Ghost in the Inferno (Ghost Exile #5) (30 page)

They passed the archway leading to the Hall of Forges, fiery light spilling from it. The Hall with its forges and furnaces still seemed deserted. Just as well that Kylon and Morgant had killed the Immortals guarding the blacksmiths’ barracks, or otherwise the guards would already have been roused by the alarm. Ahead yawned the archway to the Hall of Flames, the hellish glow from the Hellfire engine shining through it. Still Caina saw no Immortals. Perhaps if they acted fast enough, they could reach the gate and escape before the Immortals roused themselves. 

Then she saw the flash of the red light reflecting across polished black armor, the glimmer of glowing blue eyes.

Immortals. Dozens of Immortals rushing into the Hall of Torments. 

Yet they stopped at the entrance to the Hall and did not advance any further. 

“Wait,” said Nasser. “Back to the Hall of Forges. We…”

Caina felt a surge of arcane power, and one of the Immortals threw something. A clay sphere the size of a man’s head arched overhead and landed in the empty space between Caina and the Immortals. It shattered against the gleaming marble floor, and thick white mist erupted from within the broken sphere. The arcane power redoubled, and Caina realized what the fog was. It was an alchemical elixir, one that produced a mist that induced instant unconsciousness. If the fog overwhelmed them, the Immortals would take them prisoner. 

Then they would wish the Immortals had killed them all. 

Caina took a step back, but the wall of fog raced towards her and the others. 

Annarah thrust out her left hand, the bronze pyrikon flashing with white light, and shouted a phrase in a liquid-sounding tongue that had to be the lost language of Iramis. Again Caina felt the deep, resonant surge of Annarah’s peculiar form of sorcery, and the white light pulsed across the Hall.

The fog simply unraveled, vanishing like grime wiped from a pane of glass. 

The Immortals hesitated. Clearly they had not expected that. 

“Strike!” said Nasser. “Strike and break free!”

Kylon shot forward in a blur, the valikon in his hand. 

###

One of the Immortals started forward, lifting a chain whip for a strike. 

Kylon moved first.

He leaped and landed before the Immortal, all the strength of water sorcery driving his blow. The valikon crunched through the thin armor over the Immortal’s knee, and the warrior staggered with a snarl of fury. Kylon whirled as the Immortal fell and drove the valikon down through a gap in the black armor. He spun as another Immortal swung a chain whip at him, and he snapped his blade up, the chain lash coiling around the blade. A lesser sword would have shattered beneath the impact of the heavy steel, but the chain whip did no damage to the ancient sword. Kylon yanked back with all his physical and arcane strength. The Immortal managed to keep his grip on the whip’s handle, which permitted Kylon to pull the Immortal from his feet. He sidestepped, and as the Immortal went stumbling past, he brought the pommel of the valikon hammering down. The blow pounded a crater into the Immortal’s helmet, and the warrior sprawled in a motionless heap.

Kylon straightened up to face the next wave of Immortals. 

The valikon shuddered in his hands, and the sigils began to flicker with pale white light. 

A nagataaru was near. 

That meant Rolukhan was nearby. 

Kylon felt a surge of savage rage.

Perhaps at last he could avenge Thalastre and his unborn child. 

###

The stormdancer crashed into the Immortals like a thunderbolt, the valikon a blur of silver and white light in his hands, stark against the black armor of the Immortals. It would have made for a striking painting, and if they lived through this Morgant might well paint it. 

Assuming they lived through this.

Kylon had already killed three more Immortals by the time Morgant got himself into motion. He darted to the side as the Immortals closed around Kylon, drawing his crimson scimitar in his right hand and the black dagger in his left. One of the Immortals faced him, and Morgant flicked the crimson scimitar at the Immortal’s head. The Immortal parried with his own blade, red against black, and raised his scimitar for the kill. He made no effort to shield his chest, since Morgant only had a dagger to use again the Immortal’s cuirass of alchemically-strengthened steel. 

So the Immortal’s surprise was absolute when the black dagger parted the cuirass like paper. The edge of the sliced armor glowed white-hot, and the Immortal’s heart sizzled like meat upon a grill. The black-armored warrior collapsed, and Morgant retracted his dagger and charged as Nasser threw himself into the fray. 

Despite his disdain for the Prince, Morgant had to admit that Nasser knew how to handle himself in a fight. His scimitar flashed and blurred through an expert display of sword work, darting and stabbing to find the gaps in the Immortals’ armor. When that failed, he simply punched with his gloved left hand. The blows of his crystalline fist smashed through the Immortals’ black helmets. The Immortals began to cluster around Kylon and Nasser, identifying them as the greater threats. Morgant really couldn’t blame them, since a stormdancer and a man with a glass hand was a far greater danger than a gaunt old painter in a black coat. 

At least until he proved otherwise. 

He darted through the fray, stabbing with his black dagger and slashing with his scimitar. Morgant used the minimum amount of motion, driving the black dagger into hearts and brains, the weapon penetrating armor to land killing blows. As he killed with the weapon, it absorbed the heat of the friction, and it the handle grew hotter beneath his hand, the red gem in its pommel shining with a fiery glow of its own. 

That, too, had its uses. 

Another wave of Immortals charged through the archway. Morgant gauged the distance, took a quick step back, and flung the dagger. The weapon buried itself in the marble floor a few feet away from the running Immortals. Morgant concentrated on the dagger, sending a command to it. The enspelled weapon had linked itself to him. It had taken him a few decades to figure out how to use that link, but once he had…

The gem in the dagger’s pommel pulsed once, and then exploded in a spray of flame. 

The blast flung a dozen Immortals to the floor Morgant gestured, and the dagger ripped free and flew back to his waiting hand. Nasser and Kylon both liked to think of themselves as honorable men, but that did not stop them from taking advantage of the Immortals’ discomfort. Valikon and black-gloved fist dealt death, and Morgant joined them, driving his dagger through black armor.

Another wave of Immortals would come through the arch from the Hall of Flames soon enough.

###

An Immortal fell dead a few yards away, and Caina scrambled forward, yanking off the dead warrior’s sword belt. She unhooked the chain whip and tossed it to Malcolm. 

“Here,” she said. “Make yourself useful. You know how to use one of those?”

Malcolm looked affronted. “Use them? I forge them! Of course I know how to use them. I also forge the Immortals’ armor. The weak spots are beneath the arms, at the knees, the back of the legs, and the neck to allow a greater range of motion to the head in…”

Something metallic clicked, and a crossbow bolt blurred past Caina and slammed into the neck of a nearby Immortal with a spray of crimson blood. The Immortal let out a gurgling scream, fell to his knees, and collapsed. 

Nerina slid another quarrel into her crossbow and began winding the crank. When she had time to work the necessary calculations, she could land devastatingly accurate shots over long distances, but in a pinch she could aim quickly.

“Exactly my point,” said Malcolm. “Thank you for the excellent demonstration.” 

Nerina offered a tight smile and kept winding the crank. 

“Laertes, go help Nasser,” said Caina. “Malcolm, with me. We’ll strike from the sides. Nerina, stay here and guard Annarah. Annarah, watch for any more spells.” 

Laertes sprinted into the fight, raising his shield and reaching over his shoulder with his right hand. He carried two javelins in the style favored by the Legions, and Laertes cast one of the missiles with a smooth throw. It was an unwieldy weapon, but the Legions drilled constantly with the things. The javelin’s heavy iron point landed against an Immortal’s neck, crunching through the chain mail. The Immortal managed to keep his feetdespite the grievous wound, at least until Laertes smashed his shield against the javelin. The Immortal went down, and Laertes ran to assist Nasser, catching a scimitar blow upon his heavy shield. 

Nerina finished reloading her crossbow, and Caina gestured to Malcolm. As promised, the blacksmith knew how to wield the chain whip. He spun it over his head, the chain a dark blur, and thrust his arm. The whip coiled around the legs of a nearby Immortal, and Malcolm yanked. The Immortal went off his feet with a clang of armor, and Caina stabbed her ghostsilver dagger into his neck. She ripped the weapon free, the blade shining with blood, and ducked as Malcolm swung the whip over her head. This time the chain lash coiled around the neck of an Immortal with so much force that Caina heard bones snap. Another Immortal ran at Malcolm, only for one of Nerina’s crossbow quarrels to sprout from his chest. 

Caina looked around for another target, but saw the surviving Immortals retreating to the Hall of Flames. Nearly a score of black-armored forms lay dead or dying upon the floor, their blood spilling across the gleaming marble. None of her companions had been slain, but more Immortals were gathering in the Hall of Flames, preparing for another charge.

“They’re falling back,” said Laertes. 

Kylon grunted, shaking blood from the valikon’s shining blade. “Most likely to flank us. Rolukhan is a scoundrel, but he’s not a fool. He’ll send Immortals through the Hall of Flames to attack us head-on, but he’ll also dispatch another group to sneak quietly through the Hall of Forges and attack us from the back. 

“Let’s fall back ourselves, then,” said Caina. “But quietly. If Rolukhan realizes that we know what he’s doing, he might spring his trap early. Or use a more powerful spell that sleeping mist. If we can get to the Halls of the Dead, he won’t be able to follow us.” 

Nasser nodded, and they backed away from the Hall of Flames, towards the arch that led to the fiery glow from the Hall of Forges. The Immortals remained motionless in the Hall of Flames, their blue-glowing eyes shining behind their masks of black steel.

Caina risked a glance into the Hall of Forges. She saw nothing moving there. Perhaps the Immortals had not yet gotten into position. Caina and the others could make a run for it, reach the stairs to the Halls of the Dead, and retreat to the lower levels before the Immortals followed.

“Balarigar!” 

The voice boomed from the ceiling overhead, carried on the power of a spell. It was Malik Rolukhan’s voice, deep and sonorous and confident. Kylon stiffened at its sound. 

“He is in the Hall of Flames,” murmured Annarah, her pyrikon shifting back to the form of a staff. “I can sense the currents of his spell.”

“Come out, Balarigar!” said Rolukhan, mockery entering his tone. “Come out! Surely the great bane of the Brotherhood should not fear one old man.” 

“I can make it so he can hear you,” said Kylon, “if you wish.”

“Do it,” said Caina. “If we can distract him, maybe I can throw him off his guard.”

Kylon nodded and lifted his hand, a faint flicker of arcane power causing Caina’s skin to tingle. The air before her head seemed to go out of focus a little.

“Rolukhan!” she said, and her voice thundered through the Hall of Torments. Gods, but that was loud. “What do you wish of me?”

“Come to me, Balarigar, and surrender yourself,” said Rolukhan, the smooth mockery never leaving his amplified voice. “Surrender to me, and I shall permit your companions to live.”

“Will you?” said Caina. “I rather doubt that. The Master Alchemists are known for many things, but clemency is not one of them.”

Rolukhan’s answering chuckle rumbled off the walls. “True. So our clemency is all the more valuable for its rarity.”

“Tell me,” said Caina. “If you want me alive, why don’t you come and claim me yourself? Surely that would be little challenge for a man with the powers of a Master Alchemist.”

Rolukhan’s chuckle turned to open laughter. “Because I am not foolish enough to put myself into your grasp! I know your reputation. I know the things you have done, and heard more tales of your exploits from the Empire. Every assassin, bounty hunter, and Teskilati informant in Istarinmul hunts for you, yet here you stand. The Grand Master sent the Red Huntress herself to slay you, and she never fails. Yet here you stand. Your other adversaries may have been fools, but I am not, and I am certainly not foolish enough to fight you myself.” 

Caina bit back a laugh. With the proper spell, Rolukhan could have killed her in the space of two heartbeats. The legend around the Balarigar had grown so large that he dared not press his advantage and finish her off. That legend was nonsense and myth, yet it worked. Halfdan would have been proud of her.

Of course, the legend of the Balarigar would not free them from the Inferno, or save them from the Immortals’ scimitars. 

“I thought Cassander Nilas would have dealt with you by now,” continued Rolukhan. “He is a preening, vain fool, but nonetheless a fool who is quite good at killing. Instead you have come into my power. I shall enjoy presenting the Grand Master with your head…and seeing the expression on Cassander’s face when he learns that I slew the Balarigar.” 

“How did you even know I’m here?” said Caina. Had Rolukhan captured Azaces? Still, Azaces could not tell Rolukhan anything, and Caina doubted the Master Alchemist had a spell for communication as effective as Annarah’s. Most likely the Immortals had simply found Azaces and killed him.

Yet another death upon Rolukhan’s hands. 

“Please!” said Rolukhan. “The powers of a Master Alchemist are subtle and deep. You cannot elude me, Balarigar, not in my seat of power…”