“Something like that,” said Morgant, his voice a hiss. “I returned to Callatas with her pyrikon and her journal. That convinced him that she was dead. The loremasters undertook great trials to earn their pyrikons, and only surrendered them after their deaths. I disappeared back into the crowds of Istarinmul…and now here I am.”
“Then you let Annarah go with the Staff and the Seal,” said Nasser, “and you don’t know where she went.”
“Not…quite,” said Morgant.
“Then you did kill her?” said Kylon.
“I already said I did not,” snapped Morgant.
“If you let her go,” said Laertes, “she would have died of old age long ago.”
“Actually,” said Morgant, “as far as I know, she’s still alive.” He considered that. “In fact, I’m entirely certain she’s still alive.”
“Then you know where the Staff and the Seal are?” said Caina.
“I don’t remember what Annarah did with them,” said Morgant.
Nasser stared at him, making no effort to hide his incredulity. “You don’t remember? Two of the most powerful sorcerous relics ever created, relics that have the potential to destroy the world…and you don’t remember what happened to them?”
“I don’t remember,” said Morgant, “because Annarah herself removed the memory.”
“Perhaps you had better explain plainly,” said Caina.
“Annarah knew that Callatas would never stop hunting her,” said Morgant. “She had the Staff and the Seal, and even if she hid them, Callatas would seek her out and tear the knowledge from her mind. So, we hid the Staff and the Seal, and she removed the memories from our minds with a spell. My memory of it, she destroyed. She wrote the location of the regalia in her journal with a code that only she knew, and then removed her memories of the regalia’s hiding place.”
“Then that journal,” said Caina, thinking of the volume they had found in Callatas’s library, “that journal is the only place in the world that records the location of the Staff and the Seal.”
“And Annarah,” murmured Nasser, “is the only one who can read the journal.”
“You grasp the situation,” said Morgant. “It is…how would your friend the mad locksmith say it? A lock with two keys. Annarah is the first key, and I know where she is. Her mind holds the second key, for she is the only one who can read the journal.” He grinned. “One hundred and fifty years Callatas has had that damned book, and he hasn’t been able to read it the entire time.”
“Then where is Annarah,” said Caina, “and how has she been able to stay alive for all these years?”
“Annarah is in the netherworld,” said Morgant. “The loremasters of Iramis had the ability to create sanctuaries for themselves within the spirit world, sanctuaries they could enter physically. The loremaster’s pyrikon acts as a key to the sanctuary…”
“By the Divine,” murmured Nasser. “You mean she has spent the last one hundred and fifty years trapped in the netherworld?”
“It could have been longer,” said Caina. The rate of time was variable in the netherworld, at least compared to the mortal world. The first time Caina had gone to the netherworld, sent there by Ibrahmus Sinan, it seemed like hours had passed from her perspective. Yet barely an instant had passed in the mortal world. “It could have been much longer.”
“I told Annarah that I would return for her,” said Morgant, “that I would steal the pyrikon back from Callatas and open the way to the sanctuary once a safe amount of time had passed. We agreed that in seven years I would retrieve her.”
“You’re a little late,” said Kylon.
Morgant scowled. “There were problems. First, I could never get the damned pyrikon back from Callatas. His palace was simply too well-guarded. I could not penetrate its defenses, and every time I hired someone else to do it, they were killed.”
“You said problems,” said Caina. “What was the other one?”
“Where Annarah created the gate to her sanctuary,” said Morgant. “She thought Callatas might guess her stratagem, so she picked the one location Callatas would never look. The one place an enemy of the Grand Master would never go to hide.”
“His palace?” said Nasser.
“Worse,” said Morgant.
“The Golden Palace,” said Laertes.
“Still worse,” said Morgant.
“The College of Alchemists?” said Caina.
“Getting closer, but still not dire enough,” said Morgant. “No? No more guesses? I’ll tell you, then. Annarah opened the gate to her sanctuary in the Hall of Torments in the Inferno.”
Laertes winced, and Nasser went very still.
“The Inferno?” said Kylon. “That’s…the fortress where Rolukhan is the Lord Lieutenant? The place where the Immortals are created?”
“Yes,” said Caina.
Morgant snorted. “Saying the Inferno is the place where the Immortals are created is rather like saying a sword can be used to slice cheese. There’s rather more to it than that.”
“The Inferno,” said Nasser, “is located in the mountains of the Vale of Fallen Stars, south of here. It was one of the northern fortresses of the Kingdom of the Rising Sun.”
Caina felt a chill. “The ancient Maatish necromancer-priests built the place?” That was not good. In her experience nothing good ever came out of ancient Maatish ruins.
“They did,” said Nasser. “The priests of ancient Maat used it as a fortress, a prison for their most despised enemies, and a base to wage war against the Prince of Iramis and the Demon Princes. After Maat fell, one of the Demon Princes used the Inferno as a stronghold until he was destroyed and Istarinmul founded when Istarr marched north with his kinfolk. It was abandoned for centuries, but one of the Padishahs claimed it and handed it over to the College of Alchemists. They used it as a prison for their foes, and as a place to create their Immortals. It has been in Callatas’s control for a century and a half.”
“I’ve heard the Immortals call it the Iron Hell,” said Laertes. “No prisoner has ever escaped from it. It has also never fallen to an attacking army.”
“I can see why Annarah thought Callatas would never look for her there,” said Kylon.
“He never has,” said Morgant. “Do you see the danger, then? Do you see why I was so cautious? There was no way I could retrieve the pyrikon and free Annarah without help. I have spent a long time looking for someone who might be capable of doing it.” His pale, icy eyes turned back to Caina. “I think you might be the one I have sought.”
She shivered. Samnirdamnus had said something similar to her. Perhaps the djinni had arranged it. Perhaps the Knight of Wind and Air had pushed Caina and Morgant into meeting, into helping each other, all to further Samnirdamnus’s vendetta against Callatas.
“Very well, then,” said Caina. “Let us see if I am indeed the one you have sought.” She turned to Nasser. “We have robbed Callatas’s palace and the Craven’s Tower. I think it is time that we plan to rob the Inferno.”
“To steal away a treasure the Inferno’s master does not even know it holds,” said Nasser. “It seems we have a great deal of work to do.”
###
Later Kylon walked to the room where he had been staying in the Inn of the Crescent Moon.
Caina came with him.
“You hid your money in the floorboards?” said Caina, blinking in surprise.
“Some of it,” said Kylon, tossing the last pouch into his pack. “I put the rest on deposit with the silversmiths in the Old Quarter.” He grimaced, thinking it over. “I suppose I had better collect it at once. Sooner or later Rolukhan will put a price upon the head of the Exile, and I should disappear with my money by then.”
“You’ll need a new identity,” said Caina, glancing into the hall. “An alias. A disguise. It might help if you were to grow a beard.”
He snorted. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“What are you going to do now?” said Caina.
“Get the r
est of my money from the silversmiths,” said Kylon. “Then I’m going to buy clothing and weapons. And…I suppose I should figure out how to disguise myself properly.”
She hesitated, and his senses caught the tiniest flicker of trepidation from her. “Then you are staying?”
He shrugged. “Why would I not? Cassander is here. Rolukhan is here. I can hardly avenge Thalastre if I leave the city.”
“I thought you would go after Rolukhan and Cassander at once,” said Caina.
“I considered it,” admitted Kylon, “but that would get me killed. Someone went to a tremendous amount of effort and expense to keep me alive, and it seems churlish to throw away her work.”
Caina smiled faintly. “She appreciates it.”
“And it is…” He fell silent for a moment, collecting his thoughts. “Throwing my life away in vengeance would be…wasteful. There is work to be done.”
“What do you mean?” said Caina.
“All those wraithblood addicts at the hospice,” said Kylon, remembering the thin, half-starved men and women with ghostly blue eyes. Some of them had seemed lucid. The rest had raved and cursed, screaming in terror or weeping at the sight of things only they could see. “There were hundreds of them.”
“Three hundred and sixty-two,” said Caina, “when I spoke with the Sisters.”
“The corpses in the laboratory made them that way,” said Kylon. “How many people has Callatas murdered in his laboratories?”
“I don’t know,” said Caina. “Tens of thousands. Maybe more.”
“When the Huntress slew Thalastre,” said Kylon, “that was all I could think of. Of avenging her and making Rolukhan and Cassander pay for their treachery. But they were just part of it. The Huntress was only part of it. The wraithblood addicts and the laboratory was another part of it. The root of it, the heart of all this evil…it is Callatas, isn’t it?”
“It is,” said Caina.
“He burned Iramis,” said Kylon. “A quarter of a million people, dead in a moment. Caina…whatever he is planning has been going on long before you and I were born, and we never knew of it. You were pulled into it when the Emperor sent you here. I was pulled into it when the Huntress murdered Thalastre and my guests. I lost everything…but there are many others who have as well. There will be so many others, if Callatas continues. He is the final author of my loss and the losses of so many others.” He let out a long breath. “Stopping him, keeping others from suffering what I have…that seems a worthy goal. You understand, I think.”
“I do,” said Caina. “It was why I became a Ghost. It’s why I still am a Ghost.”
“Stopping Callatas’s plans seems a worthy goal,” said Kylon. He shook his head. “Though I suppose I might get killed just as easily as if I stormed the Umbarian embassy in search of Cassander.”
To his surprise, amusement flared through Caina’s aura, and she laughed.
“What?” said Kylon. “What did I say?”
“You’re right,” said Caina. “You could get killed fighting Callatas and his lieutenants. You could also trip down the stairs and crack your head open. No one knows their day or hour, Kylon. We can only live well until that time comes. And stopping Callatas and his Apotheosis will be good work.”
“Well, then,” said Kylon, hefting his pack. “Shall we begin?”
###
Caina left the Inn of the Crescent Moon with Kylon, making for the Old Quarter and the street of the silversmiths.
There was dangerous and deadly work ahead of her. Breaking into the Inferno would be no small feat…and escaping alive with Annarah would be even harder. Callatas and Grand Wazir Erghulan still had an enormous bounty upon her head. Cassander Nilas and the Umbarian Order were still hunting for her.
Yet, to her surprise, she felt hopeful, perhaps more hopeful than she had in a long time.
Caina had deadly enemies…but she was not alone. She had the Ghost circle of Istarinmul, Damla and Agabyzus and Nerina and Claudia and Martin and all the others she had gathered. She had the help of Nasser Glasshand and his cleverness and resources. Morgant the Razor would aid her, and she had seen the lengths to which that madman would go to keep his word.
She had the help of Kylon, one of the deadliest fighters she had ever seen.
Caina looked around the city, at the crowds filling the streets.
Perhaps together, Caina and the Ghosts and their allies had a chance of stopping Callatas and his Apotheosis.
Epilogue
Cassander Nilas stood in the solar of Grand Master Callatas, his arms clasped behind his back, the fingers of his left hand squeezing the armored gauntlet covering his right hand. He badly wanted to raise the gauntlet, to unleash his pyromantic sorcery and kill the two old men standing in front of him.
Given that it would result in his painful death, he found it easy to restrain the impulse.
“I fail to see why the destruction of the Craven’s Tower should be laid at my door,” said Cassander. “Given that the Lord Lieutenant of the Tower was one of Master Alchemist Malik Rolukhan’s men. Perhaps he should have been more vigilant in his duties.”
Rolukhan laughed. “Your pet elemental was in the Tower when it was destroyed. My divinations have confirmed it. The answer is simple enough. Your ifrit tracked the Balarigar to the Craven’s Tower, and was unable to overcome her.”
Cassander scowled, but both he and Rolukhan looked to the true master of Istarinmul for their answer.
Grand Master Callatas was short and thin, with a lined face and shoulders stooped from years of study. He had keen gray eyes, sharp and cold, and wore brilliant white robes with gold trim. A thin beard shaded his jaw, and a white turban concealed his hair. A blue gem the size of a man’s fist hung from a slender golden chain around his neck. Its depths flickered with a pale azure glow, and Cassander made a point not to stare at the stone for too long.
He knew what the Star of Iramis could do to the Grand Master’s enemies.
“Cassander, Cassander,” said Callatas, a glint of malicious amusement in his eyes. “Really. I had expected you to be more intelligent. When I told you Istarinmul would aid the Umbarian Order against the Empire if you rid me of that cursed Balarigar, I expected you to be discreet. A quiet blade between the damned harlot’s ribs, or a splash of poison in her glass. Instead you have sent ifriti rampaging through the streets and Adamant Guards brawling in the plaza. Perhaps I ought to have Erghulan expel the Umbarian embassy from Istarinmul.” He smiled. “Or I should write to the High Provost and ask her to send an ambassador with less of a penchant for…blunders.”
In that moment, Cassander decided that he was going to kill Grand Master Callatas. He did not know how, but he would find a way. First he would kill the Balarigar and ensure Istarinmul’s help against the Empire. And then, once that had been resolved, he would kill Callatas. He would repay the smug old bastard for every slight, every barbed remark, every sneer and every mocking laugh.
And if the Star of Iramis fell into Cassander’s hands in the process…well, he could put that to use as well.
“That is of course your right, Grand Master,” said Cassander with perfect calm. “However, I would be remiss if I did not remind you that Caina Amalas has eluded a bounty of two million bezants for over a year and a half, that she has terrorized half the cowled masters of the Brotherhood and escaped every time.”
“Your point?” said Callatas.
“Merely that patience is required,” said Callatas. “We…”
A sound at the door caught his attention. It also raised his alarm. This was the heart of Callatas's palace, the seat of his power. Nothing happened here without his permission. Callatas lifted his chin, and the two Immortals at the door started to turn.
A woman stepped into the solar.
She seemed familiar, somehow, though Cassander could not place her. She was young and pretty, with icy blue eyes and blond hair showing beneath a blue headscarf. Her blue dress fit her well, though she wore a scimitar and a da
gger at her belt. Her expression was bored, even irritated, and she looked at Callatas with annoyance.
“Who is that?” thundered Rolukhan, drawing himself up to cast a spell.
“Remove her,” said Callatas.
The Immortals reached for her, and the woman let out an aggrieved sigh.
She spun, and darkness and purple flame flashed around her fingers. Suddenly she held a sword of shadow and writhing purple fire. Her spin carried the blade around her in an arc, ripping through the armored chests of the Immortals.
The Immortals fell in pieces to the floor.
That made quite a mess.
The woman gestured, her blade of force vanishing. She looked…satisfied, somehow, as if the death of the two Immortals had given her sustenance. Her blue eyes fell upon Cassander, and she shivered and licked her lips.
“Lord Cassander,” she murmured. “You look more handsome than I remember. That happens sometimes. I think I would enjoy doing things with you that I would not have enjoyed when we last met.”
For a moment Cassander did not understand, but comprehension came to him in a cold jolt. He had seen her face before. Or, rather, he had seen parts of it. He had met Claudia Aberon at Erghulan’s doomed banquet, and while he had never laid eyes upon Caina Amalas, he knew her physical description, and he had seen fairly accurate drawings of her.
This woman had Caina’s blue eyes and pale skin, while the color of her hair and the shape of her jaw had come from Claudia Aberon.
“Huntress?” said Cassander, surprised.
She could not be here. She had been killed at Silent Ash Temple.
“I am,” said the woman. “Though you still call me Kalgri, if you wish. I’m going to keep that name until I solve a problem.”
“This woman calls herself the Huntress?” said Rolukhan. “Ridiculous. I…”
Kalgri looked at Rolukhan and grinned. It made her look both pretty and utterly mad. Kalgri’s previous form had been sullen and taciturn, but it seemed her death and transformation had changed things other than her appearance.
Ghost in the Razor Page 29
