Ghost in the Throne (Ghost Exile #7) (32 page)

“And why should I care?” said Kalgri. 

BECAUSE YOU CAN KILL THIS WORLD. YOU CAN FEEL IT DIE. YOU CAN FEAST UPON ITS DEATH. THE UMBARIAN WILL GIVE YOU THE DEATH OF A CITY. I SHALL GIVE YOU THE DEATH OF A WORLD, AND WORLDS BEYOND COUNT. 

She laughed in her thoughts. “What if I refuse?”

YOU SHALL NOT.

“You seem so very certain.”

FOR I KNOW YOU, RED HUNTRESS. MORTALS WERE MADE IN THE IMAGE OF THE DIVINE. YOU HAVE CAST ASIDE THAT IMAGE FOR ANOTHER. YOU ARE NOW WROUGHT IN MY IMAGE. YOU ARE ONE OF MY CHILDREN, AND MY CHILDREN SLAY AND SLAY. NEITHER COMPULSION NOR BRIBERY ARE REQUIRED. YOU SHALL DO AS I BID FOR IT IS IN YOUR NATURE. 

“And what do you bid?” said Kalgri.

STOP THE UMBARIAN MAGUS. PERMIT THE GRAND MASTER’S PLAN TO REACH ITS FRUITION. FOR HE SHALL OPEN THE WAY FOR ME, AND THEN I SHALL DEVOUR THIS WORLD. STOP THE UMBARIAN, AND YOU SHALL SEE THIS WORLD DIE.

The terrible voice faded away, leaving Kalgri with a fierce headache. The Voice muttered and twitched in her thoughts, urging her to act. Cassander kept circling the Throne, unaware that anything had happened. Kalgri watched him for a moment.

Her thoughts returned to the compass she had seen a long time ago, the bronze compass with a needle of ghostsilver, and she made up her mind.

Kalgri waited until Cassander circled out of sight on the far side of the Throne, then drew the cowl of her shadow-cloak over her head. Before Cassander came back into sight, she surged forward in silence, using the power of the Voice to hurtle towards the stairs. 

As far he would know, she had just disappeared. 

A few moments later Kalgri left the compound, making for the College of Alchemists. 

###

By the time night had fallen, Kalgri moved alone through the College of Alchemists.

The College was a sprawling maze, almost as large as the Golden Palace or Callatas’s palace, and it was easy for Kalgri to remain unseen, especially with the Ghost shadow-cloak hanging from her shoulders. She walked through a tall corridor of gleaming white stone, light coming from stones set in the arched ceiling overhead. The stones had been transmuted to give off light, and they would glow for a long time. Likely they would continue glowing after Callatas had destroyed humanity and Istarinmul had become a desolate ruin. 

Here and there crystalline statues stood in niches, images of naked men and women. Of course, they were not really statues. The Alchemists’ power allowed them to transmute flesh into crystal, and any slaves who displeased their Alchemist masters became a permanent part of the College’s artwork. 

The corridor opened into a wide, pillared hall. Stone plinths stood in rows, supporting display cases of gleaming glass and wood. Inside each of the cases lay some enspelled artifact or another. The Alchemists stored their most powerful relics and Elixirs in a fortified vault guarded by Immortals in the heart of the palace. This chamber displayed curiosities – minor trinkets of academic interest or curios of the College’s long history. One case held a crumbling Maatish scroll, a charter from a Maatish pharaoh when the College had still served the Great Necromancers of the Kingdom of the Rising Sun. Another case held a crystal hand, the relic of a Master Alchemist who had botched a spell and transformed half his flesh to crystal. A third held a tarnished silver goblet that had the singularly useless power of transmuting any wine it contained into saltwater. 

The object Kalgri sought rested in a dusty case in the corner, long-forgotten and neglected. 

She gazed at it for a moment, a hard smile spreading beneath her mask…and the Voice hissed in excitement. 

The compass looked just as she remembered it, a flat bronze disc about the size of her hand with a crystalline face. Within lay a bed of mercury, and upon the bed of mercury floated a jagged needle of ghostsilver. The last time Kalgri had seen this compass, the needle had swung back and forth constantly.

Now it was motionless, pointing to the northeast.

She drew upon the power of the Voice, summoning a blade of shadow and purple flame, and sliced open the case. Her gloved fingers curled around the compass, and she lifted it, walking in a circle around the plinth. 

The needle turned in a circle as she did…but it never stopped pointing to the northeast. 

Her guess had been correct.

A long time ago, an Alchemist with an interest in necromancy had created this compass in an attempt at self-defense. Fearing the wrath of the Iramisian valikarion, he had devised a way to detect the valikarion based upon the disruption they caused in divinatory spells, creating a compass that pointed at the nearest valikarion. Unfortunately for the Alchemist, at the time there had been hundreds of valikarion traveling back and forth across the world, and the needle had spun back and forth constantly. It failed to save him from the valikarion, and the compass ended up in the College’s hall of curiosities. 

Most of the valikarion had been dead for a century and a half, burned to ashes with Iramis, and the few survivors died long ago. 

The valikarion had been extinct…but a new one had been born in Rumarah, just as Kalgri had guessed. The compass would point unfailingly towards the one remaining valikarion in the world.

Which meant Kalgri knew just how to find Caina Amalas. 

Chapter 17: The Umbarian Circle

“What do you think?” said Caina, looking at the sprawling building.

Kylon grunted. “It looks expensive.” 

He had never been at ease with luxury. As a child in House Kardamnos, he had been expected to become a warrior, and so had spent most of his childhood training in the arts of war and sorcery. Later he had spent his days aboard the triremes of New Kyre’s navy, fighting pirates and privateers of other nations, and had been comfortable sleeping upon the deck of a ship. When he had become the High Seat of House Kardamnos and an Archon of the Assembly of New Kyre, luxury had simply been part of his duties, though he had never been at peace with it.

And the Gilded Throne looked very luxurious. 

Unlike most of the palaces of Istarinmul, it was built only on one level, a maze of domes and pillared colonnades. Kylon realized that each of the domes belonged to a miniature Istarish palace. A visiting noble or wealthy merchant could rent one of those miniature palaces and pretend to live like an Istarish emir for a few weeks. 

It seemed like a waste of money.

“Oh, it is,” said Caina. “So it’s a perfect place for a gang of thieves to hide.”

“Good thing Nasser has been a thief for a century and a half,” said Kylon. “He’d need that long to save up the money for a single night here.”

Caina laughed. After speaking with Lord Martin and Claudia, they had returned to the Sanctuary of the Ghosts behind the House of Agabyzus long enough to obtain better disguises. Caina had dressed herself in an ornamented robe and turban similar to the outfit Agabyzus employed, marking her as a minor functionary of the Padishah’s court. A bit of makeup to age her face and add the illusion of stubble completed the disguise. It would draw more attention than her usual caravan guard disguise, but a common caravan guard would likely be captured by the Grand Wazir’s roving press gangs and enrolled in the Istarish army. Kylon had disguised himself as the magistrate’s bodyguard, with chain mail, a spiked helmet, and a black tabard adorned with the Padishah’s sword-and-crown sigil in silver thread. 

They had drawn some stares, but no one stopped them, and no one had attacked them. 

Kylon kept a close watch on their surroundings, the valikon ready in its scabbard. If any attackers showed themselves, he would be ready.

If the Huntress returned, he would be ready. 

They entered the Gilded Throne’s outer courtyard. Slaves in silk robes hastened over. Caina gave them a false name, and one of the slaves led them through the gleaming white colonnades to one of the miniature palaces. They waited until the slave departed, and then Caina raised her fist and knocked. 

A moment passed, and one of the doors opened a crack. Laertes stood within, a crossbow cradled in his arms. He scowled at Caina, looked at Kylon, blinked with recognition, and then look back at Caina. 

“Good evening, Laertes,” said Caina. “Please don’t shoot me.” 

Laertes snorted. “Didn’t recognize you until I saw the Kyracian. Gods, you have a knack for disguise. I felt the fool when I realized you were a woman, but at least you put the work into fooling us.” He opened the door and let them into the outer courtyard of the little palace. A fountain bubbled at the center, and the open ceiling showed the stars overhead. 

“I’m relieved I don’t have to bother any longer, at least in front of you and Nasser,” said Caina. “Pretending to be a man for weeks on end was very tiring.” 

“I can imagine,” said Laertes. He considered. “Actually, I can’t. I’ll leave the clever lies to you and Nasser. They’re waiting in the dining hall.”

“Wait a moment,” said Caina. “Could you send Nasser out here? I want to ask him something before we start.” 

Laertes considered that. “What is it?”

“Something that might be dangerous to know,” said Caina. 

“Very well,” said Laertes. He crossed the courtyard and disappeared into the door on the other side of the fountain.

“You have an idea,” said Kylon. 

Caina nodded, her eyes staring at nothing in particular. “Maybe. I think so. If it is…well, we’ll see if Nasser knows or not.”

The door opened, and Nasser Glasshand walked alone into the courtyard, wearing his usual dark clothing, his scimitar at his belt and his left hand concealed beneath the glove and bracer. In his right hand he carried the Staff of Iramis, still disguised as a common leather-wrapped spear. 

“Caina Amalas,” said Nasser, his white smile flashing across his dark face. “I would kiss your hand in greeting, but I fear that would rather spoil your disguise.” 

“Indeed,” said Caina. “I learned something today. Wraithblood isn’t an alchemical Elixir.”

Nasser blinked. “What is it, then?”

“Bloodcrystals,” said Caina. “Thousands upon thousands of tiny bloodcrystals, suspended in liquid. I think Callatas based them upon the Subjugant Bloodcrystal Kharnaces had in in his Tomb.”

“I see,” murmured Nasser. “Yes. That makes an alarming amount of sense. Maatish necromancy always relied upon blood.”

“Kharnaces told me that bloodcrystals are grown from a base,” said Caina, “the blood of an original victim, and the original victim is immune to the effects of that individual bloodcrystal. I’ve had firsthand experience with that.” Kylon thought of the scar below her navel, and wondered if that had been acquired as a result of that experience. “All the bloodcrystals in the wraithblood would have been grown in the laboratories from the original bloodcrystal…”

“And if we can find and destroy the original bloodcrystal,” said Nasser, “then it is possible the wraithblood will become inert…and the damage done to the wraithblood addicts may be reversed?”

“That is my hope,” said Caina. “It is a long shot, I know, but if we’re right…Nerina’s eyes, Nasser. The eyes of the wraithblood addicts. They change color because they are glowing. We just never realized it. If we can destroy the wraithblood and undo its effects, then Callatas cannot work his Apotheosis. Even if Callatas kills us and takes the relics, he won’t be able to finish the Apotheosis. He can summon all the nagataaru he likes, but if they don’t have host vessels they’ll be pulled back into the netherworld.” 

“A daring thought indeed,” said Nasser. “Once we secure the relics in Catekharon, we should investigate this further. However, I do recall you said you had a question for me.”

“Is the Star of Iramis a bloodcrystal?” said Caina.

Kylon looked at her in surprise. The Star was one of the three pieces of the regalia of the Iramisian Princes. Annarah and Morgant had hidden the Staff and the Seal in the Tomb of Kharnaces. Callatas had stolen the Star, and used its power to destroy Iramis. Yet the thought that the loremasters of Iramis would have permitted the Prince to carry a necromantic bloodcrystal seemed unlikely.

“No,” said Nasser.

“Then what is it?” said Caina. “The Staff can summon spirits, and the Seal can bind them. What does the Star do?”

“I confess that I have no idea,” said Nasser. “I believe it is a source of arcane power, a wellspring from which a sorcerer can draw tremendous strength. Certainly that explains how Callatas destroyed Iramis. Yet as to the precise nature of the Star, I can offer no explanation. I fear Annarah would not know, either. The high loremasters would have known, but Annarah had not yet reached that rank.” 

Caina sighed. “It was just a thought. If the Star was a bloodcrystal, I wondered if Callatas had used it to grow the wraithblood. It would have been too easy to defeat the Apotheosis by shattering the Star with the valikon.”

“Alas, victory is rarely easy,” said Nasser. “You know that as well as I do. Shall we plan our next one together?”

###

Caina followed Nasser and Kylon into the dining hall. 

The others had gathered there, with food and wine and coffee already upon the table. Annarah and Morgant sat at one end of the long table, Morgant with his boots propped up on the table as usual. Claudia and Martin had arrived via sedan chairs, disguised as Istarish nobles, and sat opposite the loremaster and the assassin. Claudia looked wan and tired, her green eyes glittering fever-bright, but was discussing the Words of Lore with Annarah. Caina wished that Claudia had remained at the Imperial embassy, but Claudia had insisted on coming.

She was just as stubborn as Corvalis had been. 

Nerina and Malcolm sat further down the table, Malcolm eating with enthusiasm from a tray of stuffed mushrooms. Behind them stood a towering man in the sand-colored robes and turban of the Sarbian desert nomads, the hilt of a two-handed scimitar rising over his shoulder. A gray-shot black beard shaded his jaw and chin, and scars marked his face and hands. His expression was hard, but he smiled at the sight of Caina. 

“Azaces,” said Caina. “It is good to see you.”