Ghost in the Inferno (Ghost Exile #5) by Jonathan Moeller Page B
Authors: Jonathan Moeller
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a nagataaru.
If one of Callatas’s disciples came for her, Caina would need the weapon. The Emissary had appointed Caina the valikon’s custodian, and Kylon would need it to kill Rolukhan and the nagataaru within his flesh.
She wrapped the valikon in an old cloak, tucking it under one arm to complete her disguise. Now she looked like a young woman going about her errands for the morning, a bundle of laundry in the crook of her arm. Hopefully the various hunters seeking the Balarigar and the bounty of two million bezants would never dream that the Balarigar was in fact a young woman with a bundle of laundry.
Caina left the room, locked the door behind her, and descended the stairs to the dusty alley. A half-hour’s walk would take her from the Old Quarter to the Cyrican Quarter, and then…
She froze.
Something gleamed in the dust at the foot of the stairs.
Caina stooped and brushed away the dirt, revealing a slender knife.
It was a short knife, and looked a great deal like the throwing knives she used on a regular basis. Yet the blade was curved, which would make it useless as a missile weapon, and it was far too short and fragile to be useful in a fight. Her next thought was that it was a fisherman’s scaling knife, but it was too short. A skinning knife, then? It looked like a skinning knife, but the blade was too thin and the handle too narrow. If someone tried to skin a cow or a donkey with it, the blade would snap off.
People, though, had thinner skins than animals.
Caina shuddered as she realized the knife’s ideal purpose. A Teskilati torturer might find such a knife useful.
So what was it doing outside the door of her safe house?
The weapon looked new. There were no nicks upon the blade, no scratches, no rust. Given how Istarinmul’s populace tended to immediately steal anything left in public, Caina was surprised that it was still here. The steel would fetch a few coins. Caina saw no trace of any poison upon the blade. She held a hand a few inches from the weapon, but felt no aura of sorcery around it.
There was nothing. No spells, no poison, no signs of use or anything at all suspicious. Just a curved knife lying in the dust.
A curved knife lying in the dust outside of her safe house.
Caina hated coincidences. They were almost always signs of an underlying pattern that she had failed to see.
A brief search through the rest of the alley failed to turn up anything useful. Most of the dust had been trampled to rock-like hardness, and what little loose dust remained bore hundreds of footprints. At last she sighed, tucked the little knife away with the valikon, and left the alley.
She had work to do, and she could not waste time jumping at shadows.
On the other hand, the shadows concealed a lot of people who wanted to kill her.
No one disturbed her as she joined the crowds upon the streets and made her way to the Cyrican Quarter.
Chapter 4: Old Friends
A short time later Caina came to the Inn of the Crescent Moon.
It was one of the Cyrican Quarter’s nicer inns, cheap enough that even merchants of middling prosperity could stay here, yet expensive enough to keep out wandering peddlers, caravan guards, and the poorer sort of mercenaries. It stood five stories tall, with the usual whitewashed walls and arched windows of Istarish architecture, though mosaics of gazelles and lions ornamented the doorframes. A wide courtyard surrounded the inn, ringed by a low stone wall.
A stray memory flickered through Caina’s mind. Here she had pretended to be a circus girl named Ciara, her skills with throwing knives winning her a place among Master Cronmer’s Traveling Circus Of Wonders And Marvels. She had donned a skimpy costume of red silk and thrown knives as the crowd roared in approval, and Caina had used that disguise to enter the palace of the cowled master Ulvan, freeing his slaves and destroying his reputation in the process.
The thought cheered her. She had freed
If one of Callatas’s disciples came for her, Caina would need the weapon. The Emissary had appointed Caina the valikon’s custodian, and Kylon would need it to kill Rolukhan and the nagataaru within his flesh.
She wrapped the valikon in an old cloak, tucking it under one arm to complete her disguise. Now she looked like a young woman going about her errands for the morning, a bundle of laundry in the crook of her arm. Hopefully the various hunters seeking the Balarigar and the bounty of two million bezants would never dream that the Balarigar was in fact a young woman with a bundle of laundry.
Caina left the room, locked the door behind her, and descended the stairs to the dusty alley. A half-hour’s walk would take her from the Old Quarter to the Cyrican Quarter, and then…
She froze.
Something gleamed in the dust at the foot of the stairs.
Caina stooped and brushed away the dirt, revealing a slender knife.
It was a short knife, and looked a great deal like the throwing knives she used on a regular basis. Yet the blade was curved, which would make it useless as a missile weapon, and it was far too short and fragile to be useful in a fight. Her next thought was that it was a fisherman’s scaling knife, but it was too short. A skinning knife, then? It looked like a skinning knife, but the blade was too thin and the handle too narrow. If someone tried to skin a cow or a donkey with it, the blade would snap off.
People, though, had thinner skins than animals.
Caina shuddered as she realized the knife’s ideal purpose. A Teskilati torturer might find such a knife useful.
So what was it doing outside the door of her safe house?
The weapon looked new. There were no nicks upon the blade, no scratches, no rust. Given how Istarinmul’s populace tended to immediately steal anything left in public, Caina was surprised that it was still here. The steel would fetch a few coins. Caina saw no trace of any poison upon the blade. She held a hand a few inches from the weapon, but felt no aura of sorcery around it.
There was nothing. No spells, no poison, no signs of use or anything at all suspicious. Just a curved knife lying in the dust.
A curved knife lying in the dust outside of her safe house.
Caina hated coincidences. They were almost always signs of an underlying pattern that she had failed to see.
A brief search through the rest of the alley failed to turn up anything useful. Most of the dust had been trampled to rock-like hardness, and what little loose dust remained bore hundreds of footprints. At last she sighed, tucked the little knife away with the valikon, and left the alley.
She had work to do, and she could not waste time jumping at shadows.
On the other hand, the shadows concealed a lot of people who wanted to kill her.
No one disturbed her as she joined the crowds upon the streets and made her way to the Cyrican Quarter.
Chapter 4: Old Friends
A short time later Caina came to the Inn of the Crescent Moon.
It was one of the Cyrican Quarter’s nicer inns, cheap enough that even merchants of middling prosperity could stay here, yet expensive enough to keep out wandering peddlers, caravan guards, and the poorer sort of mercenaries. It stood five stories tall, with the usual whitewashed walls and arched windows of Istarish architecture, though mosaics of gazelles and lions ornamented the doorframes. A wide courtyard surrounded the inn, ringed by a low stone wall.
A stray memory flickered through Caina’s mind. Here she had pretended to be a circus girl named Ciara, her skills with throwing knives winning her a place among Master Cronmer’s Traveling Circus Of Wonders And Marvels. She had donned a skimpy costume of red silk and thrown knives as the crowd roared in approval, and Caina had used that disguise to enter the palace of the cowled master Ulvan, freeing his slaves and destroying his reputation in the process.
The thought cheered her. She had freed
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