Ghost in the Throne (Ghost Exile #7) (18 page)

“You promised me death, Cassander Nilas,” murmured Kalgri. She leaned closer. Any closer and he could have kissed her, though he knew that would have been a tremendously bad idea. “Death on a titanic scale, the death of all Istarinmul. Instead I see you shuffling troops about the city and hiding them in houses purchased under false names.”

“That will end up killing a lot of people,” said Cassander.

“Boring,” murmured Kalgri. “You promised me the death of the entire city. And a girl so hates to be disappointed.” 

The shadow and purple fire pulsed behind her eyes, and Cassander could feel the malevolent attention of her nagataaru. 

“You want death, Huntress?” said Cassander. “What if I told you that before the week is out, all Istarinmul will die?”

“How?” said Kalgri. 

“Istarinmul will burn,” said Cassander.

“How?” repeated Kalgri. “You do not have the power.”

“I’ll show you,” said Cassander.

He stood up abruptly, just to see what Kalgri would do. 

She jerked back so fast she became a blur. The ghostsilver short sword appeared in her right hand. Cassander’s coat was armored with spells to turn aside blades and sorcerous attacks, and he kept more wards active around him at all times, yet that ghostsilver sword could have torn through them like paper. Idly he wondered where she had found the thing. Likely from some long-dead Ghost nightfighter. 

The sight of the Red Huntress with sword in hand should have alarmed him, yet Cassander only felt a peculiar, vicious thrill. Kalgri, too, understood the joy of killing. 

She would appreciate what he was about to do.

“There is no need for alarm,” said Cassander. He beckoned with his armored hand. “Come. I shall show you.”

Kalgri’s eyes narrowed, but she sheathed the blade and followed him across the dining hall. Cassander reached the doors to the cellar, disarmed the wards upon them, and produced a set of keys to undo the three locks.

“Tell me,” he said as he worked, “what do you know of the Second Empire?” 

Kalgri gave an indifferent shrug. “Ancient history does not interest me.”

“Indulge me,” said Cassander.

“You are the Umbarian magus,” said Kalgri. “You tell me.” 

“The scholars call the current Empire of Nighmar the Fifth Empire,” said Cassander, undoing the last lock. “The Second Empire was a predecessor to the current Empire. Smaller, weaker, and due to the necessities of survival far more martial. The Second Empire’s final enemy was the dominion of the Saddaic people, ruled by a caste of sorcerer-priests who called themselves the Ashbringers.”

He pushed open the doors, revealing a set of stairs descending into the earth.

Kalgri let out a nasty laugh. “That name I do know. They were pyromancers. Worshipped the Burning Flame, and sought to burn all the world in his name. The old Emperors wiped them out.” She laughed again. “Except they didn’t, did they? Your Order began as the remnants of the old Ashbringers.”

“It did,” said Cassander, starting down the stairs, Kalgri following him in perfect silence. “In time, the Umbarian Order cast aside the false superstitions of religion, and instead embraced the pure study and mastery of the arcane sciences, the pyromantic science among them. The Emperors believed that they had destroyed the Ashbringers, and we let them believe that, for the Umbarian Order remained hidden in the shadows, concealed within the Magisterium, until the time was right. We therefore kept safe many of the relics and books of the old Ashbringers. Do you know the name of Corazain?”

“No.”

“He was the last king of the Saddai…and the last and greatest of the Ashbringers,” said Cassander. “When the Emperor’s armies encircled Rasadda, at the brink of his defeat, he drew upon his powers and unleashed a firestorm that destroyed himself, Rasadda, and the combined armies of the Empire. The Second Empire fell into chaos and civil war for a century until the Third Empire arose.”

“So what?” said Kalgri. 

“The Order does not have all of Corazain’s relics,” said Cassander. “The Book of Corazain, the tome that contained his spells and teachings, was lost. No one knows what happened to it. But we do possess some of his more powerful relics. And I brought one of them to Istarinmul with me.”

They reached the cellar. Cassander had converted it to a laboratory and a workshop, with long wooden tables holding a variety of bronze and glass instruments useful in the working of sorcery. An elaborate summoning circle marked a portion of the floor. Cassander had summoned the Sifter there, and bound the ifrit to hunt down and kill Caina Amalas. In way, he mused, the spirit’s failure had led him to this day. 

To the thing that waited behind the door on the far side of the laboratory. 

“And what relic is this?” said Kalgri. “His sword? His staff?”

“His throne,” said Cassander, unlocking the door. 

“His throne?” said Kalgri with derision. “What good is that? Shall you take your ease upon it? I…”

Cassander threw open the door, and had the satisfaction of seeing Kalgri shocked into silence. The room beyond was a large vault, the walls marked with warding sigils to deflect and obfuscate arcane observation. Another ring of warding symbols had been carved upon the floor, glowing with a pale blue light. A fiery glow marked the walls and ceiling, and a blast of hot air came from the door as Cassander opened it.

Both the fiery light and the heat came from the object in the center of the circle.

It was a massive throne fashioned from a single jagged piece of obsidian, its back rising like a spiked shield, its arms jutting forward like claws. The fiery glow blazed within its depths, ribbons of fire dancing within the black stone like ropes caught within a wind. Even without using a spell, Cassander could feel the titanic power the Ashbringers of old had bound within the relic. 

“Behold,” said Cassander, “the Throne of Corazain.” 

Kalgri prowled around the Throne, though she kept well away from the warding circle upon the floor. She tilted her head to the side, listening to her nagataaru. 

“What does it do?” she said at last.

“It was designed to summon elemental spirits,” said Cassander. “Specifically, fire elementals. Ifriti.” 

“How many elementals?” said Kalgri. 

“Why,” said Cassander, “as many as you like. It depends upon the amount of power fed into the Throne, of course. But there is no upward limit.”

Kalgri spun, her eyes narrowed. “You have no means of controlling the elementals.”

“Of course not,” said Cassander. 

“Or the power to summon that many,” said Kalgri. 

“I told you I know how to get it,” said Cassander. “The day of the golden dead left cracks in the walls between the worlds, weak spots where spirits and sorcerous power seep from the netherworld and into the material world.”

“I know,” said Kalgri. 

“And it occurred to me,” said Cassander, “that if one were to link the Throne with such a weak spot, tremendous power would flow into the Throne. Enough to summon millions upon millions of fire elementals. They would not stay in our world for long, of course, no more than a few moments. Since the elementals would be impossible to control, the ifriti would rage, destroying and consuming everything in their path. Such a firestorm would only last a few moments, but I imagine it would be enough to…oh, destroy an entire city in the blink of an eye.” 

Kalgri stared at him, her gaze as intense as the fire within the Throne. 

“You’re going to burn Istarinmul,” she whispered. 

“Like chaff upon the threshing floor,” said Cassander. “Every building, every house, every palace and temple, every man, woman, and child. Istarinmul shall be smoking rubble and its people shall be ashes. The entire world shall look to at smoking rubble and tremble at the power of the Order, and our fleet shall sail past the charred shells of the Towers of the Sea to assail Malarae.” He smiled. “Would that be enough death to suit you?”

Kalgri kept staring at him, but he saw the fierce eagerness in her face. The idea had caught hold in her mind. 

“It would,” she said, “be a start.” 

“So,” said Cassander. “Will you run to Callatas with news of my treachery? Will you strike me down as the Grand Master wishes?”

Kalgri snorted. “If Callatas did not wish to make an enemy of you, he should have killed you a year past. As for warning him, you don’t need me to tell him anything. A spell on this scale will draw his attention almost at once. It will draw the attention of anyone in Istarinmul with even a flicker of arcane ability. Once it does, Callatas will blast your mansion to ash, and that will be the end of your plan.” She circled the Throne once more and let out a harsh laugh. “For that matter, you cannot control that many elementals. The ifriti will burn you with everything else.” 

“I have no wish to control the elementals,” said Cassander. “A simple warding circle will suffice to keep them at bay. The ifriti will turn their rage against everything else in their path, and I shall stand within the circle and watch Istarinmul burn. And you are quite correct that Callatas will retaliate as soon as he realizes what is happening. Likely he will blast the embassy to rubble. Which is why, of course, the Throne will not be in the embassy.” 

“Where, then?” said Kalgri.

“The Brotherhood of Slavers has a fortified compound on in the Cyrican docks, on the other side of the city,” said Cassander. “I think it is about time someone put that to better use, do you not?” 

Kalgri laughed again. “And the fact that the Brotherhood has so loyally supported Callatas and Erghulan has nothing to do with it?”

“In the final moments of their lives,” said Cassander, “in the very last instant before the flames consume their flesh, I like to think that both Callatas and Erghulan will reflect that they should not have opposed the Umbarian Order. Perhaps other lords and princes will take the lesson to heart.” 

“Or you’ll have to kill them, too,” said Kalgri.

“I do not think that would disappoint you,” said Cassander. “What do you think, Red Huntress? Shall you watch Istarinmul burn? Or shall you run to Callatas to stop me?”

He watched her, a dozen different spells ready at the forefront of his thoughts. She might well decide to reveal his plan to Callatas, which meant he would have to kill her. On the other hand, she had made it clear she had no loyalty to anyone or anything except her own lust for slaughter. 

The gauntlet on his right hand rasped as he opened and closed the fingers. 

Kalgri glanced at the gauntlet, a smile flickering over her lips. Likely she knew everything he had just thought. 

“If Callatas wanted to stop you,” said Kalgri, “he should have done so himself.” 

Cassander inclined his head. “I am so glad you see things my way.” 

“I imagine the Brotherhood of Slavers will disapprove of your plan,” said Kalgri.

“Their approval is of no consequence,” said Cassander, “as they will soon cease to exist. Do you care to assist me?” 

Kalgri’s smile widened, her eyes flashing with purple fire. “It shall be enjoyable.”

###

The Voice hissed and murmured in Kalgri’s thoughts as Cassander called his Adamant Guards, gathering them for the attack upon the Brotherhood’s compound. The nagataaru was restless. It did not approve of Kalgri’s delay in answering Callatas’s summons, and it wanted her to return to Callatas and tell him that the Staff and the Seal had been found. Or, barring that, it wanted her to hunt down Caina Amalas and Nasser Glasshand and take the Staff and Seal from them. 

Kalgri thought that a bad idea. For one thing, Kylon of House Kardamnos still had a valikon. The closest Kalgri had ever come to death had been when facing opponents armed with that damned sword, and the recollection alone was enough to still some of the Voice’s hissing complaints. 

Until she was ready, until she was absolutely ready, she did not want to confront Caina and her allies again. 

Besides, she knew where Caina was going. The Balarigar and her allies would try to take the relics to Catekharon, and they would return to Istarinmul to hire a ship. All Kalgri had to do was wait, and Caina and the relics would come to her. 

Unless she timed it right…

Kalgri smiled behind her steel mask.

If she timed it right, Caina and her allies would be in Istarinmul when Cassander destroyed the city. 

That would rather neatly take care of the problem. Kalgri wanted to kill Caina herself, but watching the Balarigar burn with the rest of Istarinmul would be almost as satisfactory. 

Assuming Cassander could pull it off.

She watched as Cassander gave orders to his men, preparing for a stealthy assault upon the Brotherhood compound. Kalgri cared nothing for the Brotherhood of Slavers, and would rather enjoy watching the expressions on the smug faces of the cowled masters as they realized that death had come for them.

Yet she was also certain Cassander was no longer sane. 

His newfound bloodlust proved that. Not that Kalgri objected to bloodlust. Yet when bloodlust overrode caution, that might prove a problem. Kalgri had not survived for over a century and a half by allowing her lust for killing to overrule her thinking. That had saved her life in Rumarah. Cassander had strode boldly into the Corsair’s Rest, certain of his inevitable triumph. Kalgri’s instincts had screamed a warning, and so she had fled a moment before the silver fire of uncontrolled Elixir Restorata had devoured the building. 

She tapped the ghostsilver dagger at her belt, thinking. Cassander had given the blade back to her after his failed audience with Erghulan, having no further use for the shadow-cloak or the dagger. Kalgri had not yet told him that Caina Amalas lived.

She would not. Not yet, anyway. Not until it gave her the greatest advantage.

Not until telling Cassander would kill as many people as possible.

Kalgri shivered a little with anticipation at the thought of all those deaths. 

Again her thoughts turned to the brass compass with the ghostsilver needle.

Kalgri was not certain, but she thought she could find Caina Amalas anytime she wished.