Ghost in the Inferno (Ghost Exile #5) (18 page)

“To say nothing of the two million bezants upon your head,” said Tanzir. 

“That, too,” said Caina. “But far more dangerous is the knowledge I have stolen. He would kill me to keep his secrets…and he would kill you as well.”

“I expect he already wants me dead, anyway,” said Tanzir. “What is one more reason? Tell me.”

“So be it,” said Caina. “The reason Callatas has sent the Brotherhood to kidnap slaves from the southern lands is because of wraithblood.”

“Wraithblood?” said Tanzir, wrinkling his nose with disgust. “That drug taken by the poor of the city? It causes delirium and madness. What would Callatas want with it?”

“He makes it,” said Caina, “from the blood of murdered slaves. That’s why he wants so many slaves, and that’s why the price of slaves has risen so high. Callatas has been murdering them by the thousands to produce wraithblood.”

Tanzir blanched at that. “Why? That is stark madness.” 

“Have you heard of creatures called the nagataaru?” said Caina.

“Nagataaru?” said Tanzir. Some of his old manner returned as he searched the vaults of his memory. “It is an Iramisian word, I recall. The name for some manner of malevolent devil or demon conjured up from the netherworld. According to legend, the seven Demon Princes that ruled what is now Istarinmul were all possessed by great lords of the nagataaru. The Iramisian loremasters of old were founded to fight the nagataaru.”

“The nagataaru are real, not myth,” said Caina. “I’ve seen them and fought them.” Memories of Ricimer and the Red Huntress flashed through her mind. “Callatas is preparing a great spell to bind and summon millions upon millions of them at once, a working that he calls the Apotheosis. I’m not sure what his purpose for the spell is, not yet, but he needs the wraithblood addicts to do it. Maybe to provide physical bodies to house the nagataaru. I don’t know.”

“Why cast this spell?” said Tanzir. “According to ancient history, he destroyed Iramis in such a matter. Does he think to do the same to Istarinmul?”

“I’m not sure,” said Caina. “Perhaps he thinks it will bring him additional power. Maybe he has some other purpose. Whatever his reasoning, the nagataaru are malevolent, and they feed upon pain and death. If millions of them are summoned to our world it will be a catastrophe on the scale of the day of the golden dead.”

“What does this have to do with the Inferno?” said Tanzir. 

“There is a prisoner there,” said Caina, choosing her words carefully. She did not think Tanzir would do anything harmful with the knowledge of the Staff and the Seal. If he was taken prisoner and the knowledge was tortured out of him, the results could be catastrophic. Tanzir and Sulaman had their secrets, but Caina had hers, as well. “Callatas doesn’t know that the prisoner is there, else he would have killed her already. But she has knowledge that could stop the Apotheosis and defeat Callatas.”

“So the plan,” said Tanzir, “is to attack Cimak’s caravan, kill all his Immortals, impersonate Cimak, and then you flee the Inferno with this female prisoner.”

“Yes,” said Caina.

Tanzir scowled. “Why do it in the Vale? I’ve tried to keep order in the Vale during the chaos of the last few years, and I’ve mostly succeeded. I do not appreciate private armies battling upon my lands.”

“We meant to attack him on the Trabazon steppes,” said Caina, “long before we ever neared to the Vale. Unfortunately, a dust storm arose, and before we could get around it, Cimak and his caravan made it to the Vale.”

“Hmm,” said Tanzir. “Just as well. This conversation explained a great many details about the Grand Master’s peculiar behavior over the last few years. What do you intend to do with Cimak? Are you going to kill him?”

“We were going to hold him prisoner somewhere,” said Caina. 

“No,” said Tanzir. “Give him to me. He was a friend of mine when we were younger, and I might have need of him. We shall need every man of noble blood we can gather to our side.” 

“You will?” said Caina. “You’re…planning to overthrow the Grand Wazir, aren’t you?”

“I suppose it is obvious at this point,” said Tanzir. “We are loyal men of Istarinmul and would never rebel against the Padishah, but the Padishah disappeared soon after I returned from Malarae. Erghulan Amirasku has not lifted a finger to aid us, and he has done nothing to stop the Brotherhood’s depredations. We mean to see him replaced and sound government returned to Istarinmul.” He sighed and looked at his books. “Though, historically…revolutions do not tend to end well.”

“Especially when the Grand Wazir is a puppet for a sorcerer with Callatas’s power,” said Caina. 

“True,” said Tanzir. “Yet I fear we are left with no choice. Callatas and Erghulan Amirasku are destroying the nation. The Brotherhood of Slavers is waxing fat and rich, but their wealth comes from plundering the countryside and kidnapping our peasants to sell upon the auction block. Because of the fighting, trade is drying up. If something is not done soon, the situation will become dire. We must remove Erghulan and find the Padishah, or at least appoint someone competent as Grand Wazir, someone who will not jump every time Callatas snaps his fingers.” 

“You’ve made an alliance with the Kaltari tribes, I assume?” said Caina. 

“How did you know that?” said Tanzir. “Oh…yes, right. You’re a spy. The Kaltari have been the backbone of the Padishah’s armies for centuries, along with the small farmers of the southern emirates. They’ve organized under a former gladiator named Strabane, and the Kaltari have been fighting back, attacking the Collectors and waylaying the Brotherhood’s caravans whenever they can. Strabane has the Kaltari tribesmen at his call and a growing army of free slaves. If it comes to it, if civil war begins, they’ll march with us.”

“You think it might not come to war?” said Caina.

“I have sent emissaries to the Grand Wazir, demanding that he put a halt to the Brotherhood’s raids,” said Tanzir. “But I fear matters have gone too far for that. There is going to be war. Istarinmul is stuffed full of kindling, and all it will take is a single spark to set it alight.” He sighed. “Such as you breaking into the Inferno and making off with a prisoner.” 

“Then you will help us?” said Caina.

Tanzir sighed again. “Actually…I fear I don’t have a choice in the matter. I have to help you. If you can weaken Callatas, if you disrupt his plans, the opportunity is too good to pass up. And if you can disrupt the Inferno, for that matter…it is a powerful fortress, and Rolukhan is not a man with whom one should trifle. The Inferno is too powerful of a stronghold to leave unguarded in our rear, if we must march upon the city.” 

“Sound military thinking,” said Caina. 

Tanzir waved a vague hand at the piled books. “All the histories say so. Fortunately, I have khalmirs with practical experience. A few of them even escaped Marsis.”

“Veterans, then,” said Caina, the cold memory of the battle flashing through her mind. 

“Indeed,” said Tanzir. 

“Then you will help us?” said Caina. 

“As I said, I don’t have any choice,” said Tanzir. “How shall we begin?”

Chapter 10: Epic Poetry

Two days later Kylon stood in the predawn gloom and looked at the village. 

“Korundush,” announced Tanzir Shahan, reining up his horse. 

Kylon nodded, looking around. 

Compared to the farmlands around New Kyre and the other free cities west of Anshan, the Vale of Fallen Stars was arid. Compared to the Trabazon steppes and the Desert of Candles, it was a lush paradise. There were not many trees and only a few rivers, but an intricate maze of canals descended from the mountains and fed snowmelt from the peaks and into the fields. Everywhere Kylon looked he saw waving fields of grain, groves of olive trees, and vineyards heavy with grapes. According to Tanzir, who never wearied of expounding upon the history of Istarinmul, the canals had been built thousands of years ago, when the Maatish pharaohs still ruled this the Vale as one of the outer satrapies of their far-flung empire. After the fall of the Kingdom of the Rising Sun, the ancestors of the Istarish had settled here, and every successive emir had expanded and improved the system of canals. 

Certainly the Vale was the most prosperous region Kylon had seen since coming to the Padishah’s realm. The city of Istarinmul was filled to overflowing with beggars and slaves and impoverished free citizens subsisting on the Wazir of Grain’s bread ration, and the countryside had been a chaos of raiders and brigands, but the Vale looked prosperous. Kylon suspected the Vale had Tanzir to thank for its stability. There was a constant current of low-level fear running through Tanzir Shahan’s emotional aura, but he had it under control, and despite his scholarly and rambling demeanor he kept his men and officers under tight discipline.

He reminded Kylon a little of Rezir Shahan, though without the emir’s rampant love of cruelty. And hopefully without the overweening pride that had led to Rezir’s death at Caina’s hands. 

Oddly, Tanzir bore Caina no ill will for that. His emotions whenever he spoke to her veered between a healthy respect, outright terror, and infatuation. Had Tanzir been a bolder man, Kylon supposed, he would have tried to have seduce Caina long ago.  Of course, had Tanzir been a bolder man, he might already have started a war with the Grand Wazir and been crushed for his trouble. 

Kylon pushed aside the musings and turned his attention to the village. Plots and politics and schemes were not his strength. Fighting was his strength.

A battle was about to begin. 

“Kuldan Cimak has stayed here for two days?” said Caina. 

“So my spies tell me,” said Tanzir. “You see, there is, ah…quite a reputable brothel here, one that caters to wealthy merchants and noblemen traveling along the Great Southern Road to Anshan or Istarinmul. Cimak stopped here, sent his wagons on ahead with some of his Immortals, and stayed here to…entertain himself, I suspect.” 

To judge from the embarrassment that flickered through the emir’s sense, he had sampled the brothel’s wares himself more than once. Yet Tanzir had the self-control to keep it from his expression. 

“Just as well,” said Caina, squinting at the village. “That means fewer Immortals for us to kill.” 

“The village is a strong place,” said Laertes. “It will not fall easily if the gates are closed against us.” 

He was right. Kylon had seen more battles upon water than on land, but he knew a good fortification when he saw one. A wall of stone surrounded Korundush, the gate in its western wall closed and barred, and all the whitewashed houses within had been built of stone. The village itself sat on a low hill in the midst of its fields and irrigation canals. A small pond lay at the northern foot of the hill, and the eastern and southern slopes were too steep to climb. Any attackers would have to assail the gate, which would make them easy targets for the Immortals. 

“It will not,” agreed Tanzir. “Fortunately, we have an advantage.”

“What’s that?” said Dio.

“Me,” said Tanzir. “This is my village, and its elders know me. At my command, they will open the gate, and then we can stroll inside and attack. Is it really necessary to kill all the Immortals?”

“It is, I fear,” said Nasser. “We cannot permit any of them to escape and carry warning of our plans to our foes. Above all, we must take Cimak alive.

“Oh, don’t worry,” said Morgant. “I think I can help with that. Assuming the Exile is willing to lend a hand.” 

###

It only took Morgant a few moments to prepare for what he had in mind. 

He buttoned up the front of his black coat to the collar, concealing his white shirt. He readjusted his sword belt, and then donned a worn bronze ring he had found long ago, placing it on the third finger of his left hand. It rendered him undetectable to any seeking spells of divinatory sorcery. Not that he expected Cimak to have a sorcerer in his retinue, but it never hurt to be prepared. Morgant would have worn the ring constantly, save for the fact that falling asleep while wearing it could cause homicidal insanity, which the ring’s original owner and creator had failed to appreciate until too late. 

He tucked a few other items he might need into a satchel, hooked a coil of rope with a collapsible grapnel to his belt, and rejoined Caina and Kylon. 

“What are you intending to do?” said Caina, giving him a dubious look. Around them the Black Wolves and the Company of Shopur marched up the road towards the gate, Tanzir and his soldiers at their head. 

“Why, I am going to enter Korundush, retrieve Kuldan Cimak, and return with him,” said Morgant. 

“You’re an assassin,” said Caina. “We need him alive.” 

“No need to worry,” said Morgant. “Kidnappings are easy. They’re just a subset of assassination. This will be easy. All I’ll do is lie to him a little.”

Caina looked at him for a moment, and then her eyes turned to Kylon.

“Go with him,” she said.

“I do need him to come along,” said Morgant.

“Why?” said Caina. 

“He can jump higher than I can,” said Morgant. “Younger knees, I expect.” 

Kylon looked at Caina, and Morgant rolled his eyes. Those two had gotten quite good at communicating without any words. He wondered if they had started sleeping together yet, and then decided that it did not matter. So long as it did not interfere with Morgant’s promise to Annarah, Caina and Kylon could do whatever the hell they wanted. A pity that Caina could not have children. She had considerable energy and intellect, and had she married into the Nighmarian nobility as her birth dictated she would be well on her way to having a brood of clever sons and scheming daughters who would one day dominate the Empire between them. That was clearly what she would have wanted from life, yet that had been denied her.

It was a cruel world, and that was far from the darkest cruelty Morgant had seen in his two centuries.

Did the world deserve to die?

If the Knight had told the truth, Morgant might have the chance to decide that soon. 

He realized that both Caina and Kylon were staring at him, and he made himself smirk at them.