Ghost in the Maze (20 page)

At the polished floor that had more distortions in it than she would have expected. 

No. Not distortions.

Reflections.

No one ever looked up.

“Oh, damn,” whispered Caina, and looked at the ceiling. 

The daevagoths stared down at her.

Dozens of the twisted creatures hung motionless from the ceiling, their flesh a hideous fusion of spider and human wrought by Callatas’s demented alchemy. Their spider-like bodies were the size of wolves, their legs clinging to the stone. Human heads jutted from their knobbed carapaces, the skin gray and streaked with black veins, their eyes closed. A scorpion’s tail, as long and thick as Caina’s leg, coiled from the back of each creature’s thorax, terminating in three dagger-like spines that glistened with poison.

She heard the rustle of shock that went through her allies.

“Don’t move,” hissed Caina. “Don’t say anything. Don’t…”

Kazravid cursed, raised his bow, and released an arrow. 

The shaft hissed straight up and slammed into a daevagoth’s bulbous thorax. The creature’s eyes popped open, shining with the same blue glow as an Immortal, and it loosed a hideous shriek before it fell from the ceiling and landed at Caina’s feet with a wet splat. 

Every single daevagoth on the ceiling opened its eyes in unison.

“Oh,” said Kazravid. “Um…”

“You really shouldn’t have done that,” said Tarqaz, his voice quavering with terror.

“Defend yourselves!” roared Nasser, raising his scimitar.

The daevagoths shrieked in glee and flung themselves from the ceiling. Caina dodged, trying to find a clear space beneath the falling creatures. Anaxander flung out his hands, and she felt the sudden pulse of his sorcery. Unseen force rippled through the air, and a burst of psychokinetic force rolled through the hall, tugging at Caina’s coat in the wind of its passage. The former magus did not hit any of the daevagoths hard enough to kill them, but his spell scattered them across the hall, keeping the creatures from overwhelming them in a single rush. 

And that gave them a fighting chance.

“Beware the tails!” shouted Caina, dodging past a daevagoth’s charge. “One scratch is deadly!” She avoided the lash of the creature’s tail and stabbed with her dagger, burying the blade behind the daevagoth’s neck. The creature shuddered and went limp, its spiked legs scraping against the stone floor. Another one came at Caina, shouting in a mad, incoherent voice, and she snatched one of the throwing knives from her sleeve and flung it. The blade sank into the daevagoth’s left eye, and the creature stopped with a screech, and Caina darted past the lash of its tail and drove her glistening dagger into its neck.

She spun as a third daevagoth charged her, but before Caina could react a crossbow quarrel slammed into the creature’s thorax and out the other side with a sound like a dagger stabbing a melon. The daevagoth collapsed in a tangle of legs, and Caina risked a glance to the side and saw Nerina reloading her crossbow, her mouth moving in a silent equation. Azaces stood before her, and the big man fought with terrifying speed, his two-handed scimitar a blur of steel. Every time he moved, a daevagoth fell in pieces. Strabane and Laertes fought back to back, covering each other, while Tarqaz huddled behind them, whimpering in terror. Anaxander stood near them, casting spells, and his blasts of psychokinetic force picked up individual daevagoths and flung them against the walls with such force that they splattered. Kazravid loosed arrow after arrow, his face hard with concentration. He was death with a bow, and every shaft struck true. 

But Nasser caught Caina’s attention.

He fought like a storm.

He moved through the daevagoths in a blur, striking right and left with his scimitar. One lunged at him, jaws yawning wide, and Nasser dodged with the grace and precision of an acrobat. His scimitar flashed, and the daevagoth’s hairless head rolled away across the floor. A second creature stabbed its stinger at his back, and Nasser whirled and thrust out his left hand. The poison-smeared barbs struck his gloved palm, and Caina expected the barb to plunge through his hand like a knife through paper. Yet the stinger rebounded from Nasser’s left palm as if it had struck solid rock, and the daevagoth lost its balance. Before the creature could recover, Nasser’s left hand seized the daevagoth’s stinger. He ripped the creature’s tail free, a gush of black ichor coming from its torn abdomen. The daevagoth gurgled once and then died. 

Two more daevagoths skittered at Nasser, and Caina struck, stabbing the nearest creature in the back. The daevagoth shrieked and jerked away, ripping the dagger from her hand. The second whirled and stabbed its stinger at her, and Caina dodged. The daevagoth pursued, too close for a throwing knife, and Caina backed away as three more flung themselves at Nasser. 

She yanked the jeweled sword from her belt. Corvalis and Ark had shown her the basics of using a sword, though Caina had always been much better with daggers and throwing knives. But the blade was heavy and sharp, which was just what Caina needed now. The daevagoth’s tail cracked like a whip, and Caina dodged and brought the sword down, intending to sever the creature’s head. But she misjudged the swing, and brought the sword onto the daevagoth’s side, sinking deep into its flank and severing two of its legs. The creature lost its balance with a furious shriek, and Caina ripped the sword free and stabbed down with both hands. This time it sank into the daevagoth’s abdomen, and the creature screamed once more and died.

Caina stepped back, yanking another dagger free, but the fight was over. Dead daevagoths lay in a ring upon the floor. She looked around, but none of her allies had been injured. 

Not even Nasser.

“You should be dead,” said Caina. “The daevagoth stung you in the hand.”

Nasser smiled. “I have a strong grip.”

“By the Living Flame,” said Kazravid. “What the hell were those things?”

“Daevagoths,” said Caina. “Once living men and women. Callatas’s alchemy changed them into…that.”

Kazravid spat. “And I thought the occultists of Anshan were bad! They only conjure whispering shadows and speak with the dead. They don’t make these…these monsters.” He shook his head. “By the way, Ciaran, your sword technique is terrible.”

Caina shrugged. “I prefer daggers. And stabbing in the back over face-to-face fighting.”

“Spoken like a true master thief.”

“Thank you.” 

“I knew that man,” croaked Tarqaz, pointing at a dead daevagoth. “He worked in the kitchens. He…spilled wine while the master was eating, and…”

“If it will ease your mind,” said Nasser, “Callatas can never hurt him again.”

“It does not.” The eunuch drew himself up. “Let us proceed. The only thing that will ease my mind is stealing from…from the author of such horrors.”

“Well spoken,” said Nasser. “Ciaran, if you please.”

Caina retrieved her throwing knives and sword, cleaned the slime from their blades, and walked to the door of brass and gold. The pyrikon’s glow grew brighter as she did, and the others followed her. She stopped before the door, and lifted her left hand to touch the mechanism.

And as she did, the pyrikon unwrapped from her finger. 

The bronze segments opened, unfolding and expanding like a flower. The bronze stretched, curling around her wrist and expanding to form something that looked like a serrated dagger.

No. A key.

“That,” said Nerina, “is mathematically improbable.” 

The end of the pyrikon sank into the door, and the mechanism came to life. Gears spun and clanked, and sorcerous power washed over Caina. The pyrikon retracted, wrapped around Caina’s hand, and reshaped itself into a delicate bronze bracelet on her left wrist. 

She hesitated and tugged on the bracelet. The pyrikon came off her wrist without difficulty, and she felt an enormous wave of relief.

“I would,” murmured Nasser, “keep that on for now. It got us through the Maze.”

Caina gave a hesitant nod and returned the pyrikon to her wrist. Its sorcerous tingle felt almost familiar now. 

Then she watched as the elaborate mechanism upon the door released, its components sinking into the stone arch and the door itself. The door shuddered and swung open without a sound. Beyond stretched a corridor of black stone lit by glowing crystals upon bronze stands, crystalline statues of transmuted slaves standing in niches. In the distance Caina saw more wooden doors.

“The laboratory of the Grand Master,” said Nasser. “Shall we?”

Caina nodded and drew daggers in both hands, and the others followed suit.

Then she led the way into Callatas’s laboratory. 

Chapter 16 - Forgotten Lore

The corridor was silent, the faces of the crystalline statues frozen in silent screams. 

“Don’t touch the statues,” said Anaxander, his voice low. 

Caina wasn’t about to. Unlike the other statues she had seen, she felt the presence of potent sorcery upon their crystalline forms. It was some sort of ward, she suspected.

She didn’t want to find out what the ward did.

“Why not?” said Kazravid, ever belligerent. Yet his hands did not stray from his bow, and his eyes roved back and forth over the corridor.

“Warding spells,” said Anaxander. “I suspect touching the statues would be…messy.”

“Fortunately,” said Nasser, “we are not here to steal the statues.”

Strabane grunted. “I don’t suppose that sorcerous ring or bracelet or whatever it is shows the way forward?”

“No,” said Caina, “but there’s only one way forward.” 

She walked down the corridor, heading towards the doors at the end. The others followed, weapons in hand, watching for any daevagoths or whatever other horrors Callatas’s sorcery had conjured up. But no foes or traps presented themselves. Perhaps they had passed the worst of the defenses. The poison mist, Samnirdamnus’s death spell, and the pack of daevagoths would have been more than enough to kill most intruders. 

Yet they had penetrated the defenses nonetheless. Surely Callatas must have anticipated the possibility and prepared more traps.

Her eyes strayed to the pyrikon on her left wrist. She wanted to remove it before it affixed itself to her finger again, but Nasser’s counsel was sensible. Still, its transformation had surprised her. She had never seen sorcery like that before. The pyrikon had been graceful, almost beautiful, in its transformation, and it seemed odd that a man like Callatas could have made such a thing. But beauty could hide corruption and darkness. 

Caina pushed the thought from her mind and kept walking.

The corridor of glassy statues ended in another pair of double doors. Anaxander cast the spell to sense the presence of sorcery, but Caina felt no spells upon the doors. There were, however, several sources of arcane power in the room beyond.

“No wards,” said Anaxander.

“Nerina, Kazravid,” said Nasser. “Keep your bows ready. If there are guards beyond the door, I would like to greet them appropriately.” Kazravid nodded, setting an arrow to his string, while Nerina loaded her crossbow with a metallic click. Caina sheathed her dagger and drew a throwing knife, the blade ready in her hand. “Strabane, Laertes…if you would do the honors.” 

The two men tugged on the double doors, and slowly the heavy doors swung upon silent hinges. The doors had been massively reinforced, with planks built around a steel core, the hinges bound with more metal bands. 

As if Callatas wanted to keep something out. Or keep something trapped within. 

The stench of rotting meat and clotted blood flooded Caina’s nostrils.

“By the Living Flame,” muttered Kazravid, “it’s a menagerie of the damned.” 

The chamber beyond the door was a large hall, its walls lined with niches. Steel bars sealed off each of the niches and transformed them into cells. Many of the bars were dented and scratched, as if attacked by claws and fangs and struck by massive hammers.

Monsters lurked in each of the niches. 

Callatas had not limited his experiments to the creation of daevagoths. 

One cell held a man standing eight feet high, his skin gray and glistening, black veins threading beneath his flesh. Instead of a head, the coiled bodies of five serpents rose from his neck, each one terminating in the hooded head of a cobra. The creature sat motionless against the stone wall, but the cobra heads waved back and forth in silence, their forked tongues darting back and forth, their yellow eyes staring at Caina.

Another cell held a creature that looked like a daevagoth, but far larger. The spider was the size of a horse, and a cluster of a dozen human heads rose from the carapace. Thick strands of ropy webbing filled the cell, and the hideous creature sat suspended in the middle of them, its dozens of eyes closed. A third cell held a thing that looked like a cross between a wolf and a scorpion, the barb on its tail as long as a sword blade. Still another contained a creature like an ape covered in plates of bony armor, or a hairless lion with a human head, each creature more deformed and twisted than the next. 

Most of the creatures seemed asleep, or at least dormant. They did not stir as Caina took cautious steps into the hall. There was a smaller door on the far end of the chamber, large enough for only one man. 

“Demons,” muttered Strabane, his brow furrowed, his sword steady in his hand.

“Creatures,” said Nasser. “Created by Callatas and his alchemy. Keep moving. And stay well away from the bars. Some of them can reach from their cages.” 

They walked in single file through the chamber. Part of Caina’s heart felt a pang of regret. Those creatures had not asked to be made into monsters, and the gods alone knew how long they had been imprisoned in this horrible place. Yet she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that if she opened even one of the cages, the creature within would kill everything it could find, starting with her.

Even as the thought crossed her mind, the pyrikon shuddered on her wrist and began to give off blue light.

“What is it doing?” said Kazravid. “Why is your hand glowing?”

“Ah,” said Caina, looking around the chamber. Each cage had its own lock, and the locks were glowing as well. “I think…it can open the cages.” 

“What?” said Kazravid. “Are you serious? Have you…”

“Do not be absurd,” said Caina. “And keep your voice down. I’m not letting anything out.” 

“Hasten,” hissed Nasser. “If some of those beasts awaken,” he glanced at something that looked like a hippopotamus with the head of a squid and the paws of a lion, “those steel bars may not prove as much of an impediment as we might wish.”

They reached the next door. Anaxander started to mutter, casting the spell to sense the presence of sorcery, but Caina waved her hand over the door and felt nothing. She saw no sign of mechanical traps, so she pulled the door open and stepped into the next room.

She found herself in one of the biggest libraries she had ever seen. 

It rose three stories above her head, two levels of balconies encircling the walls. Light came from crystal spheres hanging by chains from the ceiling. Shelves filled each of the balconies, laden with books and scrolls and papers and tablets of clay. Here and there curios rested on the shelves – a dagger, an old helmet, an idol fashioned of dried mud. Glass cases ran along one wall, displaying more relics. 

“The man enjoys his books,” said Laertes.

“Is this it?” said Kazravid. “Is this the laboratory?”

“No, this is his library,” said Nasser. “Many alchemical spells involve fire, and for obvious reasons Callatas keeps his tomes well away from any spells that might go awry.” 

Anaxander nodded. “There are wards against fire through the walls and upon the shelves.” He snorted. “I don’t think a candle could even ignite in this room.” 

“We must tarry here a moment,” said Nasser.

“Why?” said Kazravid. “Books do not command as high a price on the black market as a vial of Elixir Restorata.” 

“The right book can. And I wish to borrow a book,” said Nasser. “This will only take a moment.” He gestured at the curio cases. “I suggest you pass the time by looting the cases. Many of the items within are valuable.” 

Kazravid grunted. “A sound suggestion. Sorcerer! Are those cases warded?”

“They’re not,” said Anaxander. “But the glass has…”

Kazravid walked to the nearest case and hammered the pommel of his scimitar against it, only for the weapon to rebound from the glass without leaving a scratch.

“But the glass has been alchemically transmuted,” said Anaxander, “to have the strength of steel. The wood, too.”

Nasser strode to one of the bookcases beneath the balcony and began scanning the titles. 

And as he did, Caina had a realization. 

“To hell with that, then,” said Kazravid. He pointed at Nerina. “You. Strake. Can you pick the lock?”

“On the balance of probability, most likely,” said Nerina.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” said Kazravid. “Open the damn thing, and I’ll let you have the first pick of the gold and the jewels within. And you needn’t worry about me cheating you, since your large friend will cut off my head if I do.”

Azaces nodded.

“Fair enough,” said Nerina, and she reached into her robe, produced her tools, and went to work. 

Caina crossed the library and joined Nasser. 

“That’s what this is about, isn’t it?” said Caina in a low voice.

“Oh?” said Nasser, not looking up from the shelves

“This theft,” said Caina. “The reason we are here. You want this book, whatever it is.”

“The loss of this book,” said Nasser, “will hinder Callatas greatly. And will aid me in stopping him.” He glanced at her. “And aid you, as well.” 

Caina said nothing for a moment.

“Can’t you do it any faster?” said Kazravid.

“Picking a lock,” said Nerina, “is a precise operation requiring the exact balancing of many variables. It cannot be rushed.”

“I could do it faster,” said Kazravid.

“Perhaps. What is nine times eleven?”

“Ah,” said Kazravid. “It is…”

“Ninety-nine,” said Anaxander.

Laertes laughed.

“Shut up,” said Kazravid. 

“Then let me help you find the book,” said Caina.

“Do you read High Iramisian?” said Nasser.

“I didn’t even know there was such a language,” said Caina.

“I thought not. Well, you are a surprising man, so what was one more surprise?” He pointed at the spine of a book. “The characters will look Anshani, but more stylized. The book I seek has a sigil upon its spine, one that looks a great deal like,” he hesitated for a moment, “like the way the pyrikon looked when it took the shape of a ring. A ring made of bronze scales, bound together in a twisted chain, wrapped around a seven-pointed star.”

“What does that sigil represent?” said Caina.

She did not expect an answer, but received one nonetheless.

“It was the sigil, in ancient times,” said Nasser, “of the Princes of Iramis.” 

Caina’s eyes widened. 

“We had best hurry,” said Nasser. “I don’t know how much time we have. And our allies might grow discontented if they realize we have interests other than money.”

Caina started scanning the shelves. She hurried up and down the rows of books, glancing over the titles. Callatas had a vast collection of books and scrolls, and they were arranged in no order that she could discern. Many of the volumes were written in the language Nasser had called High Iramisian. Callatas had destroyed Iramis, so why keep so many of its books? Perhaps he had craved the knowledge of Iramis’s sorcerers – the loremasters, whoever they had been. 

“Got it!” said Nerina, and Caina heard the creak as the curio case opened. 

“Let me have a look!” said Kazravid. Azaces gave a menacing growl. “After you, of course, mistress Strake.”

“My lord anjar,” said Nerina, “you are as much of a gentleman as I am.” 

This time both Anaxander and Strabane laughed with Laertes.

“She is not,” said Kazravid, “that funny.” 

Caina headed for the stairs, intending to search the shelves on the second level, and felt the faint tingle of sorcery.

She turned her head. The spell came from something on a nearby shelf. A closer look revealed a book with the sigil Nasser had indicated, a pyrikon ring wrapped around a star with seven points. In fact, the sigil looked exactly the way the pyrikon had when it had been wrapped around Caina’s finger. Perhaps Callatas had stolen the design for the shapeshifting key from the Iramisians. 

But why would he do that?

Her unease grew. Wraithblood had only first appeared in Istarinmul five or six years ago. But Callatas himself was centuries old. Perhaps the wraithblood was not a new development. Perhaps it was merely another phase in his Apotheosis, another step in a plan devised before Iramis had burned.

The final phase, perhaps?

Another mystery to contemplate later. 

Caina drew the book from the shelf with her left hand, and as she did she felt a pulse of power from the pyrikon around her wrist. The book answered in kind as Caina lifted it. It was as if the spell upon the bracelet and the spell upon the book recognized each other. 

“Nasser,” said Caina, and he joined her.

“Ah,” he said, and she handed him the heavy book. He took it reverently, gazing upon the title. “I have sought this for a very long time.”  He tucked the tome away in his brown robes. “And now on to Callatas’s laboratory. We both seek further secrets.”

“That, and our allies will kill us if we leave without any Elixir Restorata,” said Caina. “What is in the book?”

Nasser hesitated. “If we live through this, we can discuss it more.” 

“Ciaran!” shouted Nerina. “I think you might want this.”

“A silver dagger?” said Kazravid. Caina turned and saw the anjar rummaging through the opened case, stuffing jewels and various coins into his pockets. “Pretty, but useless. Silver doesn’t hold an edge well, and it tarnishes too easily. Not that I object to artwork, but I prefer that my weapons are wrought of steel.” 

“True,” said Nerina. “In that event, you will not object when I give this to Ciaran.”

Kazravid grunted and kept rooting through the curio case, while Strabane and Anaxander helped themselves to more coins and jewels. Nerina hurried toward Caina, Azaces following, a sheathed dagger resting in her hands. 

“I appreciate the thought,” said Caina, “but a steel dagger would be more useful than a silver blade.”

Nerina grinned. “There are different kinds of silver. Take a look.”

Caina shrugged, took the weapon, and drew the dagger from its sheath. The straight, leaf-shaped blade was a foot long, the hilt wrapped in black leather. The weapon was lighter than she had expected, and…

She felt her eyes widen.

The dagger had been forged of ghostsilver.