Ghost in the Hunt (6 page)

“So do I,” said Caina. 

Chapter 4 - The Lord Ambassador’s Wife

From the moment she stepped from the ship’s gangplank and onto the quay, Claudia Aberon Dorius knew that she would not like Istarinmul. 

It wasn’t the heat, though she did not find it pleasant. She had grown up in Artifel along the shores of the inner sea, and she was used to mild winters and rainy summers. Malarae, by comparison, had been warm, but Istarinmul made Malarae seem like a frozen wasteland. The sun blazed overhead like a furnace. 

Nor was it the grim look Istarinmul brought to her husband’s gray eyes. Martin Dorius had commanded men in battle against Istarinmul during the war, and he had lost a great many of those men. Martin still blamed himself for the men who had fallen under his command in the Argamaz Desert. The guilt did not leave him, but it did not cripple him, either. The soldiers of Istarinmul in their spiked helms reminded him of those dead Legionaries, but Martin carried on and did not flinch in his duties. 

The slaves filling Istarinmul bothered Claudia a great deal. In Artifel, before the schism had divided the Magisterium and started the civil war, a great many magi had supported the restoration of slavery within the Empire, though those who kept slaves did so secretly lest they be subjection to prosecution, or worse, harassment from the Ghosts. But in Istarinmul, slaves were everywhere. Gangs of gray-clad slaves unloaded the ships filling the Cyrican Harbor. Slaves carried goods and drove carts up and down the streets. Slaves worked in the shops and stalls of minor merchants. Armies of slaves attended the palaces and warehouses of the wealthier merchants. The nobles and Alchemists seemed to compete to see who could own the largest retinue of slaves. 

It disgusted her. But out of everything Claudia had seen in Istarinmul, the wraithblood addicts disturbed her the most.

They lined the streets and alleys of the Cyrican docks, clad in rags, muttering incoherently to themselves. From time to time they begged for coins to buy wraithblood. From what Claudia had gathered, the drug was a hallucinatory euphoric, something that induced visions of fantastical pleasure. Yet in the end the dreams became waking nightmares of indescribable horror, and the wraithblood users went mad, sometimes violently so. 

The drug turned their eyes an eerie, pale blue.

The same color, Claudia noted, as the glow from the black steel masks of the Immortals, the Padishah’s elite bodyguards and soldiers. The wraithblood addicts themselves had a faint sorcerous aura about them, which meant the drug itself was sorcerous. She could not understand why anyone would make a sorcerous drug and distribute it to the destitute of Istarinmul.

Claudia disliked the mystery, just as she disliked Istarinmul, this city built upon a foundation of slaves and misery. Once, not all that long ago, she would have welcomed the challenge, sought ways to use her sorcerous skills to improve the lives of the Istarish. She knew better now.

Now she just wanted to go home.

But she had her duties, just as her husband did, and she would not flinch from them.

Not after seeing friends fall beneath the daggers of Silent Hunters, not after hearing of the atrocities the Umbarians had wrought in their conquered provinces.  

Claudia walked back into the mansion’s entry hall. The Lord Ambassador’s official residence in Istarinmul stood in the Emirs’ Quarter, and had been built in the style of a classical Nighmarian mansion, or at least an Istarish architect’s conception of a Nighmarian noble’s mansion. It had an atrium with an open roof, but slender Istarish pillars supported the colonnade, and the floor had been done in an elaborate mosaic scene of wild animals. Claudia almost felt bad walking across it. 

Their servants hurried back and forth, clad in formal livery, unloading the goods of her household. Claudia, as the Lord Ambassador’s wife, now had a household, including a housekeeper, a seneschal, and a small army of footmen and maids. At least they had brought hired servants from Malarae and not used Istarish slaves. It still made her nostalgic for the days when she had slept in a cot in Komnene’s back room in Calvarium.

Still. She had not yet met Martin then. 

Martin’s seneschal hurried to join her, a stout middle-aged man with a fringe of graying hair clinging to his head. His name was Dromio, and he had been with Martin for years. He had handled Martin’s affairs with calm equanimity when Martin had been merely the Lord Governor of a rural province, and he continued that competent equanimity now that Martin was Lord Ambassador to one of the Empire’s most powerful neighbors and had a household of nearly a hundred servants, along with a century of the Imperial Guard to protect his person. 

A far cry, indeed, from when Claudia had slept in Komnene’s back room. 

“Has Lord Martin returned yet?” 

“No, my lady,” said Dromio in his solemn voice. “He is meeting with the local factors for the Imperial Collegium of grain merchants. They hope to prevail upon his lordship to negotiate better tariffs for Imperial wheat.”

“Unlikely,” said Claudia. The Emperor and the lords had raised new Legions to fight the Umbarians and replace the ones lost in the east, and those men had to be fed. 

“Of course, my lady,” said Dromio. “There are a number of matters I should bring before your attention before his lordship returns. Your wardrobe has been brought up from the ship.”

“Have the maids attend to it,” said Claudia. They would have a better idea of what to do with all those damned elaborate gowns and cloaks. As a child, she had spent most of her days studying the arcane sciences, which had left little time to learn the various arts expected of a Nighmarian noblewoman.

“There are a number of invitations from various emirs, Alchemists, and merchants,” said Dromio. “Among the Istarish I understand it is customary for a nobleman’s senior wife to review such invitations, and…”

“And I am Lord Martin’s senior wife,” said Claudia with a smile, “and I had better remain his only wife. Very well. I will look them over.”

“And one other thing, my lady,” said Dromio. “A factor from the Imperial Collegium of Jewelers is here.”

Claudia nodded. “He can wait until Lord Martin returns.”

“He is here to see you, specifically, my lady,” said Dromio. “He wishes to show his wares to the Lord Ambassador’s wife.”

Claudia sighed. “Very well.” Her training as a physician had left her with a dislike for jewelry, since it was too easy to get flecks of blood upon a ring and transmit disease from patient to patient, though she did insist upon her wedding ring. “I will…”

She frowned, a memory coming to the forefront of her thoughts.

“The Imperial Collegium of Jewelers,” she said. “They don’t have a factor in Istarinmul.” 

“An impostor, my lady?” said Dromio, his expression darkening.

“Possibly,” said Claudia. “It could just be an enterprising thief.”

Or it could be a clever Silent Hunter. Both the Silent Hunters and the Kindred had used such tactics since the civil war began. The Umbarians preferred to remove their enemies via discreet assassination rather than risk battle.

She wondered if they had learned the tactic from her father. 

“Fetch the centurion,” said Claudia, “and have him bring three men. We shall see about this factor.”

Dromio bowed and hastened away, returning with four men in the black plate armor, plumed helms, and purple cloaks of the Imperial Guard. Their leader was a grim-faced centurion, a mirrored shield upon his left arm and a broadsword at his belt. Tylas had been at New Kyre, had stood his ground against the Moroaica’s hordes of golden dead. 

He was also a Ghost, as was Claudia.

“Lady Claudia?” said Tylas, his voice a harsh growl. 

“We have a guest,” said Claudia, “and I want to make sure he is who he says that he is.” 

“He is in the courtyard, my lady,” said Dromio.

Claudia nodded and took a deep breath, clearing her mind and summoning arcane power for a spell. If this factor was a simple thief, she would see him off with a warning. Perhaps he could become a useful informant in the future. But if he was a Kindred assassin, or worse, a Silent Hunter, Claudia would kill him. 

Using her spells in combat had once terrified her, but her experiences in Caer Magia and New Kyre and against the Umbarians had hardened her. 

“Follow me,” said Claudia.

She strode from the entry hall and into the courtyard. The courtyard had been laid out in the fashion of an Istarish garden, with paths of white gravel winding past low bushes and trees. A man in a formal black coat and trousers and boots stood staring up at the mansion, a short sword and a leaf-shaped dagger sheathed at his belt. He was shorter than Claudia, and…

The man’s cold blue eyes met Claudia’s, and a shock of recognition went through her.

That was not a man.

Anger came after the recognition, followed by grief. 

For the first time since the day of the golden dead in New Kyre, Claudia looked upon Caina Amalas. Caina Amalas, who had helped Corvalis save Claudia from Ranarius. Caina Amalas, who had been right in Catekharon when Claudia had been wrong. Caina, who had outwitted and defeated Rhames in Caer Magia. 

Caina, whom her brother Corvalis had loved.

At the cost of his life. 

“Leave us,” said Claudia in a quiet voice. “I would speak with this guest alone.”

“My lady?” said Tylas. He didn’t recognize Caina. The woman had a genius for disguise.

“All is well,” said Claudia, which was a lie. “Leave us. I must speak with our guest alone.”

Tylas bowed and led Dromio and the Imperial Guards away, leaving Claudia alone with Caina.

Caina stepped closer. Her blue eyes seemed colder, deader than Claudia remembered. She had always been lean, but now her face looked almost gaunt, dark circles gathered beneath her eyes. Her black hair had been cut down to stubble, and she could spot the bit of makeup that gave Caina the illusion of a beard shadow.

For a moment they stared at each other in silence. 

“You cut your hair,” said Claudia at last.

Caina nodded. 

“It really doesn’t suit you,” said Claudia.  

“It gets hot in Istarinmul,” said Caina. “Helps with the heat. And disguises. You married Martin?”

“Yes,” said Claudia. “You weren’t invited to the wedding.”

Caina offered a faint shake of her head. “I would not have been able to attend.”

“How did you guess?” said Claudia. “Did you make a brilliant deduction from the dust on my boots? Or did you simply look at the ring upon my finger? However can I conceal my secrets from someone like you?”

More anger leaked into her voice than she would have liked. Caina was the Ghost circlemaster of Istarinmul, which meant Claudia was obliged to obey her. She knew this moment would come, and thought she had been prepared to face it. But one look at Caina and her dead eyes, and all the rage and grief came bubbling out. 

Caina, Corvalis, and the Sage Talekhris had walked into the rift of golden fire.

Only Caina had returned. 

She hadn’t even bothered to bring Corvalis’s body back. 

“It was hardly a secret,” said Caina. “All of Istarinmul is abuzz with rumors of the new Lord Ambassador and his young wife.” 

“Rumors and whispers,” said Claudia. “Your stock in trade, I suppose.” 

She could not fathom what Corvalis had seen in this woman. Yes, Caina was brilliant and brave. But Corvalis had been strong and brave, too. He had deserved better. He had deserved a woman that would love him and care for him. 

Not the woman that had led him to his death.

“You are angry,” said Caina. 

“Angry?” said Claudia. “Me? Whatever reason do I have to be angry with you?” 

“You must have known that I would come,” said Caina. “The message asked the Ghost circle to aid the new Lord Ambassador in his task.”

“I didn’t know if you were still alive,” said Claudia. “The Empire is in turmoil, and so is Istarinmul. But we heard the rumors. The Balarigar running amok and waging a war against the slavers. I wondered if it might be you.” 

“I have,” said Caina, “been busy.”

“Then you haven’t pushed too far and gotten yourself killed, I see,” said Claudia. 

“Not yet,” said Caina. 

They stood in silence for a moment, Claudia struggling to get her temper under control. She wanted to scream at Caina, to grab her collar and shake her, or to hit her over and over against it that cold mask cracked and Caina admitted she was sorry for getting Corvalis killed. Claudia dared not act on the impulse. For one thing, if she tried to hit Caina, the shorter woman would likely manhandle her like a petulant child. 

More importantly, Martin needed Caina’s help. The Padishah of Istarinmul had every reason to ally with the Umbarian Order against the Empire, even if the Padishah and his nobles did not yet realize it. 

“How are matters in the Empire?” said Caina at last.

Claudia raised an eyebrow. “You don’t know? You usually know everything.”

Caina grimaced. “Not this. The message I received about your arrival was the first and only message I have received. There are rumors, of course. Pyromancy and necromancy, the eastern third of the Empire in chaos…”

“Yes,” said Claudia.

“Yes to what?” said Caina.

“All of it. I suspect most of the rumors you have heard are true,” said Claudia. “Things are…not well within the Empire. When the Umbarians declared themselves openly, most of the magi in the east joined them at once. You hate the magi, I know, but…I suspect the Umbarians actually deserve your hate. They have found a way to use pyromancy without having it devour their sanity, which makes their battle magi fearsomely effective. They use necromancy extensively, and have raised hordes of undead to use as armies. I have seen them use oneiromancy to shatter the minds of their foes, and they can summon and bind elemental spirits.” She shook her head, taking a deep breath as the dark memories washed over her. “The first few months after the golden dead were…bad, very bad. Rasadda fell, and then Arzaxia. The Empire has no ports left on the Alqaarin Sea. The Vytaagi provinces have been overrun, and Artifel has been attacked three times. The first time…we feared the city would fall, that the Umbarians and their troops would sweep through the Disali provinces and then attack Malarae itself.”