatas and all the enemies he needed killed. Nasser Glasshand, his left hand burning with azure fire. And then…

Caina Amalas, the valikon shining in her fists.

A spasm of terror shot through Kalgri, and she sat up with a cry of fear, looking around wildly. 

But she was alone. 

She sat upon the bank of a stream somewhere in the Kaltari Highlands, water flowing over the pale skin of her bare legs. Around her rose the silent, rocky hills, dotted with Istarish pines and tough grasses. Her weapons were gone, and only a few tattered, sodden rags remained of her clothing and armor. She threw aside the useless things, and staggered naked to her feet, her legs wobbling beneath her, wet hair sticking to her shoulders and neck.

Her skin was quite a bit paler than it had been, and her hair had turned blonde. 

Kalgri limped away from the stream, every movement filling her with pain, found a pool near the stream, and gazed into her reflection. 

“Again?” she muttered. “Again? This is becoming tedious.”

A new face stared out of the water, thinner and sharper than her old one, with cold blue eyes and long blond hair. She was taller and somewhat leaner this time around. Kalgri turned her face back and forth, considering. 

“Caina Amalas and Claudia Dorius,” she said. “A mixture of their features. How charming. A reminder of my failure. The damned Voice has a sense of humor.” She straightened up with a grunt, a spasm of pain going through her entire body. “And apparently I like to talk to myself now. That might be a problem.” 

The Voice’s thin, whispering moan of exhausted pain filled her mind.

This was not the first time this had happened. 

Kalgri had been wounded mortally before, maimed beyond even the ability of the Voice to heal. When that happened, the Voice stopped trying to heal her and instead rebuilt her flesh anew, like a builder knocking down the burned shell of a house to rebuild from the ground up. The last time had been in New Kyre a year or so past, when that damned stormdancer had wounded her and thrown her into the sea.

But every time it happened, Kalgri gained a new face, new features. Her personality and tastes changed as well. Once she had come out of it with an insatiable appetite for men, had taken a score of lovers in the five years before the Voice had rebuilt her again. After that she had found the pleasures of the bedchamber tedious, and had not taken another lover for twenty years. Yet one thing remained constant, no matter how many times the Voice reconstructed her body. 

The love of killing, the strength that flowed from death. 

“Later,” said Kalgri. “That will have to happen later.” The Voice was barely a faint whisper. She needed to rest, to let her damaged body recover. The Voice needed to rest, to rebuild itself. Kalgri often fell into a hibernation-like coma after the catastrophic reconstruction, a coma lasting for months or even years. She needed to rest and rebuild herself.

“But once I do,” she said, “I will find Caina and Claudia, and I will make them…”

“By the Living Flame! Your poor woman.”

Kalgri turned, surprised. The Voice had indeed weakened if it could not sense others approaching. A Kaltari man of middle years walked towards her, a frown upon his bearded face. He wore leather and carried a short bow. Likely he had gone hunting and stumbled across her.