Free Jonathan Moeller - The Ghosts 07 - Ghost in the Ashes by Jonathan Moeller Page A

Vale of Fallen Stars! He who is Captain of the Southern Towers! He who is Lord Ambassador to the Empire of Nighmar, and high in the favor the Most Divine Padishah! Tanzir Shahan comes!”
    Caina remembered Rezir’s herald shouting those words in the Great Market moments before the fighting began.
    The similarities were eerie, and made her skin crawl.
    She looked to the top of the gangplank as Tanzir Shahan himself appeared.
    And just like that, the similarities stopped.
    Rezir had been a warrior, tall and strong and hard with muscle. He had almost killed Caina, had almost strangled her to death one-handed in front of Andromache and Kylon. He had come within a hair’s breadth of seizing Marsis.
    Tanzir Shahan Lord Ambassador of the Padishah, was nothing like his brother. 
    He was short and fat, at least two hundred and fifty pounds, a thick black beard masking his double chin. Unlike Rezir, he wore elaborate ceremonial robes of red and gold instead of armor, possibly because no armor would fit him. A jeweled turban rested askew atop his head, and his nervous black eyes darted back and forth in his face. He was younger than Corvalis, no more than twenty-three or twenty-four. 
    He hesitated atop the gangplank, and a long, awkward silence fell over the quay. 
    Halfdan muttered something, and Lord Titus cleared his throat and stepped forward. 
    “Emir Tanzir,” said Titus in High Nighmarian, “I am Titus, Lord of House Iconias and an emissary of our Emperor. In the name of the Emperor Alexius Naerius of Nighmar, I greet…”
    Tanzir took a deep breath and started forward. 
    Then his foot slipped, and to Caina’s horror Tanzir tumbled down the gangplank, coming to a hard landing on the stone quay. She stepped forward, expecting to see a Kindred assassin atop the ship, hands extended from a shove.
    But the Istarish soldiers atop the ship gaped at Tanzir, and Caina realized the emir had simply slipped. 
    For a moment no one moved.
    Then Tanzir sat up with a groan, and the khalmir barked a command. Two of the Immortals stooped and helped the sweating emir to his feet. Titus blinked, nodded to himself, and stepped forward.
    “My lord emir,” he said in High Nighmarian, “are you injured?”
    “I…I am well, I think,” said Tanzir in the same language. His voice quivered with nervousness. “Yes. I am well. These robes. Very long. I tripped. You understand.”
    “Ah…yes,” said Titus. “On behalf of the Emperor of Nighmar, I bid you welcome to Malarae. If you will permit, it will be my honor to escort you to the residence of the Padishah’s Lord Ambassador.” 
    “Ah,” said Tanzir. “Yes. That is a…good idea, yes. To the residence. Um.” He looked back at the ship. “Ah…the rest of my party. We should wait for them.”
    “Of course,” said Titus with smooth aplomb, and the rest of Tanzir’s men began to make their way down the gangplank. 
    Caina felt a sudden icy tingle against her skin, the muscles of her stomach clenching. 
    The presence of sorcery. 
    Ever since Maglarion had wounded her all those years ago, she had gained the ability to sense the presence of sorcery. The ability had become sharper as she grew older, and now she could often distinguish the degree and intensity of spells. 
    A man of about forty descended the gangplank, his gold-trimmed white robes gathered in one hand. He had a stern, hard face, with short black hair and a close-cropped black beard. The robed man reminded Caina of Rezir more than Tanzir did. Yet the robed man was not an emir or a soldier, but an Alchemist, a brother of Istarinmul’s College of Alchemists. The Padishah ruled in Istarinmul…but the foundations of his power rested upon the sorcerous knowledge of the Master Alchemists. 
    Perhaps Tanzir had been sent as a figurehead, and this Alchemist would do the real negotiating.
    Yet an oddity caught Caina’s attention. 
    She had not seen many Alchemists, but she knew the patterns of their robes. A Master