Ghostfire

by Christopher Golden

  Edgar felt a terrible dread settle on him, but he said nothing, only perched on Sheridan’s shoulder and waited for the outcome, for better or worse.

  In that moment, Timothy was torn. Cassandra was grappling with the cat-creature, which was hissing and yowling. She knew, now, that it had once been her grandfather. As he glanced at them, he saw it slash at her again, and its claws caught her forearm, drawing even more blood. Her sleeves were stained, and the crimson was dripping from the fabric to the floor.

  But Alhazred had Ivar, who had nearly raised Timothy and had taught him so much about honor and nobility, and how to be a warrior. He whipped his head back and forth, heart breaking as he realized he could only help one of them.

  Then Cassandra screamed in anguish, forced to attack her grandfather—or the thing he’d become. She raised both hands and sketched at the air. A burst of golden light erupted from her fingers, and the cat-creature was thunderstruck, the impact of the spell blowing the fiend back off of its feet and slamming it into a stone column.

  “Go!” Cassandra cried. “Help Ivar!” She ran at the cat-creature, another spell already coalescing around her hands.

  Timothy spun toward their real enemy, the evil behind all the horrors they had faced. “Put him down!” the boy shouted.

  Alhazred clutched Ivar by the throat, the shadow wizard hanging there above the stone floor, darkness swirling around him. He was draining Ivar’s life essence, and the tribal magic of the Asura. The markings on Ivar’s skin seemed to fade even more, and his face seemed to wither. His eyes opened and shifted toward Timothy, but instead of fear or sadness, the boy saw a warning in them. Ivar was more afraid for Timothy than he was for himself.

  That, more than anything, was what spurred him to act.

  He started toward Alhazred, gritting his teeth against the fear in him, and he flexed his fingers. The entire world ran on a matrix of magical power that flowed through everyone and everything … except him. Timothy was a black spot, a short circuit in the magical matrix. Any magic he came into physical contact with was disrupted, spells broken, charms shattered. If he could get his hands on Alhazred …

  “Come another step, boy, and I will snap his neck,” the wizard sneered. The blue light danced in his eyes, and shadows flickered across the gray flesh of his face.

  Timothy hesitated.

  And Leander Maddox stepped out from behind a stone column only a dozen feet from Alhazred. Leander said nothing as he raised his hands to attack, but Timothy smiled, and the shadow wizard must have seen it and understood what the boy’s expression meant, for he began to turn, ready to defend himself.

  Too late.

  Leander shouted two words in some ancient language of wizards, and waves of red and orange light flowed from his outstretched hands. Bolts of power like lightning shot from his fingers, plunged into the shadows inside Alhazred’s cloak, and threw him across the room with such force that he struck the far wall of the chamber, crushing ghostfire lamps and spheres, dousing some of the light, and collapsing as some of those lights tumbled down on top of him.

  “Timothy, get the others out of here! Now!” Leander cried.

  But already, Alhazred had begun to stir.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Grief welled up inside Cassandra with such power that she could barely stand. Nicodemus staggered a bit as he forced himself up onto all fours. All along there had been those who had called Timothy an abomination. But, this … this thing was truly abominable.

  All her life her grandfather had been kind, but distant. And how often had she seen a hunger in his eyes, a cruel and cunning thirst? Yet he was her only family and so she loved him, for she knew nothing else. His death had left her lost, alone, and somehow hollow inside. But it had also given her a freedom she had never imagined, and her experiences with Timothy and with Leander had offered a perspective on honor and nobility that had helped her to heal. She had learned the truth about Grandmaster Nicodemus, that he was a black-hearted, cruel mage who had committed heinous crimes and taken the lives, warped the spirits, of others for his own gain.

  His death was terrible. Learning the truth—that he had taken those lives to resurrect his master—even worse.

  But, this… seeing this creature that was so obviously her grandfather, twisted into some other form … this was worst of all.

  Its yellow eyes locked on hers and it hissed again. But this time, the hiss was a word. This hiss was her name. “Casssssssandra.”

  For a moment she was locked in place, frozen as though mesmerized. Then there came voices nearby, shouting, and she mustered all of her will to tear her gaze from the cat-creature’s eyes. There was a sound like shattering glass nearby and she turned to see Alhazred crash into the wall, ghostfire lamps crashing to the ground. Her pulse raced and hope sparked in her as she saw Leander standing in the midst of that vast chamber, framed by arches and columns. His hands were outstretched, and magic danced all around him. Not far away, Ivar was sprawled motionless on the floor. Leander shouted something at Timothy, who turned to look at Cassandra.

  Their eyes met. Her hope blossomed even further, and she managed a smile. He raised a hand to wave her toward him, called her name … and then Timothy’s eyes went wide.

  Cassandra twisted around too late to save her own life … if the cat-creature had been coming for her. But the hideous thing with her grandfather’s face bounded away from her, loping across the chamber. She saw immediately what was about to happen.

  “No!” she cried.

  She shook her hair out of her face and raised her right hand. Rage and fear intermingled in her as she started to run after the creature. Magic simmered within her, drawn up from somewhere deep within, such power as she had never dared to wield. The air around her warped and wavered as she ran and golden light burst from her hands. Her fingertips began to burn. The magic was too much. But still she held on to the spell that she had summoned.

  With a grunt of pain she came to a halt and thrust out her hand, eyes tracking the running creature, taking aim. Then the cat-man lunged behind a stone column. The ghostfire was so bright all around that she had to squint. Cassandra blinked and the beast was so swift that it had moved to the next column.

  Again she ran, panic rising in her.

  “Cassandra!” Timothy shouted.

  “I know!” she snapped.

  Then the two of them were running side by side, both of them shouting. Timothy was crying out for Leander to turn, to see what was coming, and Cassandra was screaming for her grandfather to stop—if he had ever loved her—to stop.

  Leander was focusing on Alhazred, watching the ancient wizard carefully, ready to battle. Their warnings were drowned out by one another’s voices. All he must have heard was their shouting, but none of the words. Still, the tone made him begin to turn …

  Just then the monstrous cat-creature lunged out from behind a column and at Leander’s back. Part Alastor, part Nicodemus … but both of them had always despised Leander Maddox. The thing struck him with its full weight in the very same moment that Leander saw it coming. He had no time to defend himself. Leander struck the ground with the twisted animal on top of him and it laughed with her grandfather’s laugh. The burly mage tried to shrug the creature off, his hands beginning to glow with a defensive spell. Cassandra stopped again and raised her hand, fingers still burning, tips charred black and seared with pain.

  Her entire body shook as the magic was channeled through her.

  The cat-creature swept its long claws across Leander Maddox’s throat. Blood flew, and all the magic that had been crackling around Leander winked out. The mage lay still.

  “No!” Cassandra and Timothy screamed together.

  Her face contorted with hatred, tears springing to her eyes, she let loose the spell that burned her hand, shaking with the power. Golden light streaked with scarlet leaped across the room and struck the cat-creature with such force that she heard its bones shatter as it was thrown across the room. It rolled ont
o the stone floor of the chamber, throwing strange shadows beneath the ghostlight, and then it, too, lay still.

  Unable to breathe, Cassandra ran to Leander. His eyes stared into nothingness, gleaming in the flicker of ghostfire illumination, and she knew that he was dead.

  She had never felt so cold, so numb.

  Cassandra walked to the cat-creature. Its limbs were splayed around it at strange angles, and a trickle of blood ran from the corner of its mouth. Of her grandfather’s mouth. His black heart had driven him to evil once more, and she had lost him a second time.

  She wept for him, and for the loss of Leander Maddox, and, most of all, for herself, Timothy, and Ivar.

  Alhazred would surely slaughter them all.

  Leander is dead.

  The thought was like a spear through Timothy’s heart. It echoed across his mind, and for a moment he thought he might just collapse. All the strength was gone from his body. He saw Cassandra fall to her knees not far from the corpse of that strange hybrid of Alastor and Nicodemus, and he knew how much she grieved.

  Timothy had not forgotten Alhazred’s presence, but the shadow wizard was still struggling to rise from the debris of shattered ghostfire spheres and lamps he had crushed when he’d struck the wall. Black, oily mist rose from his eyes, twining with the blue flames that had already been there, but as he tried to get up, his body buckled and he went down again.

  The boy forced himself to look at Leander again, stared at the unmoving form on the stones at his feet. The open eyes, staring forever into nothing. Unblinking. Unseeing.

  “No,” he whispered.

  When Argus Cade had died he had asked Leander to look after his son. Now, with Leander dead, who was there to watch over Timothy? No one. There was no one. That meant he was going to have to take care of himself.

  “Timothy,” a voice rasped.

  “Ivar?” he said, spinning around.

  The Asura had begun to rise to his feet. The tribal markings on his flesh were still faded and his voice was little more than a ragged whisper, but he was alive. Timothy’s heart thundered in his chest, relief flooding him.

  Then, beyond Ivar, he saw Alhazred begin to rise. Smiling.

  “No!” Timothy shouted.

  His voice drew Cassandra’s attention and she jumped up and ran to his side, but Alhazred was also in motion. He shot out a hand, and those tendrils of oil and blue fire wrapped themselves around Ivar like tentacles and lifted him from the floor.

  “Do not move!” Alhazred commanded.

  Timothy and Cassandra barely dared to breathe. The shadow wizard—for surely Alhazred was no mere mage, but as powerful as one of the Wizards of Old—held Ivar up before him with those magical tendrils as though the warrior was a shield. The blue fire that flickered in Alhazred’s eyes faltered slightly and he staggered, but he only pulled Ivar closer so that they could not attack.

  “Stand your ground, children,” he said, that thin smile stretching the gray flesh of his face. The shadows beneath his robe seemed to billow out below him into a cloud of darkness that rose up as though it might swallow both Alhazred and his living shield.

  Then the wizard reached out a hand and grabbed the nearest floating sphere. His eyelids fluttered, and darkness seemed to spill out around the edges of his eyes like tears of black mist. Alhazred crushed the sphere in his hand and brought the open flame to his lips.

  There were eyes in those flames. A face in the fire. And its mouth was open in a silent scream.

  Alhazred sucked the ghostfire right out of the air and swallowed it. He shuddered with pleasure and reached for another.

  “Gods, no,” Timothy whispered, grief welling up within him. “It’s true, all of it.” He glanced at Cassandra and saw her face contorted with the same anguish that was in his heart. She knew, then, just as he did. “It’s true.”

  “All my life,” Cassandra said. “And I never knew.”

  Alhazred laughed. “Ah, so you understand at last?”

  He took a lamp from the wall and shattered the top of it, then put his mouth over the broken spell-glass and almost seemed to breathe the ghostfire in. When he stared at them again, Timothy could have sworn he looked stronger, his eyes brighter, his flesh not so gray. The shadow tendrils that gripped Ivar tightened and the Asura groaned, twitching. The wizard only drew him closer.

  “All of the mages Nicodemus enslaved—”

  “Not only Nicodemus,” Alhazred boasted, “but Grimshaw as well. They were my tools.”

  “They brought you … victims,” Cassandra said, fresh tears streaking her face. She did not even try to wipe them away.

  “At first they only siphoned the magic for me, keeping some for themselves and feeding the rest to me. I thrived. As you see,” the shadow wizard said. He grasped another sphere in his hand, but only gazed at it a moment before turning back to them. His blue-black tentacles tightened on Ivar again. Something snapped in the Asura’s body.

  “Let him—”

  Alhazred’s expression kept Timothy from finishing the demand. The wizard scowled. “You still only know the beginning. The missing mages, yes, they fed me. I have kept myself strong with their souls, with their magic, and the spirits I have taken from ghostfire. But for every one I have consumed I have collected hundreds more, preparing for this very moment. And now every soul in this chamber, every ghostfire light in SkyHaven, will fill me. With that power I shall enter the very fabric of the magic that controls this world, and I shall be the most powerful mage in the history of Terra. First, though … I must be rid of a small nuisance.”

  He pointed a single finger at Timothy “Come to me, boy. Or I snap the savage’s neck. And then I come for the girl.”

  Timothy drew in a sharp breath. He had never imagined, after all he had experienced in this world, that he could feel the depth of horror that churned within him. After Nicodemus and Grimshaw, he had thought he knew evil, but what he’d seen before was only a taste. Now his mind spun. He glanced around the chamber, risked a quick look at Cassandra.

  “Boy!” Alhazred screamed. “You have no choice.”

  He would not accept that. There was always a choice.

  “Cass. Get Ivar,” he whispered.

  Then he screamed. The sound came almost unbidden, erupting from this throat as he threw back his head. It was fury and sorrow and a cry for justice, all merged into one terrible roar.

  Timothy ran at Alhazred.

  The wizard’s eyes widened in astonishment for a moment, and then he grinned. Casually, he grasped another ghostfire lamp and raised it to his mouth. He forced his tongue through the spell-glass with a crackle and began to suck up the soul inside. The face in the flames pressed itself against the glass. And all the while, the oily tendrils of magic Alhazred used to hold Ivar were beginning to constrict further. The Asura grunted in pain. His skin had begun to change color to match the strange blue magic and that inky black mist that was crushing him.

  “Now!” Timothy shouted.

  Cassandra darted toward them as well, but out to one side. Her red hair flew behind her and her emerald gown flapped and for an instant Timothy thought again of the first time he had seen her, on a high tower above SkyHaven, and the way just the sight of her had stolen his breath away. Just having her beside him gave him hope.

  “Monster!” she screamed, and she raised both hands up.

  Out of the corner of his eye he saw golden light blossom from both of her hands, seeming to explode across the chamber. For the first time he saw that her fingers were burnt black, like those of Nimib assassins, channeling magic too powerful for her flesh to contain.

  In his mind he had imagined her tearing Ivar away from Alhazred with some spell. But this was combat magic. The blast slammed into both the shadow wizard and the Asura warrior he held captive. The black tendrils dissipated and Ivar was thrown aside, striking the stones and not moving. Alhazred staggered backward, his head banging against the wall. Blood sprayed from his nose as though he’d been hit by a fist.r />
  Timothy thought, afraid Cassandra had killed Ivar just as she had the cat-creature.

  “Destroy him, Tim! Send him into the shadows forever!” she cried as she darted past him and raced to Ivar. Emerald energy shot from her fingers like lightning, picked the Asura warrior from the ground, and carried him forward as she fled deeper into the chamber for cover.

  Praying Ivar would be all right, Timothy raced at Alhazred now, while the shadow wizard was staggered. Already the blue fire was burning in his eyes again. Cassandra’s attack had done him little harm. No matter how much raw power she wielded, he had more. The fiend had consumed dozens, perhaps hundreds, of souls. Ghostfire had been used for centuries, and the world of mages had never really understood the cruelty of the practice. Timothy’s heart broke when he considered how long some of their souls had lingered in this world without being able to move on to whatever afterlife truly awaited.

  But Alhazred had been the first to discover that the magic that lingered with their souls could be consumed.

  As the boy ran at the wizard, he felt the eyes of every soul in that room, every flicker of ghostfire, upon him. He would set them free. Somehow, he would set them all free. Or he would die trying.

  “No matter, boy,” Alhazred sneered. “I will simply kill you first, and then your friends will die.”

  He rose up then, hovering once more in the air. The shadows that swirled beneath his cloak billowed and grew darker. His gray lips pulled back to reveal gleaming pearl teeth. A cruel smile.

  Timothy ran at him and brought his fist up, putting his entire body into it, just as Ivar had taught him.

  Alhazred slid aside and Timothy punched the stone wall, grunting with pain.

  The wizard struck him with the back of his hand, breaking Timothy’s nose and staggering him. The boy took two steps back, blinking the pain and shock away.