Ghost in the Pact (36 page)

One down, a few hundred to go.

Morgant wheeled, flicking his dagger across the forearm of another undead warrior. The blade did little damage, but that didn’t matter, because the dagger released all the heat it had stored up from sawing through bronze armor. The undead erupted into fire, staggered forward a step, and collapsed into a heap of burning coals and tangled armor.

Another pulse of white light swept through the hall as Annarah slammed her pyrikon staff against the floor with a shout. The white light of the Words of Lore did not banish the nagataaru, but it did stun them for a few seconds. That saved Caina’s life as she dodged away from a pair of undead warriors, jamming her ghostsilver dagger into its neck. There was a sizzling noise as the ghostsilver disrupted the necromantic spells, and the warrior staggered and came apart in a heap of bones and armor. 

One of the undead lunged towards Annarah, and Morgant attacked, hammering two quick blows upon its back with his crimson scimitar. The enspelled blade bit into the armor, but did little damage. It did distract the warrior, forcing it to turn and face the new threat. Morgant parried with his dagger, and the black blade sheared through the khopesh just above the hilt. The undead warrior stumbled from the sudden loss of weight, and Morgant whipped his dagger up and beheaded the warrior with a quick blow. His opponent collapsed, and Morgant spun, releasing the heat from his dagger into a second warrior. The undead thing collapsed, blazing like a torch, the fire throwing wild shadows across the wall. 

And wild shadows across the undead warriors streaming into the hall. The last time they had come to the Tomb of Kharnaces, they had faced only six of the things before they had figured out how to bypass them. Now hundreds of the creatures were entering the hall, likely the undead that Caina had seen guarding the Conjurant Bloodcrystal. 

No more need to guard the Conjurant Bloodcrystal when Kharnaces was about to use the damned thing. 

Especially since the undead might suffice to kill them all. 

Callatas and the Huntress had not entered the fray. Both the Grand Master and the Huntress had fallen back to the arch leading to the previous chamber. If any of the undead warriors ventured too close, the Huntress cut it down with a sword of shadow and flashing purple fire, or Callatas shattered it with a blast of invisible force. Yet neither of them lifted a finger to aid Caina and Annarah and Morgant. 

The Grand Master’s new plan was obvious. He and the Huntress would simply wait until the undead warriors cut down Caina and Annarah and Morgant. Then Callatas would blast his way through them, take the Seal from Caina’s corpse, and continue on his way. Perhaps he would go after Kharnaces’s canopic jars himself. Or maybe he would confront Kharnaces in person while the Huntress went to destroy the jars. 

Maybe Caina should not have stolen the Seal back from Callatas, though it was good insurance to keep the Grand Master from betraying them. On the other hand, perhaps the Grand Master had decided to let the undead kill them and take his chances with Kharnaces alone. Maybe Morgant could surprise and cut down the Grand Master, but he doubted his weapons could penetrate the wards surrounding Callatas. 

Then Caina stepped back, thrusting a hand into the pouch at her belt and raising something over her head. 

The Seal. Was she giving it back to Callatas in exchange for their lives? That was a stupid decision. Callatas need only wait until the undead killed them, and then he could collect the Seal at his leisure.

“Hear me!” shouted Caina at the top of her lungs. Gods, but that woman could be loud when she wanted. “By the power of the Seal, I bind you! By the power of the Seal, I compel you!” The stone in the silvery ring blazed with blue light, covering Caina in its ghostly glow. “I command you to halt! You will halt!”

And to Morgant’s astonishment, the undead warriors obeyed. 

They froze in place, weapons still grasped in their hands. Caina held out the Seal like a magistrate brandishing a writ, the blue light falling over the hall. The purple fire in the eyes of the undead things burned brighter in response. They were angry, and did not like yielding to the power of the Seal.

But it seemed they had no choice.

“You will clear my path,” said Caina, “and you will return to your burial chambers, and you shall not hinder me further. Go! By the power of the Seal, I command you! Go!”

Slowly, the undead warriors shuffled back, striding into the niches lining the walls or vanishing deeper into the Tomb.

“Gods,” muttered Caina, her arm shaking. “Holding that thing stings.”

“Do not put it down,” said Annarah, leaning a little on her pyrikon staff to keep standing. “I suspect the nagataaru will return with a vengeance if you release the Seal.” 

“The loremaster is correct,” said Callatas, the Staff of Iramis tapping against the floor as he strode forward, the Huntress following him. “If you release the Seal, the binding will end, and the nagataaru will follow Kharnaces’s original commands.” 

“Thanks so very much,” said Caina, “for your help.” 

Callatas offered a thin smile. “I offered you as much help as you would have given me should our positions have been reversed.” 

“Were you in my position,” said Caina, “your spells would have let you offer far more effective help.”

Callatas shrugged. “Surely the great and noble Balarigar would not need the help of the wicked Grand Master to vanquish her foes.” 

Caina’s eyes narrowed, glittering in the light from the Seal’s glowing stone. 

“Or perhaps,” said Callatas, “if you had not taken the Seal, I would have been able to help sooner, alas. A pity when our actions have unintended consequences.” 

Caina and Callatas stared at each other. Caina had always been Callatas’s enemy, and the Grand Master had expended enormous resources trying to hunt her down and kill her. Yet they had never really met in the flesh, and now that they had, Morgant suspected their enmity had expanded into a profound loathing of each other. If they came to blows…

“He’s right, you know,” said Morgant. “About the unintended consequences.” 

“What?” said Caina.

“If he had just paid me for the mural, he could have avoided all sorts of trouble,” said Morgant.

Callatas let out an irritated growl, the shadow in his eyes darkening. 

“Perhaps you should have heeded your own lesson,” said Caina. “Let’s go.”

###

The domed chamber was very much like the Hall of Fire in the Inferno, albeit on a smaller scale. The dome of the ceiling rose a hundred feet overhead, studded with crystals that made it look as if stars glittered within the stone. Thousands of rows of hieroglyphics marked the walls in endless rows of strange symbols. When Caina had first come here, she had wondered if the hieroglyphs were hymns of praise to the Maatish gods or maledictions upon Kharnaces for the heresy of worshipping the nagataaru. Thanks to the knowledge that Kharnaces had forced into her skull, Caina could now read the inscriptions. Some of them were indeed curses upon Kharnaces for his heresy, and others were warnings urging intruders to turn back lest they share the punishment of Kharnaces for his vile crimes.

It was a pity that Callatas could not read the warnings. Much evil could have been averted. Of course, even if he had been able to read the warnings, the damned fool would have pressed on, heedless of the cost, heedless of the slaughter and the misery and the ruined lives left in the wake of his mad quest to reform humanity…

Callatas had indeed been wrong. Caina was not like him. She had started on the path of the Ghosts to keep others from enduring the kind of pain her mother and Maglarion had inflicted upon her. Caina had no illusions about the nature of humanity, but she still wanted to save people, to free them, to let them live their lives free of the kind of sorcerous terror that men like Callatas and Cassander wielded. 

Callatas, by contrast, had such contempt for humanity that he wanted to destroy them and replace them with the twisted creatures of his own vision. 

Caina shook her head. Callatas would not turn back from his path for any reason…and neither would Caina turn back from her determination to stop him.

One way or another, only one of them was going to leave Pyramid Isle. 

“This,” said Callatas, “is where we part ways.”

Six separate archways opened off the domed chamber, leading into different parts of the Tomb. The last time, only one of the archways had been open, luring Caina into the trap Kharnaces had laid for her. Now all six archways stood open, the massive stone slabs of their doors pushed to the side. 

“Such a lovely stroll we had,” said Kalgri. “We really must do it again sometime.”

“Let’s not,” said Caina. 

“Do not worry,” said Callatas. “We are going to meet again very soon.”

She met his dark eyes, watching the shadow of Kotuluk Iblis pulse and flare within in time to his mood. “I don’t doubt it.”

“I suggest,” said Callatas, “that you find and destroy those canopic jars as soon as possible. If you think to delay so Kharnaces will kill me for you, he will likely overcome me and then come to kill you.”

“Undoubtedly,” said Caina. “And I suggest that you turn your full attention to fighting Kharnaces. If you think to let him kill me first and then destroy the canopic jars yourself, likely he will destroy you, and then kill me.” She smiled at him. “But if you time it right, you might get killed and I might destroy the canopic jars before Kharnaces can find me. An ideal outcome, don’t you think?” 

“We shall see,” said Callatas. “Until we meet again, Caina Amalas. Which, I promise you, will be sooner than you like.”

Without another word he turned and strode towards the passage leading to the apex of the hill. Kalgri lingered a moment, grinning in anticipation at Caina, and Caina forced herself to meet the Huntress’s blue eyes despite her fear. 

“If you wait here too long,” said Caina, “you’ll miss all the killing.”

“Oh, don’t worry, my dear,” said Kalgri with a reedy giggle. “There will be enough killing for even me before we’re finished here.”

She turned and followed Callatas up the passage, vanishing as her shadow-cloak merged with the darkness filling the Tomb. 

“Gods,” muttered Caina at last. 

“Was he always like that?” said Morgant. 

“No,” said Annarah. The strain was evident on her face. Caina felt a stab of sympathy for her. Callatas had been a mentor to Annarah just as Halfdan had been a mentor to Caina, and the pain of that betrayal had to be profound. “I think…I think he believed in a lie he told himself. I think he believed that Iramis was perfect and without flaw, and when he learned otherwise…he chose to believe a different lie.” 

“What?” said Morgant. “No, no. I mean those speeches! Those endless, pompous speeches.”

Caina snorted. “You’re one to talk.”

“I do like to talk. But my speech is witty and urbane,” said Morgant. “I don’t expound endlessly upon philosophy.”

To Caina’s surprise, Annarah laughed. “Actually, he was always like that. The lords and loremasters called him Callatas the Wise, but the initiates called him Callatas the Longwinded. Behind his back, of course.” Her laughter faded. “And now the time for speeches is over. We must hurry. If we do not destroy those canopic jars, Kharnaces shall prevail, and nothing we or Callatas do will matter.” 

“Aye,” said Caina, drawing a deep breath. “This way.”

She led the way to the passage that led to Kharnaces’s library, and then to his throne room. If she was right, Kharnaces had concealed his canopic jars there, perhaps they could destroy them before the Great Necromancer reacted.

If Caina was wrong, she and Annarah and Morgant would die…followed shortly thereafter by everyone else in the world as the nagataaru swarmed through the shattered barrier of the netherworld. 

Chapter 20: Immortals

For a frozen instant Kylon stared at the charging army, trying to guess the intentions of Grand Wazir Erghulan Amirasku. Kylon and the nomads had only disabled two of the Hellfire catapults, but four of the engines were still intact. If Erghulan had sent his horsemen to pursue the nomads, he could have driven the raiders off, and then stationed troops of Immortals around the catapults. 

Then Kylon understood. Their distraction had worked too well. Erghulan had feared that the enemy had gotten behind his lines, that he would be trapped between two hostile forces. So rather than wait, he had charged Tanzir’s army, hoping to break through in a single massive attack.

It was a rash tactic…but it probably would work. Erghulan’s heavy horsemen were the match of Tanzir’s mercenaries. And the Kaltari and the southern militias were doughty fighters, but the Immortals were ferocious and brutal warriors. Could the Kaltari stand against the Immortals?

Kylon didn’t know…but if he had to bet, he would have wagered on the Immortals.

It seemed that Erghulan had made that same gamble. 

Tibraim halted, the nomads forming up around him once more. Kylon kept running and rejoined the others, the valikon still in his fist.

“Nasser!” he called. 

Nasser waited on his horse, his scimitar red with blood in his right hand. Laertes reined up next to him, adjusting the straps on his heavy shield. Tibraim looked back and forth at the charging Immortals, scowling and muttering to himself in Istarish. 

“It seems,” said Nasser, calm as ever, “that we have inadvertently started the battle.” 

“Let us attack!” said Tibraim. “We can take the foe from behind and ride through them like the wind of the steppes.”

Nasser was already shaking his head before Tibraim stopped speaking. “We cannot. We are simply too few. If we try to charge the foe, we shall be overwhelmed in short order. We could harass them with arrows, but that will have little effect on anything at this point.”

“Perhaps we ought to rejoin the host,” said Laertes. 

“By the time we get there,” said Kylon, watching the black steel of the Immortals’ armor glinting in the sun, “the battle will be joined. Or it will be too late. The Kaltari are fierce fighters, but they might not be able to stand against that many Immortals.”