Ghost in the Throne (Ghost Exile #7) (41 page)

In her right hand, the Huntress held the sword of the nagataaru an inch from the girl’s face. The shaft of writhing shadow and purple flame could cut through solid stone. The little girl’s head would not slow it down at all. 

“Stay right where you are,” said the Huntress, and Kylon heard the gloating satisfaction in that hated voice. “Stay right where you are, or the child dies.” The serene steel mask turned in Kylon’s direction. “And the poor former Archon has already seen one child die in front of him, hasn’t he?” 

The valikon remained motionless in Kylon’s hands, though the flames along the blade howled in in time to his rage. 

“And you, Razor,” said the Huntress. “You stay right there.” Morgant stepped to Kylon’s side, black dagger and red scimitar in hand. “All these noble heroes might care about the little brat, but Morgant the ruthless Razor would not. You would kill a thousand children to keep your word. Think of how your precious loremaster and your noble Balarigar would look at you if you sent this child to her death.”

Morgant grinned that toothy, skull-like grin at her. “You put your faith in a thin shield indeed if you think such things matter to me.”

But he did not step past Kylon. 

“That’s better,” said the Huntress. “Shall we chat, Lord Kylon? It’s been such a long time. The last time we met, you were spattered with the blood of your wife and child. Tell me, do you like exile? Istarinmul is so much drier than New Kyre. You’ve traded seawater for sand.” 

“What do you want?” said Kylon, looking at the little girl. He wondered if he could move fast enough to strike the Huntress before she killed the child, but even with the sorcery of air, it was just too far. 

The Huntress had planned this well. She always planned things well. 

“Just to talk,” said the Huntress. “There’s never any time to talk. Everyone is in such a hurry these days. Though I do wonder something. Have you taken the Ghost into your bed yet? She really wanted you to, you know. One night she even got all dressed up and went out to seduce you, but changed her mind at the last minute when she saw a little present from me.”

“Those damned curved knives,” said Kylon. 

The Huntress giggled. It was a reedy, coquettish sound, the sort of giggle an insipid young woman might make. Not an ancient creature drenched in the blood of countless victims. 

“Oh, you know how our Caina thinks,” said the Huntress. Her voice switched to a mocking impression of Caina’s. “Our ruthless enemies are after me. Sooner or later they’ll find me and kill me. I’d better keep to myself to save my precious friends…and oh, dear, who is that waiting for me in the shadows?”

“You,” said Kylon.

“Yes, me,” said the Huntress. “She should have died at Rumarah. How did you save her, by the by? That Elixir Restorata should have killed her and everyone else for a hundred yards.”

“Perhaps,” said Morgant, “you should have been a little more ruthless.” 

The Huntress stared at him for a moment, and then the red mask turned again. 

“Glasshand!” she shouted. “You should have been dead long ago. Tell me, how did Caina survive?” 

Nasser stepped forward, the white smile on his dark face like the gleam of dagger’s edge. “As I recall, my dear Huntress, you tried to kill Caina Amalas at the Golden Palace, Drynemet, Silent Ash Temple, and Rumarah. Perhaps it is less a question of her survival and more a question of your gross incompetence.” 

The Huntress did not move, but the blade snarled in her hand, and Kylon felt her nagataaru’s rage like heat from a furnace. 

“What do you want?” said Kylon. “If you were here to attack, you wouldn’t have bothered with the talking. You’d have struck from the shadows.” A splinter of agonizing memory burned through him. “Just like at the Tower of Kardamnos.”

“Straight to the point?” said the Huntress. “How tedious your lovers must find you. Very well. I’ve come for Caina Amalas. I know she’s here.”

“No,” said Kylon. “You…”

“Kylon.”

He risked a glance to the side.

Caina walked from the ruined shop, holding something dark in her hands. Her face was a bloodless mask and her eyes were like chips of ice as she stared at the Huntress.

“Ah,” murmured the Huntress with satisfaction. 

###

Caina stopped next to Kylon, the ghostsilver dagger in her right hand, the shadow-cloak draped over her left arm. Kylon stared at the Huntress, the valikon blazing with fury in his hands, the white light throwing his face into harsh relief. He looked angrier than she could ever recall. 

She understood, because she was terrified.

Her heart hammered against her ribs like the boom of a drum, and her mouth had gone as dry as the Desert of Candles. It seemed she could think of nothing but that awful night in Rumarah, of Kalgri’s sword ripping into her flesh, of dying upon the floor as Kylon knelt next to her. 

For a moment the fear threatened to overwhelm her.

Yet Caina was still alive. Kalgri had failed…and something was wrong here. The Red Huntress did not boast. The Red Huntress did not gloat and brag. The Red Huntress struck from the shadows and killed without mercy, discarding petty pleasures like gloating in favor of feasting upon the agony and death of her victims. 

What was Kalgri doing? 

The red mask turned towards her, the shadow-cloak streaming behind Kalgri. The child lay motionless in her left arm, too terrified even to move. 

“Well,” said Kalgri. “The Balarigar herself.”

“Where?” said Caina. 

“Where is what?” said Kalgri.

“The little girl,” said Caina. “Where did you find her?” 

“She is of no importance,” said Kalgri. “A slave’s child, fleeing the city with her mother.” She turned her head a few degrees to the right. “You may come out now.”

The wrecked stall behind Kalgri shifted, and an Istarish slave woman in a gray dress crawled out on her knees, her wrists bound before her, her mouth gagged. Her black eyes were filled with desperate terror as she stared at her daughter in Kalgri’s grasp. 

“Why?” said Caina. 

“A way to make sure you behaved long enough to have a parley,” said Kalgri. “Kylon of House Kardamnos has already seen a child murdered in front of its mother. I’m sure he wouldn’t want that again. And poor, barren Caina Amalas will never have a child of her own, so she risks herself to save everyone else again and again. Would you like to see a child die? I can arrange that, if you like.”

She twitched the blade of force closer to the terrified girl’s face, and the slave woman screamed into her gag.

“You won’t kill that girl,” said Caina, keeping her voice cold and hard. Theodosia would have been proud of how Caina kept the fear from her tone. 

“And just why not?” said Kalgri.

“Because that is the only thing keeping you alive right now,” said Caina. “Because if you kill that girl, Kylon is going to take the valikon and cut out your black heart, and you know what that valikon will do to you and your nagataaru. It wounded you at Silent Ash Temple. Would you care for a greater experience of it?” 

Kalgri laughed. “How splendid.” Her right hand moved in a blur, removing her mask, and Caina flinched as a jolt of memory went through her.

The Huntress’s face had changed. When Caina had first met Kalgri, she had looked like an Istarish woman in her thirties. Now she looked Szaldic or Nighmarian, with blue eyes, a lean face, and thick blond hair. In fact, she looked a great deal like Caina. 

Caina had forgotten that in the aftermath of Rumarah. 

“Gods of storm and brine,” muttered Kylon. “She looks like…”

“Your blond sister,” said Morgant. 

“The Voice has a sense of humor,” said Caina. “Gods. You even got shorter. You’re exactly my height.”

“Annoying, isn’t it?” said Kalgri. “I admit I do like the eyes. So cold and hard. Do you like her eyes, Kylon? Do you look into them as you take her? Or do you think of your dead wife as…”

To her own surprise, Caina laughed. She had endured similar japes from Morgant ever since she had met him. Kalgri had already stabbed her through the heart. After that, a few insults about her relationship with Kylon were feeble. 

Kalgri seemed to realize her mistake, and for a moment purple fire and shadow flashed through her eyes. 

“What do you want?” said Caina. 

“The kingdoms of the world, and all the lives within them,” said Kalgri. 

“You’re not getting them today, though,” said Caina. “If you don’t start running, you’re going to burn with the rest of us when Cassander finishes his spell. You ought to be with him, laughing as the city dies. Or running as fast as the Voice will carry you. But you’re here. You gave me back the shadow-cloak and ghostsilver dagger. Which means…”

The answer came to her.

“You want,” said Caina, “to help me.”

“I really don’t,” said Kalgri.

“I don’t want to talk to you, but here we are,” said Caina. “You know we’re going after Cassander. So that means…you and Cassander had a disagreement.”

“Alas, what can hide from your keen insight, mighty Balarigar?” said Kalgri. “I put on my prettiest dress and my shiniest jewelry, and Cassander didn’t even glance at me. So to salve my spurned heart, of course I came to you at once to kill him.”

“No,” said Caina. “All you care about is killing people.” Again that pulse of purple fire and shadow went through Kalgri’s eyes. She looked so much like Caina that it was unnerving. Caina hoped she never had that hungry, half-mad expression on her face. “You ought to be at Cassander’s side, watching the city burn. But you’re here instead, and that means…you think that by stopping Cassander, you’ll have the opportunity to kill even more people in the future.”

Kalgri smiled, her cold blue eyes glittering in the rift’s fiery light. 

“The Apotheosis,” said Caina. “If Cassander destroys Istarinmul, he’ll kill all the wraithblood addicts and destroy all the wraithblood laboratories. If that happens, Callatas will never finish his Apotheosis.”

“It is such a pompous name, isn’t it?” said Kalgri. “The Apotheosis. The ascension of a new humanity to replace the old. Of course, that means killing the old humanity first.” She smiled. “I’m looking forward to that part.” 

“But it won’t happen if Cassander burns Istarinmul,” said Caina. “So why don’t you go kill Cassander yourself? You could do it. You don’t need my help for…ah.” She laughed.

“Is something funny?” said Kalgri.

“You’re not sure you could beat Cassander,” said Caina. “So you’re going to get me to do it for you.” She blinked as a thought occurred to her. “Which is why you didn’t tell Cassander that I’m still alive. Just in case you needed to get rid of him.” 

“You know better than that,” said Kalgri. “What is the point of having enemies if you cannot use them against each other? Cassander might kill you for me, and Callatas will just have to start over somewhere else. Or you might kill Cassander, and the Apotheosis will come to pass. Or perhaps you will kill each other, which would be splendid.” 

“Fine,” said Caina. “You want to help. How?”

Kalgri smiled. “You’re going to the wrong place. The Umbarian embassy is empty. Clever of him, really. Cassander knew someone might try to stop him. So he left a token guard at the embassy, enough to put up a convincing fight. By the time you break into the mansion and find it empty, it will be too late.” 

“So where is he?” said Caina.

“At the fortified dock of the Brotherhood in the Cyrican harbor,” said Kalgri. 

Caina frowned. “The Slavers’ Brotherhood wouldn’t consent to this. Not even…ah. He killed them all, didn’t he?”

“Every last one,” said Kalgri with a cheery smile. “I helped, of course. No one escaped, so the rest of the nobles and the merchants think the cowled masters locked themselves away to find a way out of their difficulties. Currently they are rotting in their dining hall. The smell has gotten quite unpleasant.”

“A good hiding place,” said Caina. 

“If she’s telling the truth,” said Kylon.

“Poor befuddled Lord Kylon has a point,” said Kalgri. “I might be lying to send you all to your deaths.”

“Maybe,” said Caina, thinking hard. “But maybe not.”  

Kalgri was capable of profound deception. She had masqueraded as a serving maid at the House of Agabyzus for months, following Caina and studying her every movement. Her game with the curved knives had taken just as long, pushing Caina to isolate herself until the moment came when the Huntress could strike. Both times Kalgri had nearly been successful. There was absolutely no reason to trust a single word that came out of Kalgri’s mouth.

And yet…

The Red Huntress was a brutal and merciless killer, yet she was not insane. A dark logic underlay all of her actions. She wanted to kill as many people as possible, and Caina noticed that she always took steps to guarantee her own survival. Those two goals took priority over everything else. There was no reason, no reason at all, the Huntress would not help Cassander burn Istarinmul. No amount of personal contempt for the man would keep Kalgri away from that much killing. So the only reason, the only possible reason, that Kalgri would betray Cassander was because she thought she could kill more people in the long run if she did.

Which, in turn, meant she was telling the truth. 

“Fine,” said Caina. “I believe you.”

“I cannot tell you what an overwhelming comfort that is to me,” said Kalgri. She glanced at the weeping Istarish slave woman. “I may fall to my knees and sob like a pathetic child.” 

“You do?” said Kylon. 

“She wants to kill the world,” said Caina. “Why help Cassander kill a city when helping Callatas will kill the world?”

Kylon glared at the Huntress, but said nothing. 

“You will find Cassander in the solar atop the central tower of the Brotherhood’s dock,” said Kalgri. “With him is a relic called the Throne of Corazain that…”

“Summons ifriti through the rift, I know,” said Caina. “We had a chat with an Umbarian magus.” 

“Very good,” said Kalgri, “though you failed to learn where the Throne is hidden. When you confront Cassander, I expect he has made himself the locus of the summoning spell, so killing him should cause it to unravel.” She glanced at the rift spreading ever wider across the sky. “Or you can destroy the Throne of Corazain. Either the ghostsilver dagger or the valikon could do it, though the valikon would be quicker about it.” She shrugged with her right shoulder, the sword of the nagataaru twitching before the face of the child. “I have told you the truth. Choose what fate you will.”