Ghost in the Winds (Ghost Exile #9) by Jonathan Moeller Read Free Book Online Page A

disappeared from the city, and Erghulan had lost his army to the rebels. The Grand Wazir had made an enemy of every single one of the southern emirs, and knowing the man’s boorish personality, defeat would turn the rest of his allies against him. The smart thing to do would be to flee the city with as much money as he could carry. Wise nobles went into exile rather than waiting for the headman’s axe. 
    “Is he?” said Callatas. He beckoned to Kalgri. “Come.”
    He strode deeper into the Golden Palace, the palace’s great golden dome shining overhead. Kalgri followed him with a shrug. Perhaps she would get to kill the Grand Wazir himself before this was over. 
    Behind her, the surviving slaves and scribes fled for the gate, and Kalgri laughed again, earning another irritated glower from Callatas. 
    It didn’t matter. Let the slaves run.
    They could not outrun the carnage that Callatas would soon unleash.
     
    ###
     
    Callatas stalked into the Golden Palace, Kalgri trailing after him in silence, and made for the Court of Justice. 
    Everywhere he looked he saw the signs of chaos, of defeat, of a government about to fall. Immortals were supposed to guard every doorway in the Padishah’s palace, but he saw none. Though that might have been Callatas’s own fault, come to think of it. While in the grips of Kharnaces’s compulsion, he had ordered every remaining Immortal in the city to march with Erghulan. Several thousand Immortals and mercenary horsemen and the aid of Master Rhataban should have been enough to allow Erghulan to crush the rebels.
    It seemed that the Grand Wazir could do nothing right.
    Callatas swept down a long, pillared arcade and walked into the vast Court of Justice. It was a large courtyard, large enough to hold some of Istarinmul’s smaller gladiatorial arenas, the floor and walls covered with gleaming, snowy marble. Balconies encircled the Court, allowing observers to watch from above. At the far end of the courtyard rose a pyramidal dais, supporting a massive throne of red granite. According to ancient tradition, the Padishah of Istarinmul held court here to announce proclamations that touched upon the entire Istarish nation – declarations of war and peace, announcements of succession, arbitrating between warring emirs, and other such weighty matters. No one had sat here in years, not since the Padishah Nahas Tarshahzon and his sons had disappeared from the public eye.
    Or, more precisely, not since Callatas had removed Nahas Tarshahzon from the public eye. 
    He really should have taken Prince Kutal Sulaman Tarshahzon captive as well, but he hadn’t seen the need, knowing he could find the Prince whenever he needed.
    His teeth ground together. Another mistake of pride. Well, it didn’t matter now. He had dispatched the Kindred to take Kutal prisoner. Most likely Prince Kutal was dead or had fled into exile. 
    No matter. Callatas had no further need of him.
    A small knot of Istarish nobles and Immortals stood at the base of the dais, speaking in low voices. They looked up as Callatas approached, and he spotted the Grand Wazir in their midst. Erghulan Amirasku was in his late fifties, still strong and fit despite his age, with close-cropped, receding gray hair and a great beak of a nose. He wore plate armor, the armor spotted with blood and dust, and the other nobles and Immortals looked just as dusty and weary. 
    They had indeed faced battle…and it looked as if they had lost. 
    “Grand Master,” said Erghulan. He looked at Callatas, at Kalgri, and then back at Callatas, his hand twitching towards the hilt of his scimitar. “That…is the Red Huntress.” A murmur of fear went through the nobles. “She slaughtered a score of Immortals the last time she was here.”
    Kalgri smiled. “It’s so sweet that you remember.”
    “Enough,” said Callatas. “What happened?” 
    Erghulan hesitated. “You disappeared. You disappeared from the city, and I thought we would have the aid