Ghost in the Pact (4 page)

No, their best hope was to take a ship. A ship was at hand, and they just had to wait a few more hours. 

But she could not shake the feeling that waiting even a few moments was a colossal mistake. 

“Very well,” said Nasser, getting to his feet and collecting the Staff and the Seal. “Our rooms are upon the top floor, if you wish to rest.” He passed Caina a heavy iron key. “Though I expect you will more likely keep watch.” 

“Aye,” said Caina, staring at the fake spear in Nasser’s right hand. She saw the blaze of mighty sorcery within the Staff and the Seal, spells potent and complex beyond imagination. If she looked at it for too long, she started to get a headache. The vision of the valikarion was a powerful and complex thing, and Caina suspected she had a long way to go before she truly mastered it. “I’ll keep watch.”

“I’ll watch with her,” said Kylon, and Caina felt a little better. 

“Let us hope for a peaceful watch, then,” said Nasser, and departed with Laertes and Annarah, taking the stairs to the Desert Maiden’s roof.

Caina tossed the key to herself, once, nodded, and then stood up. “I suppose we had better go.”

Kylon stood, the aura of water sorcery surrounding him shifting a little as he did so. Caina had never thought she would call anything of sorcery beautiful, but the aura was a strange mixture of silver and blue, almost like the light striking a calm sea at sunrise, and sometimes she was fascinated by it. She could not have said why. 

It was Kylon’s aura. That made all the difference. 

Their rooms were on the top floor, with a window overlooking the street below and a pair of narrow beds. It looked little different than the room Caina had used a few months ago to flee Cassander when the Umbarian magus had sent his Kindred assassins and the Silent Hunters and the Adamant Guards after her. Caina paced to the window, pushed open the shutters, and looked at the street below as Kylon closed the door behind them. 

There was no sign of Morgant. 

“Maybe you were right,” said Caina.

“About what?” said Kylon, walking to her side. 

“Morgant,” said Caina. “Maybe it was a mistake to trust him so much.”

“He didn’t give you much choice,” said Kylon.

“I suppose not,” said Caina. She had needed Morgant’s help to find Annarah, just as he had needed her help to rescue Annarah from the Inferno. Then he had accompanied them to Pyramid Isle to find the relics, and then fought against the Umbarians once they returned to Istarinmul. Certainly Morgant was abrasive and unpleasant and she often wanted to hit him, but so far he had not betrayed them.

So far.

“At Drynemet,” said Kylon, frowning, “he told me that Nasser and Annarah had a secret between them, something no one else in the world knew, and he hadn’t been able to figure out what it was.” 

“That makes sense,” said Caina, though she wondered what it was. “Nasser and Annarah are the last two living Iramisians. And Callatas, I suppose, but he destroyed Iramis. Maybe…”

“They had an affair?” said Kylon.

Caina blinked, incredulous. “What? Annarah? And Nasser? She’s mourning for her husband, and you saw Nasser with the statue of his wife in the Desert of Candles.”

Kylon shook his head. “You’re right. That was a foolish thought. It was the sort of thing Morgant would have said.” He looked appalled. “I hope the man is not wearing off on me,”

Caina gave him an incredulous look, and then burst out laughing. 

“No,” she said. “No, you’re nothing like Morgant. You’re as good as he is in a fight, maybe better…”

“High praise,” said Kylon. 

“But other than that,” said Caina, “you’re nothing like Morgant.” She felt herself smile. “I wouldn’t want to be with Morgant. Just you.”

Kylon smiled back at her, and Caina felt something squeeze her heart. 

It had been a long time since she had felt like this. The Moroaica had killed Corvalis, and his death had ripped Caina apart. In the aftermath Caina had almost destroyed herself. She had not turned to drink (except for her first night in Istarinmul), but she had taken greater and greater risks in her battle against Callatas and his wraithblood, risks that almost certainly would have led to her death. It had taken Claudia to point that out, and Caina had been more careful after that. 

Then Kylon of House Kardamnos had walked back into her life, and she had lost her heart to him. 

“You know,” said Caina. “That valikon.”

“What about it?” said Kylon. 

“The Emissary of the Living Flame gave it to me at Silent Ash Temple,” said Caina. “She said that I was its custodian, that I would know who I should give it to. I just…never thought it would be you. I never thought I would see you again, and then…there you were.”

“You were surprised?” said Kylon. “I was just as surprised.”

They stood in silence for a little while. 

“Have you ever thought,” said Caina, “what we might do after?”

“After?” said Kylon. 

“After this,” said Caina. “If we’re successful. If we stop Callatas, maybe even kill him. What would we do then?”

Kylon shrugged. “I have not given it any thought. I have been living day to day since…”

Caina nodded. She knew what he meant. He had given no thought to the future since Kalgri had murdered Thalastre and her unborn child. 

“Then we met again, and your purpose seemed good to me, so here I am,” said Kylon. “As to what happens if we are victorious…no, I have not given it any thought.” 

“I did,” said Caina in a soft voice. “Once. Before…the day of the golden dead, before I was exiled here. I thought I would stop doing this kind of thing. That I would settle down in Malarae with Corvalis, run the House of Kularus and sell coffee. I never thought I would end up here.”

“Neither did I,” said Kylon, “but we haven’t ended yet, either of us.”

“Yes, you’re right,” said Caina. “Forgive me. I am rambling.” 

“The waiting is the hardest part,” said Kylon.

“Waiting for what?” said Caina.

“The battle,” said Kylon. “Waiting for a battle that you know you cannot avoid.”

“I suppose,” said Caina. “And wondering where the hell Morgant went.” She rubbed her face, blinking. “Still, you’re right. There’s nothing to do but wait.” She laughed a little. “I wish I had brought a book to read. Or I could try to roll some dice in the common room.”

“You’d start that riot we keep worrying about,” said Kylon.

“Aye,” said Caina. “We had best keep watch, then. It’s nothing we haven’t done before.”

They stood in silence for a moment, watching the deserted street.

“I do know what I would do, if we were victorious,” said Kylon. 

Caina looked up at him. “Oh? What’s that?” 

In answer he put his hands upon her shoulders, turned her around, and kissed her. 

It caught her off guard, but then her arms coiled around his back, his hands settling upon her hips. When they broke apart Caina staggered a little, out of breath. Her heart had sped up, and she realized that in the chaos of the last few days they had not lain together since that night at the Circus of Marvels and Wonders. 

Yes. It was definitely time to rectify that. 

“You know,” said Caina, stepping back. She shrugged out of her cloak and leather armor, letting them fall to the floor. “As long as we’re waiting anyway, we…”

Kylon pulled her close and kissed her again. With the leather armor out of the way, his hand went under her shirt, sliding up her back and side…

The door swung open.

Kylon whirled, yanking the valikon from its sheath in a flash of silvery metal. Caina drew the ghostsilver dagger from her belt, focusing on the figure standing in the door, a gaunt man in a black coat with a stark white shirt.

“Ah, good,” said Morgant, stepping into the room. “I arrived before you got started.” 

“Morgant,” said Caina. A wave of frustrated lust and blazing anger boiled through her. “What the hell are you doing?” 

“Not interrupting, plainly,” said Morgant.

If he had been standing closer, she might have hit him then and there.

“If this is one of your jokes,” said Kylon, “no one is laughing.” 

“No,” said Morgant. “No, there’s nothing funny about what I’m going to tell you.” 

“What is it?” said Caina. 

“We have a mutual friend who is in trouble,” said Morgant, “and he needs your help.”

“Stop indulging your flair for the dramatic,” said Kylon, “and say your mind plainly.” 

“I just did,” said Morgant. “Better get dressed. He’s just down the hall, actually. Convenient coincidence, that.” 

Chapter 3: The Blood Is The Key

Caina followed Morgant down the hallway. The ghostsilver dagger was still in her hand. Kylon had sheathed the valikon, but she had seen how quickly he could draw the weapon. If Morgant was leading them into a trap, he would regret it quickly.

But was Morgant leading them into a trap? 

If he had wanted to kill her, he had passed dozens of opportunities in the last six months. For that matter, if Morgant wanted to kill her, he would do it competently. Certainly he would not act so suspiciously. 

So what was he up to? 

“Here we are,” said Morgant, stopping at a door. 

“You first,” said Kylon.

Morgant grinned. “Sensible. I approve, Kyracian.” 

Without hesitation he opened the door and stepped inside. Caina frowned, but followed him. The room beyond was larger than she expected, furnished with a pair of low round tables ringed with cushions in Istarish style, the shutters open to allow the air and sunlight inside. 

The poet Sulaman and his bodyguard Mazyan were inside.

Caina had not seen Sulaman since she had departed Istarinmul for Rumarah and then Pyramid Isle. The poet had helped her several times over the last two years, giving her advice and pointing her in the right direction from time to time. He also apparently had some ability to see the future, an arcane power passed in his blood. Sulaman had predicted the certainty of her death if she had gone to Pyramid Isle…and his prediction had, in a roundabout way, come true. 

“See?” said Morgant, striding into the room. “I told you.”

Sulaman stood, staring at Caina, his expression astonished. It was hard to determine his age. He was tall and thin, with a close-cropped, graying beard, and he could have been anywhere from thirty-five to fifty-five. He wore a simple brown robe and turban, and Caina noted the dust on his boots and the hem of his robe.

He had come here in a hurry. As if running for his life. 

“How?” said Sulaman, his voice awed. “You cannot be alive, Balarigar. I saw your death…”

“I cannot perceive her,” said Mazyan, stepping past Sulaman, his expression thunderous. “It as if she is not here.” 

“Nor can I,” said Sulaman. “My vision does not perceive her.” 

Caina looked at Sulaman, at Morgant, and back at Sulaman. Something huge and vast started to stir in the depths of her mind, a slow, dawning realization. Sulaman must have known Morgant, hadn’t he? He had told Caina where to find him. Sulaman had vouched for Nasser to Caina. For that matter, Sulaman had been in the Vale of Fallen Stars when she had gone south to the Inferno, conferring with Tanzir and the emirs who would become the rebels now marching on Istarinmul. 

The entire time Caina had been in Istarinmul, Sulaman had been there, quietly in the background, quietly putting clues in her path, quietly working alongside the enemies of Callatas. What had Nasser said? Where was the best place to hide something?

In plain sight…and she started to realize that Sulaman had been hiding in plain sight for a long, long time. 

A shout jerked Caina out of her stunned realization. 

“This is a trap!” said Mazyan, drawing the scimitar from his belt.

Kylon shoved past Caina, putting her behind him, the valikon in his hand. 

“The assassin has betrayed us!” said Mazyan.

“What?” said Morgant. “No, you idiot, I…” 

Kylon pointed the valikon at Mazyan. “That man is possessed.” 

In answer, Mazyan surged forward, faster than Caina would have thought, the scimitar blurring in his hand. 

###

The Surge, the oracle of the Kyracian people, had given Kylon the ability to sense the presence of the nagataaru, warning him that the malevolent spirits would seep through the cracks in the walls between the mortal world and the netherworld. It had let him sense the Huntress…but it not let him save Thalastre, and the Surge had given him no warning of Kalgri’s attack or Cassander’s and Rolukhan’s plot to keep New Kyre out of the war between the Emperor and the Order. Kylon got angry when he thought about that, so angry that he tried not to dwell upon the Surge.

But the Surge’s gift had given Kylon the ability to sense spirits, and right now he sensed a spirit within the short bearded man. Kylon wasn’t sure what kind of spirit. Some kind of elemental? Perhaps an ifrit spirit like the Sifter? 

If Morgant had thought to lure them to their deaths, he would regret it sorely.

The short man charged, and Kylon met his attack, drawing on the sorcery of air to augment his speed. The valikon blurred back and forth in his hand, and he deflected three of the bearded man’s swings. His foe stepped back, and Kylon went on the attack. The bearded man was fast, serpent-fast, and the scimitar leapt and danced like a living thing in his hand. 

Yet he retreated, and as he stepped back, he held out his empty left hand.

The air rippled, and a sword of dark, smokeless fire appeared in his grasp, even as his eyes blazed with the same fire.

Kylon had seen fire like that before in the eyes of Samnirdamnus, the djinni who had taken an interest in Caina…and who had arranged for Kylon to save her life. 

“Stop!” said Caina, stepping between them. “Stop, both of you!” 

###

Caina looked back and forth between Kylon and Mazyan. Both men still had their swords raised, but they had stopped attacking. Mazyan still held that strange sword of smokeless fire, his eyes glowing. The blade reminded Caina of the sword of force that Kalgri could call, but it seemed somehow calmer and less malevolent.