Ghost in the Razor (13 page)

Her allies might not have such protections, and the demonslayer had been with two men. A Kyracian stormdancer, with a limited mastery of air and water sorcery. The Sifter might have feared a true stormsinger, but the stormdancer lacked such power. The second man had been…peculiar, marked by the djinn of the Azure Court, his destiny thread extended to unnatural length by their touch. He carried a weapon of significant power, but still insufficient to defeat the Sifter. Yet the stormdancer’s thread had been intertwined with that of the demonslayer for years, and the assassin’s had crossed her path. Their threads might lead the Sifter to her.

It could not find their threads, either. The Sifter hissed in annoyance, the sound coming through its stolen body’s lips. The demonslayer had concealed them as well. Annoying, but clever. 

It would make consuming her all the more pleasurable. 

The Sifter considered its next course of action. It inhabited a material body, which meant it could employ the senses of sight and sound and touch. Additionally, all three destiny threads, the demonslayer and the stormdancer and the assassin, had crossed and intersected many other paths. The demonslayer might have concealed herself and her two allies, but she could not possibly have concealed everyone they knew. 

One of them would lead the Sifter to her. If it had to kill a score of people to find Caina Amalas…well, they were simply the appetizers before the main course.

It stood motionless for a moment, contemplating the tapestry of time and destiny that made up Istarinmul, countless threads weaving back and forth to create a totality beyond the ability of any one mind, even the Sifter’s, to comprehend. Yet there were patterns within the tapestry, if one knew where to look, and the Sifter did. 

There.

A group of threads terminated when they touched the stormdancer’s and the demonslayer’s. They had killed a group of men earlier today. Yet others had fled and survived. The Sifter considered the configuration of threads. Someone was hunting for the stormdancer, and had chanced upon him when his path crossed with the demonslayer’s. 

Someone was still hunting for him. 

The Sifter was not adverse to the thought of someone else doing the hard work of finding Caina Amalas. Yet the thread of one of the stormdancer’s hunters was…odd. Darkened, somehow, pulsing with a harsh purple light…

A nagataaru. One of the stormdancer’s foes was possessed by a nagataaru. 

The Sifter contemplated the possibilities. The ifriti and the nagataaru were not friends, but they were not necessarily enemies, either. The nagataaru feasted on pain and torment and life force, feeding it back to their mortal hosts in hopes of harvesting more. The ifriti devoured mortals as well, but consumed them in flames. For an ifrit, pain and torment were side products of the feeding, not the main point of it. Yet for all that, the nagataaru and ifriti were rival predators feeding upon the same herd. Normally the Sifter would not have considered an alliance, but Cassander’s binding compelled it to seek out and destroy the demonslayer. 

The Sifter would use any tool that came to hand. 

It made its way through the darkened streets of the Alqaarin Quarter. The only men upon the streets at this time of night were thieves and those with illegal business, yet they took one look at its stolen body and fled. The Sifter wore the flesh of a dead Adamant Guard, and the mortals feared the servants of the Umbarian Order. Evidently they had required a reputation. 

A short walk took it to a house not far from the gate to the Alqaarin Road. Two soldiers in black plate armor stood guard at the door, their faces concealed beneath helms of black steel wrought in the likeness of grinning skulls. Their eyes glowed with a pale blue light in the depths of their helmets. The men were Immortals, the elite soldiers of the Padishah’s personal guard, created by the Alchemists of the College. 

Both men drew their scimitars as the Sifter approached. It stopped a few yards away and lifted the right arm of its stolen body, crimson fire snarling around the dead fingers.

The Immortals regarded the Sifter in silence for a moment.

“Identify yourself,” said one of the Immortals.

The Sifter forced its host’s dead lips to move and form words.

“I wish to speak with your master,” said the Sifter. “I propose an alliance. I know your master hunts for a foe, and I can aid him.”

One of the Immortals went into the house, and returned a moment later.

“You will come with me,” said the Immortal.

For a moment the Sifter considered killing them both and devouring their lives to fuel its fire, but restrained itself. Diplomacy was required here. It could always return and kill them after it killed the demonslayer.

It followed the Immortal into the house. The building looked as if it had been abandoned, and likely the stormdancer’s hunters were using it as a base. Two men stood in the dusty sitting room. The first was tall and hulking, heavy with muscle, face scarred from battle. An aura of necromantic sorcery surrounded him, radiating from the bloodcrystal torque on his right arm. 

The second man had a nagataaru within him.

He wore gold-trimmed white robes, spotless and immaculate. He had a gray-streaked dark beard, and looked solemn and stern. Yet the Sifter saw the nagataaru stirring within the Master Alchemist, like a snake waking from its stupor, and knew that the Master Alchemist would have acquired the spirit’s lust for violence and death. 

“Master?” said the tall man, reaching for his sword.

“Silence, Ikhardin,” said the possessed man. The dark eyes regarded the Sifter for a moment. “You are not human.”

“No,” said the Sifter.

“An ifrit, a fire elemental, unless I miss my guest,” said the nagataaru’s host. 

“This is correct,” said the Sifter. 

“I am Malik Rolukhan,” said the white-robed man, “a Master Alchemist of the College. Since you could have attacked without warning, I assume you wish to parley?”

“This is correct,” said the Sifter again. “You hunt a man, a stormdancer of New Kyre.”

“Kylon, once of House Kardamnos,” said Rolukhan, taking a step forward. Ikhardin trailed after his master, his eyes wary, but the Master Alchemist seemed intrigued. The Sifter felt the wary curiosity of the nagataaru within Rolukhan, one lion regarding another. “Suffice to say, he should have died a year ago. He opposed our plans, and needed to be removed as a threat. New Kyre has not interfered with the Grand Master’s plans, but Kylon has sworn vengeance upon me, personally. He is coming to kill me. I wished to see him dead first,” his dark eyes strayed to Ikhardin, “though I so far have been unsuccessful.” 

“The stormdancer is more dangerous than you know,” said the Sifter. “He has allied with the demonslayer.”

“Demonslayer?” said Rolukhan. 

“The mortal you know as the Balarigar,” said the Sifter.

That got his attention. 

Rolukhan’s face did not change, but a twitch went through his shoulders. Ikhardin’s scarred face was almost comical with surprise. Fury flooded from the nagataaru, so much fury that the Sifter feared that Rolukhan would go berserk. The nagataaru hated the demonslayer. The Sifter watched Rolukhan’s destiny line with interest. The nagataaru wanted the demonslayer dead so badly that it flooded Rolukhan’s thoughts with hatred and rage, attempting to influence his judgment. 

The Sifter wondered if Rolukhan even suspected how much control the nagataaru had over him, and decided that it did not care. 

“It is him, Master,” said Ikhardin. “The Balarigar himself. If what this creature says is true, we have a chance to kill him.” The Sifter felt a brief moment of confusion, and then understood. Neither Ikhardin nor Rolukhan knew that the demonslayer was in fact female. Cassander and Callatas must have kept that bit of information to themselves. “A bounty of two million bezants.”

“The money is immaterial,” said Rolukhan, though his eyes glittered with something like lust. Rolukhan might not care about the money, and the nagataaru certainly would not, but both the nagataaru and the Master Alchemist wanted the Balarigar dead. “The Grand Master has placed a great priority on the capture or death of the Balarigar. He has even offered to aid the Umbarian Order in their war against the Empire if Lord Cassander successfully kills the Balarigar…which is why I presume you are here, ifrit.” 

The Sifter said nothing. The wars of mortal empires and kingdoms were of no consequence. 

“If we kill the Balarigar,” said Rolukhan, “I will rise high in the Grand Master’s favor, and your Kindred family, Ikhardin, shall receive great reward. If I can rid myself of Kylon of House Kardamnos in the process, well and good. So, ifrit. If you wish to join forces to kill the Balarigar, I am amenable to the idea.” 

“Very well,” said the Sifter. “On one condition.”

“Go on,” said Rolukhan.

“When we find the Balarigar, I deal the killing blow,” said the Sifter. It wanted to devour her, to incinerate her destiny line and to feast upon the released energy. “You and your servitors may claim the rewards. I care nothing for gold or honors…”

“Only death,” said Rolukhan, and the nagataaru within him seemed to hiss with agreement. Rolukhan himself might want gold and honors, but the nagataaru understood how meaningless wealth and titles were. 

“Yes,” said the Sifter. “I shall devour the Balarigar. The stormdancer, too, if you wish.”

“I want them dead,” said Rolukhan. “I do not care how it happens, so long as it does. Have you a method of finding them?” He glared at Ikhardin. “Kylon evaded the Kindred at the Ring of Cyrica.”

“The Balarigar was with him then,” said the Sifter. 

“The Balarigar?” said Ikhardin, astonished. “That short Imperial man? That was the Balarigar himself?”

The Sifter felt a wave of contemptuous amusement. Such fools these mortals were! 

“The stormdancer and the Balarigar are together, traveling with an assassin,” said the Sifter. “You will not be able to find them. The Balarigar’s location is masked with a protective spell.”

“Such spells are finite in duration,” said Rolukhan, “or limited to a specific area. Neither the Balarigar nor the stormdancer will remain in the same place forever. When their protection ends, I assume you will be able to lead us to them?” 

“I shall,” said the Sifter.

“Good,” said Rolukhan. “Ikhardin, send for my personal guard. As soon as the ifrit finds the Balarigar, we shall strike.”

Chapter 11: Rolling The Dice

Kylon’s eyes opened. 

Sometimes, when he woke up, he forgot what had happened. Sometimes he thought he was still in New Kyre, in his bed in the Tower of Kardamnos with Thalastre curled besides him. Of course, she had always risen before he did. She had taken over the management of the Tower of Kardamnos with aplomb, and had not been flustered in the slightest when Kylon had invited the most prominent magistrates and Archons of the Assembly to the Tower. 

The next day, she had been dead, their unborn child with her. 

Sometimes he woke up and forgot that it had happened, but not today. 

His side hurt too much for that, and his back and legs were stiff. He sighed and sat up, examining the stitches and the bandages. None of them looked infected. With the aid of his water sorcery, they would heal, and that would be that. 

He dropped his bare feet to the cold stone floor and leaned against the cold stone wall. 

At least he hadn’t had any nightmares. Sometimes he woke up three or four times a night, visions from that final awful day in New Kyre flashing through his mind. Apparently the secret to a good night’s sleep was to fight all day until he was too exhausted to dream. Though it was hardly a long-term solution. 

Not that he needed a long-term solution, given that Rolukhan and the Sifter would likely kill him first. He didn’t need to live long. Just long enough to bring Rolukhan and Cassander Nilas to account for their crimes. That would likely kill him. 

And then? If he survived, what then? 

He thought about what Caina had said, how she had wanted to die after Corvalis had been slain. The difference was that Caina had not deserved to die. Kylon did. He had failed his nation, and more importantly, he had failed his wife and unborn child. Nothing could make that right. 

He could only avenge them. 

Kylon rubbed his face, the stubble rasping beneath his fingers. He really needed a shave, but if Ikhardin and Rolukhan were hunting for him, he ought to find some way of disguising himself. He thought of Caina’s false beard and laughed in silence. It would look ridiculous, but…

He shook his head. What he should do was find Caina and get to work. 

Kylon got to his feet, and heard a faint grunt from the other side of the curtain. His hand shot to his sword, which stood propped up next to the bed. Were they under attack? Had the Kindred or the Teskilati found the Sanctuary? He reached out with his arcane senses, but felt only Caina’s presence. It felt like she was concentrating on something. 

Curious, he pushed aside the curtain and walked into the Sanctuary. 

The globes still shone upon their iron stands, and a faint smell of cinnamon came to his nostrils. Caina stood in the clear space before the far wall, wearing a loose shirt and trousers. More accurately, she was standing on her right leg, and as he watched, she raised her left leg until it was parallel with her torso, her heel over the top of her head. Then, quick as lightning, she spun on her right leg, her left leg sweeping around her, her arms blurring. She had cleaned away the false beard and the makeup, and her blue eyes and close-cropped black hair made her look stark and ethereal. 

It made for a strangely compelling sight. It was like she was dancing, albeit with a precision and power one usually did not see in dancers. He realized that she was practicing her unarmed forms. He had seen her use similar movements during fights, where they had proven most effective. From what she had told him and what he had guessed, she had been a Ghost since childhood, had spent years practicing her skills. 

She came out of a spin, left arm raised in a block, right arm drawn back to strike, and her cold blue gaze met his. Her eyes widened in surprise, and she lowered her arms and smiled. 

“You’re awake,” said Caina. 

“I…did not mean to disturb you,” said Kylon. She was breathing a little hard, a faint sheen of sweat on her forehead. Sweat soaked into the loose collar of her shirt as well. He noticed the shirt was sticking to her chest, felt guilty about noticing that, and hoped that she hadn’t noticed that he was noticing it. 

Gods of storm and brine. What was wrong with him?

“No,” said Caina. “I was just passing time until you woke up.”

Kylon stepped closer to her, the smell of cinnamon growing stronger “You should have awakened me at once.” 

She smiled and leveled a finger at him. “And I should have let you sleep. Which I did. I’m not the one who took a half-dozen cuts yesterday, am I?” She gestured at one of the tables. “I’ve brought breakfast.” 

“You came and went?” said Kylon. He hadn’t noticed. He must have been tired indeed.

“Just after dawn,” said Caina. A plate sat on one of the tables, holding a pair of small cakes covered in a pale white glaze. A clay pitcher waited next to it, and she poured out two cups. “The coffee house I mentioned? It’s the building on the other side of the courtyard. The best coffee house in Istarinmul, though the owner gives me discounts, so I might be biased.” 

“I suppose you saved her life or her children from slavers?” said Kylon. 

“Actually,” said Caina, “both.” 

“Ah,” said Kylon. She handed him a cup and he took a sip. “Thank you. You had food here. You needn’t have gone out.”

Caina shrugged. “Jerky and hard bread. But consider it repayment of a favor. You introduced me to coffee.”

“I did?” said Kylon.

“That coffee house back in Catekharon,” said Caina, handing him one of the cakes. “The night Torius Aberon tried to kill me and Corvalis.”

“That’s right,” said Kylon. He had forgotten that. He took a bite of the cake, blinked, and took a moment to savor it. “That is quite good.”

“The House of Agabyzus has a new pastry cook,” said Caina. She grinned. “I helped her keep the job, so she gives me favors when I ask for them.”

Kylon laughed. It was a very good cake. “You have friends everywhere, don’t you?” 

“I try,” said Caina. “It’s the task of a Ghost circlemaster. It is good for the Ghosts to have friends everywhere. Then they tell me things, hopefully things I can use.” She swallowed and took a sip of her coffee. “It’s easier to make friends when you have coffee and cakes.”

“That coffee house you owned in Malarae,” said Kylon. “The House of Kularus. What happened to it?”

She sighed. “I don’t know. It probably belongs to Shaizid now. Ark said he would look after him and the other workers.”

“You could write to them,” said Kylon.

“I could,” said Caina, “but it seems too great of a risk. Claudia told me some things, but…I haven’t spoken to Ark or Theodosia or any of my other friends in Malarae for over a year and a half. I don’t dare write to them. Callatas has a long reach, and so does Cassander Nilas. If the letter fell into the wrong hands, they might go after Theodosia’s sons or Ark and Tanya’s children.” 

Kylon snorted. “Your enemies should be wary. Considering what happened the last time someone tried to take the son of the Champion of Marsis.” 

“Yes,” said Caina, her eyes distant. 

“You miss Malarae, do you not?” said Kylon.

“Is it that obvious?” said Caina. 

“Not in the slightest,” said Kylon, “but I can sense your emotions, remember.” 

She was silent for a moment. “No more than you miss New Kyre, I suppose.”

“Aye,” said Kylon.

She lifted her cup. “To exile?”

“And to absent friends,” said Kylon.

They clinked the clay cups and drank. 

“It’s traditional to drink a toast with wine,” said Kylon.

“There’s some Caerish whiskey in those casks under the table,” said Caina. “A bit strong for the morning, though. My first night here I drank myself senseless. It’s strong stuff.”

Kylon laughed. “I doubt you could drink very much. You’re too small. One strong drink would knock you flat.”

“I would take umbrage at that,” said Caina, “but you’re correct.” She finished her coffee. “We should go as soon as you’re finished. I spent a lot of time looking for Morgant, and I don’t want him to get bored and wander off.”

“You’re his latest game, remember?” said Kylon. “He won’t leave until he finds out if you’re worthy of his secrets.” He finished his own coffee. “You said you had tools here that would help us against the Sifter.”

“I do,” said Caina, crossing to another table. “I’ll show you.” She lifted a dark bundle from the table. He recognized Caina’s shadow-cloak, the cloak that allowed her to blend with the shadows and avoid sorcerous detection. She had used it to good effect against him in Marsis, and later in Catekharon and Caer Magia. 

“That should hide you from the Sifter’s sight,” said Kylon. 

“Aye,” said Caina. “Not from the Sifter’s physical eyes, though. I noticed that against Kalgri.”

“Kalgri?” said Kylon.

She grimaced. “The name the Huntress used. When I wore the shadow-cloak, her nagataaru could not sense me. She could still see me, though.” She picked up a sheathed sword from the table. “Take this.”

Kylon took the sword. It was a falchion, the curve of its blade not quite as pronounced as the classic Istarish and Anshani scimitar. The minute his hand touched the hilt, his hand felt tremendous arcane power within the weapon. He drew the weapon and examined it, and with a shock realized the entire sword had been forged of ghostsilver. Characters in a strange language had been carved upon the blade, and powerful warding spells wrapped around the entire sword. 

“A ghostsilver sword,” said Kylon. “But there are spells on it. Such a weapon…what is this?”

“A valikon,” said Caina. “Forged by the loremasters of ancient Iramis. It was specifically created to destroy nagataaru. The ghostsilver can penetrate warding spells, and the spells on the blade can destroy nagataaru. I suspect it will also work on an ifrit.”

“This sword is worth a fortune,” said Kylon. “Where did you get it?”

“From the Emissary of the Living Flame at Silent Ash Temple in the Kaltari Highlands,” said Caina. “Apparently, she appointed me the weapon’s custodian. She said I would know whom to give the weapon. So I’m giving it to you to use against the Sifter…and the nagataaru within Malik Rolukhan.”

“Thank you,” said Kylon. “I will try to use it wisely.” He frowned. “Do you think the blade is strong enough to withstand my frost spell?”

“Yes,” said Caina. “But it’s ghostsilver. The spell wouldn’t take.”

“Oh,” said Kylon. He hadn’t thought of that. 

“One more thing,” said Caina. “I hope we won’t need them, but it seems wise to take with me. Just in case.”

She knelt under the table and drew out a steel-banded lockbox. As she did, Kylon had a brief glimpse down the front of her loose shirt. He looked for a heartbeat, and then lifted his eyes, annoyed with himself. His wife had been dead for barely a year, and already he was ogling other women. And Corvalis had been a valiant man, and it was disrespectful to both him and Thalastre to look at Caina…

Thank the gods of storm and sea she could not sense emotions. He shoved the entire damned tangle into the back of his mind and focused upon the problems at hand.

“Here,” said Caina, straightening up. In her hand she felt a small bundle of stiff leather. She unwrapped it, and Kylon saw that the leather had been lined with lead foil. Inside rested three small crystalline vials the size of his thumb, each one holding a thick liquid that shone with a pale silver light. 

He sensed the potent arcane power inside the vials. 

“What is it?” said Kylon. “This is some sort of alchemical elixir, isn’t it?”

Caina nodded.

“Where did you get it?” said Kylon.

“Stole it from the laboratory of Grand Master Callatas himself while looking for information about the Apotheosis,” said Caina. 

“This is how the Master Alchemists live so long,” said Kylon.

“Not quite,” said Caina. “To rejuvenate themselves, to make themselves young again, they need to use Elixir Rejuvenata. The only way to create that is with the ashes of a phoenix spirit mixed with the ashes of three unborn human children.” Her mouth twisted, and he felt the ripple that meant a dark memory had come to the forefront of her thoughts. “Evil work. This is a lesser elixir, called Elixir Restorata, made from the essences of certain spirits. When imbibed, it heals any wounds taken within the last year and a day.”

“I’m surprised you would use something like this,” said Kylon. “You always hated sorcery so much.”

She sighed. “I’m not pleased about it. But given the kind of enemies we face, it would be foolish to turn away any tool. Even a sorcerous one. And there are…degrees of evil. Elixir Rejuvenata is created from the murder of unborn children. Elixir Restorata isn’t. If I need it to save someone’s life, I will use it.” 

“You could use it to save your life,” said Kylon. “With the risks you take…”

“Actually, I can’t,” said Caina. “Watch this.”

She put one finger upon the nearest vial. 

The liquid within the vial began to boil, the crystal itself trembling. The vials were radiating arcane power, but the vial beneath Caina’s finger generated more power, much more. More power than the liquid and the crystal could physically contain…

“Stop!” Kylon said, but she had already removed her finger. The vial shuddered and went still, the Elixir within calming. “What was that?”

“It doesn’t respond well to me,” said Caina. “I asked Claudia about it, and she thinks it has something to do with whatever lets me sense the presence of sorcerous force. When I touch the Elixir, it pulls more power into itself than its physical materials can contain. So if I tried to drink it…”

“It would make a mess,” said Kylon. 

“The sort of mess that would blow up a building,” said Caina. “Or several buildings. I suppose there are more painful ways to kill yourself, but I would rather not find out.”

“You can’t take this with you,” said Kylon. “It’s too powerful. Anyone with even a modicum of arcane ability will sense it a dozen yards off.”

She smiled again and wrapped the vials of Elixir in the leather sheet, and the arcane aura vanished from Kylon’s senses. 

“Lead foil,” she said. “Useful stuff. Blocks out arcane observation.” She looked at the ceiling. “I thought about having the entire Sanctuary wrapped in lead foil, but that wasn’t practical.”