Ghost in the Inferno (Ghost Exile #5) (28 page)

“You first,” said Caina.

“But…” started Annarah.

“Don’t argue,” said Morgant, pushing her forward. “Go.” 

She vanished through the gate.

“Ghost,” said Morgant. “Caina. Thank…”

“Shut up,” said Caina, pushing him towards the gate. The huge wall of shadow hurtled closer to them, swallowing the netherworld. “Thank me back in the mortal world.” 

He vanished into the gate.

BALARIGAR. STAY HERE AND I SHALL KILL YOU QUICKLY AND WITHOUT PAIN. THIS I OFFER YOU, FOR YOU HAVE BEEN WORTHY PREY. SPURN MY OFFER, AND YOU SHALL KNOW DESPAIR AND DEFEAT BEFORE YOU ARE SLAIN. 

A chill went through her, but she forced herself to look at the advancing wall of shadow. “Then I can find a way to stop the Apotheosis, can’t I?” said Caina. “Otherwise you wouldn’t care. You wouldn’t try to bargain.”

THEN DIE.

She threw herself backwards through the gate as the shadows reached to devour her. 

Again she had the sensation of falling, of gray mist hurtling past her with incredible speed.

Then she was back in the stinking gloom of the Hall of Torments, tumbling backwards across the dais. Caina lost her balance and fell, strong hands catching her arms and stopping her fall. The back of her head came to rest against Kylon’s chest, and she looked back at the dais, fearing that the nagataaru would follow her into the Inferno. 

The gate shimmered with white light, and then turned into a sheet of blackness. Caina cursed and regained her balance. She saw Morgant stepping forward, the valikon blazing with white fire, saw Annarah lift her pyrikon and begin a spell. 

“They are coming!” said Annarah. “Defend…”

The gate collapsed with a flash, and a ball of white light burst forth and slammed into Caina. 

She bit back a scream of pain as a surge of arcane power roiled through her like a wave of knives. The ball of light covered her left hand, and then shrank and flattened. The sensation of arcane power faded to a manageable tingle, and the ball of light shrank further. 

Then suddenly it was gone entirely, and instead a bracelet rested against her left wrist.

A pyrikon. 

Caina blinked in astonishment.

“Are you all right?” said Kylon.

“I…I think so,” said Caina. She wondered if Annarah’s pyrikon had returned, but the loremaster still held her bronze staff. The bracelet around Caina’s wrist wasn’t bronze, but silvery, though it was lighter and stronger than silver…

Ghostsilver. 

“What just happened?” said Kylon.

“I…don’t really know,” said Caina.

“A spirit of defense has chosen you as its bearer, Ghost,” said Annarah, offering a deep bow in Caina’s direction. “It was drawn to your valor, and has chosen you to employ its power in the mortal world. That is how the loremasters gained their pyrikons before Callatas slew us. We went to the netherworld and undertook a trial of courage and valor. Casting your defiance into the teeth of Kotuluk Iblis himself certainly counts.”

“The great demon of the desert?” said Malcolm. He was standing near Azaces, Nerina slumped against him, keeping a wary eye on the towering warrior. “A myth.” 

“I fear he is not, husband,” said Nerina. 

“One of the spirits of defense I summoned was impressed by your courage,” said Annarah, “and has chosen you.”

“Oh,” said Caina, flexing her left hand. “Well. Isn’t that…nice?” She was not thrilled about carrying yet another object of sorcery with her. Still, she supposed it was not technically an object of sorcery but instead a spirit bound in material form, which hardly made her feel better. Annarah’s pyrikon had saved her life several times, and perhaps this new ghostsilver pyrikon could do the same. 

“It is a great honor, Ciaran,” said Nasser. “Now we must turn our attention to escaping the Inferno at once.”

Annarah stared at him, her green eyes growing wide.

“Yes,” said Caina, shaking her head to clear it. Somehow she had not expected to survive the netherworld for a fourth time. “As soon as someone notices that Malcolm is missing and those Immortals are dead Rolukhan will likely order a search of the Inferno from top to bottom.” An idea started to come to her. “But he won’t search the Halls of the Dead. Why bother? He doesn’t know about Annarah or the pyrikons. Annarah and Malcom can hide in the Halls of the Dead until the search is called off, and then…”

“Lord Prince,” said Annarah, her voice stunned. 

They all looked at her.

Annarah took a step towards Nasser, her eyes wide. “After so long? Is it truly you?”

“Loremaster,” said Nasser with a deep bow, “it is. You have done great service to your order and to your nation, far more than I could ever have asked of you.”

“A hundred and fifty years,” whispered Annarah. “That was such a span of time. Such a burden.” She looked from Morgant to Nasser. “No one could have asked you to bear that.”

“Loremaster,” said Nasser. “Do not rebuke yourself. It has been a century and a half, yes…but because of your wisdom, Callatas has been stymied for every single one of those years. He has searched the Desert of Candles from end to end for the regalia of the Princes, and he failed to find the Staff and the Seal. No doubt he thought to work his Apotheosis within a few years after the destruction of Iramis. Instead he has spent a hundred and fifty years searching and never finding.”

“I do not remember where I concealed the Staff and the Seal, my lord,” said Annarah. “I removed the memory and secured it in my journal.” She looked at Morgant. “Did…”

“I gave it to Callatas, along with your pyrikon,” said Morgant.

“And earlier this year, with Master Ciaran’s help,” said Nasser, gesturing at Caina, “we recovered both the journal and your pyrikon.” 

“Do you have the journal with you?” said Annarah. “I can unlock it here and now…”

“No,” said Nasser. “Keeping you and the journal in the same location is far too much of a risk. Once we have escaped the Inferno, we can unlock its secret at our leisure.” 

“I see,” said Annarah. She turned and smiled at Morgant. Like Nasser, her teeth seemed brilliantly white in her dark face. “Thank you for coming back for me.”

Morgant shrugged. “As I said, I keep my word.”

“Through such difficulty,” said Annarah. “Across decades. Across centuries! And at such cost to yourself. How many men cannot keep their word for even a day? Thank you.”

To Caina’s utter astonishment, she closed the distance and hugged the assassin. She looked at Kylon, and saw her own surprise mirrored in his face. Morgant himself merely looked embarrassed, his hands twitching behind Annarah’s back as if he didn’t know what to do with them. 

“I couldn’t have done it,” said Morgant, gently pushing her away, “without Master Ciaran the Ghost. You should go hug him, or his pet Kyracian. Speaking of which.” He undid Kylon’s baldric and handed the sheathed valikon back to him. “Never did care for a sword that glowed. Much too ostentatious.”

“Gaudy, even,” said Kylon with a straight face.

“See? Even a Kyracian can learn proper aesthetics.”

“Master Ciaran,” said Annarah, offering that deep bow to Caina. “Thank you. Thank you for your aid. I know the Ghosts have not taken interest in the troubles of Iramis before…but I suppose after a century and a half, Iramis is ancient history and the policies of the Emperor have changed.” She look at Caina with wonder. “But who are you that you would earn the enmity of Kotuluk Iblis himself?”

“The Great Nagataaru?” said Nasser, startled. “You never mentioned this.”

Caina shrugged. “It never came up. And now is not the time to discuss it. The sooner we are gone from the Inferno, the better. I think our best chance is to overwhelm the guards at the gate and flee as quickly as we can. Nasser and Morgant are formidable fighters, and we also have a Kyracian stormdancer. Mistress Annarah, can you…”

“Just Annarah,” she said. “A loremaster must be a servant of all, seeking neither to rule nor to dominate. If you feel obliged to give me a title, simply call me ‘loremaster’, for that is the only title I claim.”

“Fine. Annarah, then,” said Caina. “Can you bring your spells to bear against the Immortals?” 

“I cannot,” said Annarah. 

“I should have realized. You must be exhausted from the netherworld,” said Caina.

“I am, but that is not the reason,” said Annarah. “I cannot not use my powers to harm and injure living mortals. Nor is that simply my choice. The Words of Lore do not permit it.”

“Truly?” said Caina, blinking with surprise. “Nasser said something like that…but I thought that was a myth, or a self-serving lie, the way the Imperial Magisterium claims to govern the use of sorcery for the good of the Empire.”

“No,” said Nasser. “The loremasters could only use their powers for knowledge and healing and defense, not to wound or kill.” 

“You see why she needed me, then?” said Morgant. “Someone’s got to do the dirty work.” 

“It’s just…” Caina was so taken aback that for a moment she struggled to phrase her thoughts. “I’ve never met a sorcerer who couldn’t kill people when the moment required it.”

“I am not a sorceress,” said Annarah without anger. “I am a keeper of the Words of Lore, the Words that the Living Flame of the Divine entrusted to the first loremasters in the dawn of ages. It was our responsibility to shield men from the malevolent powers of the netherworld, to ensure the powers of sorcery were used responsibility and with wisdom. That you disbelieve me so deeply is proof of how profoundly we failed in our trust.” 

“Fine,” said Caina. “I have a shadow-cloak, so I’ll scout the gates. If the guards are few enough, I suggest we cut our way out and flee before Rolukhan can pursue us. If the gate is too strong…we should withdraw to the Halls of the Dead and wait. Annarah’s pyrikon can shield us from the undead,” she glanced at her wrist, “and I assume my new one can do the same. Rolukhan won’t be able to follow us into the Halls of the Dead, and we can wait for a more opportune moment to flee.”

“I concur,” said Nasser, and Kylon nodded his agreement. 

“Then stop talking and go,” said Morgant. 

Annarah smiled at him. “You haven’t changed very much in a hundred and fifty years.”

“One cannot improve upon perfection,” said Morgant. “Now…”

“Watch out!” shouted Malcolm.

Caina whirled just as Azaces drew his two-handed scimitar, his eyes shining with the blue light of the Immortals’ rage.

Chapter 15: Written In Flesh

Kylon drew the valikon, the sword’s sigils dark, as the others lifted their weapons.

“I knew it,” said Malcolm, pushing Nerina behind him. “I knew he would turn on us.”

Kylon was not so sure.

There was anger in Azaces’s sense, but it was directed at himself. There was also confusion and regret and despair. Kylon sensed something else, too. The air around him was alive with arcane energy, both from the Hellfire engine and whatever dark aura powered the undead, but for a moment some other spell shivered nearby. 

“Did you catch that?” said Caina.

Kylon nodded, keeping his eyes on Azaces. The big warrior did not move, his face tight as if he waged some internal battle. 

“Didn’t recognize the spell,” Caina said. “Something alchemical, I think, and powerful. But I don’t know what. Maybe Rolukhan is working on the Hellfire engine.”

“This is stark madness,” said Malcolm, pointing at Azaces. “That man sold me to Rolukhan, and he will betray all of you if given the chance. You are keeping a serpent in your midst. If you have scruples about killing him, that is commendable. But I beg you, listen to me. If you spare him he will betray us.”

Morgant strolled forward, his black dagger in hand. “I have no qualms.” He raised the dagger. “I can promise you I’ll make it quick.”

Azaces did not even move his scimitar to block. 

“Wait,” said Annarah. “Morgant, wait.” The assassin looked back at her. There was nothing like love in his emotional aura. That would have been like finding rain in the Desert of Candles. But there was…something. A flicker. Affection, perhaps? Certainly respect. 

In any event, it was enough to make him stop. 

“Why does he not speak in his own defense?” said Annarah.

“His tongue was removed,” said Nasser. “He cannot speak.”

“Then let me speak for him,” said Annarah. “He can speak through me.”

“How?” said Nerina. 

“One of the Words of Lore permits it,” said Annarah. 

“You’ll…read his mind, then?” said Caina. “A form of psychomantic sorcery.”

“No,” said Annarah. “To violate another’s mind is a grave misuse of sorcery. This spell shall permit him to speak using my voice. My tongue and lips shall form the words for him.”

“It is too dangerous,” said Malcolm. 

“We have wasted too much time here already,” said Morgant. 

“No,” said Annarah, looking at Malcolm. “If this man has betrayed you, the truth must be known. For truth is greatest and strongest than all, as the ancient loremasters said.”  

“I would not have believed it unless Malcolm said so,” said Nerina. Her face had lost some of its usual manic intensity, likely because of the conflicting emotions roiling inside her aura. Finding her long-lost husband and learning her closest friend had lied about his death had taken a toll. “He…looked after me for so long, protected me. The calculation does not compute, nor does it balance.”

“I’m…sorry?” said Annarah.

“She means that she does not believe it,” said Malcolm. “I do…but if this is what it takes for the truth to be known, so be it.” 

“Ah,” said Annarah. “What is his name?”

“Azaces,” said Nerina.

“Azaces,” said Annarah. “Do you consent to this? Will you let me serve as your voice?” 

Azaces looked at her for a long moment, and then nodded. 

“Understand, though,” said Annarah. “The Words of Lore will let you speak through me, but you will not be able to lie. Every word you say will be the truth. Do you still consent?”

“Handy, that,” muttered Caina.

Again Azaces nodded. 

Annarah stepped closer to him, reaching up to put her right hand upon his left temple. She had to strain a little to do it. Annarah closed her eyes and started whispering under her breath, and Kylon sensed the peculiar flicker as she gathered power around her. It was different than any sorcery he had ever encountered before. It lacked the wild power of the elemental sorcery he wielded, the quicksilver nature of the alchemical sorcery, or the dark, corrupted power that a necromancer like Ranarius or Sicarion used. Yet for all that it seemed stronger, far stronger.