“Enlighten me, then,” said Caina, trying to think of a plan through the agony in her head.
“The nagataaru shall devour our world,” said Kharnaces. “It is inevitable. The Court of the Azure Sovereign has been scattered and imprisoned, and there are none left to defend the world. This world is doomed, but there are many ways in which the death blow could land. Kotuluk Iblis, in his wisdom, has permitted his vassals to compete for the death of humanity.” He gestured at Kalgri. “The Voice advocated one path. The Harbinger advocated another. Yet the Harbinger’s victory was also inevitable. For I am the Harbinger and the Harbinger is me, and I am also Kharnaces, and no foe has ever stood before me.”
“Except, of course,” said Caina, “when the other Great Necromancers imprisoned you here.”
Kharnaces went every still, and the purple fire blazed around his eyes like a forge. Sorcerous power snarled in the air around him, and for an instant Caina thought that she had pushed him too far.
Yet the purple fire dimmed, and the eerie calm returned to Kharnaces’s face.
“As I said, the valikarion are incapable of understanding,” said Kharnaces. “Perhaps you shall understand in the glorious moment when the nagataaru descend from the skies and cleanse the world of humanity.” A flicker of the insane rage went through his eyes once more. “And as for the other Great Necromancers…they and the Kingdom of the Rising Sun are ashes, and I am still here.”
He floated away from Callatas, who slumped against the Staff, his forehead resting against it. Kharnaces glided to the jungle, and as he did, hundreds of the undead baboons poured out of the trees, joining the undead Immortals. Hundreds of the dead things encircled Caina, Annarah, Morgant, Callatas, and Kalgri, hundreds of purple-burning eyes gazing at them.
“My final punishment for your perfidy, my wayward pupil,” said Kharnaces, “is that you shall not live to see the glorious advent of the nagataaru. You shall not live to see humanity wiped from the face of the world like dirt from a mirror. Instead, you shall die here, upon this beach, and you shall know final failure.”
Kharnaces disappeared into the jungle, and the undead things waited. Caina struggled against the bands of power holding her motionless. She wondered if the nagataaru would kill them at once, or wait until the spell ended for greater sport.
Her answer came a moment later when Kharnaces’s spell winked out, and Caina could move again. The undead Immortals and baboons surged forward, and Caina set herself, hoping to cut down at least one of them before they took her…
Callatas shouted, and golden fire erupted from him. It passed through Caina and the others without harming them, but pushed back the nagataaru and their undead hosts. A ring of golden fire twenty yards across encircled Caina and the others, holding the undead at bay. The baboons raked at the ring of pale fire, and the Immortals hammered at it, but none of them could break through.
Caina took a step towards Callatas, and the Grand Master’s gaze met hers.
“If you kill me,” he rasped, “the spell ends, and we all die.”
His eyes rolled up into his head, and he passed out upon the ground.
Caina looked at him, at Kalgri, and then at Morgant and Annarah.
“Well,” said Morgant, “now what?”
She started to answer, and then pain exploded through her skull, her vision turning crimson. Caina felt herself falling, felt herself hit the ground, still hot from the firestorm of Callatas’s Elixir. She heard Annarah shouting, but could not make it out the words.
The last thing Caina saw was Kalgri grinning at her.
Chapter 15: A Second Pact
A long, long time later, Caina’s eyes slid open.
Her eyelids felt like lead, her mouth dry and gritty, her head pounding. She had been hungover once in her life, and this felt much worse.
“Oh, thank the Divine,” said Annarah’s voice. “Thank the Divine. She’s awake.”
Caina groaned, sat up, and looked around.
She would rather have been hungover.
Night had fallen, but Callatas’s ring of golden fire cast a gentle glow over the beach, and upon the hundreds of undead baboons and Immortals waiting of the ring. Annarah knelt next to Caina, her expression tired, while Morgant stood nearby, his scimitar and dagger in hand. Callatas lay upon the ground, his chest rising and falling. Kalgri sat cross-legged in front of him, calm and relaxed, her hands resting palms-up upon her knees. The Red Huntress looked for all the world like a meditating priestess, but Caina had no doubt that Kalgri’s attention never wavered.
“Aye, she’s awake,” said Morgant, “but let’s hope her brain didn’t turn to mush.” He leaned closer to Caina, still looking at Kalgri. “Who am I?”
“An obnoxious braggart,” said Caina, scowling, rubbing at her temples. “What happened?”
“The netherworld,” said Annarah. “You went to the netherworld. You reshaped the terrain with your mind, did you not?”
Caina nodded, which was a mistake, because it didn’t help her head. “Yes. How did you know?”
“The terrain of the netherworld is psychomorphic,” said Annarah, “but because of the unique abilities of a valikarion, you can manipulate it to a far greater degree than even a powerful sorcerer. Yet this is a dangerous ability, because it puts an immense strain upon the mind…”
“My headache kept getting worse,” said Caina.
“A blood vessel in your brain burst,” said Annarah. “I was able to heal it in time, but if I had not, you would have been dead within thirty seconds.”
A cold chill settled into Caina. She hadn’t even realized the danger. If Annarah had not been there, Caina would have died on this beach without even knowing why.
She would never have seen Kylon again, and he would never know what happened to her.
“Gods,” said Caina. “Thank you. Once again you have cared for me.”
Annarah nodded and squeezed Caina’s shoulder.
“How long was I unconscious?” said Caina.
“About two hours,” said Annarah. She anticipated Caina’s next question. “They haven’t done anything.”
Caina nodded, took a deep breath, and got her feet.
Kalgri looked up at her and smiled, her face so disconcertingly similar to Caina’s own.
“Isn’t this just cozy?” said Kalgri. She let out her disturbing giggle. “Just like the old days at the House of Agabyzus, isn’t it? If only Damla were here. Then I could bring you some coffee, and listen while you told each other all your secrets.”
Caina said nothing.
“Was Damla pleased that you took the stormdancer into your bed?” said Kalgri. “I suppose she cooed and clapped. But. Does she know you are a replacement for Kylon’s dead wife? An inferior replacement, at that. After all, poor doomed Lady Thalastre was pregnant when I killed her, but you never will be.”
A bolt of pure rage went through Caina, but she kept it from her face.
“I wonder,” said Kalgri, “if Kylon’s exile is ever lifted, won’t he just go back to New Kyre? He’ll be a proper Kyracian noble once more, and he’ll find a proper Kyracian wife. One who can pop out proper little Kyracian nobles. I suppose he’ll forget all about you, won’t he?”
“Why haven’t you tried to kill us yet?” said Caina.
“Oh, it wouldn’t be any fun,” said Kalgri. She giggled again. “I want to kill you in front of Kylon. I killed his pregnant wife while he watched. He was so fast, but not fast enough to save her. How he screamed!”
“No,” said Caina. “You never need a reason to kill. The only reason you have not to kill is to preserve your own life.” She took another deep breath. It helped a little with her headache. “Which means you are afraid for your life right now.”
Kalgri said nothing, but the flicker of purple fire in her eyes was all that Caina needed.
“You haven’t killed us because you’re guarding Callatas,” said Caina, “and if we kill Callatas, the spell ends and the nagataaru tear us apart.”
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Kalgri jerked her head at the ring of fire. “If you want to get yourself killed, I won’t stop you. Go ahead. That spell won’t hurt you. Step outside the ring and see what happens.”
“If we kill Callatas,” said Caina, “then the Apotheosis never happens. Maybe that is worth my life.”
Kalgri let out a disgusted sigh. “How are you even still alive? You keep trying to sacrifice yourself. ‘Oh, I must sacrifice myself gloriously and nobly, for if I do Kylon will live and be happy and Damla will sell her coffee and Laertes will find husbands for his ugly daughters.’ So go on.” She rolled one hand, beckoning. “Come and kill Callatas and see what happens. Maybe you’ll kill him and stop the Apotheosis, and everyone will live happily ever after…for about three days, after which the nagataaru will kill them all when Kharnaces finishes his work.”
Caina said nothing.
“See?” said Kalgri. “Isn’t it helpful to think things through before you act?”
“Fine,” said Caina. “We can’t fight, because we might all get ourselves killed. What do you suggest?”
Kalgri shrugged. “You’re the Balarigar. You’re the one who blew up the Inferno and killed Cassander.”
“Why didn’t you tell Cassander I was still alive?” said Caina, though she suspected the answer.
“Because I thought it would get both of you killed without any effort on my part,” said Kalgri. “It halfway worked. And my point is that you’re the Balarigar. Why don’t you think up something clever?”
Right about then Callatas let out a groan and sat up.
###
Bit by bit, the mind of Grand Master Callatas swam back into focus.
He began to realize that he had made a very serious mistake.
He felt…he felt…
Excellent.
That always happened with Elixir Rejuvenata. It had been decades since he had last used a vial of the Elixir, and Callatas had grown old again. He had forgotten what it had felt like to be young. A hundred different little aches and pains had accumulated over the years, and he had grown used to them and forgotten them. The Elixir Rejuvenata had wiped that all away, giving him the strength and stamina of a twenty-year-old man.
He looked around the circle of golden light, at Caina Amalas and Kalgri and Annarah. All three were quite lovely, and his rejuvenated flesh had renewed urges, putting entertaining visions in his mind as he wondered what their flesh would feel like beneath his hands as he…
Disgust filled him, and Callatas shoved the notions aside. The fate of the new humanity hung in the balance, and he was lusting after women as if he was as stupid as Erghulan Amirasku. And he had much, much larger problems at the moment.
Think. He had to think.
“Good evening, father,” said Kalgri with a bright, mad smile. “Did you have a pleasant nap?”
Rage coursed through him, and he started to gather arcane power to strike her dead where she stood. Then Caina started forward, that damned ghostsilver dagger in her hand, as did the black-clad man next to her. Annarah began casting a spell, her pyrikon shimmering with white fire. Kalgri turned to face them, her weapons glinting in her hands. Belatedly, Callatas realized they assumed he was going to attack. He had forgotten what it was like to have the volatile temper of a young man.
He had better remember fast, or he was going to get killed and all his work would be for naught.
“Wait,” said Callatas. “Wait, damn you all!”
He released the power of his spell, letting it drain away. Caina’s eyes remained fixed upon him. Those eyes were a cold, metallic shade of blue, and if she really was a valikarion, she could see every time he summoned power…
Why fool himself? He had seen what she had done in the netherworld. She was obviously a valikarion.
The others remained motionless, but did not lower their weapons. Callatas grunted and got to his feet, using the Staff of Iramis as a lever. No one offered to help him. But, then, standing was easier than he remembered, too.
Another advantage of a rejuvenated body.
For a moment Callatas stared at the others. Kalgri seemed amused, but he sensed the Voice stirring within her, and she was no doubt ready to spring into violence at the first sign of a threat. Annarah only looked sad. Caina’s face was a pale mask, with no hint of her emotions. The black-coated man smiled at him, his eyes glittering…
“Wait,” said Callatas. “I know you. The painter. Markaine of Caer Marist?”
Caina snorted, once, and the black-coated man offered a jaunty little salute with his dagger.
“What the devil are you doing here?” said Callatas, baffled.
“Well,” said the black-coated man, “I spent a great deal of time and effort painting that mural for you in the Tarshahzon Gardens, but you never did finish paying me.”
“The mural?” said Callatas, and then he remembered. The emirs had been growing restive, and he had hired some painter or another to create a mural showing the destruction of Iramis. A reminder of the Grand Master’s power had helped quiet the troublesome nobles. “You should to have been honored. Yet that was decades ago. You ought to have died…”
“His name,” said Annarah, “is Morgant the Razor. You sent him to kill me and reclaim the final two pieces of the regalia of Princes. Instead, I convinced him to help me hide the relics from you.”
Callatas let out a hissing breath, fresh anger surging through him. “And you hindered me for a century and a half! A century and a half wasted! You foolish, clumsy girl!” For just a moment pain went across her face, but then her jaw tightened. “The Apotheosis could have been worked a century ago if you hadn’t…”
“If she hadn’t hidden the regalia from you,” said Caina, her voice quiet, “then you would have returned to Pyramid Isle long ago, and everyone here would be dead.”
Callatas glared at her, but said nothing. She had an excellent point. Kharnaces had laid his trap long ago, and Callatas had blundered right into it.
“I assume,” said Caina, “that you’ve realized what happened?”
Callatas’s fingers tightened against the Staff. “Kharnaces left a compulsion hidden in my subconscious mind, concealed so carefully that even I didn’t realize it was there.” Kalgri glanced at him in surprise. “Once I touched the Staff and the Seal, the compulsion activated, and I had to bring the relics to Pyramid Isle. I thought it was my own idea, that it was necessary for the Apotheosis.” His memories of the last week, save for the battle in the netherworld, were hazy. Nevertheless he had been consumed by the idea that he had to bring the regalia to Pyramid Isle to complete the Apotheosis, even though he knew that returning to the island would likely mean his death.
Worse, it would mean the failure of the Apotheosis, and the stillbirth of the new humanity.
“Indeed?” said Kalgri. “That was idiotic.”
The rage pulsed through him, but he had no rejoinder. She was right.
“We all make mistakes,” said Morgant. His mocking tone made Callatas want to kill him. “Shall we proceed to the killing and get it over with?”
The assassin’s posture was relaxed, but his eyes strayed to Caina as he spoke. It seemed that she was the one who made the decisions. Callatas thought that absurd. Morgant was over two hundred years old. Annarah was a loremaster of Iramis, strong and skilled with the Words of Lore. And yet both of them deferred to this half-crazed Nighmarian girl in her twenties. What utter folly! What utter…
No.
He dared not think that way. Callatas had wondered how Ricimer and Anburj and Cassander and Rolukhan and Kalgri had all failed against Caina Amalas. She was one woman with sorcery or influence, just a spy, and spies were little better than thieves and prostitutes. Surely their failure against Caina Amalas was proof of their idiocy.
Callatas knew better now.
She had come closer to killing him than anyone else for a century and a half, so close that she had almost been victorious. His hands had been shaking badly when he had drawn the vial of Eli
xir Rejuvenata from his sash, and he had almost dropped it. If he had dropped it, he would not have had the strength to pick it up, and he would have died then and there.
The Apotheosis would have failed…and all because he had underestimated this woman, just as Anburj and Ricimer and Rolukhan and Cassander had underestimated her.
No. He dared not make the same mistake twice.
“You could kill me,” said Callatas, waving his hand at the ring of golden light encircling them. “But if you do, the spell ends, and then the Harbinger’s nagataaru will kill the rest of you.”
“We might be able to break free,” said Caina, “and the nagataaru cannot see me.”
“True,” said Callatas. “But that protection does not extend to your companions. And there are so many mummified baboons and dead Immortals that you will almost certainly bump into one. It will call to the others, and you will be overwhelmed.” He smiled. “Furthermore, Kalgri will almost certainly try to kill you.”
“Almost?” said Kalgri.
“You see, then,” said Callatas, gesturing with the Staff. “The odds against you are rather long.”
“Then you will try to kill us?” said Caina.
Callatas felt his lip twitch. “You observed how well that went the last time.”
She stared at him. He wished that the shadow of Kotuluk Iblis could touch her, that he could peer into her thoughts and discern her intentions, but the mind of a valikarion was closed to him. A valikarion was a deadly foe to any sorcerer…but Callatas was not the only sorcerer on Pyramid Isle.
Yes. Perhaps he could use his enemies against each other.
Of course, the suggestion was obvious.
“Let me guess,” said Caina. “You’re about to suggest that we work together to stop Kharnaces. You don’t want him to destroy the world, because that will stop you from destroying the world with the Apotheosis…”
“The Apotheosis will not destroy the world,” said Callatas, forcing back his anger. “The Apotheosis will renew humanity and…”
“Yes, whatever, I don’t care,” said Caina. “I’ve heard that speech before, and it’s the same stupid speech every single damned time. I’m sure the world will be a marvelous paradise once you’ve killed a few million people. You’re just annoyed Kharnaces is going to beat you to it.” Her face tightened with contempt. “And he’s more honest than you are. You think you’re going to save the world. At least Kharnaces admits that he’s going to kill it.”
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