“Come to me,” said the voice of Kharnaces, the Heretic of Maat.
Callatas tried to struggle, tried to fight, but sorcery older and stronger than his power closed around his mind like a fist of iron...and suddenly all his emotions drained away, replaced by placid, obedient calm.
###
Kalgri watched the sand dune, waiting for her enemies to die.
One way or another, they were going to die. Either the sand would crush the breath from them, or they would crawl free, and then Kalgri would kill them. She sensed that Kylon of House Kardamnos was still alive, and expected him to burst free from the sand before long. Kalgri would dispatch him before could bring that damned valikon to bear. She would have liked to have killed him while Caina watched, but as immensely pleasurable as that would have been, Kalgri was not about to risk her safety. Instead, she would present Kylon’s head to Caina. Yes, she liked that thought, and the Voice hissed its approval, the nagataaru stirring in the depths of her mind like a coiling serpent. She would present Kylon’s head to Caina, and watch the Balarigar’s expression crumple like a…
The Voice’s whispers of exultation turned to a hiss of alarm.
Kalgri took a step back, lifting her ghostsilver short sword in guard. The Immortals still stood guard, watching the sand dune that had swallowed half their number. The Voice sensed the horror and pain of those buried alive, pain that rapidly ended as they ran out of air and died. She turned, wondering if Callatas had seen anything, and then stopped in astonishment.
Callatas was twitching, his eyes closed. Kalgri and the Voice could sense nothing from the Grand Master, not with the layers of wards mantling him, but she knew that the shadow of Kotuluk Iblis filled him. Callatas had dared to summon the sovereign of the nagataaru and make a pact with him. Perhaps the price for that pact had finally come due.
Or maybe the Grand Master was having a stroke.
It would be amusing if after one hundred and fifty years of searching, the old wretch finally died just as he stretched out his hand to claim victory.
As she watched, he shuddered once more, and then his eyes opened.
“Father?” said Kalgri.
He gave no reaction to the title, which surprised her. She only called him that because it irritated him so much. Kalgri had only vague memories of her real father, but since the man had sold her into slavery a long time ago, he could rot in his grave.
Callatas looked at her. His expression seemed…off, somehow. It was usually a cold mask, colored with contempt and arrogance. Now he seemed calm, relaxed, even placid. She wondered if he had accidentally ingested some of his own wraithblood.
“I have instructions for you,” said Callatas, his voice a peculiar monotone. “Khalmir. Attend.” The Immortal khalmir stepped to the Grand Master’s side. “Gather the survivors. We shall immediately depart for the Towers of the Sea. There we shall take command of a galley and sail at once. See to the necessary preparations.”
“Of course, Grand Master,” said the khalmir. “If I may ask, where are we going?”
“Pyramid Isle,” said Callatas. The khalmir began shouting commands, the Immortals falling in around Kalgri and the Grand Master.
“Pyramid Isle?” said Kalgri. “Why are you going there?”
She did not know what Callatas had done on Pyramid Isle. He never spoke of it, and she had only been able to discover bits and pieces of the truth. She knew that a Great Necromancer of Maat was imprisoned upon the island, and from him Callatas had learned the secrets of summoning the nagataaru. Apparently Callatas had undergone a falling out with his former master, because he had fled Pyramid Isle and had never returned.
“It is necessary,” said Callatas. “I must go to Pyramid Isle without delay.” He beckoned to the khalmir. “Are the Immortals ready? Good. We shall leave for the Towers of the Sea at once. Commandeer whatever supplies you require for a sea voyage of seven to ten days.”
Callatas strode away from the wreckage of the Desert Maiden without another word, and for an instant Kalgri was so astonished that she could think of nothing to say.
“But what about Sulaman?” she said. “What about the Balarigar?” Callatas had been utterly adamant about the need to capture Sulaman and kill Caina a few moments earlier. What could have possibly changed his mind?
Were the relics controlling him somehow?
Callatas glanced at her. “If you wish, stay behind and kill them. Or accompany me and do as I command. Or depart from this place and do as you wish. Your decisions are of no further consequence.” That strange monotone never wavered, his face still placid and lacking its usual cold arrogance. “Decide now.”
Without another word, he strode away, the Immortals flanking him.
Kalgri watched him go in utter confusion. She had known Callatas for a very long time, ever since she had been purchased as one of his household slaves, and he had never acted like this. Certainly he had never passed up the chance to kill an enemy. He had offered a bounty of two million bezants to anyone who killed Caina Amalas. Even if his victory was now assured beyond all possibility of defeat, the old man was still spiteful enough to kill Caina in repayment for all the annoyance she had caused him.
Yet he was now just walking away, the Seal flashing upon his finger, the Staff tapping against the street with his stride.
For the first time in years, Kalgri didn’t know what to do next.
Not that she cared what happened to Callatas. She hated him, yet the shadow of Kotuluk Iblis filled him, and that forced the Voice to yield to him. That, and she knew that if she ever lifted a finger against Callatas, he would blast her to ashes or transmute her into one of his crystalline statues. Kalgri knew she could kill almost anyone, but not Callatas.
Not that working for him had been unpleasant. He needed a lot of people killed, and he didn’t particularly care what she did so long as it did not inconvenience him. Furthermore, sooner or later he would complete the Apotheosis, and that would kill a lot of people, and she could feast upon the deaths of thousands.
Yet now the Voice was certain, utterly certain, that if Callatas went to Pyramid Isle, the Apotheosis would never come to pass, and that thought enraged the nagataaru.
“What about your enemies?” called Kalgri.
Callatas paused. “Yes. They may hinder my task.” He turned. “Khalmir, dispatch a runner to Grand Wazir Erghulan. Tell him that he and Master Alchemist Rhataban are to proceed as we discussed. Additionally, send men to the Imperial Embassy with instructions to kill Lord Martin, his family, and all their servants and guards. The resultant chaos should prevent anyone from interfering with my task.”
The khalmir dispatched one of his Immortals as a messenger, and Callatas resumed his walk towards the Towers of the Sea, the twin fortresses on the northernmost edge of the city.
Kalgri’s instincts told her to follow Callatas, to see what was happening. The Voice agreed with her instincts, demanding that she follow Callatas, and the nagataaru’s furious whispers claimed that if Callatas took the Staff, the Seal, and the Star to Pyramid Isle, then the Apotheosis would never come to pass. The thought of missing the chance to feast upon that much death and agony filled Kalgri with something like physical pain. Yes, she would follow Callatas, but first she would make sure that Caina and Kylon and their allies were dead…
Or perhaps it was time to retreat.
The Immortals had vanished from sight, Callatas with them. If Kylon emerged from the sand, Kalgri might have to fight him alone, and she did not want to do that for any reason. The man was a dangerous fighter, and he had bested her in their first duel atop the Tower of Kardamnos in New Kyre. With a valikon in hand he could destroy both her and the Voice, and the nagataaru quailed at the thought of facing that damned sword once again. Kalgri well remembered the horrible pain of the sword’s cuts. No, when she killed Kylon, she would stab him in the back, not face the fury of his valikon. For that matter, Annarah was a loremaster of Iramis, and the Words of Lore had the potential to d
o great harm to Kalgri, perhaps even to kill her and destroy the Voice.
The last time Kalgri had fought Caina by herself, she had been ripped in half and thrown from the top of a mountain, and that had been before Caina had gained the help of Kylon and Annarah. Pain no longer meant as much to Kalgri as it once had, but she still had no wish to repeat the experience.
She decided to follow Callatas. The Grand Master’s behavior puzzled her, and she wished to learn its cause. And if the relics had indeed overthrown his reason…perhaps she could find a way to restore his mind.
For if she did, he would work the Apotheosis, and uncounted thousands would die.
Kalgri sprinted after Callatas and the Immortals, leaving the wreckage of the Desert Maiden behind.
Chapter 5: The Pact
Caina struggled to breathe.
She had landed with her boots pointing towards the ground. Or, at least, she thought so. The sand choked off all the light, and it was possible that she was upside down without realizing it. She clawed upwards, forcing her arms through the shifting sand, kicking with her legs as the sand flowed around her. Fortunately, the sand was dry and loose enough that there was still a pocket of air in front of her face.
It wasn’t much air, and it would not last much longer.
Caina could not be buried more than a few feet deep. If Callatas’s spell had transformed the entire Desert Maiden into sand, most ofthe sand would be underneath her. She had been standing on the roof. The men who had been caught on the first floor and in the common room had likely been entombed alive in the cellar. There was no hope for them.
There might not be any hope for Caina.
Her breath came sharper and faster as her lungs struggled. Caina thrashed, pulling herself higher through the loose sand, the weight of it pressing against her body. Was she going up or down? They had to get the Staff and the Seal away before Callatas and Kalgri claimed them. Perhaps they could even finish the battle today, if Kylon could bring the valikon to bear against the Grand Master and the Red Huntress.
Perhaps Kylon was already dead, choked by the sand.
Perhaps the Huntress had cut off his head while he had tried to dig his way free. It was exactly the sort of brutal sadism that Kalgri would enjoy, waiting to greet Caina while holding Kylon’s head, just as she had planned to do in Rumarah…
The dread of that thought drove Caina on. White spots flashed before her eyes, her heartbeat a steady thunderclap in her ears. Her hand broke through the top of the sand, clawing at nothingness.
She was loose!
Yet her strength was gone, and there was no air left in her lungs. Caina’s fingers grasped at the sand, trying to find purchase, but the white spots before her eyes grew wider, and her concentration seemed to unravel…
Then a pair of hard, sword-callused hands gripped her wrist and yanked with enough force that her arm almost popped out of the socket. An instant later she burst from the sand, the sunlight brilliant in her eyes, and Laertes dragged her the rest of the way free. Caina fell to her knees, wheezing, sand running in rivulets down her arms and chest, and sucked in breath after breath of fresh air.
“I’ve got her!” said Laertes. His sword was back in its scabbard, his shield slung over his back. That didn’t make any sense. The Immortals were here, the Immortals would be attacking…
The Immortals were gone.
Caina looked around. She saw no Immortals in the street, save for the ones that had been slain. She realized that the heavy weight of their black armor would have hindered them from digging their way free. For that matter, the sand would have poured in through the eyeholes of their helmets, filling the interior space and smothering them quickly.
It was a horrible way to die, as her own burning lungs attested. Though given that Callatas had murdered a quarter of a million people within Iramis to claim the Staff and Seal, it should not surprise her that he was willing to kill a few dozen of his own soldiers to seize the relics.
Boots crunched against the sand, and then Kylon knelt next to her, helping her to stand, and relief flooded through her.
“Gods,” said Kylon. “We thought you had been buried deeper, that maybe one of the Immortals had fallen atop you and pinned you. I thought…” He let out a long breath. “I couldn’t sense you. I could find the others, but not you.”
Caina looked around, wiping the loose sand from her eyes. Nasser stood next to Laertes, his expression grim, and Morgant waited behind Annarah like a black-coated shadow, the pyrikon staff still flickering with white fire in Annarah’s fist. Sulaman struggled towards them, sand cascading off the folds of his robe. Only Mazyan seemed unperturbed, though he looked as truculent as ever.
“What happened?” said Caina. “Why are we still alive?” A darker thought occurred to her. “Where are the Staff and the Seal?”
“Gone,” said Nasser, his voice as hard as she had ever heard it.
“I saw Callatas cast his transmutation spell,” said Annarah, “and I used a Word of Lore to cast a protection around myself. It reached far enough to shield Mazyan and Sulaman. We found ourselves in a clear sphere beneath the sand. By the time we dug our way out, the Immortals were retreating with Callatas and the Huntress. Lord Kylon worked his way free, and with his senses we located the rest of you.”
“Where is the Staff?” said Caina, dread gnawing at her.
“Callatas has it,” said Nasser.
“He used a spell of psychokinetic force to pull it to him,” said Annarah.
The dread worsened within Caina.
“I do not understand why he did not slay us all,” said Mazyan. “He could have done so easily.”
“Likely he wishes to withdraw to his palace and work the final spells of the Apotheosis at once,” said Sulaman.
“No,” said Caina. “No, it’s worse than that. He’s not going to work the Apotheosis.”
Kylon’s face tightened. “Then you think…”
“He’s going to Pyramid Isle,” said Caina. “Right now.”
“Pyramid Isle?” said Sulaman. “Why? That is a place of ill legend…”
“It’s not a legend,” said Caina, remembering the icy, burning feeling as Kharnaces’s Compellant Bloodcrystal had melted and forced its way into her nostrils and mouth. “A Great Necromancer called Kharnaces is imprisoned there. He worshipped Kotuluk Iblis as a god, and Callatas went to him to learn about the nagataaru. Callatas escaped, but Kharnaces laid a compulsion upon him, one that Callatas doesn’t know about. As soon as Callatas touches the Staff and the Seal, the compulsion will force him to go to Pyramid Isle at once. Callatas won’t even know why. He’ll assume it’s his own idea.”
“Then Kharnaces will claim the Staff and Seal?” said Sulaman. “He will work the Apotheosis?”
“Kharnaces doesn’t care about the Staff or the Seal or the Apotheosis,” said Caina. “He has something he calls a Conjurant Bloodcrystal, a bloodcrystal as powerful as anything the Great Necromancers wrought in the days of ancient Maat. When activated, it will completely destroy the barrier between our world and the netherworld, and the nagataaru will be able to devour our world. All Kharnaces needs to finish the Conjurant Bloodcrystal is a single drop of Callatas’s blood.”
“Then we must stop him at once,” said Sulaman.
“He has a hundred Immortals around him,” said Morgant, “the Huntress, and his own spells. He overwhelmed all of us with a flick of his wrist. Just how are we going to stop him?”
“We have to kill him,” said Caina. “He can’t leave Istarinmul.”
“Again,” said Morgant. “How?”
“I don’t know,” said Caina.
“It may be too late already,” said Laertes. “He’ll march straight to the Towers of the Sea, and unlike us, he won’t have any trouble commandeering a ship. He will be able to set sail for Pyramid Isle at once.”
“And he will have the Immortals with him the entire way,” said Kylon. “We won’t have a chance to ambush him or to take him off guard.” He
looked to the north. “By the time we catch him, he’ll already be boarding his galley.”
Caina nodded, her mind racing, sorting through possible plans and discarding them one after another. Callatas was a sorcerer of immense power, and fighting and killing him would take careful planning and preparation. Caina and Kylon had killed Cassander Nilas and Malik Rolukhan, both of them sorcerers of great power, but Callatas was stronger than both men combined. Confronting Callatas without a plan would be suicidal. Confronting him even with an excellent plan would still likely lead to defeat.
“There is another problem,” said Annarah.
“This one isn’t big enough?” said Caina.
“When we emerged from the sand, I heard Callatas talking to the Huntress,” said Annarah. “He’s sending Grand Wazir Erghulan and one of the Master Alchemists to crush the rebels. He’s also sending men to attack the Imperial Embassy with orders to kill everyone there.”
A bolt of rage cut through Caina’s dread. Martin and Claudia were at the embassy, sheltering there as they waited for the political fallout of Cassander’s defeat to settle. Their newborn son Corvalis was with them, named for Claudia’s brother and Caina’s slain lover. The thought that Callatas would kill Claudia’s son and Corvalis’s nephew set her anger blazing…
No. She had to think of something clever right now.
“It seems that Lord Martin is on his own, I fear,” said Nasser. “We must go after the Grand Master. Many more lives will be lost than theirs if Callatas reaches Pyramid Isle.”
“I won’t abandon Martin and Claudia,” said Caina. Perhaps she could send them a warning, get them to safety before the Immortals stormed the embassy.
“We may not be able to help them,” said Laertes. “Lord Martin has a hundred Imperial Guards. Callatas can call upon every fighting man in Istarinmul. Worse, the Grand Wazir’s army could attack the embassy on its way out of the city.”
“We cannot delay,” said Annarah.
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