Ghost in the Pact

by Jonathan Moeller

  Kalgri was no help. Bones littered the hilltop, some of them smoking from the backlash of spells. The Huntress was a crimson whirlwind of destruction, cutting down undead creature after undead creature, but still more and more of them came. None of them could touch Kalgri, and she kept them from swarming over Callatas, but she could not help him against Kharnaces. No doubt the Voice was screaming for her to do something, to find a way to stop the Harbinger, but likely Kalgri did not care.

  He wondered what she would do. Maybe she would flee, but if the Conjurant Bloodcrystal expanded further, there would be no place to hide. Maybe she simply wanted to feed on Callatas’s death. That seemed likely.

  For Callatas knew that he was about to die. He could not overpower Kharnaces, and if the Great Necromancer’s taunts were true, then Caina’s efforts were useless. Callatas was about to die, and the Apotheosis and the new humanity would die with him.

  Unless…

  His one possible hope of salvation rested against his chest, glowing with a pale blue light.

  He had not dared to use the Star of Iramis since the day over a century and a half past when he had lifted it and called upon its power. With that power, he had destroyed his chief opponents, burning Iramis to ashes and binding the Court of the Azure Sovereign within the destruction, preventing the djinn from meddling with the Apotheosis. He had made no secret of the Star’s power, and that had become part of his legend. Who would dare challenge Grand Master Callatas, who bore the Star that had consumed Iramis in a storm of flame?

  Of course, he had thought to find the Staff and the Seal in the ashes…and that miscalculation had led him here.

  Yet despite the dark legend that surrounded him, he had never dared to draw upon the Star’s power once more. It had nearly destroyed him the first time, and in truth he had never completely understood what he had done. The Star was a source of immense power, a well of arcane strength, and tapping it had almost destroyed him.

  Doing so a second time would certainly destroy him. And possibly Pyramid Isle as well.

  But Kharnaces was going to kill him.

  Callatas deflected another attack, his defenses sputtering and crackling, and prepared himself to draw upon the Star’s colossal might.

  It was his very last chance.

  ###

  Caina willed her pyrikon into its staff form, the pale white light falling over the chamber beyond Kharnaces’s throne room.

  “By the Divine,” muttered Annarah. “There must be hundreds of them.”

  It was indeed the trophy room of the Great Necromancer Kharnaces.

  The first thing that Caina saw was the giant rack holding Hellfire amphorae.

  They had to be Hellfire amphorae. The design was different, the neck a little longer, the handles broader, the sides inscribed with Maatish hieroglyphics, but the vision of the valikarion saw the furious power of Hellfire within them. Caina’s eyes flicked over the hieroglyphs upon the amphorae, the knowledge Kharnaces had given her translating the ancient symbols. Evidently the ancient Maatish had called Hellfire “the righteous avenging sword of the divine solar orb that rises in the radiant splendor of eternity”, but that was close enough.

  The poetry was followed by a much more prosaic warning that urged extreme caution while handling the amphorae.

  “How the devil did Kharnaces get Hellfire?” said Morgant. “Did Callatas make it for him?”

  “No,” said Annarah. “The College of Alchemists once served the Great Necromancers of Maat. Hellfire was one of the weapons they manufactured for the pharaohs’ armies.”

  “There we go,” said Morgant. “Dump an amphora of the damned stuff over the throne and we’re finished.”

  “No,” said Caina. “The wards are strong enough to withstand even Hellfire.”

  She took a few steps forward, raising her pyrikon staff, and asked for more light.

  The pyrikon obliged, throwing its pale glow across the chamber. The trophy room was larger than the throne room. The stone rack holding the Hellfire amphorae dominated one wall. Niches lined the other three walls, holding various objects, and stone pedestals holding additional relics stood here and there.

  Caina stepped closer, her eyes scanning the trophies. For they were indeed trophies. Many bore the marks of battle. She saw shields and swords and helmets of bronze and iron, all of them scorched or bearing marks of violence. One pedestal held a thick tome that looked like the Book of Corazain that Caina had dumped into the Alqaarin Sea, though this book was badly charred. There were golden ornaments, and she saw three more damaged wedjet-dahns, torques of gold and jade adorned with precious stones. Every single item in the room glowed with sorcerous power, and most of the pedestals and niches had been sealed with powerful warding spells.

  “Do you know what any of these things do?” said Caina.

  “Some,” said Annarah. “But none of them would be useful against the wards upon the throne. All of them are designed for sorcerous defense, not attack. Perhaps Morgant is right, and we should ignite a few of the amphorae next to the throne and hope for the best.”

  “I doubt that will be enough,” said Caina. “I don’t think it would touch the throne, and we’d wind up burying it beneath rubble when the ceiling collapsed. We’d have an even harder time getting to it before…”

  She fell silent. A gleam of silver caught her eye in a niche next to the racks of Hellfire.

  No. Not silver.

  Ghostsilver.

  “Annarah,” breathed Caina, hurrying forward.

  She lifted the staff, letting its light fall into the niche. Within rested a short sword in a scabbard of dark leather, its blade coming to a slight curve. It looked like a shorter version of the Anshani falchion.

  Or the valikon that Caina had given to Kylon, which meant…

  “I think,” said Annarah, “that might be a valikon.”

  Caina nodded and lifted her ghostsilver dagger, scratching it along the edge of the niche. The ward sealing the niche was a powerful one, but not nearly as complex or potent as the one upon the throne. The ghostsilver dagger heated up, the ward flickering with gray light.

  “Kharnaces wouldn’t be stupid enough to leave a valikon lying around,” said Morgant.

  “It’s warded,” said Caina. “Sealed away. And why should he be afraid of it? A valikarion must have come here years ago, before Callatas burned Iramis, and Kharnaces killed him and kept the valikon as a trophy. Kharnaces isn’t worried about me. He was worried about Callatas and Kalgri. But neither one of them would ever touch a valikon.”

  The ward crackled and then snapped out of existence, collapsing beneath the ghostsilver dagger.

  “So Kharnaces finally made a mistake,” said Morgant.

  “Let’s find out,” said Caina, returning her ghostsilver dagger to its sheath.

  She reached into the niche, grasped the hilt, and drew the short sword.

  And it was indeed a valikon.

  Iramisian sigils marked the blade, and they glowed as Caina lifted the weapon, the spells wrapped around the sword responding to the presence of the nagataaru upon Pyramid Isle. To her valikarion senses, it seemed like the sword had been carved from white fire, a glowing shard of light in her fist. Even to her mortal eyes, the blade was crackling with white flame. Kylon had spoken before of how the valikon had often seemed eager when facing nagataaru, as if yearning to fulfill its purpose.

  Caina knew exactly what he meant.

  “Since you are valikarion,” said Annarah, “it is only fitting that you do, in fact, have a valikon.”

  “Then let’s put it to use,” said Caina, focusing upon her pyrikon. The staff collapsed back into its bracelet form, settling upon her wrist once more, but the valikon’s fire provided ample light to hold the gloom at bay. She reached into the niche and took the scabbard, hooking it to her belt.

  “If we live through this,” said Morgant, “you’ll need to have the Kyracian teach you how to use that damned thing properly. I’ve seen you with a s
word. Your technique is just appalling. Like watching a child trying to finger paint.”

  She smirked at him. “If I live through this, there are other things I would like to do with the Kyracian first.”

  Annarah let out a shocked little laugh.

  Morgant rolled his eyes. “How surprising.”

  “Come on,” said Caina, adjusting her grip on the valikon’s hilt.

  She ran back into the throne room as another pulse of power blazed overhead, likely another exchange of spells between Callatas and Kharnaces. Callatas was still holding Kharnaces’s attention, which meant that Kharnaces might not notice the threat to his existence until it was too late. On the other hand, Callatas was still alive, and if Caina could smash the canopic jars with the valikon, Callatas would survive the duel and come for her.

  Though with a valikon, she had a better chance against him than she would have otherwise.

  Caina hurried onto the dais, knelt next to the throne, and thrust the valikon’s burning blade into the gap between the stone door and its frame. Once again, she saw the ward unravel beneath the touch of the valikon’s ghostsilver, saw the threads of the spell snap and shrivel.

  Once again the purple fire of the nagataaru surged to rebuild the spell and repulse the blade…but this time the purple flame of the nagataaru touched the harsh white glow of the valikon. There was a furious hissing scream from the throne, and the shadow and flame of the nagataaru withdrew. Caina dragged the valikon through the gap, the warding spell buckling. Again and again the nagataaru tried to rebuild the spell, only to retreat from the fury of the valikon.

  Then the spell collapsed. Caina wrenched the valikon free, the motion causing the stone door to fall loose from the side of the throne. She jerked back before the stone door could land on her feet, and it fell to the dais with a loud crack.

  Inside rested a gleaming box of gilded wood, its side covered with hieroglyphs and images of Anubankh. It blazed with power to Caina’s senses from the preservation spells used to keep the wood intact, the mighty wards defending it, and the masses of necromantic power within it.

  Seven masses of necromantic power, to be precise.

  The canopic jars holding the preserved organs of Kharnaces.

  Caina nodded, set down the valikon, and reached for the box.

  “Is that safe to touch?” said Annarah.

  “Probably not,” said Caina, pulling out the box. Gods, but the thing was heavy. The box itself was a cube about two and a half feet by two and a half feet. Likely most of the weight came from the stone jars within the box. “But the wards are designed to stop blades and spells and hammers. I doubt my hands would do much to it.”

  She heaved, and the box slid onto the dais with a clatter as the jars inside bounced against each other.

  “All right,” said Caina, picking up the valikon. “It’s time to finish this.”

  “Maybe we should wait a while,” said Morgant.

  “Why?” said Annarah.

  “Because,” said Morgant, “if we wait, Kharnaces will kill Callatas and the Huntress for us. While I wouldn’t mind doing it myself, neither would I object if Kharnaces saved us the trouble.”

  That was a good point. Caina might have a valikon now, but Callatas still had his mighty arsenal of spells. For that matter, if Kalgri survived, the valikon would do Caina little good. As Morgant had pointed out, Caina was not particularly good with longer blades. She would be better off giving the valikon to Morgant, as she had in the netherworld when they had rescued Annarah, and letting him wield it against the Huntress.

  “On the other hand,” said Caina, “the longer we wait, the longer Kharnaces has to figure out that he made a mistake.” She looked at the ceiling. “And it’s a long way to the top of the hill. If we smash the canopic jars and run, maybe we can get off the island before Callatas can pursue us.”

  Morgant laughed. “Leaving him stranded here? Elegant.”

  “Maybe not,” said Caina. The thought of leaving Callatas with possession of Pyramid Isle was disturbing. What arcane secrets might he glean from the library? He might know the uses of the various relics in the trophy room.

  “No,” said Caina. “No, we’ll smash the canopic jars, and then try to find and kill Callatas and the Huntress. We’ll ambush them like we did on the beach. It’s too risky to do anything else.”

  “We are long past the point of assessing risks,” said Morgant, “aren’t we?”

  “True,” said Caina, and she lifted the valikon and started hammering at the box, intending to shatter the wards upon it and break the canopic jars within.

  Only to find that she could not.

  The wards surrounding the box were potent, but not strong enough to withstand the power of the valikon. Yet every time Caina struck, the wards around the box rebuilt themselves. The Harbinger was bound within the box, and it was using its power to regenerate the wards as Caina damaged them.

  “That doesn’t seem to be working,” said Morgant.

  “Yes, I noticed,” said Caina. “Annarah.”

  Together the three of them attacked the box using every method Caina could devise. Annarah struck it with bursts of white fire, while Caina stabbed at it using the valikon and Morgant used both Caina’s ghostsilver dagger and his own black dagger. It was all to no avail. No matter how much damage she inflicted to the wards, the nagataaru within it was able to regenerate the spells. For that matter, the valikon could not reach the Harbinger to do it any harm. The nagataaru seemed fused to the canopic jars, and the malicious spirit repaired the wards upon the box before the blade could reach it.

  At last Caina lowered the valikon in frustration, trying to think of a way to get into the damned box.

  “On the positive side,” said Morgant, handing Caina her ghostsilver dagger back, “Kharnaces might kill Callatas before we figure out how to open the thing.”

  “It might not matter,” said Annarah.

  “What do you mean?” said Caina.

  “I’ve been watching how the wards react to my spells,” said Annarah. “I think Kharnaces was right. I think his soul really did merge with the Harbinger.”

  Caina blinked, a fresh wave of dread rolling through her.

  “Then Harbinger itself is guarding the box?” said Morgant.

  “It’s worse than that,” said Caina. “If the Harbinger and Kharnaces’s soul have fused, that means smashing the canopic jars won’t do anything.”

  “Why not?” said Morgant.

  “Because,” said Caina, “if we smash the jars, the Harbinger will return to Kharnaces’s body. Which means to destroy Kharnaces, we’d have to destroy both his canopic jars and his body.” Another rumbling vibration went through the throne room, more dust falling from the ceiling.

  “And Callatas can’t even do that,” said Morgant.

  “Nor can we open the damned box!” said Caina, hitting it with the valikon in frustration. Again the Harbinger repaired the wards. She straightened up, trying to think. The key to defeating Kharnaces lay in that box. Caina just had to find a way to use that key.

  “So if we destroy both the jars and Kharnaces’ body,” said Morgant, “can’t the Harbinger and his soul just seize one of the other undead on the island?”

  “It’s not that easy,” said Caina. “The soul needs an anchor in the material world. So does a nagataaru, even a nagataaru lord like the Harbinger. Otherwise they’ll both be drawn into the netherworld, like iron nails pulled towards a lodestone. And it can’t be any anchor, either. It has to be one specifically prepared and attuned for the soul in question. Like these canopic jars.” She shook her head. “The Moroaica found a way around that. She had a spell that sort of…bounced her soul off the netherworld and into another body. Any mortal body she wanted. That’s how she wound up possessing me for a year.”

  “You?” said Annarah, astonished. “You were truly possessed by the Herald of Ruin? Lord Kylon mentioned it, but I didn’t think…”

  “Aye,” said Caina, something s
tarting to stir in her thoughts.

  Morgant snorted. “Explains a lot, doesn’t it?”

  “That was why she couldn’t be permanently killed in the mortal world,” said Caina. “Her soul would just rebound from the netherworld and inhabit another body. We had to kill her in the netherworld. We…”

  She blinked several times, the buzzing at the back of her mind growing more insistent. She was missing something important, something vital.

  “That was when Corvalis was killed, wasn’t it?” said Annarah in a quiet voice.

  “Yes,” said Caina. She never liked to talk about that. Of course, Annarah knew enough to piece it together. Still, Annarah never liked to talk about her husband or sons, either.

  Caina thought about the way that Corvalis Aberon had died…and the way the Moroaica had died for the final time.

  “We had to kill her in the netherworld,” said Caina, “because if she was killed there, she couldn’t enter another body. Her spell bounced her spirit off the netherworld, but she couldn’t bounce off it if she was already there…”

  Then the idea came together in her mind, and her eyes widened.

  “Oh,” said Morgant. “We’re about to do some clever thing, aren’t we?”

  “We might not be able to destroy the canopic jars or Kharnaces,” said Caina, “but we don’t have to do either. All we have to do is get the canopic jars into the netherworld.”

  “That seems too simple,” said Morgant.

  “No, it’s not,” said Annarah, growing excited. “Taking the canopic jars into the netherworld would break the link between the jars and Kharnaces’s body. That would pull the rest of the Harbinger into the netherworld, like a drowning man tied to an anchor…”

  “And Kharnaces’s soul with it,” said Caina.

  “That could work,” said Morgant. “Where are we going to find a gate to the netherworld? Can you open one?”

  “Yes,” said Annarah, “but not right away. It takes at least a day of preparation to work the spell.”