Ghost in the Inferno (Ghost Exile #5) (32 page)

“But your thread,” said Annarah. “Traveling to the netherworld leaves a mark upon mortal auras. You have been to the netherworld multiple times, to judge from what I saw.”

“Yes,” said Caina. “That was the fourth time. I really hope it was the last.” She had said that after the first three times, too. 

“You have done all these things…and you are a Ghost nightfighter?” said Annarah, still stunned. “I have spoken with Ghost nightfighters before. I met with one to seek the help of the Ghosts after Iramis burned, but the Red Huntress killed him, and I fled instead to Rumarah, where I met Morgant. None of the Ghost nightfighters I met were like you.”

“I’ve done some things and seen some places,” said Caina. “If we get out of here alive, I might tell you about some of them. We…”

A creaking, tapping sound came from ahead, and green light flared in the darkness further down the stairs. 

“Here they come,” said Caina. “The undead. Your pyrikon warded us from them before, when we entered the Inferno. Can it do so again?”

“Of course,” murmured Annarah, tapping the end of her staff against the stairs. Again Caina felt a surge of Annarah’s resonant arcane power, and the white light radiating from the pyrikon grew brighter. An instant later a score of undead rushed out of the darkness, wreathed in ghostly green images of themselves, and came to a sudden stop at the edge of the light. 

Caina let out a sigh of relief. She wasn’t sure if the new pyrikon upon her wrist could have done the same, and this was not the time to find out.

“Keep walking,” she said. They moved forward, and the undead retreated from the light. “Don’t let that light go out, either.”

Annarah shook her head, silver hair sliding against her shoulders. “The effort to maintain it is minimal. I only wish I could do more.”

“More of what?” said Caina. 

“To aid them,” said Annarah. “The Undying. Some of them have been imprisoned here for thousands of years, ever since Kharnaces the Great Heretic was defeated. Thousands upon thousands more Undying have risen in the centuries since. I imagine this Malik Rolukhan, the current Lieutenant of this evil place, has thrown hundreds if not thousands of victims to be raised by the spell upon the Halls of the Dead.” She shook her head. “If there was a way to free them from the enslavement of the bloodcrystal, I would do it.”

“The enslavement?” said Caina.

Something started to rattle in her thoughts, her mind putting pieces together. 

Free the slaves, Samnirdamnus had said. 

Do what you always have done, Sulaman had told her. 

“Wait,” said Caina. “Bloodcrystal. What do you mean, a bloodcrystal?”

“A bloodcrystal is a tool of Maatish necromancy, made from the blood of a murdered victim,” said Annarah. “A necromancer can use it as a reservoir of stolen life force, and they can be created to serve other purposes as well…”

“I know,” said Caina. “But a bloodcrystal powers the spell binding the Undying?”

“I believe so,” said Annarah. “Most likely one of the greater Maatish bloodcrystals, probably a Subjugant Bloodcrystal.”

“I’ve never heard of that kind,” said Caina. “I’ve encountered an Ascendant Bloodcrystal, but not a…”

“You encountered an Ascendant Bloodcrystal and you’re still alive?” said Annarah, stunned yet again. 

“Not important right now,” said Caina. “Tell me about a Subjugant Bloodcrystal.”

“It was one of the greater forms of Maatish bloodcrystal,” said Annarah. “The Great Necromancers wrought them to aid the Kingdom of the Rising Sun’s wars of conquest. Any living mortal slain within the reach of the crystal’s aura rises as an Undying under the command of the crystal’s bearer.”

“I see how that would be useful in a battle,” said Caina, though the thought revolted her.

“Likely Kharnaces left a Subjugant Bloodcrystal here to defend the fortress,” said Annarah. “I’m sure the College of Alchemists would have loved to have claimed it, but the undead kill anyone who approach the crystal.”

“Why didn’t the loremasters of Iramis destroy it?” said Caina. “Your powers can ward away the undead.” 

“We should have,” said Annarah, “but other concerns held our attention, and then the Padishahs claimed the Inferno as part of their realm, and the Prince had no wish to provoke war with Istarinmul.” 

Caina nodded, her mind racing. Kylon and the others could not hold out against Rolukhan and the Immortals for very long. Even if she and Annarah rejoined them, they would be overwhelmed. 

Unless they had help.

Caina looked at the undead filling the stairs and took a deep breath.

“This,” she said to herself, “is probably a very bad idea.”

“What do you mean?” said Annarah.

Caina drew back her shadow-cloak’s cowl and stepped to the very edge of the light.

“Balarigar!” said Annarah with alarm.

The undead flinched away from Caina.

“Who am I?” said Caina, staring at the undead, watching the ghostly images writhe over their bones. “Look at me!” Her voice echoed through the stairwell. “Look at me and tell me who I am!” 

For a moment the dead remained motionless. 

“The Bloodmaiden,” croaked one, the ghostly image of a Maatish soldier in kilt and cuirass playing over his bones.

“The Bringer of Dust,” rasped another.

“The Queen of Crows.”

“The Destroyer.” 

“And what did the Destroyer do?” said Caina. 

“She destroyed the Kingdom of the Rising Sun,” said one of the ancient Maatish soldiers. 

“She threw down the Undying pharaohs from their thrones and ground them into the sand of the desert,” said another. 

How Jadriga would have laughed. 

She had tried so hard to recruit Caina as a disciple, and Caina had refused her every time. Now Caina was about to pretend to be her. Perhaps she had earned that right. Both Andromache and the Sage Talekhris had mistaken Caina for the Moroaica, and that had nearly gotten her killed several times. 

“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 ran 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.