Ghost in the Inferno (Ghost Exile #5) (36 page)

“The way is blocked,” said the black-bearded Anshani smith. “There are too many Immortals.”

“We shall clear a path for you,” said Caina. “Nasser, Kylon.” 

“Well, Kyracian,” said Morgant with a smirk. “Looks like you might get your chance for revenge after all.” 

Kylon nodded, still staring at Caina. She could not quite interpret his expression. She wondered what emotions he could sense from her. Probably nothing but stark terror, she supposed. A weapon of unimaginable sorcerous power rested in her left hand, held back only by the thin metal of her pyrikon. Terror was a healthy and rational response to such a situation. 

“That thing should have killed you the moment you touched it,” said Kylon. 

“New pyrikon,” said Caina. “It turned out to be useful after all.” 

Kylon nodded. “I…I am glad that you are alive. More glad than I can say.”

Caina felt her mouth go dry and tried to find words to answer him.  

“Come,” said Nasser, beckoning with his scimitar. “Let us win free of the Inferno.”

“We shall have a hard fight yet,” said Annarah, both hands gripping her staff. “I sense Rolukhan’s nagataaru from here. It is powerful, and this Rolukhan himself seems to be a potent sorcerer. Also, we must at all costs keep him away from the Balarigar.” She pointed at Caina. “If he realizes what we have done, he may try to take the Subjugant Bloodcrystal for himself. If he claims it, he will have command over the Undying.”

“That,” said Nasser, “would be unwelcome.”

Morgant snorted. “Truly, you have a gift for clarity.”

Kylon frowned. “Won’t it kill Rolukhan if he touches the thing?”

“Probably,” said Caina. Unless the Master Alchemist had a spell that let him handle the relic. Or perhaps his nagataaru could protect him in the same way that the pyrikon protected Caina. “Let’s not find out.” 

“Agreed,” said Nasser. “Laertes and I shall lead the way. Morgant, Lord Kylon. I suggest you keep the Immortals away from Ciaran and Annarah.” 

“We shall come, too,” said Malcom, and Nerina nodded. He had acquired black armor from a slain Immortal, and carried a huge hammer easily in one hand. “We owe the Lieutenant a debt of our own.”

“Very well,” said Nasser. “Najar.” The bearded Anshani slave straightened up. “Follow us. Make for the slave barracks once the way is clear. Take everyone you can find and get them out. The Immortals on the bridge watch towers would have come when Rolukhan sounded his horn.”

“What then, lord?” said Najar. “We have no supplies, and may will starve upon the mountain.”

“You shall not,” said Nasser. “I know an emir who is willing to hire skilled smiths to outfit his host. Once we escape the Inferno, I shall lead you to him.” Najar nodded and conferred with Malcolm for a moment. “Let us be about our business, then.” 

Caina was amused to see how quickly the slaves obeyed Nasser. Now that she knew he had been the Prince of Iramis, the reason for his skill at command was obvious. That would prove useful in the days ahead.

If, of course, they managed to escape the Inferno. 

Nasser and Laertes and Malcolm strode forward, weapons at the ready. Kylon took position to guard Caina, and Morgant moved to a similar position to shield Annarah. Nerina walked between them, her eerie blue eyes wide and frightened, though the thin hands that gripped her crossbow did not waver. The blacksmith slaves followed, stolen hammers in hand. Dead Immortals lay scattered here and there across the floor, along with destroyed undead creatures. The Immortals had put up a ferocious fight, but they had been driven into the broad balcony of the Hall of Flames. 

Caina and the others left the Hall of Forges and entered the Hall of Flames, and she found herself in the midst of a furious battle.

Hundreds of Immortals had formed into ranks, fighting off the tides of undead that surged from the other Halls and climbed up from the cylindrical shaft below. The Immortals’ scimitars shimmered with peculiar golden fire, and Caina realized that Rolukhan had cast a spell over their weapons. The touch of the spell transmuted undead flesh to sand, and even as she watched, a dozen of the Undying met their ends. Here and there patches of crimson Hellfire burned upon the balcony, and an Immortal flung an amphora of the substance at a charging knot of Undying. The amphora shattered, spraying crimson elixir in all directions, and a score of Undying went up in blood-colored fire. Patches of the floor also started to burn as well, the Hellfire chewing into the stone.

“The damned fool,” whispered Caina as Najar led the blacksmiths away from the battle. Hellfire devoured anything, wood and flesh and stone alike, and if Rolukhan used too much of it, the balcony might collapse and kill them all. For that matter, if one of the Immortals mishandled the Hellfire and dropped it over the edge of the railing, it would plummet hundreds of feet to land in the Hellfire engine below.

That would be bad.

That would be very bad.

She spotted Rolukhan himself standing atop a small catapult.

The Master Alchemist had…changed.

Physically, he looked the same. Yet now his shadow billowed out behind him like a great black cloak, writhing and alive and hungry. Purple fires blazed in his dark eyes and snarled and danced around his hooked fingers. He had to be drawing on his nagataaru, using its strength to augment his spells, which explained how he had enspelled the scimitars of all the Immortals at once. Even as Caina watched, he hurled a lance of shadow and purple flame that transmuted a dozen Undying into sand. 

They had to kill Rolukhan. If they did not, he would kill them and this had all been for nothing. Worse, if he killed them and took the Subjugant Bloodcrystal for himself, it would put the power of an undead army into Rolukhan’s hands. Rolukhan could kill everyone in the Vale of Fallen Stars and raise them as his own army, carve himself a kingdom of the Undying in imitation of ancient Maat.

She felt Rolukhan’s burning eyes fall upon her.

“Balarigar!” roared Rolukhan, and she heard the hissing snarl of his nagataaru beneath his sonorous voice. “Do even dead slaves follow you in hopes of liberation? Fools!” He let out a wild laugh. “I see now! You bear a relic of ancient Maat. I should have seen the truth and claimed it for myself long ago. Immortals! Kill the Balarigar!”

The Immortals did not respond immediately, still fighting their way through the endless press of the undead. One of the Immortals charged forward, carrying an amphora of Hellfire. Caina started to draw breath to shout a warning…

Annarah struck the end of her staff against the floor.

Arcane power spiked in the air around her, deep and resonant and clean. 

There was a thunderclap and a brilliant flash of white light. A stunned silence fell over the Hall of Flames, as Rolukhan, the Immortals, and even the Undying turned to look at her.

“Malik Rolukhan!” shouted Annarah in a voice that would have made Theodosia proud. “Hear me! Hear me and repent before it is too late.”

“What trickery is this?” said Rolukhan.

“It is no trickery,” said Annarah. “I am Annarah, a Sister of the Order of the Words of Lore, and I have come to free you from your nagataaru.”

Rolukhan laughed. “A loremaster? Callatas wiped out your pathetic order of mewling children a century and a half ago.” 

“Callatas’s crimes do not concern us now,” said Annarah. “I beg of you to turn from your path before it is too late, to abandon your nagataaru and its deceptions before it devours you.”

“What do you know of such matters, girl?” said Rolukhan, his purple-burning eyes fixed upon her. “Do not presume to counsel your elders.”

“I know you have a nagataaru wrapped around your mind and heart like a snake coiled around its prey,” said Annarah. “I know that it gives you power in exchange for inflicting pain and murder upon the innocent. I know that the power is addictive, that once you killed for prudence, in pursuit of some goal, but now that you kill for the simple pleasure of it.”

Rolukhan’s teeth flashed in a smile. “Strength and power are their own rewards, foolish child.”

“But it has twisted you,” said Annarah, her voice pleading. “You do not see it, but it has twisted you. You say the Balarigar has come to free the slaves? You are a slave, Malik Rolukhan, and your prison is an invisible one.”

He sneered at her. “And just what is this prison?”

“The one the nagataaru has built around you,” said Annarah. 

“Fool,” said Rolukhan. “You think that the nagataaru controls me? I am in command of myself. Our alliance is a partnership. Together we are greater than either one of us could be separately.”

“Are you?” said Annarah. “You kill, and the nagataaru feeds. It grows stronger, twisting your thoughts so subtly that you do not even realize it is happening. How many unnecessary murders have you committed? Deaths that gained you nothing, save for the pleasure of feeding your nagataaru?”

“Ridiculous,” said Rolukhan, his shadow stirring behind him.  “I command the nagataaru. I command!”

“Then why,” said Annarah, pointing her free hand at Kylon, “did you murder his wife and unborn child?”

Rolukhan scoffed. “Because he was a threat to our plans.”

Kylon said nothing, his eyes hard and deadly as he stared at Rolukhan. 

“He was,” said Annarah. “His wife was not. His unborn child was not. They were no threats to you. Why not simply kill Lord Kylon and leave his wife and child alone? That is the practical, pragmatic approach. Instead you slew his wife and child. Why? What did it gain you?”

“You overlook the obvious, foolish child,” said Rolukhan. “It gained…it gained…”

For the first time Caina saw a flicker of doubt upon Rolukhan’s face, and his shadow stirred behind him like an awakening serpent. 

“Nothing,” said Annarah. “It gained you nothing, save to feed your nagataaru’s lust for cruelty.” She gestured at Malcolm and Nerina. “Why did you enslave this man and leave his wife alive to die of wraithblood poisoning?”

“Because I required his skills at the forge!” snapped Rolukhan, growing angry. “You speak of matters you do not understand!”

“Then why?” said Annarah. “Why be as cruel as you can? Do not tell me it is necessary. If not for your wasteful cruelty, you would not face so many enemies.”

Rolukhan opened his mouth to say something, and then closed it, the confusion clear on his face.

“Do you not see?” said Annarah. “Your nagataaru has corrupted your mind. It has addicted you to death and cruelty, to murder and torment. It has made you its slave, and dulled your senses and your reason by feeding you empty power and petty pleasures. Please, let me help you. Let me free you of its domination. Otherwise it shall use you up and cast you aside as the nagataaru have done with so many over the millennia.”

The confusion grew sharper on Rolukhan’s face, and for a moment Caina thought he might actually accept. His shadow rippled and snapped around him, the purple fire blazing brighter against his hands, and he tilted his head to the side as if listening to a voice that only he could hear. The confusion drained from his face, replaced by the usual arrogant confidence. 

“Foolish, foolish child,” said Rolukhan. “You understand nothing.”

“No,” said Annarah, pleading. “I beg of you, do not give in to it. Do not yield to it.”

“Yield to it?” said Rolukhan. “I embrace it!” His shadow stirred, faster and faster. “You are a deluded fool, clinging to the title of an extinct order. Mankind is as sheep.” He waved a hand over the Hall of Flames. “But a new humanity is arising, a stronger humanity. Grand Master Callatas and the Apotheosis shall make it so, and I am among the first of the new mankind.” He laughed. “And you, Annarah of the loremasters, shall be among the first of the old humanity to perish. Slowly, and in great pain. I shall enjoy your suffering for weeks.”

“I see,” said Annarah, closing her eyes with a sigh. She opened them again. “I see that you are too far gone to repent.” 

Rolukhan laughed again. “I have nothing of which to repent. I wish I had seen Kylon’s wife and child suffer their final agonies. I wish his wife and child were here to listen to him scream. I suppose I shall settle for your screams instead…”

Every hint of sorrow and regret fell away from Annarah, and she drew herself up, the pyrikon staff shining in her right hand. She seemed stern and terrible, her eyes like disks of jade, and the air around her crackled with power.

“Then hearken, Malik Rolukhan!” said Annarah. “Hearken and hear the Words of Lore!”

That was not much of a battle cry.

Caina changed her mind exactly two seconds later when Annarah leveled her staff at Rolukhan. A snarling shaft of white fire burst from the pyrikon and arced across the chamber. It passed through Nasser without harming him, and flew through a dozen Undying and a pair of Immortals without doing them any injury.

Rolukhan was not so fortunate.

The white fire struck him, and he slammed into the side of the catapult with a scream of agony, his shadow billowing around him like a banner caught in a gale. The purple fires in his eyes sputtered and flickered, and Caina heard the nagataaru screaming beneath Rolukhan’s howl. The Master Alchemist crossed his arms before him, working another spell, and his shadow wrapped around him like a cloak, deflecting Annarah’s fire. The fire winked out, and Rolukhan straightened up, his face twisted with rage.

But this time there was fear in his expression. 

“Kill her!” screamed Rolukhan, his shadow swirling around him as the purple fire in his hands blazed to harsh new life. “Kill her! Kill the Balarigar! Kill them, kill them, kill them all!”

The Immortals bellowed in response to Rolukhan’s fury and charged, hacking their way into the undead. Yet there was no shortage of Undying, and for every undead one of the Immortals destroyed, two more took its place. Annarah began a new spell, shouting in her clear voice, and Rolukhan worked his own spell. All around them the battle dissolved into screaming chaos, the Immortals and the undead struggling, Annarah and Rolukhan flinging spells at each other. 

“To Rolukhan!” shouted Nasser, and he started forward with Laertes and Morgant.