Ghost in the Seal (Ghost Exile #6) (36 page)

“We will need your help in days to come,” said Annarah. “We…”

“Annarah,” said Morgant. There was something strange in his emotional sense. Not grief, not precisely, nor even regret. But his sense seemed colder and sharper, the lines in his gaunt face deeper as he looked at Caina. “If that is what he needs to do…then that he what he needs to do.”

Annarah fell silent, bowing her head, and then blinked and looked out the window.

“I will distract Cassander until the time has come,” said Nasser. “When you are ready, let me know. We will try to escape to the alleys as you strike down Cassander and Kalgri.” He squeezed Kylon’s shoulder. His emotions were heavy and grim, but charged with the iron determination that had carried him through the long decades of struggle against Callatas. “Perhaps you shall be victorious, and we shall all meet again in Istarinmul and raise a glass to our fallen friend.” 

“Perhaps,” said Kylon.

“Watch the door,” said Nasser. Morgant nodded and moved to stand guard at the door, Laertes at his side, and Nasser moved to the window, shouting for Cassander to come forth and parley. A moment later Cassander’s voice boomed over the bazaar, demanding their surrender. 

Kylon barely heard it. He watched Caina’s breathing grow more erratic, felt her pulse fading. It would not be long now. In the Craven’s Tower, Kylon had been mortally wounded in the fight against the Sifter, and Caina had used the Elixir Restorata to heal his wounds. He could not do the same for Caina. The Elixir would react with her damaged aura, the scars that let her sense the presence of sorcery, and unleash a catastrophic explosion. He could do nothing to help her.

Just as he had been unable to save Andromache, to save Thalastre. 

“My fate,” he whispered, “is that I watch the women I love die, and I can do nothing to stop it.”

Caina shifted a little, but her eyes did not move. 

And then the world went gray around Kylon, all the colors leaching away. 

He blinked, and his first thought was that there was something wrong with his eyes, or that Cassander had used some kind of sorcery. The world had frozen around him. Nasser and Annarah stood motionless as statues at the window, Nasser’s mouth open in mid-shout. Laertes had just started turning his head to say something at Morgant, while the old assassin stared into the corridor, his eyes narrowed. 

The world had frozen. 

“The time has come,” said a familiar voice, “my stalwart stormdancer.”

Kylon looked up. 

Andromache leaned against the wall, and unlike the rest of the world she was in color, her eyes blazing with the smokeless flame of the djinn of the Azure Court.

“You,” said Kylon.

“Yes, me,” said Samnirdamnus.

“Why didn’t you help her?” said Kylon. “You told me she was going to die. You said she was the one you were looking for.”

“I said I thought she might be the one I’m looking for,” said Samnirdamnus, stepping forward. “Whether she lives or dies…that is up to you.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” said Kylon, his rage finding a new target. He wondered if the valikon would work against Samnirdamnus in this strange dream state. 

“Today is the day, Kylon of House Kardamnos,” said Samnirdamnus, and Andromache’s voice was deadly serious, the tone she had used when commanding the men of New Kyre in battle. “This is the day that you decide whether the world lives or dies. Whether you live or die. Perhaps you will let the world live today…or perhaps you will let it die, and you will join your family and your wife in death.”

“Gods damn you,” said Kylon. “I am sick to death of riddles and prophecies and oracles. If you have something useful to say, then say it, otherwise be gone.” 

“You have the means to save her life,” said Samnirdamnus. “An Elixir that will heal any wound.” 

“It will kill her,” said Kylon. “You know that as well as I do. It will react with the damage to her aura, summon too much power, and kill her.”

“Yes, I am aware of that,” said Samnirdamnus, “along with many other things that you are not, my stalwart stormdancer. You see, today you decide whether or not the world lives or dies…but you’re not the only one who has made that choice.”

The burning eyes turned towards Morgant.

“Morgant?” said Kylon. “What about…”

He fell silent.

The golden torque of the wedjet-dahn dangled from Morgant’s coat pocket, no doubt stuffed there hastily when the Adamant Guards attacked. 

Something started to stir in Kylon’s mind, the edges of some massive idea.

“That can’t help her,” said Kylon. “It’s damaged.”

“So is she,” said Samnirdamnus, flicking one of Andromache’s hands towards Caina. “Her aura is damaged from the scars she took as a child. The wedjet-dahn is damaged from a duel long before either of you were born. Perhaps they shall fit together.”

“But it wouldn’t work,” said Kylon. At least, he didn’t think it would work. From what Annarah had said, the wedjet-dahn would absorb any arcane force directed at its bearer, only to amplify that force tenfold and pour it back into whatever unfortunate wore it. Caina couldn’t use the Elixir Restorata because of her damaged aura. A single touch had set the Elixir to boiling in its crystalline vial. If she drank it while wearing the wedjet-dahn, the damaged torque would summon a tremendous amount of power…

The explosion would kill Caina.

The explosion would probably destroy the Corsair’s Rest. 

Unless…

What if Annarah had been wrong? Or what if she had been not completely correct? She was a loremaster, not a Maatish necromancer. She might have known a great deal of the history of ancient Maat…but Maat had been dead for two thousand years before she had been born. Perhaps something had been forgotten in that time. 

And why had Samnirdamnus wanted Morgant to take the wedjet-dahn from the Inferno in the first place? Samnirdamnus had gone to great effort to persuade Morgant to take the damned thing from the Inferno, and Morgant himself had endured great risk to take it, carrying it around ever since. 

Had Samnirdamnus somehow foreseen today’s events? Did that mean the wedjet-dahn could help Caina?

“Morgant already made his choice,” said Samnirdamnus, stooping down to look Kylon in the eye. “Some spirits view time as a tapestry woven of countless threads, each one altering the course of the other. I prefer a simpler metaphor. Time is a chain of choices, each link leading to the next. And if you steer the links…why, perhaps you can ever choose the destination without making a choice yourself. For I am forbidden to aid the enemies of Callatas, but their own choices…well, that is no affair of mine, is it?” Andromache’s form straightened up. “The choice is yours now, my stalwart stormdancer, the link that will alter so many others. Choose wisely.” 

Samnirdamnus vanished, and color and noise flooded back into the world. Nasser continued his shouted negotiation with Cassander. Morgant and Laertes remained at guard at the door, the chain of the torque swinging a little from Morgant’s pocket. Cassander hadn’t forced the inn yet. Perhaps he thought he could trick them into surrendering. 

Kylon looked at Caina. The foil-lined pouch holding the Elixir Restorata was still at her belt. He pushed it open, looking at the crystalline vials there. Caina shuddered, her pulse growing so faint he could barely feel it. 

Something beyond hope, beyond madness, flooded Kylon’s mind, and he made his decision. 

He snatched the vial of Elixir from Caina’s pouch, reached over, and yanked the wedjet-dahn from Morgant’s pocket. The assassin whirled with catlike speed, his weapons coming up, confusion going over his face.

“What are you doing?” said Morgant. 

“Maybe,” said Kylon, pulling up Caina’s sleeve and affixing the golden torque and the jade scarab to her right arm, “you can make a painting of this when it is all over.” 

He broke the seal on the vial of Elixir, the silver liquid starting to glow within it.

“No!” said Annarah, her eyes going wide. “No, Lord Kylon! Stop! It won’t help! It…”

Before anyone could stop him, Kylon pinched Caina’s nose shut, tipped her head back, and poured the entire vial down her throat. He felt the tingle of power as the Elixir activated.

Nothing else happened. Cassander shouted a question, repeated it. 

“Oh, hell,” said Morgant. 

“Why?” said Laertes. “What just happened?”

“It’s going to explode,” said Nasser. “Ciaran warned me about this. Past injuries mean that he cannot use Elixir Restorata. It will explode, violently.”

“What, you think the wedjet-dahn will do anything?” said Morgant. “You know it’s damaged. It won’t…”

The aura of power around Caina began to intensify. Silver fire shone in her veins, threading its way beneath her skin. She shuddered, the silver fire burning hotter. Her eyes shot open, silver threads burning through the blue of her eyes.

She sat up, panting. 

Then she stared to scream.

###

Fire burned through Caina, as if her veins had been filled with molten metal. 

She could remember nothing after falling to the floor, after Kylon had burst through the door. Now the fire burned inside her, filling her…yet something held it back. Some barrier, some shield.

Something on her right arm.

She looked down to see Morgant’s wedjet-dahn upon her right arm, the hieroglyphs on the links of the torque shining with silver fire. The wedjet-dahn was holding back the fire burning through her, the storm that wanted to erupt from her skin. But it was weakening. She felt the wedjet-dahn’s power buckling beneath the storm of silver fire within her, and when it failed…

When it failed the Corsair’s Rest would be ashes, and she would burn with it. 

Suddenly Caina knew with crystal clarity how she would die, how Sulaman’s prophecy and Kotuluk Iblis’s warning would come to pass. 

She stared to laugh. 

“What is it?”

Nasser’s voice, she thought.

“It’s just,” said Caina, “it’s just that Kalgri is going to be so disappointed.” 

Her eyes swam back into focus, and she saw the others standing in a ring around her. Caina staggered back to her feet, the silver fire burning through the wounds in her chest and back, pouring through her, filling her with agony, and saw silver flame burning in the veins of her hands. Yet she could move. 

The wedjet-dahn saw to that. Though not for very much longer. 

Kylon stared at her, his face grim and drawn. She suddenly understood what he had done. He had put the wedjet-dahn on her and then poured a vial of Elixir Restorata down her throat, hoping it would heal her. It wasn’t going to work. She could feel the wedjet-dahn failing, growing weaker with every second. 

“What,” said Caina, “what is happening?”

“The Umbarians,” said Nasser. “Two hundred Adamant Guards around the Corsair’s Rest. Cassander Nilas is with them. He wants you, and he wants the Staff and the Seal.” 

“Then,” croaked Caina, reaching into her satchel and donning her shadow-cloak, “we’re going to give him everything that he wants.” 

Before anyone could stop her, she staggered across the room to the window, pulling up the cowl as she did so. Adamant Guards stood in the bazaar below, hundreds of them, and before them stood two figures in black. One was Cassander Nilas, and the second was Kalgri, her shadow-cloak blowing around her. Even from a distance, Caina saw the ripple of surprise that went through Kalgri, saw the Red Huntress take a step back in alarm. 

“Cassander!” shouted Caina with all the strength she could muster. “You know who I am! I have what you want. I’ll be in the common room. Come and get me if you want me. Let the others go, and I’ll surrender to you willingly.” 

Before he could answer she shoved away from the window, reeling as she fought to keep her balance. 

“You can’t do this,” said Kylon. 

“I’m sorry,” said Caina. “I’m sorry. I know…I know you tried to save me. But this was inevitable.” She looked at Nasser. “Get out over the roof, and when Cassander comes in, take my rope and go down the side. I’ll delay him as long as I can, but…but I can’t hold the power back for very much longer. Go. Go!” 

“Ciaran,” said Nasser. “Thank you. For everything. If we succeed, generations beyond count will live because of you.”

“Go,” said Caina, looking at Kylon. She wished, more than anything, that she had kissed him before she died. Annarah and Damla had both been right. Caina had been a fool. She should have acted when there was still time. She reached into her shirt, yanked her father’s ring over her head, and handed it to him. “Take this, to remember. But go. Go! Please go!” 

A muscle twitched in his jaw. 

“Please,” whispered Caina.

At last Kylon nodded and led the others from the room, and Caina staggered towards the stairs. 

###

“No,” said Kalgri. “Something’s wrong.” 

She stared at the Corsair’s Rest, her mind racing, the Voice murmuring unease. 

Kalgri had sensed Caina’s life ebbing away, reveling in every second of it. Then it had flickered with a peculiar surge of power and vanished entirely. Kalgri assumed that Caina had died, that the final pulse of arcane power had been Caina’s pyrikon unbinding itself from her corpse. Caina was dead, and the Voice howled with glee.

Then Caina had shouted from the window. 

“What is wrong?” said Cassander, smirking at the inn. “You know the woman as well as I do. She realized that she is defeated, and so she is sacrificing herself in a vain effort to protect her friends.”

“She would do that,” said Kalgri, her unease growing. In fact, after her little game with the curved knives, it was exactly the sort of thing Caina would do. 

And yet…

“She should be dead,” said Kalgri. “She would have bled out by now. Even the loremaster couldn’t have kept her alive this long.” 

“Perhaps,” said Cassander, “you aren’t quite as effective with a blade as you think.”

Her initial impulse was to cut that smirk from his smug face. The Voice seconded that thought with enthusiasm. Kalgri chose restraint. Something was wrong. Her instincts screamed that something was wrong, and she had not survived this long by neglecting her instincts.