Ghost in the Inferno (Ghost Exile #5) Page 26

  “If I am to be the Destroyer, then I have come to destroy the Inferno,” said Caina. “I know you are bound, enslaved to a Subjugant Bloodcrystal. Take me to it.”

  The undead did not answer.

  “What are you doing?” said Annarah. “This is madness.”

  “Probably,” said Caina. She raised her voice again. “Take me to the Subjugant Bloodcrystal! Take me to it, and I shall use it to rip down this Iron Hell. Take me to it, and I vow that will destroy the crystal and free you from this endless nightmare!”

  “No,” whispered one of the undead, the ghostly image of a terrified young woman playing over yellowed bone and mummified flesh. “No, it is not…it is not possible…”

  “Look at me!” said Caina. “You see the marks of the Destroyer upon me. Take me to the Subjugant Bloodcrystal, and I shall end this. Some of you have been imprisoned here for centuries. It ends tonight! Take me to the Subjugant Bloodcrystal, and I will free you!”

  For a moment the Undying remained motionless, staring at her.

  Then a rustling sound rose from the stairwell. One by one the undead turned and started to descend. They were no longer trying to kill Caina and Annarah.

  The undead were escorting them.

  “Go,” said Caina, urging Annarah forward.

  “They listened to you,” said Annarah, blinking.

  “Seems so,” said Caina, watching the undead.

  “If we reach the crystal…do you truly intend to take it and wield it?” said Annarah. “It might kill you on the spot.”

  “I don’t know,” said Caina. She felt the weight of the new pyrikon upon her wrist and the ghostsilver dagger at her belt. “But we are going to find out.”

  They descended deeper into the Halls of the Dead.

  Chapter 18: The Stormdancer and the Assassin

  The massive trapdoor shut itself with a resonant boom, and Kylon stared at it in horror.

  It had happened so quickly.

  One moment Caina had been exchanging taunts with Rolukhan, and then the next the floor had collapsed beneath them. Kylon had gotten clear, but Caina and Annarah had not. Kylon cursed himself in a fury, his hand tight against the valikon’s hilt. If he had been faster, if he had foreseen the danger, he could have done something to save her.

  Now Caina was likely dead from the fall.

  “Damnation,” said Nasser, his voice furious. “A hundred and fifty years, all for nothing. It…”

  “What?” said Morgant. “Idiots, both of you. They’re still alive.”

  Kylon looked at the assassin. “It was at least two hundred feet to the bottom of that pit.”

  “Two hundred and thirty-five,” said Nerina, clutching her crossbow.

  “Am I the only one here who isn’t a blind fool?” said Morgant. “The Balarigar had a rope. I saw the grapnel catch, and I saw her and Annarah land safely at the bottom before the doors closed. They’re fine. Likely they’re safer than we’re about to be. The undead can’t hurt them, not with those shiny pyrikons, and we only have to hold out until they can rejoin us.”

  He was right. An enormous wave of relief went through Kylon, so strong that it surprised him.

  But should it have surprised him? Caina was important to him. He…

  The creak of metal from the entry to the Hall of Flames caught his attention, and he saw the Immortals starting forward, scimitars and chain whips ready.

  “Of course,” said Morgant with a shrug, “holding out until they climb back up might prove challenging.”

  “We cannot retreat to the Halls of the Dead as planned,” said Nasser.

  “No,” said Kylon. The Immortals were moving forward slowly, but that would soon change. “We’ll have to hold out here.”

  “The barracks,” said Malcolm. “My smiths will help fight. We can hold out in the barracks.”

  “They’ve no weapons,” said Nasser. “To fight Immortals with their bare hands would be a slaughter.”

  “It will be a slaughter in any event,” said Malcolm. “If Rolukhan thinks one of the slaves admitted the Balarigar to the Inferno, he will kill us all and dump our corpses in the Halls of the Dead. If we are to die, better to go out fighting. Also,” he jerked his shaggy head towards the side, “this is the Hall of Forges. I know where the tools are. We can arm the smiths and make a fight of it.”

  “Very well,” said Nasser. “Laertes, go with Malcolm and Nerina, help them get the weapons to the barracks. Morgant, Kylon. Stay with me, and we will hold off the Immortals as long as we can before falling back to the barracks.”

  “The Razor and the Glasshand, fighting side by side,” said Morgant. “I wonder if Cimak will make a poem of it.”

  “I fervently hope not,” said Nasser, “though if we live to hear it, I shall not complain.”

  Malcolm, Nerina, and Laertes dashed into the fiery gloom of the Hall of Forges. Nasser and Morgant backed towards the barracks, and Kylon followed suit, the valikon gleaming. From here, they could watch both the entrances to the Hall of Torments and the Hall of Flames, and hopefully stop any Immortals before Malcolm armed the slaves. Kylon drew on the sorcery of water and the sorcery of air, as much of it as he could hold.

  He would need all his strength and skill and power to survive a fight like this.

  Rolukhan’s voice boomed overhead.

  “Take them!” he said. “Find the surviving intruders and take them alive!”

  “Oh, splendid,” said Morgant, rolling the black dagger around the fingers of his left hand. “That will make it all the easier.”

  “Why?” said Kylon.

  “Killing is a man is so much easier than taking him alive,” said Morgant.

  “I thought you said kidnapping was easier than killing someone,” said Kylon.

  “Only when done properly,” said Morgant. A clatter of armor came from the Hall of Torments as the Immortals charged. “In other words, when I do it. Anyway, consistency is a weakness of youthful minds.”

  “Here they come,” said Nasser, pointing his scimitar as the Immortals charged across the Hall of Torments. There were at least twenty of them, maybe more. Fighting off all of them would be nearly impossible. Kylon needed to do something clever the way Caina would do. She had almost killed him during their first meeting, tricking him into freezing the water around his feet.

  He blinked.

  Water. The Hall of Forges was just a big damned foundry. He looked around and spotted a massive tub sitting upon a wooden framework. A valve and a long wooden trench led toward the forges, providing the enslaved blacksmiths with water to quench their work.

  Kylon had another use in mind for the water.

  “Charge when I gave the signal,” said Kylon. “I think you’ll know when.”

  “What are you doing?” said Nasser.

  Morgant snorted. “He thinks he’s doing something clever.”

  Kylon hoped so.

  He sprinted forward with the speed of the wind, raised the valikon with both hands, and chopped. A normal sword could not have damaged the thick logs of the framework, but it only took the valikon seven blows to cut through the log. The framework shuddered, and the tub tilted forward. Kylon leapt to the side as the framework collapsed, the tub falling to the floor.

  The Immortals hesitated as the water gushed towards them, but only for a moment. The water spread into the Hall of Torments, and was only a few inches high when it touched the Immortals’ boots. They resumed running, splashing their way through the puddle.

  Kylon drove his free hand into the water, calling upon the power of water sorcery.

  Of ice and frost.

  The power surged out of him, leaving him light-headed, and transformed the spilled water into a sheet of glittering ice. A dozen Immortals came to jerky halts, their boots encased in ice, and the rest lost their balance and fell with a clatter of black armor.

  “Now!” said Kylon, dragging more power into himself. “Strike!”

  He did not wait for Morgant and Nasser, but r
an forward. His boots gritted against the smooth ice, but the same power that let him summon frost and cold let him traverse the ice with ease. The Immortals had no such luxury, and as they tried to rise Kylon crashed into them. He drove the valikon down, sinking the blade halfway into a fallen Immortal’s neck, ripped it free, and killed another. A third Immortal pulled loose from the ice and attacked, and Kylon dodged the swing of a black scimitar. The Immortal skidded on the ice, and Kylon killed him with a savage blow to the neck. As the Immortal fell, Kylon ripped the chain whip from his belt and turned, shaking the whip loose. The links of its coils clattered against the icy ground, and Kylon spun the weapon over his head as he had seen Malcolm do. He called on his power, and freezing white mist sheathed the whip.

  Two Immortals attacked him, and Kylon swung the whip. The chain lash coiled around them, the metal shattering from the cold, but a sheet of frost covered the Immortals’ armored legs. Both warriors fell as ice bound the joints of their armor together, and Kylon seized the opening and killed them both.

  He turned, seeking new foes, as Morgant and Nasser joined the fray. Both men moved around the edges of the fight, avoiding the slick ice. Morgant parried with his crimson scimitar, flicking aside blows with contemptuous ease, while his strange black dagger sliced through steel and skin and muscle with equal speed. Nasser used his scimitar to parry, his gloved fist punching through armor and crushing helmets like a giant hammer.

  Suddenly Kylon felt a surge of…something through Morgant’s emotional sense. Satisfaction of some kind, as if an idea had just come to Morgant. The assassin slew another Immortal and broke free from the fight, running towards the wall of the Hall of Torments, and started slashing at the wall with his dagger.

  At the wall?

  Kylon killed another Immortal. Even as he did, another group of Immortals ran from the Hall of Flames and into the Hall of Torments. He cursed and stepped back, his mind racing.

  “When I saw run, run!” shouted Morgant. He had carved a smoldering hole into the stone of the wall, revealing a massive steel chain. The Immortals raced forward, rushing to the aid of their struggling comrades. “Now! Run!”

  Morgant slashed his dagger through the thick chain. The chain made a hideous snapping sound, and both ends slithered away and disappeared into the wall. A low groan came from the walls, following by a series of resonant clangs.

  Then the floor shuddered beneath Kylon’s boots.

  He had forgotten about the trapdoor.

  Kylon raced back to the Hall of Forges as Morgant and Nasser sprinted past him. He jumped, and an instant later the floor simply vanished beneath him as both of the massive stone doors fell open. He landed just within the Hall of Forges, clawing for balance, and Nasser caught his shoulder and pulled him over the edge. Kylon turned as the Immortals fell screaming into the blackness of the pit.

  Unlike Caina and Annarah, they did not have a rope.

  An instant later the sound of clanging armor and shattering bone came to his ears, followed swiftly by silence.

  “Ah,” said Morgant. “That worked out rather well, if I say so myself.” He grinned. “Counterweights. Everyone always forgets about the counterweights.”

  “Come,” said Nasser. “Laertes and Malcolm should have retrieved weapons by now.”

  Kylon took a deep breath, trying to clear his buzzing mind. His arms and legs ached and throbbed from the effort of the fighting, and using that much arcane power at once always tired him. “Rolukhan will send men through the Hall of Forges next.”

  “Aye,” said Morgant with a smug smile, “but he won’t be able to flank us from the Hall of Torments. It will take him months to fix that trapdoor, even if he can manage it at all.”

  They hurried across the Hall, past the broken water tub, and Kylon saw Laertes and Nerina pushing a heavy wooden cart. Steel hammers filled the cart, all of them scarred and scorched from much use.

  “Hammers?” said Nasser.

  “Malcolm’s idea,” grunted Laertes. “He pointed out that swords wouldn’t do much against Immortal armor, and all of the smiths know how to swing a hammer.”

  “Working flesh and bone instead of steel and iron, is that it?” said Morgant.

  “Something like that,” said Laertes. “Malcolm went to rouse his men. They seem loyal to him, and eager for a fight.”

  “One suspects that Malik Rolukhan does not make for a popular master,” said Nasser. Nerina ran to the barracks, and Kylon saw Malcolm walk out, followed by slaves in gray tunics and heavy sandals. They all looked like tough, hardened men, and many of them bore burn scars. “Good. We shall be able to make a stand here until Ciaran and Annarah return.”

  “What about the foundry slaves?” said Laertes. “We shall have to take them with us to the Halls of the Dead.”

  Nasser grimaced. “We will hope that Annarah’s pyrikon can protect us all. Perhaps with the aid of Ciaran’s new pyrikon, it will be able to…”

  “Kylon of House Kardamnos!”

  Rolukhan’s voice boomed from the Hall of Flames, rolling over the forges and the foundries.

  Kylon turned, peering through the hellish gloom to the distant archway and saw Immortals moving along the circular balcony.

  “I think Rolukhan’s done playing games,” said Kylon. “I think he’s going to summon every one of his Immortals and overwhelm us.”

  Nasser grimaced. “I fear you are correct. Well, we shall have to hold until Ciaran and Annarah return.”

  Kylon had his doubts. They would not be able to hold against hundreds of Immortals attacking at once. Even if Caina and Annarah returned soon, they would still have to retreat to the Halls of the Dead, and the Immortals would not allow them to make that retreat easily.

  “Kylon of House Kardamnos!” Rolukhan’s spell-enhanced voice thundered through the Hall of Forges. “I know you are there. Come forth and speak to me. Perhaps we have interesting matters to discuss.”

  “Go,” said Kylon to Nasser. “Get the others ready. If I can distract Rolukhan, keep him from launching his attack immediately, that will give you more time to get Malcolm and the others ready and more time for Annarah and Ciaran to return.”

  “Surely you are not considering surrender,” said Morgant. “Rolukhan will kill you and then come after us anyway. If you want to kill yourself, there are more productive ways to do it.”

  “Of course not,” said Kylon. “I’ll only go halfway to the Hall of Flames. Close enough that they can see me, but far enough that I can retreat if necessary.”

  “Very well,” said Nasser. “Do as you think best.”

  He strode towards the gathering blacksmiths, Laertes following him. Morgant looked at Kylon for a moment, shrugged, and went to follow Nasser. Kylon walked past the rows of furnaces and forges, the heat of the banked fires pulsing against his face and making sweat roll down his neck and back. The archway to the Hall of Flames yawned before him, and he saw dozens of Immortals standing there, blue eyes shining with ghostly light inside their black helmets.

  He drew on the power of air sorcery, the air before his mouth distorting.

  “Rolukhan!” Kylon shouted, the spell amplifying his voice. “What would you have of me?”

  “Merely to confirm that it is in fact you,” boomed Rolukhan. “How amusing! A lesson for us all, would you not say? Kylon Shipbreaker, once High Seat of House Kardamnos, Archon of the Assembly and thalarchon of the Kyracian fleet, now reducing to skulking through the shadows with vermin like the Balarigar. One moment you were among the mighty of New Kyre, and the next you were a penniless beggar.” Amusement filled the deep voice. “How cruel is the wheel of fate to the weak.”

  “Perhaps you ought to heed the lesson yourself,” said Kylon.

  “Oh, but I have,” said Rolukhan. “The Grand Master’s Apotheosis shall break the wheel of fate and elevate all mankind to gods. You should have sided with the Umbarians, Shipbreaker. Had you done so, you would not face certain death here. You would instead be one of the most powerfu
l men in the world.” He laughed. “Perhaps your wife would still live, and would even now be pregnant with another child.”

  Rage burned through Kylon. “Bold words for a murderer!”

  Again Rolukhan laughed. “I had only a small part in that. Cassander was the one who summoned the Red Huntress. Really, though, you ought to thank me for it. It turns out you were weak, Kylon of House Kardamnos. Too weak to save your wife and unborn child, too weak to protect the guests who sheltered beneath your roof. Tell me. Did your wife look at you with disgust as she died? Did she realize that she had placed her fate in the hands of a weakling and a fool?”

  For an instant Kylon could think of nothing but wrapping himself in his power and finding Rolukhan. The sight of the valikon would silence those smug words. The ghostsilver blade could penetrate any wards Rolukhan cast, and the ancient spells upon the valikon would slay the nagataaru within him. Let him boast of Thalastre’s death then.

  “Do not give yourself too much credit,” said Kylon. “The Red Huntress slew them. You were merely a traitor.”

  “When the Apotheosis comes, all oaths and bonds shall be broken,” said Rolukhan. “What a fool you are. Great matters stir, and you blunder through them like a blind ox. You are a pawn in a greater game, Shipbreaker, and you never knew it.”

  “And what game is that?” said Kylon.

  Rolukhan’s booming laughter rolled out. “If you are so blind as to miss it, is it my obligation to explain? Very well. The Grand Master wished for Istarinmul to stay out of the war, simply so he would have the freedom to work the Apotheosis. The death of your wife and unborn child lie upon your hands, Kylon of House Kardamnos. Had you the wisdom to stay out of matters beyond your comprehension, perhaps they might yet live. Really, we did them a mercy by killing them. Better that they died than to live under the protection of a fool like yourself…”

  Kylon felt something inside him snap.

  He knew what was happening. He knew that Rolukhan was goading him, that the Master Alchemist was presenting a false account of events to spur him to rage. Likely Rolukhan wanted to draw him out and kill him away from the others, to weaken the defense.