Ghost in the Pact

by Jonathan Moeller

  “Bah,” said Erghulan. “As if I would heed the counsel of a fool exiled from his own nation. And a fool who chose skullduggery and treachery instead of honorable exile! Aye, Cassander Nilas told us about you, Kylon of House Kardamnos! You could have taken the traditional path of an exile and become a privateer in the service of the Padishah or a captain of mercenaries. Instead you threw your lot in with the murderous spy Caina Amalas, and you shall share her fate.”

  Kylon glanced at Nasser, and an idea came to him.

  “I am not surprised that you would praise Lord Cassander,” said Kylon, “given that you sold Istarinmul to him.”

  Erghulan scowled. “That is a lie!”

  “A voice thundering from the skies proclaimed it,” said Kylon. “A million people in Istarinmul heard it. You and Callatas betrayed Istarinmul to the Umbarian Order…”

  “Lies!” said Erghulan. “Cassander betrayed us.”

  “Which is it, Erghulan?” said Tanzir. “You betrayed Istarinmul to the Umbarians, or Cassander tricked you and almost destroyed the city under your watch? Either way, your skill at governance seems as lacking as your prowess as a hunter…”

  That did it.

  Lord Martin had said nothing irritated Erghulan Amirasku like having his abilities as a hunter questioned. The Grand Wazir stiffened in his saddle, his eyes blazing, and pointed at Tanzir.

  “You will be silent, you bloated bag of suet,” snarled Erghulan. “What do you know of ruling? What do you know of war? Perhaps you learned wisdom with your nose buried in a book, but I doubt it.” He glared at them. “Today you will receive an education in war unlike any you have ever seen before!”

  “Grand Wazir…” started Rhataban.

  Erghulan kept ranting. “I give you once chance to surrender…”

  “I am the lawful heir to my father’s throne,” said Sulaman. His voice stayed calm, but it somehow cut through Erghulan’s shouting. “Perhaps you ought to surrender to us.”

  “Grand Master Callatas rules Istarinmul, not you, and not your fat slug of a father,” said Erghulan. “I will give you once chance to surrender. Tanzir Shahan will be allowed to disband his armies and return peacefully to the Vale of Fallen Stars, and Prince Sulaman shall accompany us to the Golden Palace.”

  “And if we do not?” said Tanzir.

  “Then run back to your books and epic poems, boy,” said Erghulan. “See if they will save you from the storm to come. I will rain Hellfire down upon you, and I shall slaughter your rebels and line the roads with their corpses. I will leave you impaled upon the walls of Istarinmul, screaming out your last as the ravens eat your eyes, and you,” he pointed at Sulaman, “will return to the Golden Palace and whatever fate the Grand Master plans for you.”

  “Truly, a compelling offer,” said Tanzir, “but I believe I speak for the Prince and the emirs of the south when I decline. We trusted to your good judgment before, Erghulan, and what did it bring us? The Brotherhood terrorized the farmers of the southern emirates. Cassander Nilas almost destroyed Istarinmul, and Callatas’s experiments have filled the streets with wraithblood addicts. No, we are done trusting you, and we shall demonstrate our resolve with sword and spear.”

  “Bold words,” said Erghulan. “Rejoice that I gave you my word, Tanzir Shahan, else I would cut your fat head from your neck here and now.” He turned his horse. “Your safe conduct lasts until you return to your lines. Get out of my sight.”

  “Lord Kylon,” said Rhataban.

  Kylon looked at the Master Alchemist. Rhataban sat motionless atop his horse, but the shadow and purple fire of the nagataaru seemed to flicker within his dark eyes.

  “What?” said Kylon.

  “I’m going to kill you,” said Rhataban.

  “Now?” said Kylon. His hand itched to grasp the valikon’s familiar hilt. “You’re welcome to try it and see what happens.”

  “I shall honor the Grand Wazir’s given word,” said Rhataban. “But I will still find you during the battle, and I will kill you. And then, after you are dead and the rebels are crushed, I shall find the Balarigar and slay her. Perhaps I shall lay your rotting head before her before she dies, so she knows that you have failed yet again. Perhaps I shall let the Immortals enjoy her for a few days before I finally put her out of her misery.”

  Kylon stared at the Master Alchemist, the rage pulsing through him…and then another idea came to him.

  “Assuming that the Huntress does not find her first,” said Kylon.

  “The Red Huntress?” said Khabatan. “A madwoman. She does not understand the true purpose of the Grand Master’s great work. She is a wanton harlot who kills for pleasure and nothing more. Once the Apotheosis is finished and the new humanity arises, there will be no further need for her.”

  “Are you so sure?” said Kylon. “I fought you, and I fought the Huntress. The Huntress was death made flesh. She carved through the lords of New Kyre and none of them could stop her. You, though…next to her, you’re just an idiot with a hammer.”

  Rhataban remained motionless, but the purple fire all but blazed in his eyes.

  “You will regret those words bitterly,” he said, “before you die.”

  “I doubt that,” said Kylon, “but you can believe whatever makes you feel better.”

  “Enough!” snarled Erghulan, gesturing to his emirs and Immortals. “Beg to the Living Flame to show you mercy, Tanzir and Sulaman, for I shall surely not.”

  The embassy rode towards the waiting army, and the drums began to boom out.

  “Well,” said Tanzir, signaling for them to return to their own lines, “wasn’t that pleasant?”

  Chapter 17: My Motives Were Pure

  Caina had done a lot of grim things in her life, but the night march through the jungles of Pyramid Isle was one of the more unpleasant ones.

  The heat and humidity of the jungle did not lessen as the night wore on, and sweat dripped down her face, sticking to her clothes. Insects buzzed and wobbled through the leaves, and Caina had to brush them off her neck every few paces. The terrain was uneven and muddy, but at least there was enough light to see. Caina had shifted her pyrikon to its staff form, a pale white light shining from its tip like an eerie torch. It wasn’t much light, but it did keep them from tripping and breaking their necks…and it gave them a few extra moments of warning when the nagataaru approached.

  For the undead baboons and Immortals had not given up their search.

  They moved constantly through the forest. After the first dozen encounters, Caina realized they were sweeping the jungle in a search pattern. The undead creatures were tireless, and they would not stop searching until they found their quarry or Kharnaces destroyed the world and made the search moot.

  Fortunately, the limited understanding of the material world possessed by the nagataaru meant that neither the baboons nor the Immortals made any effort at stealth, smashing through the underbrush and making a great deal of noise. They could hear the undead coming from a long way off, and Caina and the others had no trouble evading them.

  The downside was that they didn’t dare stop to rest. A single mistake, and the nagataaru would swarm them. Caina and the others had fought their way free at the beach, but she did not want to risk it again. For that matter, Callatas might decide he had no further need of allies, and abandon them to the nagataaru. Best to avoid the moment of crisis for as long as possible.

  So Caina kept walking towards the white hill, accompanied by two of her friends and two of the most dangerous enemies she had ever faced.

  And perhaps the worst part of the miserable walk was that Kalgri would simply not shut up.

  “You should stay quiet,” said Caina.

  “Why?” said the Huntress, and she giggled. “They can’t hear us. They’re dead. Their ears don’t work.” She stepped forward and waved her arms in the direction of an Immortal crashing through the trees. “Hey! Right here! You’re looking for us. Come and get us!”

  The Immortal did not turn, its arm
or clanking.

  “You see?” said Kalgri, glancing back at Caina, her teeth flashing white in the cowl of her shadow-cloak. “They can’t find us. So we can talk all we want. We can catch up! Just us girls, eh?” She glanced at Annarah. “Not that I wish to chat with a loremaster of Iramis, mind.”

  “I fear the feeling is mutual,” said Annarah.

  Caina glanced at Callatas, but the Grand Master said nothing, his face impassive. Likely he didn’t care. Likely he knew Kalgri’s taunts would irritate Caina, perhaps drive her into doing something rash.

  “You know,” said Morgant, “I never thought I would say this, but it’s entire possible you talk too damn much for an assassin.”

  Kalgri laughed. “You’re one to talk. I followed the Balarigar for months, you know. I was hiding under the floorboards when our dear Annarah unlocked her journal and told you where to find the Staff and the Seal.”

  Kalgri had been there? Caina had known that Kalgri had followed her around Istarinmul for months, but she hadn’t realized that the Huntress had been so close.

  “Then you should have told Callatas at once,” said Caina, “and saved yourself much trouble.”

  “Yes,” said Callatas. “You should have. Your reckless lust for death has caused me much…”

  “Father, father,” said Kalgri, and his expression tightened. “I confronted our dear Balarigar once before, and look how that ended! I really didn’t want to get thrown off the side of a mountain again.” She shrugged, the shadow-cloak rippling around her. “I wanted to maneuver Caina and Cassander into killing each other, and then take the relics from the rubble. It worked halfway.”

  “Halfway,” growled Callatas, “is not enough.”

  “Father dearest,” said Kalgri, “I did exactly as you told me. I brought death to your enemies, and I told you where to find the relics. It is not my fault that the minute you picked up the relics, Kharnaces crooked his finger and you came running at his call like a good dog.”

  Caina half-expected Callatas to erupt in fury at the insult, but the Grand Master only glared, the cords in his neck standing out as he gritted his teeth.

  Kalgri did, after all, have a point.

  “Ah!” said Morgant.

  “What?” said Caina.

  “I’ve realized what the Grand Master’s chief failing is,” said Morgant.

  “Oh?” said Callatas, picking his way around a fallen tree. “Do enlighten me, assassin.”

  “You promised to open the Starfall Straits to Cassander if he killed Caina, and then failed to pay him,” said Morgant.

  “Obviously, he failed,” said Callatas, “given that the Balarigar is walking in front of us right now.”

  “But he thought he had killed Caina,” said Morgant, pointing at Kalgri. “Which, by the way, is your problem. Chronic lying.”

  Again Kalgri’s smile glinted in the depths of her cowl, accompanied by a flicker of purple fire. “Lies are often more efficient at killing than knives.”

  “Exactly,” said Morgant. “Anyway. Your problem, Grand Master, is that you have a bad habit of forgetting to pay your hirelings. See, if you had paid me for that mural, maybe you would have learned better habits, and then…”

  “Blood and damnation!” roared Callatas. “The fate of humanity hangs in the balance, and you continue to quibble about that damned mural! If I had known that I would have to listen to you whine about it decades later, I would have killed you then and there to save myself the bother!”

  “But you didn’t,” said Morgant.

  Callatas said nothing more, glaring into the jungle.

  “As I was saying,” said Kalgri, “I followed Caina for months. Studying her, watching her, preparing for when I would strike. I even left little presents for her. Do you remember them? The curved knives. They made you so paranoid!”

  “Given that you were stalking me,” said Caina, “a little paranoia was necessary.”

  “My favorite,” said Kalgri, “was right after the Inferno. You were going to see Kylon. You got all dressed up, and then saw the curved knife in the dust and changed your mind. Maybe you were wiser back then. You realized that luring him into your bed was a bad idea.”

  Caina said nothing.

  “Really, you ought to get down on your knees and thank me,” said Kalgri.

  Still Caina said nothing.

  “You should to thank me for killing Kylon’s wife,” said Kalgri.

  “What?” said Caina, anger getting the better of her tongue. “Why the hell would I do a vile thing like that?”

  “Because if I hadn’t killed his wife,” said Kalgri, “he would never have taken a second look at you. Why should he have done so? He was one of the richest and most powerful men in New Kyre. His wife was beautiful and devoted to him, and once he tired of her, he could take as many mistresses as he wished. And all of them, every single one of them, could do what you could not. They could give him children, as many children as he wished. I wonder how long until he realizes he can do far better than a barren spy.”

  Caina said nothing. She knew that Kalgri was trying to get under skin. It was a crueler version of the game Morgant played…and like Morgant, Kalgri had identified Caina’s weak point. A little dark voice in her head whispered that the Red Huntress was perhaps right. Kylon was only with Caina because the Huntress had murdered his wife and the Assembly had banished him. If the banishment was ever lifted, if he could go home and find a Kyracian wife to bear him Kyracian sons…would he do it?

  Maybe it would be better for him, the dark voice whispered, if he did.

  “Well?” said Kalgri. “You have nothing to say to that.”

  Caina took a deep breath. “I think you’re trying to get us killed.”

  “Obviously,” said Kalgri.

  “No,” said Caina. “I think you’re trying to get me angry enough that I’ll do something stupid and blunder into one of the nagataaru. Then they can tear us apart, and you can watch and laugh and feast on our deaths. If you don’t get me angry, then you’ll start on Annarah, start taunting her about Iramis or the other loremasters or something.”

  Morgant laughed. “Clever.”

  Kalgri snorted. “As if…”

  “Enough,” snapped Callatas. “The Apotheosis will not happen if we are all killed here because you could not control your tongue. Be silent.”

  Kalgri, thankfully, stopped talking. Though Caina suspected it wasn’t because of the Grand Master’s command, but because she realized the tactic would no longer be effective and was thinking of something else. Caina glanced at Callatas, and saw him staring back at her.

  She did not like the hungry way he looked at her.

  ###

  Callatas took a careful step over a fallen tree, using the shadow of Kotuluk Iblis to enhance his stamina. Given how exhausted the ordeal in the netherworld and his rejuvenation had left him, it was necessary. Several times, Callatas had reached for the shadow, trying to use it to command the lesser nagataaru infesting the island to do his bidding. If he could command them, he could send the undead at Caina and her allies in a rush.

  Yet the lesser nagataaru would not obey him, which meant that Kotuluk Iblis had commanded them not to obey him.

  It made a grim sort of sense. Both the Voice and the Harbinger had presented Kotuluk Iblis with competing plans on how to consume the world. Now Kotuluk Iblis was putting both plans to the test, seeing which one would prevail. Callatas thought that rather inefficient, but Kotuluk Iblis was eternal. A few centuries meant nothing to a creature like the sovereign of the nagataaru.

  No matter. Callatas would prevail. Kotuluk Iblis and his nagataaru vassals thought to devour the world, but Callatas knew better. He would harness the nagataaru just as men had harnessed horses and oxen long ago, and he would use them to create a superior humanity, one free of the corrupting effects of civilization.

  He just had to survive long enough to do it.

  He just had to defeat Kharnaces, or even better, maneuver Caina and
Kharnaces into destroying each other.

  Victory was within his grasp…but only if he remained in control of himself long enough to seize it.

  That might prove difficult.

  The Elixir Rejuvenata had restored him, but it had given him the body of a young man, with all of a young man’s impulses. Anger burned through him at the slightest setback, and time and time again he resisted the urge to lash out in fury.

  And the other urges…

  He watched as Caina climbed over another fallen tree, her shadow-cloak flaring to the side. As she did, her trousers pressed tight against her backside, and to his immense annoyance, Callatas found himself momentarily transfixed by the sight. He wondered what her legs looked like. Given how often she ran for her life, they would be strong and sculpted. Maybe the rest of her naked body looked the same way, lean and fit, and he wondered how that body would feel underneath his own…

  With a hiss of annoyance, Callatas pushed the thoughts out of his head. The Elixir Rejuvenata had its perils. Under better circumstances, Callatas would have rested for several weeks after drinking a vial of the Elixir. Though under better circumstances, he would have been in Istarinmul and Caina Amalas would have been his prisoner, kneeling before him in chains, and he could have forced her to do whatever he wished…

  Again he shoved the persistent urges from his mind. Old age, for all its irritations, did have one advantage. The appetites of the flesh cooled, allowing his mind to focus on more important matters.

  “Why?” said Annarah.

  Wrapped in his thoughts, the rest of his attention focused upon watching for Kharnaces’s servitors, it took Callatas a moment to realize that Annarah was speaking to him.

  “What?” he said, blinking. She was an attractive woman, but his lust had not fixated on her the way it had upon Caina. Long ago she had been his student, and intimate relations between a loremaster and an initiate had been strictly forbidden. Callatas had burned Iramis to ashes, and he had transcended the moral strictures of the weak. Yet it seemed that law still bound him. It was humorous, in a peculiar sort of way.