Ghost in the Hunt (23 page)

Many of the houses bore skulls over their doorway, and dozens of skulls adorned the walls of the stone hall.

“That, my lord ambassador,” said Nasser, “is the village of Drynemet.”

Martin grunted. “More demon-worshippers?”

“Not unless they have conquered the village within the last few weeks,” said Nasser. “Drynemet lies on the final stage of the road to Silent Ash Temple. The villagers here make their living from farming and selling goods to pilgrims on their way to visit the Emissary’s altar.”

“And raiding, I expect,” said Claudia, looking at the village’s skulls with suspicion. 

“Well.” Nasser turned his brilliant smile toward her. “We are in the Kaltari Highlands, my lady.” He turned back to Martin. “My lord, if I may presume to offer advice, I suggest we stop here for the night. Your Imperial Guards, while valiant and doughty, would benefit from some rest and hot food, and we can purchase supplies for the final leg of the journey.” He glanced at Caina. “And we can gather any local news. Scout the land, as it were.”

“Assuming the locals do not knife us in our sleep,” said Claudia. 

“I think that unlikely,” said Nasser. 

“When one makes a living by selling goods to pilgrims,” said Caina, “murdering guests is bad for business.”

“This is so,” said Nasser. “Additionally, the current headman of Drynemet is a former business associate of mine.”

“Trustworthy?” said Martin.

“Not particularly,” said Nasser, “but he is a reliable man, and will not harm us without good reason.”

“Very well,” said Martin. “Tylas, you had better run up the banner. Master Nasser, Master Ciaran, if you will accompany me.”

For a moment all was organized chaos as Tylas brought up the eagle banner of the Empire and chose Imperial Guards to accompany Martin. At last Martin started forward, one Guard holding the banner, six more screening Martin. Caina and Nasser followed Martin, and Laertes followed Nasser. He had not been invited, but no one stopped him.  

A short time later they came to the stockade’s gate. Four Kaltari warriors stood upon the rampart, glaring down at them.

“Aye, travelers?” called one of the warriors in Istarish with a thick Kaltari accent, a skull swinging from his belt. “What is your business here?” 

“I am Martin of House Dorius, the Emperor’s Lord Ambassador to the Padishah of Istarinmul,” said Martin. “I am traveling on pilgrimage to the altar of Silent Ash Temple, and wish to rest and purchase supplies at your village.” 

“An Imperial lord making a pilgrimage?” said the Kaltari warrior. “A most peculiar thing.” 

“But not unknown, I assume,” said Martin. “Is it customary to keep your gates closed to travelers?”

“It is not,” said the warrior, “but the demon-worshippers have been stirred up. Usually they keep to their high altars, but of late they’ve been attacking villages. They think the end of the world is coming.”

“We had to fight our way through one such group on our way here,” said Martin. 

“You could be demon-worshippers in disguise,” said the warrior.

“My lord, if I may?” said Nasser. Martin nodded, and Nasser stepped closer to the wall, his Anshani robes rippling in the cool breeze. “I suggest, noble warrior, that you fetch your headman and tell him that an old friend has come calling.”

The warrior frowned. “Which old friend?” 

“A friend from the seat of the Shahenshah,” said Nasser, and Laertes gave a quiet snort. “He shall understand what it means, I promise you.” 

The warrior disappeared into the stockade, and a few moments later the gates swung open. A towering giant of a Kaltari warrior walked out, clad in leather and mail, the hilt of an enormous greatsword rising over his right shoulder, two skulls hanging from his belt. There were scars on his hard face and massive hands, and he moved with the efficient movements of a veteran killer.

Caina recognized him at once. His name was Strabane, and he had once been a gladiator, fighting in the pits and arenas of Istarinmul for gold and glory. After killing or crippling one too many opponents, he had been forced out of the games and had gone into mercenary work and occasional thieving. He had been part of the crew Nasser had hired to help rob Grand Master Callatas’s laboratory. After the successful heist, Strabane had prudently left Istarinmul rather than risk facing the Grand Master’s wrath. 

Strabane stopped, looked from Martin to Nasser and Caina, and then barked a harsh laugh. 

“I’ll be damned, Nasser,” said Strabane. “I expected you turn up someday. But traveling with an Imperial lord and his bodyguards is a surprise.” 

Nasser smiled and spread his hands. “I have found that surprise is the spice of life.”

Strabane snorted. “If that is so, you overspice the meat.” He looked up at Martin. “Are you actually the Emperor’s Lord Ambassador, or is this another one of Nasser’s games?”

Claudia bristled, but Martin laughed. “Aye, I am the Emperor’s Lord Ambassador to Padishah. To the best of my knowledge, anyway.”

The big warrior inclined his head in a shallow bow. “I am Strabane, headman of Drynemet, and I welcome you. Can your men behave themselves inside my walls?”

“Of course,” said Martin.

“Then they are welcome to enter and purchase supplies,” said Strabane. 

“I suspect,” said Nasser, “that you will wish to speak in private with Lord Martin.” He smiled and at gestured at Caina. “And with his loyal friends, of course.”

Strabane snorted. “Indeed. Follow me.”

###

Claudia was not sure what to make of the Kaltari.

They seemed fierce and merciless fighters, prone to warring with each other at the slightest cause. On the other hand, all the villages they had seen so far had been prosperous, and save for Aiovost’s cultists, they had not been attacked since entering the Highlands. Nor did she see any slaves among the Kaltari. There was no sign of the wretched poverty and squalor that was so common in Istarinmul. If not for the different trees and the warmer weather, Drynemet would have seemed little different than the villages of Caeria Ulterior or Caeria Superior.

Certainly the Kaltari had the same love of skulls. Skulls stared from the doorways of every house and hall, and many warriors wore skulls dangling from their belts, no doubt the cherished trophies of vanquished foes. Grisly trophies, to be sure, but Claudia had seen worse things in Istarinmul.

Strabane led them to a broad stone terrace behind the headman’s hall. The terrace joined to the outer wall, and Claudia edged forward and saw that the terrace terminated in a cliff that fell to a rocky gully below. If she lost her balance and fell, she would not stop until the boulders terminated her descent two hundred feet below.

She made sure to stay well away from the edge.

“A fine view, Strabane,” said Nasser, gazing into the Highlands. Claudia had to admit that he was right about that. Through the mists she saw the Highlands rising higher into rocky hills and even low mountains. Strabane’s bondsmen appeared with platters of bread and sausage and goat cheese. 

“Aye,” said Strabane, turning to his bondsmen. “Leave us, and see to it we are not disturbed.” The servants bowed and departed. “We made so much money from the last enterprise. I decided to invest in some land.” He barked a laugh and took a cup of wine. “To think when I was a boy I wanted nothing more than to leave the Highlands forever.”

“Age mellows a man,” said Nasser. 

“And to bold new enterprises,” said Strabane. He grinned, his scars making the expression terrifying. “Though there’s fighting enough.”

“New enterprises?” said Caina. 

“You ought to join me, Ciaran,” said Strabane. “I could use a clever man.”

Despite herself, Claudia was impressed at the effectiveness of Caina’s disguise. Strabane was clearly a man who enjoyed female companionship, and she had caught him admiring her a few times. It would have been flattering, had she not been married. And she had spotted Strabane sharing looks with a half-dozen women on his way into the headman’s hall. Claudia suspected Strabane was a man who enjoyed a great deal of variety in his female companionship. Yet there was no hint that he even suspected that Caina was a woman. Claudia could not have pulled off such an impersonation, nor maintained it over such a long stretch of time. 

“To do what?” said Caina, sipping at the wine. 

“Nasser hired me,” said Strabane, “to attack slaver caravans.”

“Did he, now,” said Caina, looking at the master thief.

“It is a ripe field for an enterprising bandit,” said Nasser with his smooth smile. “Your adventures have driven up the price of slaves to prohibitive levels. There is simply more demand for labor than the cowled masters can meet. So to keep up with demand, the Slavers’ Brotherhood has been buying slaves from Anshan and shipping them north.”

“And when they do,” said Caina, “you descend to the Trabazon Steppes, raid the caravans, kill the slavers, and carry off the slaves.”

Strabane’s hard smile widened. “A lucrative business. The slavers carry money and other valuables. Their horses and mules are also worth coin. The slaves themselves we free. Some run back to Anshan or their homeland. Quite a few join us, and we give them sword and shield. We’re…”

“You’re building an army,” said Martin. 

Strabane inclined his head. “Aye.” He paused. “Though not to wage war upon the Empire.”

“Why, then?” said Caina, looking from Nasser to Strabane and back again. “Are you planning to overthrow the Padishah? Is that your great secret, Nasser?”

Claudia looked at them, stunned. For a moment she felt a burst of sheer fury at Caina. Right now the Empire needed Istarinmul to stay out of the war against the Umbarians, and Caina was plotting with a man who wanted to overthrow the government of Istarinmul? Then Claudia’s brain caught up to her. If Nasser wound up in control of Istarinmul, he would likely prove far friendlier to the Empire than Nahas Tarshahzon and Erghulan Amirasku.

“Not at all,” said Nasser.

Strabane snorted. “We don’t have to. Istarinmul is going to collapse on its own.”

“The Padishah is old and is not in the best of health,” said Nasser. “His son and heir disappeared soon after the war with the Empire ended. You’ve heard the rumors, my lord Martin, that the Padishah actually died several years ago, and that Callatas and Erghulan concealed his death and continued to rule his realm in his name?” Martin frowned and nodded. “Well, either the Padishah will die of old age and illness, or the truth will come out. What then? Who will take the Padishah’s throne?”

“If history and human nature are any guide,” said Claudia, “the strongest noble with the largest army.”

“Or Anshan might conquer Istarinmul anew and make it into a satrapy,” said Caina.

“Perhaps even the Empire itself,” admitted Martin, “if the men can be spared and an ambitious noble convinces the Emperor of the wisdom of his plan.” 

“Before Istarinmul’s new ruler is established,” said Nasser, “there will be a time of chaos. That time of chaos might well be our best chance to stop Callatas’s plans permanently. Right now we must act in secret, but if the Padishah dies and civil war breaks out, we can act openly to destroy Callatas’s wraithblood laboratories and stop his Apotheosis.” 

“A very bold plan, Master Nasser,” said Martin. “I am not sure I approve.”

Nasser shrugged. “I do not plot for the Padishah’s death or overthrow. I merely prepare for his death, for all men must die, no matter how powerful.” 

“But right now,” said Caina, “we have more immediate problems. We can do nothing to alter the fate of Istarinmul if we are first killed.” 

“You’ve brought trouble upon my doorstep, haven’t you?” said Strabane.

“I fear so,” said Nasser. “Ciaran, if you would?”

Caina related everything that had happened from the Red Huntress’s attack onward. Claudia was amused at the parts Caina left out. Caina did not mention that she was a Ghost, and no doubt Strabane assumed that “Master Ciaran” was a clever master thief like Nasser. Nor did she mention that Claudia and Martin were also Ghosts. 

“The Huntress,” muttered Strabane. “A dark legend. But I believe you, Ciaran. Have we not seen wonders and horrors together? You are sure that she is possessed by a nagataaru?”

“Entirely,” said Caina. “You remembered the burning sword conjured by the nagataaru within Tarqaz? The Huntress did the same thing.”

“We dealt with him,” said Strabane. “It was not easy, but we defeated him.”

“Tarqaz was already dead,” said Caina. “The Huntress cooperates with her nagataaru, a creature called the Voice. That makes her tremendously dangerous.”

“Indeed,” said Martin. “You have the look of a man who has known war, master headman. I will say to you that I have never seen a fighter as deadly as the Huntress. It is only by the valor of my Imperial Guard and my friends that I escaped with my life.”

“Damned sorcerers,” muttered Strabane. “Calling up devils from the netherworld? Can’t they leave well enough alone?”

“Apparently not,” said Caina, voice dry. “But there is a way to kill her. The Emissary at Silent Ash Temple is the custodian of an ancient Iramisian weapon called a valikon. If we obtain the valikon, we can use it to slay the Huntress.”

“I hope you are right,” said Strabane. “Pilgrims often go to Silent Ash Temple to burn sacrifices to the Living Flame, but not many are ever bold enough to question the Emissary. Anyone can approach her, aye…but few like her answers. Her reputation is evil, for it is said her predications always come true, no matter how grim.” He growled a harsh laugh. “Few men like to know how they will die.” 

“Will you assist us?” said Nasser. “I can pay you, of course.”

“Of course,” said Strabane. “Lord Martin and his men can lodge here as our guests tonight. I shall hold a feast for you in my hall. My warriors always want an excuse to get drunk. Tomorrow you can depart with fresh supplies, and I will guide you to the gates of Silent Ash Temple myself.”

“Indeed?” said Martin. “That is generous.”

“Generosity has naught to do with it,” said Strabane. “If a devil-possessed madwoman is on the loose, a man needs powerful allies. Nasser and Ciaran led us into the netherworld and out again. I advise you to follow their counsel. They are your best chance to escape this alive.”