Ghost in the Inferno (Ghost Exile #5) Read online

  “Very well,” said Nasser. “Najar.” The bearded Anshani slave straightened up. “Follow us. Make for the slave barracks once the way is clear. Take everyone you can find and get them out. The Immortals on the bridge watch towers would have come when Rolukhan sounded his horn.”

  “What then, lord?” said Najar. “We have no supplies, and may will starve upon the mountain.”

  “You shall not,” said Nasser. “I know an emir who is willing to hire skilled smiths to outfit his host. Once we escape the Inferno, I shall lead you to him.” Najar nodded and conferred with Malcolm for a moment. “Let us be about our business, then.”

  Caina was amused to see how quickly the slaves obeyed Nasser. Now that she knew he had been the Prince of Iramis, the reason for his skill at command was obvious. That would prove useful in the days ahead.

  If, of course, they managed to escape the Inferno.

  Nasser and Laertes and Malcolm strode forward, weapons at the ready. Kylon took position to guard Caina, and Morgant moved to a similar position to shield Annarah. Nerina walked between them, her eerie blue eyes wide and frightened, though the thin hands that gripped her crossbow did not waver. The blacksmith slaves followed, stolen hammers in hand. Dead Immortals lay scattered here and there across the floor, along with destroyed undead creatures. The Immortals had put up a ferocious fight, but they had been driven into the broad balcony of the Hall of Flames.

  Caina and the others left the Hall of Forges and entered the Hall of Flames, and she found herself in the midst of a furious battle.

  Hundreds of Immortals had formed into ranks, fighting off the tides of undead that surged from the other Halls and climbed up from the cylindrical shaft below. The Immortals’ scimitars shimmered with peculiar golden fire, and Caina realized that Rolukhan had cast a spell over their weapons. The touch of the spell transmuted undead flesh to sand, and even as she watched, a dozen of the Undying met their ends. Here and there patches of crimson Hellfire burned upon the balcony, and an Immortal flung an amphora of the substance at a charging knot of Undying. The amphora shattered, spraying crimson elixir in all directions, and a score of Undying went up in blood-colored fire. Patches of the floor also started to burn as well, the Hellfire chewing into the stone.

  “The damned fool,” whispered Caina as Najar led the blacksmiths away from the battle. Hellfire devoured anything, wood and flesh and stone alike, and if Rolukhan used too much of it, the balcony might collapse and kill them all. For that matter, if one of the Immortals mishandled the Hellfire and dropped it over the edge of the railing, it would plummet hundreds of feet to land in the Hellfire engine below.

  That would be bad.

  That would be very bad.

  She spotted Rolukhan himself standing atop a small catapult.

  The Master Alchemist had…changed.

  Physically, he looked the same. Yet now his shadow billowed out behind him like a great black cloak, writhing and alive and hungry. Purple fires blazed in his dark eyes and snarled and danced around his hooked fingers. He had to be drawing on his nagataaru, using its strength to augment his spells, which explained how he had enspelled the scimitars of all the Immortals at once. Even as Caina watched, he hurled a lance of shadow and purple flame that transmuted a dozen Undying into sand.

  They had to kill Rolukhan. If they did not, he would kill them and this had all been for nothing. Worse, if he killed them and took the Subjugant Bloodcrystal for himself, it would put the power of an undead army into Rolukhan’s hands. Rolukhan could kill everyone in the Vale of Fallen Stars and raise them as his own army, carve himself a kingdom of the Undying in imitation of ancient Maat.

  She felt Rolukhan’s burning eyes fall upon her.

  “Balarigar!” roared Rolukhan, and she heard the hissing snarl of his nagataaru beneath his sonorous voice. “Do even dead slaves follow you in hopes of liberation? Fools!” He let out a wild laugh. “I see now! You bear a relic of ancient Maat. I should have seen the truth and claimed it for myself long ago. Immortals! Kill the Balarigar!”

  The Immortals did not respond immediately, still fighting their way through the endless press of the undead. One of the Immortals charged forward, carrying an amphora of Hellfire. Caina started to draw breath to shout a warning…

  Annarah struck the end of her staff against the floor.

  Arcane power spiked in the air around her, deep and resonant and clean.

  There was a thunderclap and a brilliant flash of white light. A stunned silence fell over the Hall of Flames, as Rolukhan, the Immortals, and even the Undying turned to look at her.

  “Malik Rolukhan!” shouted Annarah in a voice that would have made Theodosia proud. “Hear me! Hear me and repent before it is too late.”

  “What trickery is this?” said Rolukhan.

  “It is no trickery,” said Annarah. “I am Annarah, a Sister of the Order of the Words of Lore, and I have come to free you from your nagataaru.”

  Rolukhan laughed. “A loremaster? Callatas wiped out your pathetic order of mewling children a century and a half ago.”

  “Callatas’s crimes do not concern us now,” said Annarah. “I beg of you to turn from your path before it is too late, to abandon your nagataaru and its deceptions before it devours you.”

  “What do you know of such matters, girl?” said Rolukhan, his purple-burning eyes fixed upon her. “Do not presume to counsel your elders.”

  “I know you have a nagataaru wrapped around your mind and heart like a snake coiled around its prey,” said Annarah. “I know that it gives you power in exchange for inflicting pain and murder upon the innocent. I know that the power is addictive, that once you killed for prudence, in pursuit of some goal, but now that you kill for the simple pleasure of it.”

  Rolukhan’s teeth flashed in a smile. “Strength and power are their own rewards, foolish child.”

  “But it has twisted you,” said Annarah, her voice pleading. “You do not see it, but it has twisted you. You say the Balarigar has come to free the slaves? You are a slave, Malik Rolukhan, and your prison is an invisible one.”

  He sneered at her. “And just what is this prison?”

  “The one the nagataaru has built around you,” said Annarah.

  “Fool,” said Rolukhan. “You think that the nagataaru controls me? I am in command of myself. Our alliance is a partnership. Together we are greater than either one of us could be separately.”

  “Are you?” said Annarah. “You kill, and the nagataaru feeds. It grows stronger, twisting your thoughts so subtly that you do not even realize it is happening. How many unnecessary murders have you committed? Deaths that gained you nothing, save for the pleasure of feeding your nagataaru?”

  “Ridiculous,” said Rolukhan, his shadow stirring behind him. “I command the nagataaru. I command!”

  “Then why,” said Annarah, pointing her free hand at Kylon, “did you murder his wife and unborn child?”

  Rolukhan scoffed. “Because he was a threat to our plans.”

  Kylon said nothing, his eyes hard and deadly as he stared at Rolukhan.

  “He was,” said Annarah. “His wife was not. His unborn child was not. They were no threats to you. Why not simply kill Lord Kylon and leave his wife and child alone? That is the practical, pragmatic approach. Instead you slew his wife and child. Why? What did it gain you?”

  “You overlook the obvious, foolish child,” said Rolukhan. “It gained…it gained…”

  For the first time Caina saw a flicker of doubt upon Rolukhan’s face, and his shadow stirred behind him like an awakening serpent.

  “Nothing,” said Annarah. “It gained you nothing, save to feed your nagataaru’s lust for cruelty.” She gestured at Malcolm and Nerina. “Why did you enslave this man and leave his wife alive to die of wraithblood poisoning?”

  “Because I required his skills at the forge!” snapped Rolukhan, growing angry. “You speak of matters you do not understand!”

  “Then why?” said Annarah. “Why be as cr
uel as you can? Do not tell me it is necessary. If not for your wasteful cruelty, you would not face so many enemies.”

  Rolukhan opened his mouth to say something, and then closed it, the confusion clear on his face.

  “Do you not see?” said Annarah. “Your nagataaru has corrupted your mind. It has addicted you to death and cruelty, to murder and torment. It has made you its slave, and dulled your senses and your reason by feeding you empty power and petty pleasures. Please, let me help you. Let me free you of its domination. Otherwise it shall use you up and cast you aside as the nagataaru have done with so many over the millennia.”

  The confusion grew sharper on Rolukhan’s face, and for a moment Caina thought he might actually accept. His shadow rippled and snapped around him, the purple fire blazing brighter against his hands, and he tilted his head to the side as if listening to a voice that only he could hear. The confusion drained from his face, replaced by the usual arrogant confidence.

  “Foolish, foolish child,” said Rolukhan. “You understand nothing.”

  “No,” said Annarah, pleading. “I beg of you, do not give in to it. Do not yield to it.”

  “Yield to it?” said Rolukhan. “I embrace it!” His shadow stirred, faster and faster. “You are a deluded fool, clinging to the title of an extinct order. Mankind is as sheep.” He waved a hand over the Hall of Flames. “But a new humanity is arising, a stronger humanity. Grand Master Callatas and the Apotheosis shall make it so, and I am among the first of the new mankind.” He laughed. “And you, Annarah of the loremasters, shall be among the first of the old humanity to perish. Slowly, and in great pain. I shall enjoy your suffering for weeks.”

  “I see,” said Annarah, closing her eyes with a sigh. She opened them again. “I see that you are too far gone to repent.”

  Rolukhan laughed again. “I have nothing of which to repent. I wish I had seen Kylon’s wife and child suffer their final agonies. I wish his wife and child were here to listen to him scream. I suppose I shall settle for your screams instead…”

  Every hint of sorrow and regret fell away from Annarah, and she drew herself up, the pyrikon staff shining in her right hand. She seemed stern and terrible, her eyes like disks of jade, and the air around her crackled with power.

  “Then hearken, Malik Rolukhan!” said Annarah. “Hearken and hear the Words of Lore!”

  That was not much of a battle cry.

  Caina changed her mind exactly two seconds later when Annarah leveled her staff at Rolukhan. A snarling shaft of white fire burst from the pyrikon and arced across the chamber. It passed through Nasser without harming him, and flew through a dozen Undying and a pair of Immortals without doing them any injury.

  Rolukhan was not so fortunate.

  The white fire struck him, and he slammed into the side of the catapult with a scream of agony, his shadow billowing around him like a banner caught in a gale. The purple fires in his eyes sputtered and flickered, and Caina heard the nagataaru screaming beneath Rolukhan’s howl. The Master Alchemist crossed his arms before him, working another spell, and his shadow wrapped around him like a cloak, deflecting Annarah’s fire. The fire winked out, and Rolukhan straightened up, his face twisted with rage.

  But this time there was fear in his expression.

  “Kill her!” screamed Rolukhan, his shadow swirling around him as the purple fire in his hands blazed to harsh new life. “Kill her! Kill the Balarigar! Kill them, kill them, kill them all!”

  The Immortals bellowed in response to Rolukhan’s fury and charged, hacking their way into the undead. Yet there was no shortage of Undying, and for every undead one of the Immortals destroyed, two more took its place. Annarah began a new spell, shouting in her clear voice, and Rolukhan worked his own spell. All around them the battle dissolved into screaming chaos, the Immortals and the undead struggling, Annarah and Rolukhan flinging spells at each other.

  “To Rolukhan!” shouted Nasser, and he started forward with Laertes and Morgant.

  Caina turned towards Kylon, but he was already moving.

  ###

  Kylon drew upon all his sorcerous power. His senses crawled with the power snarling around him, the clean thrum of Annarah’s spells, the furious, yet deadened emotions of the Immortals, the rage and terror battling within Rolukhan. He also felt the nagataaru coiled within Rolukhan, and sensed the dark spirit’s rage and fear.

  It knew the danger Annarah represented, even if Rolukhan himself did not. The nagataaru was right to fear her. Around her Kylon sensed the same sort of strange power he felt within the valikon itself, power that could kill the nagataaru. Something clicked, and a crossbow bolt shot over the battle. Nerina’s quarrel blurred over the Immortals and slammed into Rolukhan’s chest. For an instant Kylon thought that the Master Alchemist would come to an anticlimactic but deserved end, slain at the hand of the mad locksmith whose life he had blighted.

  The bolt shattered against Rolukhan’s gold-trimmed white robes. They had been imbued with the strength of steel, no doubt thanks to some alchemical process or another. Rolukhan himself didn’t even notice the shot, his full attention upon Annarah. Shadows and purple flame lashed from him, shattering against the white light blazing from Annarah’s pyrikon, while the loremaster sent more bursts of white fire at him. The loremaster’s fire harmed neither the living Immortals nor the Undying, but Rolukhan flinched from it, his shadow closing around him to ward away the flames.

  In that chaos, Kylon attacked.

  He hurtled though the air, shooting over the black helms of the charging Immortals, and landed behind their front rank. The valikon spun in his hands, and he knocked two Immortals from their feet. Morgant and Nasser darted into the gap, Morgant slashing with his black dagger, Nasser punching with his gloved fist. An Immortal lunged at Nasser, but Laertes moved into the gap, catching the scimitar upon his shield and thrusting with his broadsword. His blade crunched into the Immortal’s armpit, and the wounded warrior reeled back. Kylon took the opportunity to swing the valikon, and drove the ghostsilver weapon through the chain mail covering the Immortal’s neck.

  The Immortal warrior went down, and Kylon drove deeper into the press, trying to hack his way to Rolukhan. One thrust from the valikon would end this battle. Rolukhan’s altered robes would not protect him from the valikon, and the sword’s ghostsilver blade would penetrate his protective spells.

  Yet Kylon found himself forced back, step by step.

  There were simply too many Immortals. Worse, the golden fire around their blades made them devilishly effective against the undead. The Undying had to close and grapple with an Immortal. The Immortals only had to touch their blades to the Undying, and the golden flame unraveled the undead into sand. Kylon suspect many of the undead were eagerly destroying themselves, hoping to escape the bondage of the bloodcrystal in Caina’s fist. He could not blame them for that, but it meant the Immortals were slowly winning the battle.

  Nor did it seem that Annarah was winning hers. Power snapped and snarled back and forth between the loremaster and the Master Alchemist, but Rolukhan was proving the stronger. He felt Annarah’s spells weakening beneath Rolukhan’s furious barrage. Perhaps if Annarah had been rested, if she had not spent the last century and a half trapped in the netherworld, she might have been able to overcome Rolukhan.

  Kylon sensed her wards crumple further, and the Immortals drove him back step by step.

  ###

  Caina watched the fighting, trying to think of something to do.

  No ideas came to her, and she could not fight while carrying the bloodcrystal. If Rolukhan got his hands on the thing, they were finished. Though it looked like they would be dead soon enough, and Rolukhan could claim the crystal at his leisure.

  “I calculate,” said Nerina, reloading her crossbow yet again, “a very good chance that we are going to die here.” He bolts did nothing against Rolukhan, so she had instead taken to shooting Immortals. So far she had accounted for five of them.

  “How good of a chanc
e?” said Caina.

  “About twenty-six in twenty-seven,” said Nerina. “Maybe twenty-four in twenty-five.”

  Malcolm grunted. “That sounds about right. At least the others got clear.”

  Caina nodded. With luck, Najar and the rest of the slaves could escape the Inferno before Rolukhan regained control of the fortress. She looked around again, trying to think of something, anything that she could do.

  “You!” said Malcolm.

  Caina whirled and saw a dark shadow hobble towards them, a shadow wearing chain mail and a sand-colored robe…

  Azaces.

  He had been wounded several times, dark patches marking his robes, dried blood covering a gash in his forehead. Malcolm lifted his hammer, but Nerina did not raise her crossbow. Azaces walked towards them, wobbling a bit. His two-handed scimitar was in its sheath over his shoulder, and in in his right hand he held something by its handle, a cylindrical shape about three feet long.

  An amphora.

  Specifically, a sealed amphora of Hellfire.

  “Don’t do anything,” Caina told the others. “If he drops that we’re dead.”

  “He is fighting for them,” said Malcolm.

  “No,” said Caina. “No, look at his wounds. Those are scimitar wounds.” Azaces stopped a dozen steps away, the amphora of Hellfire clinking against the stone floor. He took a deep breath, a shudder going through his frame. “For the gods’ sake don’t lean on that amphora.”

  Azaces flinched, nodded, and straightened up.

  “The horn,” said Caina, her mind racing. Something started to click together in her thoughts. “Rolukhan’s not controlling you any longer, is he?”

  Azaces pointed at Annarah. The loremaster struggled against the Master Alchemist, the white light of her spells blazing against the darkness. Caina could sense that Rolukhan was the stronger of the two. Annarah was putting up a ferocious defense, but the Master Alchemist would simply outlast her. If Morgant and Kylon and Nasser reached Rolukhan first, that might change things, but the Immortals were holding out against the undead assault.