Ghost in the Maze

by Moeller, Jonathan

Caina yanked the dagger free from Anburj’s smoking skull and ran.

  She had gotten down to the lowest balcony when the machine exploded. The tremendous roar echoed off the walls, the stairs trembling beneath her boots. Caina lost her balance, grabbing at the railing of the stairs for support. For a moment she feared the entire structure of the balconies would collapse and bury her, but the structure held. Evidently Callatas had constructed his laboratory to withstand the occasional explosion. She regained her balance and scrambled down the stairs, ghostsilver dagger in hand, ready to rejoin the fight against the Immortals.

  But the fight was over.

  The Immortals lay scattered across the floor, blood pooling beneath them. Quite a few had smashed helmets, no doubt from Nasser’s fist. Strabane, Azaces, and Kazravid had all taken wounds, yet their injuries did not seem fatal.

  All of them stared at her in shock. Even Nasser look taken aback.

  “What did you do?” he said.

  Caina followed his gaze and saw the highest balcony ablaze with purple fire.

  “One of Callatas’s machines stopped working,” said Caina. “Anburj is dead.”

  “You’re the Balarigar,” said Kazravid.

  Caina stared at the Anshani anjar, feeling the weight of the ghostsilver dagger in her hand. Of Nasser’s entire group, she thought him the most capable of turning on her to collect the bounty. She didn’t want to kill him, but if he made it necessary…

  “This entire time,” said Kazravid, his voice bewildered, “you were the Balarigar? The Living Flame! Half the city is hunting for you, and you were under my very nose the entire time?”

  “I do hope,” said Nasser, his voice smooth and cold, “that you are not planning to collect a bounty, my dear Kazravid.”

  Kazravid blinked. “Given that those damned…cardomorphic…”

  “Carchomorphic,” said Anaxander.

  “Demons,” said Strabane.

  “Whatever,” said Kazravid. “If not for Ciaran, those spirits would have had us.”

  “If you’re going to kill me and claim the bounty,” said Caina. “I very strongly suggest that you do it on the surface. Everyone in the palace likely would have felt that explosion…and Callatas already knows we are here.”

  “He’s right,” said Strabane. “We had better leave.”

  “An excellent idea,” said Nasser. “If you all have your vials of Elixir Restorata, we can…”

  “No one is leaving.”

  The voice was a hideous, inhuman rasp, far deeper than any human tongue could produce.

  And Caina had heard such a voice before.

  “Oh, damn,” she said, looking for Tarqaz’s corpse. “Tarqaz. Where is he?”

  Kazravid turned. “He was right…where did his body go?” He pointed at a bloodstained patch on the floor. Tarqaz had been standing there when the Immortals killed him.

  But the body was gone.

  Caina turned towards the laboratory doors, already knowing what she would see.

  Tarqaz’s corpse stepped around one of the tables, moving with the jerky, twitching movements of a puppet upon invisible springs. The crossbow quarrels still jutted from his chest, his robes caked with blood.

  Yet he still moved nonetheless.

  And his eyes blazed with a mixture of purple fire and swirling shadow.

  The nagataaru in Tarqaz’s head had taken control of his corpse.

  Chapter 20 - Apotheosis

  “This has to be a kind of necromancy,” said Anaxander, gesturing as he summoned arcane power.

  “A demon,” said Strabane, pointing his sword. “A demon has taken control of his corpse.”

  “A nagataaru,” said Caina, watching Tarqaz. “The spirit that Callatas put in his head. I should have realized it sooner. When the Immortals killed him, the nagataaru could take full control of his body.” The same thing had happened in the Widow’s Tower. Caina had killed the Alchemist Ricimer, but Ricimer, too, had carried a nagataaru. The spirit had taken control of the Alchemist’s corpse, and the resultant fight had destroyed the Tower.

  Caina had barely gotten out alive.

  “The slayer of demons speaks truly,” growled Tarqaz.

  “You know me, then?” said Caina.

  “Know you?” said the nagataaru. Tarqaz’s lips remained motionless, his face slack with death, but the dreadful voice rasped against Caina’s ears nonetheless. “Your name resounds throughout the netherworld! The barren hunter. The killer of demons. The slayer of the Moroaica. The one who would stop the Apotheosis.” The eyes of shadow and fire shifted to Nasser. “And you are known to us as well. The lost lord. The homeless man. The man with the hand of glass…and the fool who thinks to stop what was begun so long ago.”

  “If you know me,” said Nasser, perfectly calm, “then you know I am not a man easily daunted by obstacles. Such as impudent corpses.”

  “You have already failed,” said the corpse. “The Apotheosis cannot be stopped, either by the slayer of demons or the lord of dust and glass. The pact has been made. The price has been paid. The seal shall be found, and the harvest shall be reaped.” The nagataaru took a step forward, shadow and purple flame swirling around Tarqaz’s fingers. “And you cannot stop it.”

  “And what is,” said Nasser, still calm, “the Apotheosis?”

  The spirit laughed, the terrible voice filled with gloating malice. “Die in ignorance. You failed, my lord of glass and dust. You failed your family, your people. Now die and fail one final time.”

  Caina laughed, long and loud, and the nagataaru paused.

  “Don’t be absurd,” she said. “We already know what the Apotheosis is. And it has already failed.” She gestured at the fire raging upon the top balcony. “Why do you think we came here, chattering spirit? To steal some Elixir Restorata? To filch a few of Callatas’s valuables? No. We came here to stop the Apotheosis. We have succeeded. Go crawling back to your master Callatas and report your failure, and perhaps he shall deign to take mercy upon you.”

  “I serve only Kotuluk Iblis, the prince of all nagataaru,” snarled the spirit, “and not the pathetic Grand Master! You cannot stop him! The pact with Callatas has been signed. Already he carries the Star of Iramis and performed the first step of the sacrifice! Soon his slaves shall find the Seal of Iramis and the Staff of Iramis, and the instruments of power shall be gathered!” Nasser’s eyes widened. “Then this world shall be ours! We will feast upon your torment for an eternity, proud mortals.”

  “Not if we first destroy the wraithblood laboratories,” said Caina.

  “Fool! You understand nothing!” said the nagataaru. “The wraithblood laboratories are but the first step. They merely prepare the way. Once the fool Callatas wields the Star, Seal, and Staff of Iramis in concert, the way shall be opened, and we shall feast!”

  Caina offered a grand bow. “Thank you.”

  Tarqaz’s slack, dead face offered no expression, but the nagataaru seemed annoyed. “For what?”

  “For all the useful information you have just given me,” said Caina. “I had never heard of the Staff or Seal of Iramis before today. But when I steal them and prevent Callatas from completing his Apotheosis, then I shall think of you with gratitude when I contemplate my victory.”

  Nasser began to laugh, and Tarqaz’s head twisted to look at him.

  “You bluffed a demon?” said Strabane. “Gods and ancestors! You are a madman!”

  “No,” said Caina, “I’m really not.”

  “What blind fools you have gathered around you,” hissed the nagataaru.

  “If you would care to present any other pieces of useful information,” said Caina, bracing herself, “I am eager to listen.” She had gotten some secrets out of the nagataaru, but she could almost feel the creature’s rage pouring off it.

  “Your trickery might have prevailed,” said the nagataaru, “but it matters not. You will not leave this place alive. How high will I rise in the eyes of Kotuluk Iblis when I kill the slayer of demons and the lo
rd of glass!”

  “You’ll actually have to kill us first,” said Caina.

  “One against eight,” said Kazravid, putting an arrow to his bowstring, “is not a promising battle.” Nerina’s crossbow made a loud click as she finished reloading the weapon.

  “Be ready,” said Caina. “The nagataaru will make him inhumanly fast and strong.”

  Strabane grunted. “The Immortals were inhumanly fast and strong, too.”

  “And they were living men, vulnerable to wounds,” said Caina. “Tarqaz is already dead. I think we’ll have to take off his head and his limbs…”

  The nagataaru moved, Tarqaz’s corpse a gray blur. The creature seized one of the massive wooden laboratory tables and lifted it. The table and the machines piled upon it must have weighed a thousand pounds, but the nagataaru hefted it as if it weighed no more than a willow branch.

  It flung the table.

  “Duck!” roared Nasser, and Caina threw herself to the side, the others following suit as Nerina squeezed the trigger of her crossbow. Azaces grabbed her and pushed her out of the way an instant before the wooden table struck the floor. It shattered into a dozen pieces, glass and broken bits of metal spraying in all directions. The crossbow quarrel slammed into Tarqaz’s belly, but the nagataaru gave no reaction. The broken leg of the table snapped off, spiraled through the air, and slammed into Caina’s chest. It hit hard, and the impact knocked her off her feet and sent her sprawling to the ground, the breath knocked from her lungs.

  The nagataaru surged forward with terrible speed, shadows and flame coiling around the dead man’s right hand. The shadow and flame coalesced into a sword of darkness with a core of purple fire. Caina scrambled to her feet, coughing and trying to catch her breath as the nagataaru raced at her, the immaterial sword raised to strike.

  Laertes attacked the nagataaru, his broadsword drawing a crimson gash across Tarqaz’s chest. The nagataaru twisted and slashed at Laertes. The Legion veteran got his shield up to block the attack, but the nagataaru’s sword sheared through the thick wood and steel like paper. The top third of Laertes’s shield fell off and struck the ground. The rest of the shield disintegrated into splintered shards, and Laertes lost his balance as he tried to adjust for the sudden loss of weight. The nagataaru raised the immaterial sword for the kill, and Caina flung a throwing knife. The blade slammed into the wrist of Tarqaz’s sword hand. The wound did not seem to pain the dead man, but the additional weight of the knife threw off his next swing and gave Laertes room to avoid the strike.

  “Do not parry his weapon!” shouted Laertes as he backed away, sword hilt in both hands.

  “Pitiful fool!” hissed the spirit. “Material weapons cannot stop the power of the nagataaru! You cannot kill me!” The creature laughed. “You cannot even hurt me!”

  “No,” said Anaxander, casting a spell, “but if we destroy your physical host, you cannot remain in the material world.”

  The nagataaru wheeled to face him, and Anaxander cast a spell.

  “Go!” he shouted.

  A hammer of invisible force slammed into Tarqaz’s chest and threw him backwards. He crashed into one of the pillars of the burning balcony with enough force that Caina heard bones shatter. Yet Tarqaz rebounded from the pillar with ease, the nagataaru driving his corpse forward. He raised the burning sword again, but Strabane struck first, his heavy sword shearing off Tarqaz’s right hand.

  “Fool!” roared the nagataaru, driving his bleeding stump into Strabane’s chest. The blow flung the former gladiator from his feet and sent him crashing into the floor. “Do you think you can kill me? I am…”

  Azaces swung his blade in grim silence. The heavy scimitar took off Tarqaz’s head and sent it rolling away. The body staggered forward, blood leaking from the stump of the neck, and for a moment Caina thought the nagataaru would retain control, would continue fighting even without a head and a sword hand.

  But the corpse slumped to its knees, and then collapsed into a motionless heap.

  Caina let out a long breath.

  A hooded specter rose from the corpse, a wraith fashioned of shadow and purple light. Caina raised her ghostsilver dagger, expecting the thing to attack, but the specter rippled across the laboratory as if swept upon a wind. It flowed towards the huge Mirror of Worlds, touched the glass, and disappeared into the netherworld.

  “Gods,” muttered Strabane, regaining his feet with a grunt. “Demons and dead men. Truly, Istarinmul would be better off with the Alchemists.”

  “I will not argue,” said Caina, returning the ghostsilver dagger to its sheath.

  “Nor I,” said Nerina, looking the corpses upon the steel tables.

  Laertes clapped Azaces on the shoulder. “That was a good swing.” Azaces grunted in acknowledgment.

  Kazravid nodded. “And that was quick thinking, sorcerer. That spirit and its damned sword might have killed us all otherwise.”

  “Let us save the congratulations for when we have actually escaped,” said Nasser, beckoning them forward. “This…”

  “Too late,” said Caina.

  She looked through the double doors of the laboratory and saw the Immortals approaching.

  Dozens of the black-armored warriors filled the corridor outside the laboratory, with more spilling in every second. There was no way that Caina and the others could fight so many. They had barely overcome a dozen Immortals and one Kindred assassin.

  “The doors!” shouted Nasser. “Barricade them! Quickly!”

  Caina dashed forward, the men following suit. She grabbed the right-side door with Laertes and Azaces, while Nasser, Strabane, and Kazravid grabbed the left. Together they slammed the doors shut, and Anaxander and Nerina ran forward with the scimitars and crossbows of the slain Immortals. They jammed the weapons across the doors, forming a crude bar.

  At once the doors started to shudder as the Immortals took axes to the wood.

  “That will not keep them out for long,” said Laertes.

  “Better than nothing,” said Strabane.

  “And to what end?” said Kazravid, gesturing with his bow. “We are trapped like rats!” He glared at Nasser. “You led us to this…you and the Balarigar.” His furious eyes turned to Caina.

  “I didn’t know a nagataaru could possess a living man without his knowledge,” said Caina.

  “Yes, you learned something from our little adventure,” said Kazravid. “How nice. But that doesn’t do us any good now!”

  “What…what are we going to do?” said Anaxander, blinking.

  Strabane shrugged. “Fight and die as men.”

  “I would like a better plan than that!” said Kazravid.

  “Search the laboratory,” said Nasser, though his tone was grim. “One of those machines killed Anburj. Perhaps we can find something to use against the Immortals…”

  “Or we can talk to them,” said Kazravid, “see if we can bribe…”

  Nasser laughed. “Do you have enough gold to overcome their fear of Callatas?” Kazravid scowled. “No, they shall simply kill us all. Our only chance is to find something to use against…”

  Caina closed her eyes and took a deep breath, the argument washing over her. Another option had occurred to her at once. She remembered the warning Sulaman had given her, telling her that to escape death, she would have to go back to the place where she had lost everything. Caina did not want to suggest it to Nasser. She desperately did not want to use it. Yet she saw no other way.

  But she had already lost everything the last time she had gone to the netherworld.

  “There is another way out of here,” said Caina.

  Kazravid sneered. “How?”

  “Thought that,” said Caina.

  She pointed at the Mirror of Worlds.

  That got their attention. Even Nasser looked taken aback.

  “Into…into the netherworld?” said Anaxander. “You cannot be serious!”

  The doors thumped again, the planks near the hinges starting to splinter.
/>   “I am,” said Caina.

  “It is not possible to enter the netherworld and live,” said Anaxander.

  “Actually, I have done it twice,” said Caina.

  “The realm of demons?” said Strabane. “Will they not try to kill us?”

  “And worse,” said Caina.

  “This is a waste of breath,” said Kazravid. “Even if we go into the netherworld, what of it? We won’t be able to leave again, save through that Mirror. The Immortals can merely camp outside the gate and wait for us to emerge.”

  “No,” said Caina. “You remember the mirrors the carchomorphic spirits used?” Laertes nodded. “Those mirrors were gates to the netherworld as well. I propose we enter the netherworld through this gate, and then exit it using the mirrors in the chamber where we fought our reflections.”

  “This is utter imbecility,” said Kazravid. “Even if we did enter the netherworld, and someone managed to reach the smaller mirrors, the Immortals will realize at once what has happened. They will wait for us to emerge.”

  “Actually,” said Anaxander, his eyes widening, “they won’t. Time flows at a different rate in the netherworld. The ratio of difference can vary, but it always moves faster. We could spend days in the netherworld, and to the Immortals here, it will seem as if less than a second has passed.”

  “You mean,” said Kazravid, blinking, “we could travel across half the Maze in the blink of an eye?”

  “From the perspective of the Immortals, yes,” said Anaxander. “From our perspective, it will take much longer. An hour or so, at the minimum.”

  Kazravid grunted. “Then why don’t the Alchemists use this to invade other nations? They could have smuggled one of these mirrors into Malarae and won the war against the Empire.”

  “Because the netherworld,” said Nasser, “is not a safe place. To become a Master Alchemist, an Alchemist must venture into the netherworld and retrieve a component for a powerful spell. Few of them ever return alive. Or sane.”

  The door shuddered again, and Caina saw the glint of steel as an axe bit through the wood.

  “I will not lie,” said Caina. “I have been to the netherworld twice, and it contains dangers to both mind and body. Entering it again is incredibly dangerous. If we stay here and fight, we are going to die. Or the Immortals will take us captive, and we’ll wish we had died. If we cross the netherworld to the small gates, we can jump over the Immortals and escape the Maze.”