Ghost in the Seal (Ghost Exile #6) (13 page)

A very small mercy.

It was only two or three hours past midnight, but Caina knew there was no way she could sleep again. Not after a nightmare so vivid. She still felt the heat of Kylon’s body against her own, the taste of his lips against her mouth. She wondered if they felt like that in reality. 

She could also still feel the hot blood pooling in her stomach, the blade plunging through her torso. 

Caina spent the next two hours practicing the unarmed forms, moving through kicks and punches and blocks until her limbs trembled with fresh fatigue and a new coat of sweat rolled down her face. After that, she washed herself and chose a disguise, dressing herself as a mercenary with a studded coat of leather armor, ragged trousers, heavy boots, and a worn brown cloak. Her hair she raked into a greasy veil over her face, and since she could not take any makeup with her to Rumarah, she did not bother creating fake stubble. A short sword went on her belt, along with her ghostsilver dagger, and she slipped more daggers into her boots and throwing knives up her sleeves. She hung a money pouch from her belt, holding copper coins mixed with a few silver pieces, and concealed more money in strategic pockets inside her armor. 

Caina pulled a pack from one of the chests and loaded it with a change of clothing, along with the case of throwing knives Malcolm and Nerina had given her. In her satchel she put more valuable items. Her shadow-cloak, wrapped in a tight, light cylinder. Some lockpicks, a collapsible grapnel and a light, slender rope, and several smoke bombs. Within the shadow-cloak, tucked within a pouch lined with lead foil, went four crystalline vials of Elixir Restorata. She had stolen the Elixirs from Grand Master Callatas’s laboratory a year past, and when ingested the Elixirs healed any wound or injury taken within the last year and a day. She had already used one vial to save Kylon’s life below the Craven’s Tower, and while she hoped not to use the other vials, she would bring them nonetheless. Caina could not use them herself. The same scars that let her sense the presence of sorcery, the same damage to her aura, caused the Elixir to react to her presence with violent, explosive force, summoning more power than the Elixir’s physical structure could contain. Even if one of the crystalline vials touched her skin for too long, the Elixir would explode.

If she ingested it…

Caina stared at the leather pouch. If she ingested it, the resultant explosion would be impressive. Morgant liked to mock her for the number of buildings she had burned down, but if she consumed the Elixir the explosion would reduce any nearby buildings to rubble. It was something to keep in mind if she was captured. If her foes took her, or if they were about to slay her, she could take them with her in death by ingesting a vial of Elixir.

Perhaps that would be the instrument of her death. Caina checked her clothing and equipment one last time, looked around the Sanctuary, and closed and locked the door behind her. None of the other Ghosts knew where it was, but Caina did want the knowledge to die with her. The letter she had left with Agabyzus revealed its location, and if she did not return he would put the Sanctuary to good use.

When she did not return. 

Caina took one last look at the House of Agabyzus, said a quiet prayer to any gods who might be listening for Damla and her sons and Agabyzus and all the other Ghosts she had recruited, and set off across Istarinmul for the Alqaarin Quarter. The eastern sky was just beginning to lighten, and traffic started on the streets as laborers went to their tasks and blacksmiths started their fires, merchants unlocking their doors and raising the awnings over their booths. Caina avoided the crowds, a pang of regret growing over her. When she had first come to Istarinmul two years ago, she had hated the city, hated that she saw so many slaves, so many beggars in the street. Now, two years later, while she would never love Istarinmul as she did Malarae, she had come to respect the city. She did not want to see Istarinmul destroyed, did not want to see its people burn in the wrath of Callatas’s sorcery.

And Caina would never see Istarinmul again.

She said a silent farewell to the city as she walked. 

Soon she came to the Alqaarin Quarter. The Quarter was not as impoverished as the Anshani Quarter. The richer cargoes coming into the Alqaarin Harbor, where Talazain’s ship waited, likely had something to do with that. Caina turned into a side street, taking care to avoid both the main Bazaar of the Quarter and the grim stone mansion that housed the Umbarian Order’s embassy. Most of Istarinmul still thought the Balarigar was a man, but the Umbarian Order knew who she really was. Best to avoid them entirely.

She came to the Desert Maiden in short order, a tavern of whitewashed brick and stone. Caravan guards and merchants that preferred a quiet rest stayed here. Caina herself had spent the better part of a month lurking in the Desert Maiden soon after she came to Istarinmul, preparing to investigate the mysterious disappearance of slaves in the Widow’s Tower. She had discovered that Callatas had been murdering slaves to create wraithblood, and that had set Caina upon the path that had led her back to the Desert Maiden today. 

The path that would lead to her death, if Sulaman was right.

Caina thought of the corpses in the wraithblood laboratories, of the half-mad wraithblood addicts begging for coins in the street, and her lips thinned in anger. 

If her life was the price to stop such evil, so be it.

She just wished that Kylon…

Caina shook her head, pushed aside the black thoughts, and walked into the common room of the Desert Maiden. 

There was work to be done. 

###

Kalgri crawled along the rooftop, the shadow-cloak pulled tight around her, and watched Caina disappear into the Desert Maiden.

The shadow-cloak ensured that the Voice could not use its otherworldly senses to perceive the world around her, yet the nagataaru lord could see through Kalgri’s eyes, and it went mad with fury at the sight of Caina Amalas, thrashing and hissing like a maddened serpent in the vaults of Kalgri’s mind. The Voice’s rage filled her, demanding that she kill Caina at once, that Kalgri strike down the woman who had so badly wounded the Voice at Silent Ash Temple. 

Not yet. 

But soon. So very soon now. 

Kalgri took a deep breath, like a woman pausing before a great feast.

A lot of people were about to die, and both she and the Voice would gorge themselves. 

The time to act had come at last.

Kalgri sprinted across the rooftops with inhuman speed, the Voice driving her forward like the wind, the shadow-cloak billowing behind her like black wings. No doubt a few of the people going about their tasks happened to see her, but Kalgri did not care. So few people ever bothered to look up.

And the people of the Alqaarin Quarter were about to see much worse. 

Kalgri leaped from a rooftop and plummeted to an alley four stories below. The Voice’s power gave her the strength to absorb the leap, and she straightened up, the shadow-cloak rippling behind her.

It was a bit showy, but it did impress the men waiting in the alley. 

The Adamant Guards stepped back, swords in hand, watching her. Kalgri thought the steel plates grafted to their torsos and arms made them look like walking metal turtles, though they were formidable enough in battle. The Silent Hunters looked ridiculous in their loincloths. Still, they made effective distractions. Kalgri knew that well, having used up a dozen of them trying to kill Caina at Drynemet in the Kaltari Highlands. 

The towering dark shape in the midst of the Adamant Guards, Kalgri had to admit, was much more impressive. It looked vaguely like a man standing eleven or twelve feet tall, draped in a misshapen black cloak, the features concealed by a massive cowl. An absolutely vile stench came from the creature, and the Adamant Guards standing near the hunched shape looked slightly ill. The Voice could not sense anything with the shadow-cloak’s cowl raised, but if Kalgri lowered it, she knew the Voice would detect powerful necromantic spells around the thing. 

For a moment the Adamant Guards and the Silent Hunters stared at Kalgri, weapons raised. She grinned at them, contemplating what it would feel like if she killed them. 

“That was,” said a deep, sonorous voice, “a rather showy entrance, wasn’t it?”

Cassander Nilas strolled past his troops, clad in his black greatcoat. The leather had been enspelled to resist weapons, and was as strong as plate armor. The bloodcrystal upon the black metal gauntlet covering his right hand flickered with crimson light. The Umbarian master magus wore a sword belt, a sheathed broadsword and a long metal fork hanging alongside a variety of other powerful sorcerous implements. 

Cassander had come prepared for war. 

“And that thing,” said Kalgri, jerking her chin at the towering hulk behind Cassander, “is not overkill?” 

A deep, watery rumble came from the creature, and a few of the Adamant Guards edged away from it. Kalgri giggled in amusement. 

“Given the cunning of our foe,” said Cassander, “it seemed best to come prepared.” 

“Sensible,” said Kalgri. “Though if your overgrown pet rampages through the Alqaarin Quarter, Callatas is going to be angry.”

Cassander scoffed. “Do you really think Callatas gives a damn about anyone in this city besides himself?” 

Kalgri knew that he did not. 

“She’s there, in the Desert Maiden,” said Kalgri. “Now.”

“Good,” said Cassander. “She will walk right into the waiting arms of the Kindred.”

“The Kindred assassins?” said Kalgri. “You hired those incompetents?”

“Their orders are to take her alive,” said Callatas. “A little gift from me to you. In repayment for finding her.”

Kalgri sneered at him. “You don’t care about that. You don’t care about Istarinmul. You have other goals.”

“You don’t care about anything,” said Cassander, “but killing.” He smiled at her. He was really quite a handsome man, with sharp features, blond hair, and bright blue eyes. “Why don’t you follow me instead of the Grand Master? There’s a lot of killing to be done.”

The Voice crooned with pleasure at the thought. 

“Then perhaps,” said Kalgri, “we should begin.” 

“Centurion,” said Cassander, turning to an Adamant Guard with a more ornate steel carapace than the others. “Begin.” 

The Adamant Guards moved out, and Kalgri leaped. The power of the Voice let her scuttle up the sheer wall like an insect, and she crouched atop the roof to watch. She enjoyed killing, enjoyed fighting, but that did not mean she was stupid enough to fight Caina and her allies. Kalgri had tried that once before, and it had ended with her falling a thousand feet from the top of a mountain. It was not an experience she cared to repeat.

So she would let Cassander and his slaves do the fighting.

And then, when the moment was right, she would strike. 

Kalgri settled in to wait.

###

Caina stepped into the Desert Maiden’s common room. 

Even this early in the morning, there was still something of a crowd on the benches. She saw numerous caravan guards in either the ending stage of inebriation or the beginning phase of a bad hangover. A few desultory games of cards and dice still went on, but the patrons were starting to file out. A pair of former gladiators, unshaven and weary-looking, kept watch over the crowd in case of trouble, though the patrons looked too tired to work up a good brawl. A trio of serving women kept watch on the bar, yawning and speaking in low voices to each other. 

None of the others had arrived yet. 

Caina purchased a cup of sour, watery wine and made her way across the common room, seating herself by the dying fire. The heat kept the caravan guards and minor merchants away, giving her space to keep both an eye on the front door and the stairs leading to the upper stories. She didn’t expect trouble, but she had not survived this long by abandoning precautions…

The door to the street swung open. 

A tall, strong-looking Istarish man in chain mail and a leather jerkin strode through the door, scimitar and dagger at his belt. He had a hard face, with the marks of old sword scars beneath his close-cropped beard. His eyes swept the room, and then settled upon Caina. 

Caina kept herself motionless, her expression indifferent, but a prickle of alarm went through her. 

She was certain, utterly certain, that the mercenary had recognized her. 

The Istarish man walked further into the room, and five others followed him through the door. Two of them stopped near the stairs to the higher levels. Two more waited near the door to the street. The first man strolled across the common room, a faint smile on his face. 

Caina’s alarm intensified. She kept one hand around her wine cup, but the other slipped to her belt. 

The Istarish man’s hand dropped to his dagger. The way he held that dagger, that specific grip…she recognized it. 

The assassins of the Kindred families gripped their daggers that way. Caina’s mind started racing with plans. It was possible the Kindred were here for someone else, that she could slip away and warn Kylon and the others before…

The Istarish assassin sat across from her.

So much for that idea. 

“Mind if I join you?” said the assassin. 

Caina gave an indifferent shrug, her free hand dipping into her satchel. “May as well. I don’t feel like a game of dice.” She made sure to keep her voice disguised. 

“It isn’t,” said the assassin, his smile widening, “a game of dice that we’ll be playing.” 

“What game, then?” said Caina. “Cards? I never cared for cards.” 

“No,” said the assassin. “A game of blades. My name is Tulmar.”

“You’re very forward,” said Caina. 

Tulmar’s smile held no humor. “It is only fair, given that I know your name.” 

“And what,” said Caina, “is my name?”

“You are Caina Amalas, the Balarigar,” said Tulmar, “and you killed Anburj and Ikhardin and numerous other Kindred assassins. We would have taken you in vengeance anyway…but the fact that we are being paid to do so makes it all the sweeter.”