Ghost in the Inferno (Ghost Exile #5) (21 page)

Hopefully there would not be a fight.

Not yet, anyway.

He felt the cold emotional sense of the Immortals. They had the same sort of ice in their minds that Caina did, but while her ice surrounded rage and passion, the ice of the Immortals ringed a black, malignant cruelty, a love of pain and death that Kylon had rarely felt anywhere else. The Immortals were monsters. They had once been men, but something had twisted them into monsters. 

That twisting had happened within the Inferno. 

Caina paced back and forth, muttering extravagant curses in Istarish, including several words that Kylon had not yet actually learned. He was always amazed at how thoroughly Caina could transform herself. Had he actually not known her, he would have assumed that an Istarish emir stood before him, an arrogant and petulant fool of a man. Yet none of the emotions on her disguised face reflected in her aura. She was concentrating on maintaining the masquerade, accompanied by the coldness he knew meant she was preparing for action. 

He also sensed tremendous dread coming from Azaces, though the silent warrior remained impassive. Perhaps he feared that Nerina might lose her head if she saw Malcolm again, that she might panic and get them all killed. 

The massive gate to the Inferno swung open with a groaning boom, and the ozone smell of Hellfire grew stronger. A troop of Immortals marched out, their steel boots clanging against the stone bridge. At their head walked a tall, gray-bearded Istarish man in a gold-trimmed white robe and turban, a dagger in his sash. His face was proud and stern, with a crooked beak of a nose, and black eyes that flashed like chips of obsidian. 

A wave of uncontrollable hatred rolled through Kylon, and in that blazing moment he wanted nothing more than to draw his sword, summon all his power, and cut down the white-robed man. For that was Malik Rolukhan, a Master Alchemist and the Lieutenant of the Inferno. With Cassander Nilas, he had brought the Red Huntress to New Kyre, and the Red Huntress had murdered Thalastre. 

It took all of Kylon’s strength to hold still, to keep his face impassive. He might have been able to cut down Rolukhan before the Master Alchemist brought his potent sorcery to bear, but there were at least forty Immortals with him, along with however many more waited in the watch towers. 

For that matter, Kylon was not sure he could have killed Rolukhan.

He sensed the nagataaru stirring within the Master Alchemist. 

It was a nexus of power, of alien emotion, rage and fury and malicious glee wrapped together in a tangled knot. The touch of its aura was nauseating, and Kylon wondered how Rolukhan could stand to have the vile thing inside of him. Perhaps the power it offered made its presence endurable. The Red Huntress had been possessed by a nagataaru as well, and it had given her superhuman strength and speed and healing. Rolukhan’s nagataaru would give him all that, and it would likely lend him power to pour into his spells. 

Unless Kylon struck him down with the first blow, Rolukhan would kill him…and then he would kill Caina and all the others as well.

Patience. Patience was a warrior’s first virtue, his teachers had always said, and Kylon had never seen anything to contradict that. He had to wait for the right moment to strike, to avenge his wife and unborn child. That moment had not yet come. Not when attacking Rolukhan would lose their chance of rescuing Annarah and stopping Callatas and his Apotheosis.

Not when attacking Rolukhan meant Caina would die. 

Her potential death, he realized, meant more to him than the faceless millions who would perish in the Apotheosis. Perhaps that was folly, but it made it no less true. 

Rolukhan stopped a dozen paces from Caina, the disdain plain upon his face. In his right hand he held the rolled-up letter of commission, tapping it against his left palm every so often. It took all of Kylon’s self-control to keep from staring at the Master Alchemist. Rolukhan knew what Kylon looked like, and he had seen Caina in the tunnels below the Ring of Cyrica. If he recognized them, if he saw past the disguises, they were going to die right now.

Yet there was no suspicion in the Master Alchemist’s sense, only a combination of annoyance and amusement. For a moment Kylon wondered how Rolukhan had missed the obvious. But missing the obvious was how Caina had remained free and hidden in Istarinmul for nearly two years, despite the enormous bounty upon her head. People generally did not look beneath the surface, especially powerful men like Malik Rolukhan. He expected to see a minor emir and his retinue…and so he saw a minor emir and his retinue. Not the Balarigar and Kylon Shipbreaker. 

Kylon wondered how many times he had been that arrogant. 

“So,” said Rolukhan, his voice resonant and deep. “You are Cimak, I understand?”

Caina offered a deep bow. “I am the emir Kuldan Cimak, and it my honor to meet you at last, my lord Alchemist.”

Rolukhan folded his arms over his chest. “You are nearly two weeks late, my lord emir. You were also supposed to bring a hundred Immortals to reinforce my garrison, and I note a distinct lack of Immortals among you.” 

“There were…ah, difficulties, my lord Lieutenant,” said Caina. “First a dust storm out of the Desert of Candles made travel impossible for several days. My party was scattered, and the nomads of the steppes took the opportunity to launch attacks upon us. I lost all my remaining Immortals in the fighting, along with most of my baggage and all of my horses, and had to make my way here on foot.” 

Rolukhan snorted, both the contempt and the amusement in his sense growing. “Some of your wagons arrived with supplies and slaves, along with the smiths we need to continue the work.” A jagged spike of hope and fear went through Nerina’s sense. “Just as well you are not here to command troops. It is obvious you would make an ineffectual leader.”

“I…see,” said Caina. “What is to be my role here, then?” 

“To be the seneschal,” said Rolukhan. “To manage the Inferno, more or less. The Grand Master expects much of our work here, and that commands my full attention. Such trivialities as the account books or the grain inventory are not worth my time. Erghulan said you had a head for letters and numbers, so you shall take over the day-to-day governance of the Inferno while I continue with more important duties. You shall perform this task admirably and well.” He smiled behind his gray beard. “If you do not, I’ll hand you over to the Immortals for their sport.” 

Caina drew herself up. “I am an emir of Istarinmul. You cannot talk to me in such a manner!” 

“I just did, and I shall do much worse if I choose,” said Rolukhan. His cold smile widened. “I urge you to be reasonable. Work diligently for me, and you have nothing to fear, and once your term of service is up you can return to Istarinmul with the Grand Wazir’s favor and your political position strengthened. Disappoint me and things will not go so well with you.” His black eyes moved over Nasser and Morgant. Kylon forced himself to remain motionless and expressionless as Rolukhan looked at him. He feared the Master Alchemist would recognize him, but neither Rolukhan’s expression nor his sense changed. A strange flicker of exhilaration went through Kylon. Was this how Caina felt when she walked unnoticed among her enemies in disguise?

Then Rolukhan’s eyes fixed on Nerina Strake.

“A woman?” he said. “You brought a woman to the Inferno?” He let out an ugly laugh. “Tell me, do you hate her so much? This is not a place for women.” He smiled. “Save for the wretches who sate the Immortals’ appetites.”

“She is my…companion,” said Caina. “I did not wish to be without her company, so I brought her along.” 

Nerina shivered and looked away, refusing to meet Rolukhan’s gaze. 

“A wraithblood addict, too,” said Rolukhan. “All the better.” His eyes turned back to Caina. “Fail me, and I’ll give her to the Immortals. You can watch what they do to her before I hand you over to them.”

The nagataaru within him seemed to hiss in pleasure at the thought, like a snake stirring in its den.

“You have a unique way of motivating your subordinates, my lord Rolukhan,” said Caina. 

“Ah,” said Rolukhan. “So you do have a bit of backbone. You see, the Grand Master and I understand. There is only one thing that makes men good. The only thing that makes them excel.”

“What’s that?” said Caina.

“Fear,” said Rolukhan. “Come. Bring your attendants. I shall show you the Inferno and your new duties.”

He turned, and the Immortals fell in around them.

###

Caina walked alongside Rolukhan as they crossed the bridge, her mind racing. 

She might have done Cimak a favor by kidnapping him before he could reach the Inferno. Rolukhan was a powerful man with no patience for fools, and Cimak would have irritated him. Given that the nagataaru fed upon pain and death, Rolukhan might well have killed Cimak and saved himself the bother. 

Now Caina just had to keep Rolukhan from killing them before they escaped from the Inferno with Annarah. 

The opened gates yawned before them, and beyond Caina saw a high, vaulted tunnel, its walls adorned with Maatish reliefs and hieroglyphics. Far in the distance she saw a sullen crimson light, and she felt the prickle of powerful sorcery against her skin. It was the aura of a Hellfire engine, the sorcerous apparatus that manufactured the deadly elixir. 

There was another aura, too, one that seemed to come from deep within the mountain. It was ancient and cold, and made her skin crawl at its touch. It was the aura of Maatish necromancy, powerful and deadly. Maglarion had used it, Rhames had used it, and so had the Moroaica.

“What a peculiar odor,” she said aloud.

“The smell of Hellfire, my lord emir,” said Rolukhan. “Among my other tasks, I supervise the production of Hellfire. Should any of the disloyal southern emirs attempt to seize the Inferno for themselves, they shall regret their folly. Briefly.” 

They walked into the tunnel, the smell of Hellfire growing sharper, the harsh red glow of the Hellfire engine shining brighter in the gloom. The sorcerous auras around Caina grew stronger and sharper. A faint vibration shivered through the floor beneath her boots, likely from the Hellfire engine itself. 

“Behold,” said Rolukhan as the tunnel ended and they stepped through another archway. “The Hall of Flames.”

It was a huge domed chamber, carved from the living rock of the mountain. It reminded Caina a great deal of the domed Chamber of Ascension in Caer Magia, and Caina wondered if the magi of the Fourth Empire had built their chamber in imitation of Maatish architecture. Elaborate reliefs and hieroglyphics covered the walls, and the domed ceiling had been carved in an intricate reproduction of the heavens, the stars represented by crystalline chips.

The hellish light transformed the crystalline chips into stars of burning blood. 

A circular hole filled perhaps two-thirds of the chamber’s floor, ringed with a railing of carved stone. Caina realized that she was on a balcony of some kind, that the chamber was actually the top of a massive shaft. 

“Impressive architecture,” she said. 

“Indeed,” murmured Rolukhan. “The ancient Maatish raised it, and they were both superb engineers and skilled necromancers. Once this was the stronghold the Great Necromancer Kharnaces, but now it belongs to the Padishah. Come, my lord emir.” He gestured to the railing. “Come, and you shall see a sight that few have ever been privileged to witness. You shall see the creation of Hellfire itself.” 

Caina had seen the process before, but she nodded and followed Rolukhan and his Immortals to the railing. 

The cylindrical stone shaft below the railing was at least four hundred feet straight down. A wave of vertigo went through Caina, but she kept it from her face. Far below, at the bottom of the shaft, she saw the Hellfire engine, a massive construction of glass tubs and metal valves and bronze gears and smoking ceramic vats. The huge thing was at least five times larger than the machine Caina had seen in the Widow’s Tower, and she thought it might be larger than the House of Agabyzus. She felt waves of potent sorcery radiating from it like heat from a blacksmith’s forge. Dozens of gray-robed acolytes moved around the machine, tending to it and filling and sealing clay amphorae with Hellfire. More acolytes carried the amphorae to dark halls opening in the curved walls, and Caina saw row after row of amphorae-laden shelves stretching into the darkness. 

She had never seen that much Hellfire in one place before. 

“An impressive sight,” said Caina. 

“One of the highest achievements of alchemical science,” said Rolukhan. “An elemental spirit of fire is trapped within the apparatus, and its essence is extracted and bound within the Hellfire to create one of the most potent weapons of war known to man. The Grand Wazir has ordered a tremendous amount of Hellfire to defend the city from the rebellious emirs, and so the acolytes have been working night and day for weeks. You may take a closer look, if you wish.” He raised a hand. “But two words of warning, my lord emir.” 

“My lord is gracious,” said Caina. 

“Do not interfere with the production of Hellfire,” said Rolukhan. “It is delicate and dangerous work, and the Immortals have orders to kill anyone interfering.” His cruel smile widened. “And do not descend deeper into the Inferno than the level of the Hellfire engine.”

“Why not?” said Caina, though she knew the answer. 

“The ancient dead still walk the lower halls, the galleries we call the Halls of the Dead,” said Rolukhan. “They are left over from the time of Maat, former servants of the Great Necromancer Kharnaces. Kharnaces himself was defeated long ago, but still his undead slaves guard the Inferno. Additionally, anyone who is slain in the lower levels, or any corpses left there, rise again as undead slaves, bound to defend the Inferno for all eternity.” He smiled. “Consider it an added motivation not to fail me.” His eyes wandered back to Nerina. “For if you do fail me, once the Immortals have finished with your concubine I’ll throw her corpse to the ancient dead. Then she can rise as one of them and remind you of your failure for eternity.”