Ghost in the Seal (Ghost Exile #6) (35 page)

The centurion of the Guards nodded and went to carry out his orders. 

Cassander waited, watching the Corsair’s Rest for Kalgri’s signal. 

The irritating woman had not said what the signal would be, but Cassander had no doubt that it would be obvious.

###

Kylon opened the door. The room beyond was large and well-furnished, equipped with a double bed, a wardrobe, and a table with a carafe of wine and a pair of goblets. Only a little light leaked through the shutters, throwing shadows everywhere. Caina limped into the room, the movement obviously paining her, and dropped her pack and satchel on the floor. Kylon crossed to the window and glanced at the bazaar below, extending his arcane senses. He and Caina were alone, and none of the nearby rooms were occupied. 

“You should go back down,” said Caina. “Nasser might need help if this Quartius proves truculent.”

Kylon hesitated. “I should stay with you.”

She offered a wan smile, her emotional sense filled with exhaustion, her aura flickering with the necromantic poison pumping through her veins. “I’m…just going to lie down and not move for a while. I’ll be fine alone. You should…you should go and get some food. I don’t think you’ve had a proper meal since we left Pyramid Isle.” 

Kylon shook his head. “I don’t know what Murat calls that slop his cook produced, but it wasn’t a proper meal. Barely proper food, even.” 

“Go,” said Caina. “I’ll be fine.”

Kylon hesitated, his mind churning with a dozen different things he wanted to say to her. Every one of them ran up against the cold, hard fact that she was dying, that the poison was twisting her mind. Until it was cured, he would not burden her with anything else. 

“All right,” said Kylon. 

She smiled at him, and Kylon turned and left the room, closing the door behind him. 

###

Caina walked to the sideboard, poured herself a cup of wine, and drained it in three swallows. She never really liked wine, but her throat felt as dry as the Desert of Candles, and she thought she might be able to keep it down. 

She wished…she wished she could do something more for Kylon. She wished that Sulaman’s prophecy wasn’t coming true. At least the Staff and the Seal were in good hands, and the Ghost circle would continue its work once she died. Caina finished another swallow of wine and set the cup down. Perhaps the wine would help her fall asleep before the hallucinations began.

She turned towards the bed and froze.

Something metallic lay upon the pillow, glinting in the dying light from the shutters.

Caina was certain, absolutely certain, that the pillow had been empty just a moment before. 

She stepped forward, reaching for her ghostsilver dagger, and a jolt of fear went through her.

A small knife lay on the pillow, its delicate blade curved. Caina had seen that knife before. No, rather, she had seen knives identical to it, left all over Istarinmul outside of her safe houses. 

And now one had just appeared in the room with her.

Before she could turn, before she could even react, a hard hand clamped over her mouth and jerked her backward. Pain exploded through her back and chest, and Caina would have screamed, but suddenly she had no strength left in her. She looked down and saw a length of ghostsilver beaded with blood. 

A sword blade. It had been driven into her back and through her chest. 

The hand over her mouth jerked her back, and Caina felt hot breath against her neck.

A familiar voice hissed in her ear. 

“Remember me?” whispered Kalgri the Red Huntress. “I’ve been looking forward to this for a very long time.”

###

The Voice screamed in exultation as Caina struggled in Kalgri’s grasp. 

It was all Kalgri could do not to giggle. Caina’s efforts were useless, her blood draining away with every beat of her heart. Kalgri had aimed her thrust with a precision of a surgeon, and Caina had only a few moments left before her damaged heart gave out. Her agony and fear washed over Kalgri, and it was good, so good, better than any other possible pleasure that could have existed. 

“There’s not time to do this properly,” murmured Kalgri into Caina’s ear. Caina sagged, clawing at Kalgri’s arm, but her strength was failing, and only Kalgri’s grasping arm kept Caina from collapsing. “I wanted to cut you in half the way you did to me. But, well, sometimes the simplest ways are the best. So I want you to think on this. In a few moments Kylon is going to come up those stairs to check on you when Cassander attacks. He’ll come through the door…and he’ll see your head sitting on the pillow, staring at him. Just. Like. His. Wife. Think about that. That’s what I want you to think about as you die. The expression on his face.”

Caina’s agony and fear and rage melded together into something…indescribable. The Voice feasted on her pain, strength surging through Kalgri.

This time she did giggle.

###

Kylon walked back into the common room. Nasser and the others sat at one of the tables, awaiting the jewel merchant. He thought it strange that the Rest’s common room was so empty. The slavers of Rumarah did not seem the sort of let a little violence get in the way of their drinking and whoring, but Kylon had been wrong before.

He stopped, something seeming to whisper in the depths of his mind.

Wrong before…

Was he missing something important?

He extended his arcane senses to the limit, sensing the emotions of everyone around him. Nasser and Annarah and the others were wary but not immediately alarmed. The slaves and porters of the Rest seemed tense, likely because of the risk of violence in the city. His sense reached up, seeking for Caina. She was farther away and harder to reach, but his sense touched her…

And her terror and pain flooded through him. 

Kylon snatched the valikon from its sheath, and Nasser and the others sprang to their feet. 

“Defend yourselves!” he shouted. “The enemy comes!” He raced up the stairs three at time, the sorcery of air and wind giving him inhuman speed. Caina’s pain and rage and fear beat against his senses, stronger than anything he had ever felt from her. Yet he sensed no one near her. Had the poison spiraled out of control?

He reached the door and tried to open it, only to find that someone had locked it. Kylon kicked, drawing on the sorcery of water, and the door exploded open. 

The valikon shuddered in his hand, burning with white fire. 

A dark shape in a shadow-cloak stood in the center of room. The shape whirled as Kylon stepped forward, and he found himself looking at the cold crimson mask of the Red Huntress. She held Caina before her, her left hand clamped over Caina’s mouth, a foot of bloody ghostsilver jutting from Caina’s chest. 

Time seemed to slow down. 

He saw Caina’s eyes, slowly going out of focus as her blood pumped from the wound in her chest.

He saw the shadow-cloak hanging around the Huntress, and realized why he could not sense her. He saw the curved knife lying on the pillow, and he realized the Huntress’s plan all at once. The months of the curved knives. The shadow-cloak. A long, slow, subtle plan, a plan that had culminated in this moment, with Caina dying upon her sword.

The Red Huntress was laughing at him. 

“Kylon, Kylon, Kylon,” she crooned. “Look at how history repeats itself.”

Kylon roared and shot forward, all his strength and sorcery and rage driving the valikon blade forward. Let her laugh when it pierced her skull!

The Huntress leapt backwards over the bed like an insect, the bloody short sword still in her hand. Caina fell in a limp pile to the carpet. Kylon lunged after the Huntress, and the assassin sprang out the window, still laughing wildly. She hurtled towards the ground, the shadow-cloak billowing around her, and landed in the bazaar forty feet below in the midst of dozens of Adamant Guards charging towards the Corsair’s Rest. 

Kylon shoved away from the window and ran back to Caina.

The wound was mortal. He saw that at once. Kylon had seen many men fall in battle, and he knew a mortal wound when he saw one. He grabbed her hand, her pulse weak and faltering. Her eyes rolled towards him, and she tried to say something, but she could not seem to draw breath. 

Footsteps thundered in the hallway, and Kylon looked up as Morgant burst into the room, scimitar and dagger drawn, the dagger’s pommel glowing with harsh red light. He looked down at Kylon, and then at Caina, and for an instant looked as shocked as Kylon had ever seen the man. 

“Oh,” said Morgant. “Damn it.” 

A moment later Nasser and Laertes and Annarah retreated into the room. Annarah’s pyrikon had taken its staff form again and blazed with white fire. She looked down at Caina and her eyes widened, her expression grim. 

“What happened?” she said.

“The Huntress,” said Kylon. He barely recognized his voice. “She was waiting for us. The knives in Istarinmul? That was her doing. She’s been following us for months. I suspect she was the one who told Cassander our plans. Gods of storm and brine, I’ve been a fool…”

“We can chastise ourselves later,” said Nasser. “We must to decide what to do. There are at least two hundred Adamant Guards out there, and I suspect they have us surrounded.”

Chapter 20: Prophecies 

Cassander stared at the Corsair’s Rest, listening to the centurion’s report.

“We engaged them in the common room, Lord Cassander,” said the centurion in his cold, metallic voice. “Seven of us fell, and our foes withdrew up the stairs to the top level of the inn. We are watching the stairs and all entrances to the inn.”

“Good,” said Cassander. “The innkeeper and his slaves have withdrawn?”

“They have, my lord,” said the centurion.

“Very well,” said Cassander. Not that he cared for the fate of such scum. But he had paid the innkeeper to keep his establishment clear until Caina and her party arrived, and the Umbarian Order needed friends everywhere. “Prepare to set fire to the inn. That will force them to flee, and we can take them when…”

A shadow stirred in the twilight, and a red shape cloaked in darkness strode towards him. The centurion cursed and raised his weapon, as did the other Adamant Guards. Cassander only waited as Kalgri strode towards him, drawing back the cowl and lifting her red mask. Her eyes were wide and wild, her face flushed, her breathing coming hard and quick. 

He could not quite recall ever seeing her so…ecstatic. 

“It’s done, then?” said Cassander. 

“Almost,” said Kalgri. A flicker of annoyance cut through her bliss. “Kylon interrupted me before I could finish…but he was too late. I wounded her heart. Not even a loremaster can do anything about that. She has perhaps five minutes left.” She laughed, wild and high. “You should have seen the look upon his face!” 

“Perhaps I’ll let you keep it as a trophy,” said Cassander. “Which room were they in?”

Kalgri pointed at the open shutters on the third floor. 

“Splendid,” said Cassander, and he raised his armored gauntlet, fire burning around its fingers. 

###

“Can you do anything?” said Kylon. 

“I shall try,” said Annarah, though he heard the doubt in her voice. Her pyrikon folded itself back into a bracelet, and Annarah knelt over Caina, white light flaring. The white light leapt from her fingers and sank into Caina, and Caina let out a long gasp, her eyes opening wide, and then she sank back against the floor, eyelids fluttering, her lips tinged with blue. 

The pulse in her wrist remained weak, fading. 

“It’s mortal, isn’t it?” said Kylon.

“Yes.” Annarah closed her eyes and bowed her head. “The blade pierced the heart. It cannot be healed. My spell slowed its failure somewhat, but…Kylon, Ciaran has a quarter of an hour. At best.” She shook her head, and Kylon saw tears in her eyes. “I thought…I thought Ciaran would be the one, that…” 

“Annarah!” shouted Nasser, and Kylon felt the sudden surge of pyromantic sorcery around them. 

Cassander was casting a spell.

Annarah jumped to her feet, her pyrikon transforming back into a staff, and thrust it out the window. White light shimmered in the gathering night, and an instant later there was an explosion, the Corsair’s Rest trembling. Snarling fire pulsed and lashed against Annarah’s ward, but the Words of Lore held fast against the power of the Umbarian magus. 

“Stay on watch,” said Nasser, his face grim. “He shall likely try to attack again. We must formulate a plan of escape.” 

“Over the rooftops?” said Laertes. “That is what Master Ciaran would have suggested.” 

Morgant shook his head. “No. The Corsair’s Rest is the tallest building here. Cassander could pick us off one by one.”

“I fear the only choice is to pick an entrance and charge,” said Nasser. “We shall have to fight our way clear and escape Rumarah. The Staff and the Seal cannot fall into the hands of Cassander Nilas.” 

“That’s a foolish plan,” said Morgant.

“Do you have anything better?” snapped Nasser, his usual calm eroding.

Morgant sighed and looked at Caina. “I do not.” 

“Very well,” said Nasser. “I suggest that we choose the back entrance. It is nearer to alleys that will…”

“No,” said Kylon, looking at Caina’s face. “That’s not what we’re going to do.”

“You have a plan?” said Morgant.

“I’m going to stay with Ciaran until the end,” said Kylon. “It…it shouldn’t be long now.” He couldn’t tell if she was aware of her surroundings or not. All he felt from her sense was a steady pulse of pain. “When she dies, I’m going to kill Cassander and the Huntress. I’ll likely die in the process, but I’m going to take at least one of them with me. While I distract them, you can escape with the Staff and the Seal. Take them to Catekharon. It is what Ciaran would have wanted.” 

“There is no need for you to sacrifice yourself,” said Annarah from the window. 

“I failed,” said Kylon. “I’ve failed again and again. I can do this right, at least. I can make sure the Staff and the Seal are never put to evil use.” Caina’s eyes had closed, her breathing coming slower. Her face had taken on the grayish tinge he had seen just before men died. “And I can make Cassander or Kalgri pay for what they have done. Maybe even both.”