Ghost in the Inferno (Ghost Exile #5) Page 22

“We asked the Ghosts for aid,” said Annarah, “but they could not spare it. With the destruction of Caer Magia and the fall of the Fourth Empire, the Magisterium split into civil war. Has the civil war of the magi ended? Could the Ghosts aid us against Callatas?”

  “Aye,” said Caina, wondering how Annarah would react to the truth, “but Caer Magia fell a very long time ago.”

  “Long ago?” said Annarah. “How…” Her voice trailed off, and she turned back to Morgant. “You do not look much older, but your sense…it is older, far older. How…how long has it been, Morgant?”

  “One hundred and fifty years,” said Morgant. He looked grimmer than usual, the lines on his gaunt face deeper.

  Annarah raised a single hand to her mouth. “By the Living Flame of the Divine. A century and a half?”

  “He tells it truly,” said Caina. “It has been that long.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Annarah. “I’m so sorry for that.”

  Caina blinked. She would have expected anger from Annarah, or perhaps denial and disbelief. Not contrition.

  “For what?” said Morgant.

  “For forcing you to do this,” said Annarah. “To spend a hundred and fifty years trying to rescue me. By the Living Flame of the Divine, Morgant…no one was meant to bear such a burden over so long a time. No one. I am sorry I made you do this.”

  Morgant scoffed. “I keep my word. The cost of doing so is immaterial.” He grinned his wolfish smile at her. “I was hired to kill you, so it seems only fair, would you not say?”

  “What…what has happened since?” said Annarah. “A hundred and fifty years. The world must have changed so much since.”

  “Oh, less than you might think,” said Morgant. “I…”

  “We have to go,” said Caina. “Right now.” Both the loremaster and the assassin looked at her. “Those nagataaru will be back, and they’ll bring friends. The valikon will not scare them off forever.”

  “You are right,” said Annarah. “We must flee.” She turned to the ring of glowing pyrikon spirits. “Disperse, my friends, and thank you for your aid.” She gestured, and the balls of white began to drift away from her. “Which way to the gate?”

  “This way,” said Caina, pointing at the gateway in the outer colonnade. “This is your sanctuary. I think you should be able to dissolve…”

  The voice thundered out of the sky.

  It was not a voice, not really. Caina heard it inside her skull, not with her ears.

  Despair could not speak with words. Death did not have a voice. Loss and agony could not make orations.

  But if they could, they would sound like the voice that exploded inside of Caina’s head.

  BALARIGAR.

  “What was that?” said Morgant, raising the valikon.

  Annarah looked around, her pyrikon unfolding into a staff once more. One of the balls of light started to float towards Caina.

  DO YOU THINK TO DEFY ME? THE THREADS OF DESTINY WRAP THEMSELVES TIGHTER ABOUT YOU, AND SOON THEY SHALL STRANGLE THE THREAD OF YOUR TROUBLESOME LIFE.

  “The Great Nagataaru,” breathed Annarah. “Their prince and lord. His attention has turned upon us.”

  “Actually, he’s talking to me,” said Caina.

  Annarah stared at her in astonishment. “Kotuluk Iblis talks to you?”

  “What can I say?” said Caina, scanning the sky. “I’m good at making friends.”

  Morgant snorted. “There is an understatement.”

  YOUR MOCKERY WILL NOT SAVE YOU, NOR WILL IT SAVE YOUR WORLD.

  The sky beyond the towers of Silent Ash Temple darkened. Had she stood in the mortal world, Caina would have thought she witnessed the approach of a storm. Here in the netherworld, she knew what a darkening sky meant.

  The nagataaru were coming for her.

  Thousands upon thousands of nagataaru were coming for her, for Annarah, and for Morgant, so many nagataaru that they would blot out the sky of the netherworld like a horde of locusts.

  “Run!” shouted Caina, spinning for the gate, some of the balls of light drifting in her wake. Annarah and Morgant sprinted after her. They tore through the courtyard and into the terrace, the sky darkening further.

  RUN IF YOU WILL. THE OUTCOME SHALL NOT CHANGE. THE FATE OF YOUR WORLD SHALL NOT CHANGE.

  Caina reached the edge of the terrace and skidded to a stop. Gravity did not quite work the same way in the netherworld as it did in the mortal world, but she still did not want to fall a thousand feet to the valley floor below. In the distance, at the bottom of the stairs, she saw the pale glow of the gate back to the mortal world.

  “Annarah,” said Caina. “You have to dissolve your sanctuary. It will move us closer to the gate. The nagataaru will catch us on those stairs if we try to climb down.”

  Annarah nodded. “A moment.” She closed her eyes, concentrating, both her hands wrapped around the pyrikon staff.

  “Hurry,” said Caina. There was no way they could make it down those stairs before the nagataaru caught them, and she wished that Annarah had not recreated Silent Ash Temple with such devotion to detail. Perhaps Caina could think of something, could force the psychomorphic terrain into a more suitable shape.

  YOUR FATE IS SEALED. YOUR WORLD’S FATE IS SEALED. I HAVE DEVOURED TEN THOUSAND WORLDS AND LEFT THEM AS EMPTY HUSKS IN MY WAKE, AND THIS WORLD SHALL BE NEXT. YOU CANNOT STOP ME.

  “What is he telling you?” said Morgant, rubbing his temples.

  “Oh, the usual,” said Caina. “Threats of death that he has failed to carry out so far.”

  YOU CANNOT ELUDE ME, BALARIGAR. ALREADY MY VASSALS HUNT FOR YOU IN THE MORTAL WORLD. THEY ARE ETERNAL. YOU ARE MORTAL. SOON OR LATE YOU SHALL FALL, AND ONCE YOU ARE SLAIN THERE SHALL BE NONE TO STOP ME FROM DEVOURING YOUR WORLD.

  “There,” said Annarah, opening her eyes, and the world blurred and shifted around them as Caina felt a surge of arcane power. Silent Ash Temple and its mountain crag dissolved into nothingness, reforming into the featureless plain of the netherworld, the colorless grass rippling in the strange wind that drove the clouds overhead. Caina saw the light of the gate a few hundred yards ahead, pale and flickering.

  With the tower and mountain gone, she also had a clear view of the nagataaru surging towards her.

  The uncounted millions of nagataaru.

  It was like a wall of shadow ten thousand feet high, burning with purple fire within. Caina had seen some large waves during her sea travels, enough to make her prefer the solid ground beneath her feet, but this wave could have drowned them all. It could have covered all of Istarinmul, drowning the city in shadow.

  “Run!” shouted Caina, and they sprinted for the gate, the wall of nagataaru surging after them.

  KNOW YOUR FATE, BALARIGAR. YOURS IS A THREEFOLD CURSE. YOU SHALL DIE IN AGONY. YOU SHALL DIE ALONE, PARTED FROM ALL THOSE YOU LOVE. AND YOU SHALL DIE IN FAILURE, KNOWING THAT YOU HAVE BEEN DEFEATED. SO IT IS ORDAINED, NOT BY MY WILL, BUT BY YOURS, FOR THAT IS THE FATE YOUR CHOICES HAVE WROUGHT FOR YOU.

  She kept running, the grass crunching beneath her boots, her shadow-cloak streaming behind her as the ghostsilver dagger blazed like a torch in her hand. She shot a glance over her shoulder and saw Morgant and Annarah keeping pace with her. For a man over two centuries old, Morgant could run when he put his mind to it. Annarah looked exhausted, still drained from her battle with the nagataaru, but grimly kept pace. A dozen of the glowing spheres still trailed her. Caina supposed that was just as well. If the nagataaru caught up to them, perhaps the spirits of defense could hold off the nagataaru for a few moments.

  LIE DOWN AND DIE. YOU CANNOT ESCAPE YOUR FATE.

  “Watch me,” gasped Caina.

  “What?” said Morgant.

  Caina shook her head and kept running, and they reached the gate as the dark wall of the nagataaru towered over them. To her alarm she saw that the gate was shrinking. When Annarah had unraveled her sanctuary it had also weakened the spell upon the gate. It would not last much longer, and it was already small enough t
hat only one person could go through at once. Through it she saw the wavering image of the Hall of Torments, shadowy and indistinct.

  “You first,” said Caina.

  “But…” started Annarah.

  “Don’t argue,” said Morgant, pushing her forward. “Go.”

  She vanished through the gate.

  “Ghost,” said Morgant. “Caina. Thank…”

  “Shut up,” said Caina, pushing him towards the gate. The huge wall of shadow hurtled closer to them, swallowing the netherworld. “Thank me back in the mortal world.”

  He vanished into the gate.

  BALARIGAR. STAY HERE AND I SHALL KILL YOU QUICKLY AND WITHOUT PAIN. THIS I OFFER YOU, FOR YOU HAVE BEEN WORTHY PREY. SPURN MY OFFER, AND YOU SHALL KNOW DESPAIR AND DEFEAT BEFORE YOU ARE SLAIN.

  A chill went through her, but she forced herself to look at the advancing wall of shadow. “Then I can find a way to stop the Apotheosis, can’t I?” said Caina. “Otherwise you wouldn’t care. You wouldn’t try to bargain.”

  THEN DIE.

  She threw herself backwards through the gate as the shadows reached to devour her.

  Again she had the sensation of falling, of gray mist hurtling past her with incredible speed.

  Then she was back in the stinking gloom of the Hall of Torments, tumbling backwards across the dais. Caina lost her balance and fell, strong hands catching her arms and stopping her fall. The back of her head came to rest against Kylon’s chest, and she looked back at the dais, fearing that the nagataaru would follow her into the Inferno.

  The gate shimmered with white light, and then turned into a sheet of blackness. Caina cursed and regained her balance. She saw Morgant stepping forward, the valikon blazing with white fire, saw Annarah lift her pyrikon and begin a spell.

  “They are coming!” said Annarah. “Defend…”

  The gate collapsed with a flash, and a ball of white light burst forth and slammed into Caina.

  She bit back a scream of pain as a surge of arcane power roiled through her like a wave of knives. The ball of light covered her left hand, and then shrank and flattened. The sensation of arcane power faded to a manageable tingle, and the ball of light shrank further.

  Then suddenly it was gone entirely, and instead a bracelet rested against her left wrist.

  A pyrikon.

  Caina blinked in astonishment.

  “Are you all right?” said Kylon.

  “I…I think so,” said Caina. She wondered if Annarah’s pyrikon had returned, but the loremaster still held her bronze staff. The bracelet around Caina’s wrist wasn’t bronze, but silvery, though it was lighter and stronger than silver…

  Ghostsilver.

  “What just happened?” said Kylon.

  “I…don’t really know,” said Caina.

  “A spirit of defense has chosen you as its bearer, Ghost,” said Annarah, offering a deep bow in Caina’s direction. “It was drawn to your valor, and has chosen you to employ its power in the mortal world. That is how the loremasters gained their pyrikons before Callatas slew us. We went to the netherworld and undertook a trial of courage and valor. Casting your defiance into the teeth of Kotuluk Iblis himself certainly counts.”

  “The great demon of the desert?” said Malcolm. He was standing near Azaces, Nerina slumped against him, keeping a wary eye on the towering warrior. “A myth.”

  “I fear he is not, husband,” said Nerina.

  “One of the spirits of defense I summoned was impressed by your courage,” said Annarah, “and has chosen you.”

  “Oh,” said Caina, flexing her left hand. “Well. Isn’t that…nice?” She was not thrilled about carrying yet another object of sorcery with her. Still, she supposed it was not technically an object of sorcery but instead a spirit bound in material form, which hardly made her feel better. Annarah’s pyrikon had saved her life several times, and perhaps this new ghostsilver pyrikon could do the same.

  “It is a great honor, Ciaran,” said Nasser. “Now we must turn our attention to escaping the Inferno at once.”

  Annarah stared at him, her green eyes growing wide.

  “Yes,” said Caina, shaking her head to clear it. Somehow she had not expected to survive the netherworld for a fourth time. “As soon as someone notices that Malcolm is missing and those Immortals are dead Rolukhan will likely order a search of the Inferno from top to bottom.” An idea started to come to her. “But he won’t search the Halls of the Dead. Why bother? He doesn’t know about Annarah or the pyrikons. Annarah and Malcom can hide in the Halls of the Dead until the search is called off, and then…”

  “Lord Prince,” said Annarah, her voice stunned.

  They all looked at her.

  Annarah took a step towards Nasser, her eyes wide. “After so long? Is it truly you?”

  “Loremaster,” said Nasser with a deep bow, “it is. You have done great service to your order and to your nation, far more than I could ever have asked of you.”

  “A hundred and fifty years,” whispered Annarah. “That was such a span of time. Such a burden.” She looked from Morgant to Nasser. “No one could have asked you to bear that.”

  “Loremaster,” said Nasser. “Do not rebuke yourself. It has been a century and a half, yes…but because of your wisdom, Callatas has been stymied for every single one of those years. He has searched the Desert of Candles from end to end for the regalia of the Princes, and he failed to find the Staff and the Seal. No doubt he thought to work his Apotheosis within a few years after the destruction of Iramis. Instead he has spent a hundred and fifty years searching and never finding.”

  “I do not remember where I concealed the Staff and the Seal, my lord,” said Annarah. “I removed the memory and secured it in my journal.” She looked at Morgant. “Did…”

  “I gave it to Callatas, along with your pyrikon,” said Morgant.

  “And earlier this year, with Master Ciaran’s help,” said Nasser, gesturing at Caina, “we recovered both the journal and your pyrikon.”

  “Do you have the journal with you?” said Annarah. “I can unlock it here and now…”

  “No,” said Nasser. “Keeping you and the journal in the same location is far too much of a risk. Once we have escaped the Inferno, we can unlock its secret at our leisure.”

  “I see,” said Annarah. She turned and smiled at Morgant. Like Nasser, her teeth seemed brilliantly white in her dark face. “Thank you for coming back for me.”

  Morgant shrugged. “As I said, I keep my word.”

  “Through such difficulty,” said Annarah. “Across decades. Across centuries! And at such cost to yourself. How many men cannot keep their word for even a day? Thank you.”

  To Caina’s utter astonishment, she closed the distance and hugged the assassin. She looked at Kylon, and saw her own surprise mirrored in his face. Morgant himself merely looked embarrassed, his hands twitching behind Annarah’s back as if he didn’t know what to do with them.

  “I couldn’t have done it,” said Morgant, gently pushing her away, “without Master Ciaran the Ghost. You should go hug him, or his pet Kyracian. Speaking of which.” He undid Kylon’s baldric and handed the sheathed valikon back to him. “Never did care for a sword that glowed. Much too ostentatious.”

  “Gaudy, even,” said Kylon with a straight face.

  “See? Even a Kyracian can learn proper aesthetics.”

  “Master Ciaran,” said Annarah, offering that deep bow to Caina. “Thank you. Thank you for your aid. I know the Ghosts have not taken interest in the troubles of Iramis before…but I suppose after a century and a half, Iramis is ancient history and the policies of the Emperor have changed.” She look at Caina with wonder. “But who are you that you would earn the enmity of Kotuluk Iblis himself?”

  “The Great Nagataaru?” said Nasser, startled. “You never mentioned this.”

  Caina shrugged. “It never came up. And now is not the time to discuss it. The sooner we are gone from the Inferno, the better. I think our best chance is to ov
erwhelm the guards at the gate and flee as quickly as we can. Nasser and Morgant are formidable fighters, and we also have a Kyracian stormdancer. Mistress Annarah, can you…”

  “Just Annarah,” she said. “A loremaster must be a servant of all, seeking neither to rule nor to dominate. If you feel obliged to give me a title, simply call me ‘loremaster’, for that is the only title I claim.”

  “Fine. Annarah, then,” said Caina. “Can you bring your spells to bear against the Immortals?”

  “I cannot,” said Annarah.

  “I should have realized. You must be exhausted from the netherworld,” said Caina.

  “I am, but that is not the reason,” said Annarah. “I cannot not use my powers to harm and injure living mortals. Nor is that simply my choice. The Words of Lore do not permit it.”

  “Truly?” said Caina, blinking with surprise. “Nasser said something like that…but I thought that was a myth, or a self-serving lie, the way the Imperial Magisterium claims to govern the use of sorcery for the good of the Empire.”

  “No,” said Nasser. “The loremasters could only use their powers for knowledge and healing and defense, not to wound or kill.”

  “You see why she needed me, then?” said Morgant. “Someone’s got to do the dirty work.”

  “It’s just…” Caina was so taken aback that for a moment she struggled to phrase her thoughts. “I’ve never met a sorcerer who couldn’t kill people when the moment required it.”

  “I am not a sorceress,” said Annarah without anger. “I am a keeper of the Words of Lore, the Words that the Living Flame of the Divine entrusted to the first loremasters in the dawn of ages. It was our responsibility to shield men from the malevolent powers of the netherworld, to ensure the powers of sorcery were used responsibility and with wisdom. That you disbelieve me so deeply is proof of how profoundly we failed in our trust.”

  “Fine,” said Caina. “I have a shadow-cloak, so I’ll scout the gates. If the guards are few enough, I suggest we cut our way out and flee before Rolukhan can pursue us. If the gate is too strong…we should withdraw to the Halls of the Dead and wait. Annarah’s pyrikon can shield us from the undead,” she glanced at her wrist, “and I assume my new one can do the same. Rolukhan won’t be able to follow us into the Halls of the Dead, and we can wait for a more opportune moment to flee.”