Ghost in the Inferno (Ghost Exile #5) Page 27

  Kylon did not care.

  He was going to find Rolukhan and ram the valikon down his throat, find him and make him suffer the way that Thalastre had suffered, was going to wipe that smug smile from his bearded face.

  He took a step forward, and a hard hand closed about his shoulder.

  “Bad idea,” murmured Morgant.

  Kylon glared at him. “Let me go.”

  “If you want to kill yourself, by all means do so,” said Morgant. The assassin seemed like a wraith in the fiery gloom, his black clothes drinking the light, his face gaunt and pale. “Though I suspect Caina would prefer you alive.”

  Kylon hesitated, some of his fury lessening.

  “Ah,” said Morgant. “Yes, your darling Caina. I thought so. There’s a reason to live. I’m feeling generous, so I’ll do you a favor. That loud spell.”

  “Loud spell?” said Kylon, not understanding.

  Morgant sighed. “That spell that makes your voice louder. Cast it on me, now. No, don’t argue, just do it.”

  Kylon shrugged and cast the spell, the air around Morgant’s mouth rippling.

  “Rolukhan,” said Morgant.

  “Who is this?” said Rolukhan, puzzlement in his voice.

  “Doesn’t matter,” said Morgant. “I’d like to speak to the Lieutenant of the Inferno. Kindly fetch him, if you please.”

  “I am the Lieutenant of the Inferno,” said Rolukhan.

  “No, you’re not,” said Morgant.

  Rolukhan chuckled. “Do you insult me, Shipbreaker, by having a madman address me?”

  “Oh, I am a madman,” said Morgant, “and the Kyracian definitely meant it as an insult, but unlike you I’m not a self-deluded fool. Now, be a good little servant and summon the Lieutenant of the Inferno for me.”

  “What are you talking about?” said Rolukhan, menace filling his words. “I am Malik Rolukhan, Master Alchemist and Lieutenant of the Inferno…”

  “I know who you are,” said Morgant, “and you’re not the Lieutenant of the Inferno. The nagataaru in your head is the true Lieutenant. You, Malik Rolukhan, are merely its slave. Its puppet. You are its beast of burden.”

  “You speak of matters beyond your comprehension,” snapped Rolukhan.

  “No, I don’t,” said Morgant with glib cheer. “You’re just the nagataaru’s meat puppet, a witless toy dancing on its strings. You’re its donkey. You ought to rearrange that stupid gaudy turban of yours to make donkey ears. Now, be a good little beast of burden and run along and fetch your true master. Maybe if you’re polite, I’ll let…”

  Rolukhan’s roar of fury all but deafened Kylon.

  “Kill them!” thundered the Master Alchemist. “Kill them all!”

  The Immortals shouted in response.

  “Right,” said Morgant. “We should run now.”

  Kylon nodded and ran after Morgant. “Why did you do that?”

  “Made him angry,” grunted Morgant, his coat flapping around his legs as he ran. Even in the heat of the Hall of Forges, the man never seemed to sweat. “Angry men make stupid mistakes. Like you almost did.”

  Kylon swallowed. “Thank you.”

  “Bah,” said Morgant. “If you get killed, Caina shall do something foolish and suicidal, and I need that clever brain of hers to get Annarah out of the Inferno. Faster!”

  They sprinted to the barracks. The smiths waited, bearing their massive hammers in their hands, and Kylon heard the clatter as the Immortals poured into the Hall of Forges. Nasser, Laertes, and Malcolm stood at their head, weapons in hand.

  “It seems,” said Nasser, eyeing Morgant, “that you irritated our adversary.”

  “What can I say? I am an artist,” said Morgant.

  Through the haze of the light from the furnaces, Kylon saw the pale gleam of the Immortals’ eyes.

  “Did you see Azaces?” called Nerina.

  Kylon shook his head, and he sensed the disappointment and regret in her wraithblood-fractured aura.

  “All right, lads,” said Malcolm. “Time to fight! Let us pay these bastards back for every whipping and every beating!”

  The smiths bellowed and raised their hammers, and Kylon set himself and took the valikon in both hands.

  Chapter 19: Subjugant

  Deeper and deeper Caina went, following the undead into the darkness of the Halls of the Dead.

  She moved as fast as Annarah’s injured leg allowed. Urgency thrummed through her mind. She had to hurry. The others were fighting for their lives in the higher levels of the Inferno, and Caina had to help them as soon as possible.

  They might be dead already. Kylon might be dead.

  Her mouth pressed into a hard line.

  If Kylon was dead, by all the gods she would avenge him and his wife, would make Rolukhan regret ever having set foot in New Kyre.

  Something else thrummed through her, far stronger than even the urgency or her growing terror.

  The dark, necromantic aura radiating from below.

  It grew stronger with every step, the tingling against Caina’s skin growing sharper and more painful. She gritted her teeth and pressed on, ignoring the discomfort. It only happened in the presence of supremely powerful sorcery, and it appeared that the Subjugant Bloodcrystal qualified.

  “You are in pain,” said Annarah.

  “So are you,” said Caina.

  Annarah hesitated. “I…have a spell, if you wish. It might shield you from some of the effects.”

  “No,” said Caina. “Thank you, but no. I need to be able to sense whatever spells are nearby. A little pain is a small price to pay for that.”

  They kept going, descending more stairs and walking through dusty galleries carved with Maatish hieroglyphics. More and more undead followed them, hundreds of the creatures, until a small army of walking corpses trailed Caina and Annarah. The undead made no effort to attack. Perhaps they believed Caina. Perhaps they truly thought that she was the Moroaica, the Undying woman they had known as the Destroyer, the abomination that had destroyed the Kingdom of the Rising Sun.

  Or perhaps they were simply curious after thousands of years of unending monotony.

  Caina did not care which.

  In the darkness ahead she saw a flicker of pale green light. Previously the only light had come from Annarah’s pyrikon and the wisps of ghostly light around the Undying. Now at the end of the gallery ahead Caina saw a throbbing green glow shining through an ornate arch. Necromantic force radiated from that arch with such power that Caina felt as if she was walking into a wall of needles, every one of them sinking deep into her flesh. Her stomach twisted and knotted, and she was grateful that she had not eaten anything since this morning. Else she would have thrown up all over her boots.

  Hardly the sort of image she wanted to project while masquerading as the Moroaica.

  “Almost there,” said Annarah.

  Caina gritted her teeth and strode into the green light, the Undying following.

  The chamber beyond looked a bit like a smaller version of the Temple of Anubankh Caina had seen in the netherworld’s reflection of Khaset. Great pillars supported the ceiling, carved with hieroglyphics, and a double row of Maatish sphinxes marched down the center of the chamber to create an aisle. At the end of the aisle stood a dais, flanked on either side by giant statues of a man with a scarab beetle for a head. There, between the statues, there waited…

  Caina shook her head, pain throbbing behind her eyes.

  Power floated between the twin statues.

  The Subjugant Bloodcrystal was not large. It was roughly spherical and many-faceted, perhaps the size of both of Caina’s fists put together. Its gleaming black surface blazed with green fire, hieroglyphics of emerald flame disappearing and reappearing constantly in its facets. Caina felt the tremendous power of the necromantic spells bound into the thing, to say nothing of their immense skill and craft. Thousands of slaves had been murdered to create this bloodcrystal, and their stolen lives had been woven together with necromantic skill
that defied imagination.

  “The Subjugant Bloodcrystal,” said Annarah, her voice hoarse.

  “A sphere,” said Caina. “Sort of. The Ascendant Bloodcrystal was an inverted cone.”

  “It’s not a sphere,” said Annarah. “Technically, it is a rhombic triacontahedron.”

  “A what?”

  “Oh.” Annarah blinked. “A thirty-sided prism. At least that is what a geometer would call it. Can you truly destroy that thing?”

  “Yes,” said Caina, staring at the floating crystal. “Ghostsilver dagger. It can collapse the spells and the whole thing will fall apart. Our Undying will probably be freed as well.” She took a deep breath, gathering her courage. “But not quite yet.”

  Behind them the Undying filed into the temple chamber, hundreds upon hundreds of them.

  “Not quite yet?” said Annarah. “You mean to wield that thing? No! You cannot touch it. It will immediately suck away the life force of anyone that touches it. The Great Necromancers themselves required years of study and training before they could safely handle such a powerful bloodcrystal.”

  “I have something,” said Caina, flexing her left fist, the ghostsilver pyrikon glinting, “that the necromancer-priests of Maat did not. Come! Let us see if I am a fool.”

  She strode forward. Annarah hesitated, shook her head, and then followed. The hideous pressure grew stronger with every step. As Caina approached, something flickered in the shadows behind the statue on the left. She turned, drawing her ghostsilver dagger, and one of the Undying stepped out from behind the statue.

  This Undying wore a robe of white and gold that must have once been splendid, but had grown ragged and dry over the centuries. Ornaments of gold gleamed upon the withered corpse’s wrists and neck and ears, and the ragged remnants of a ceremonial headdress hung limp from his leathery skull.

  “Beware,” said Annarah, pointing her staff at the Undying. “That is the garb of a priest of Anubankh. Not a Great Necromancer, but still a sorcerer, and still dangerous.”

  “Yes,” rasped the corpse. “I was. Long ago.”

  “Who are you?” said Caina.

  “In life I was Thutomis,” hissed the corpse, “a priest of Anubankh, acolyte of the High Priest Kharnaces, and a servant of the pharaoh and the divine order of Maat. When Kharnaces slew me and summoned me as Undying to guard this fortress, I embraced my duty joyfully. Yet Kharnaces himself went mad and fell into the worship of demons, and abandoned us here. In the endless centuries since, more and more have joined the ranks of the Undying. Our labors are in vain, and our torment meaningless. Maat is dust and ruins, and we are bound here for no purpose, for the divine order has been shattered. Meaningless, meaningless, meaningless! You…”

  Thutomis’s tirade came to an abrupt halt, and the Undying necromancer regarded her.

  “You,” he whispered. “You are the abomination. You are the Destroyer of Maat. Deny it not! I see the marks upon your ka and your mind!”

  “I am,” said Caina. “Will you oppose me?”

  “Destroy us!” wailed Thutomis. “Destroy us, I beg of you, as you destroyed the Kingdom of the Rising Sun. Destroy us, and end our torment at last! Grant us the sweet peace of oblivion, Destroyer, and free us from this hell!”

  “I shall,” said Caina, “if you do one thing for me.”

  Thutomis said nothing. She felt the dead gaze of thousands of the Undying upon her.

  “Overthrow the Inferno,” said Caina. “For centuries nothing but agony and despair has been produced here. Overthrow the Inferno, and I shall destroy the Subjugant Bloodcrystal that binds you. I will swear this on the names of whatever gods you choose, whether living or dead.”

  “We are bound,” said Thutomis. “The High Priest Kharnaces commanded us to guard his fortress until his return. He never returned, and we guarded his fortress from intruders ever since. Only he may release us from the bloodcrystal’s command.”

  “Only he,” said Caina, “or whoever wields the bloodcrystal?”

  “You speak truly,” said Thutomis.

  “Very well,” said Caina.

  “Do not touch it!” said Annarah. “It will kill you.”

  “Maybe,” said Caina. “Maybe not. Annarah. If this doesn’t work, retreat back up the stairs I showed you. Those should lead to the Hall of Forges. If any of the others are still alive, help them to retreat here. Tell the Exile that I…”

  She shook her head.

  “Tell him what?” said Annarah.

  “No,” said Caina. “I’ll just tell him myself.”

  “I have no spell to protect you from the bloodcrystal,” said Annarah.

  “No,” said Caina. “But what if the pyrikon touches it?”

  “That…” Annarah blinked. “I…don’t know.”

  Caina nodded and pulled off her left glove. The ghostsilver pyrikon settled against the skin of her wrist, and she felt the buzzing power within it. Annarah’s pyrikon had opened the way into Callatas’s Maze, protected Caina from the sword of the nagataaru, and shielded her mind from the Sifter’s power.

  It was time to see what the ghostsilver pyrikon could do.

  “You know what I need,” said Caina, focusing her will upon the pyrikon. “You’re really a spirit of defense? Then defend me.” She swallowed. “Help me defend the others.”

  The pyrikon’s aura grew sharper, needles prickling Caina’s skin, and then it unfolded like an opening flower, expanding across Caina’s hand and fingers. Thin plates of ghostsilver crawled up the back of her hand, linking together with delicate joints. The pyrikon expanded up her forearm, and when it finished moving, an ornate gauntlet of ghostsilver covered her left hand. Caina flexed her fingers, finding that the gauntlet did not impair her movement at all.

  “I’ve never seen a pyrikon do that,” said Annarah.

  “To be fair, neither have I,” said Caina. “Let’s see if it works.”

  Before her courage could fail, she climbed the dais and grabbed the Subjugant Bloodcrystal with her armored left hand.

  For a moment Caina blacked out.

  An instant later she jerked back to awareness as a thunderous boom echoed through the fortress, the ground shifting beneath her feet. The Inferno rang like a gong struck by a mallet, and the Undying shifted and moaned. The ghostsilver gauntlet vibrated against Caina’s hand, and even through it she felt the hideous snarling cold of the Subjugant Bloodcrystal, a frozen void that wished to devour all the light and warmth in the world.

  To her shock, Caina heard her mother’s voice in her head. Wildly she looked around, wondering if the Subjugant Bloodcrystal had summoned Laeria Amalas’s shade from whatever hell contained it. Then she realized it wasn’t her mother’s voice at all, but the power of the Subjugant Bloodcrystal whispering in her head.

  Of course the bloodcrystal would use her mother’s voice to speak to her.

  “Child of death,” whispered Laeria. “Child of woe. Wherever you travel, you bring death in your wake, not just to your foes but to those you love. Your father, slain trying to protect you. Halfdan, slain counseling you. Corvalis, slain trying to save you. To whom shall you bring death now? Behold, for I am death incarnate, and you hold death in your hand. Who among those you love shall you bring death now?”

  Caina reeled, stumbled back several steps, and grabbed one of the scarab-headed statues with her free hand to keep her balance. Horrible cold washed through her, the gauntlet’s vibrations getting worse.

  “Death eternal,” whispered Laeria. “Take me from this place and bring death to your foes. Take me and raise an army of the dead, and sweep this world clean of evil. Take me and slay those you love, and they shall be at your side forevermore.”

  Caina pushed away from the statue, reached back, and pulled up the cowl of her shadow-cloak.

  Laeria’s voice faded to an indecipherable whisper, and the gauntlet’s vibrations grew gentler. Caina heard another voice instead, and after a moment realized that Annarah was talking to her.

  �
�How do you feel?” said Annarah.

  “Chilly,” croaked Caina. She coughed and shook her head. “But alive.” The black bloodcrystal blazed with green fire in her armored fist, the facets shimmering with hieroglyphics. The pyrikon gauntlet gave off a gentle white glow, fighting against the cold radiance of the crystal’s necromantic aura.

  “I did not think it possible,” said Annarah. “What will you do now?”

  “What I came here to do,” said Caina, “and a little extra.”

  She stepped from the dais, holding up the Subjugant Bloodcrystal. Thutomis flinched away from her, and a ripple went through the ranks of the Undying.

  “Do you see this, Thutomis?” said Caina.

  “You hold the High Priest’s bloodcrystal,” said Thutomis, and there was something new in his exhausted voice. Disbelief? Awe? Perhaps even hope? “It is not possible.”

  “Will you do as I say?” said Caina.

  “We must obey,” said Thutomis. “Our corpses and will are bound to the crystal’s power. We must obey its bearer.”

  “Then I make you this promise,” said Caina. “If I emerge from the Inferno, if I see the sun again, I will destroy the Subjugant Bloodcrystal. I will shatter it, undo the spells upon you, and grant you all the peace of death at last.”

  “Truly?” said Thutomis, and murmurs rose from the other undead. “Could this eternity of torment end at last?”

  “More than that will end tonight if I work my will,” said Caina. “This is my command to you, Thutomis and the Undying of the Inferno. Follow me to the higher levels of the fortress. There I command you to free every slave that you encounter and take them through the gate to freedom. There I command you to kill every Immortal that you find.” She raised the bloodcrystal higher, the horrible green light falling over the undead. “There I command you to kill Malik Rolukhan, the Lieutenant of the Inferno.” Caina walked closer. “You say I am the Destroyer? Then I shall be the Destroyer, and bring the hour of destruction to the Inferno! Go and destroy the Inferno, and your freedom is at hand.”