Agabyzus nodded. “It would appear so.”
“From the blood of slaves,” said Caina, the fury cutting through her fear and echoing grief. “For six damned years. He has been murdering slaves, spiking their blood with sorcerous power from the netherworld, and selling it to the people of Istarinmul to drink.” She raised her hand to slam it against the table, realized that the noise could likely draw unwelcome attention, and forced herself to stop. “For all this time.” She wondered how Yunus would react if he knew he had been drinking blood. How Nerina would react.
“But why?” said Agabyzus. “It makes no sense.”
“It doesn’t,” said Caina. “It must be a necromantic spell. Perhaps he’s trying to steal their lives and feed upon them. I’ve seen such things before.” She waved her hand over the spikes upon the corpse, careful not to touch them. “The spell…it’s…”
Her frown deepened.
“What?” said Agabyzus.
“It’s…not a necromantic spell,” said Caina, puzzled. She had been sure that was it, that Callatas was just another necromancer like Maglarion or Sicarion, a murderous thief stealing the lives of his victims to make himself stronger. Yet the spells upon the chains and the spikes were not necromantic.
“What are they, then?” said Agabyzus.
“Summoning spells,” said Caina. “Like the sort of spell a sorcerer might use to conjure an elemental, to summon a spirit from the netherworld.” In fact, it did not feel all that different from the spells Ranarius had used to summon elementals.
“Is he trying to summon spirits into the corpses?” said Agabyzus.
“That can’t be it,” said Caina. “They throw the corpses over the walls when they’re done. This isn’t about the bodies. It’s about the blood, about turning it into wraithblood.”
“But to what end?” said Agabyzus.
Caina considered it. Wraithblood was addictive, and Yunus had been willing to pay any price to take it, yet apparently Callatas’s agents gave it away for free throughout Istarinmul. It had to benefit Callatas in some way, but Caina could not see how.
“I have no idea,” said Caina.
“Perhaps if we look around,” said Agabyzus, “we can find a notebook, or…”
“No,” said Caina. “We’re leaving. Right now.”
Agabyzus blinked at her.
“We now have a duty to get out of here alive. There are thousands of people addicted to wraithblood in Istarinmul,” said Caina, “and as of right now, you and I are the only ones who know the truth. People have to be warned, Agabyzus. And we have to stop this, stop whatever Callatas intends. But if we die here, then no one will ever know. We have to escape.”
“How?” said Agabyzus. “The daevagoths prowl the corridors, the Immortals guard the Hellfire laboratory, and the mercenaries watch the walls. How will we get past them?”
“The way out goes through the storeroom,” said Caina. “We’ll borrow some Hellfire.”
Agabyzus gaped at her.
“I suspect,” said Caina, “an amphora or two of Hellfire thrown over the bridge would make quite a distraction.”
“You are indeed a madman,” said Agabyzus.
“Actually, I’m not,” said Caina. “Let’s go.” She turned towards the door. “We…”
She stopped.
The Alchemist Ricimer stood in the doorway, watching them. In his right hand he carried a steel fork about a foot and a half in length, a blue spark crackling between its tines. He looked at Caina, and a smile spread behind his red beard.
“The Balarigar himself,” said Ricimer. “It seems that I shall get to collect the reward myself. A pity that money will soon have no value.”
Caina raised her throwing knife. Agabyzus went rigid with fear behind her.
“None of that,” said Ricimer, pointing his fork at her. “If you’re as clever as I think you are, you know what this is. And you know what it will do to you.”
She did. To both questions.
Ricimer stepped closer, and Caina heard the click of claws upon the stone floor.
His daevagoths had accompanied him.
Chapter 21 - Hellfire
“I’m sorry,” whispered Agabyzus, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I should have made you go, I…”
“Actually,” said Caina, stepping to the right, “you’re not going to use that on me.”
“Oh?” said Ricimer, keeping the fork pointed at her. “Just why not?”
He beckoned with his free hand, and a half-dozen daevagoths fanned out around him, their tails waving back and forth over the swollen sacks of their bodies. Agabyzus gripped one of the tables for support, his expression filled with despair. Caina gripped a throwing knife in her right hand and a dagger in her left, keeping an eye on both the Alchemist and his pet monsters. The daevagoths watched her with their milky, insane eyes. They had not tried to encircle her. That was good.
On the other hand, they need only overwhelm her in a single rush.
“Because,” said Caina, “I know what that fork of yours does.”
“Do enlighten me,” said Ricimer, still smiling. He was confident. That was also good. Overconfident men could make mistakes.
But his confidence was likely well-founded.
“It throws lightning,” said Caina. “Blasts strong enough to kill a man.”
“You’ve seen it before, then,” said Ricimer. “Why shouldn’t I burn you to a crisp?”
“Because,” said Caina, “there are all these delicate spells in here. Creating wraithblood is such a demanding process, it is it not? Throwing around bolts of lightning would damage some valuable equipment, I think. The Grand Master would be displeased.” She decided to take a stab in the dark. “And you do have a quota to fill.”
“You’ve made that difficult of late,” said Ricimer. “The Grand Master has indeed been most displeased. The Brotherhood is terrified of you. Half of them think you are a djinn of vengeance, rampaging through the city, and the other half believe you are one of the Demon Princes of old. Though I have firsthand knowledge that you are not.” He laughed. “But it was all just a trick, wasn’t it? Just a show for the mob.”
“Are you willing to stake your life on that?” said Caina.
“Yes,” said Ricimer. “I know exactly what you are. You’re not a demon or a spirit or a sorcerer. You’re a Ghost nightfighter. A man in a shadow-cloak with a bag of tricks. The Balarigar is creation of theatricality and nothing more. It is almost disappointing, really. The Grand Master was convinced that you were a genuine threat to our work.”
“And why is that?” said Caina. The longer she could keep him talking, the longer she had to think of a plan. So far she had not had much luck.
“A man who has built his fortune upon slaves,” said Ricimer, “becomes rather dispirited when he finds himself hanging naked from his own balcony with his own brand burned upon his face. Getting regular shipments of slaves out of such men becomes rather difficult. And the others who have so far eluded your wrath are more concerned about their personal security than selling slaves to the Grand Master on time.”
“What have you been doing?” said Agabyzus, stunned. Both Caina and Ricimer ignored him.
“How did you do it?” said Ricimer, gesturing with the fork, the spark flaring brighter between the tines. “Robbing so many cowled masters? You must have had help. The slaves aided you, eh? Or perhaps assistance from the other lower-ranking slavers?”
“Theatricality,” said Caina.
Ricimer laughed. “Clever, clever.” He pointed the fork at Agabyzus. “It’s just as well we left you alive. Who knew you would be the lure for our troublesome Balarigar?” The fork shifted back to Caina. “I was sure you were a renegade sorcerer with a taste for thievery, but a Ghost nightfighter? The Grand Master was right to fear the return of the Ghosts.”
“What else is he right about?” said Caina, weighing the throwing knife in her right hand. She could put a knife into Ricimer, she was sure of it. Yet with all the sor
cerous power in the room, she could not tell if he had a warding spell or not. And he might have imbued his robes with the strength and resilience of steel. She would only get one chance to strike him, and she had to make the most of it. “Is he right about giving away wraithblood for free? It seems like a lost chance for profit.”
She looked from his fork, to the steel tables, and back again, a plan forming in her mind.
Ricimer laughed again. “Profit? We give sorcerous blood to the vermin of Istarinmul, and you think this is about profit? Then you are an even bigger fool than I thought.”
“Then what is it about?” said Caina.
“How like a Ghost,” said Ricimer. “Trying to learn secrets at the very moment of your death.”
“You’re going to kill us both anyway,” said Caina. “You could let us die in frustration, without ever knowing the truth. Or you could tell us the truth of your victory, and let us know utter despair before we leave this world.”
Ricimer snorted. “Flattery?”
“Not at all,” said Caina. “I’m just trying to find out if you are an idiot or not.”
Agabyzus made a strangled noise.
“Oh?” said Ricimer, his voice quiet.
“All this must have cost a fortune,” said Caina. “But if you don’t care about money, then the slaves, the wraithblood, all of it – what is the point? Just so you can create a few thousand beggars to sit in the street and mumble incoherently? You could achieve the same results with a hammer blow to the temple. Much easier, and considerably cheaper.” A twitch of irritation went over Ricimer’s face. “Or do you simply enjoy tormenting the helpless? If you wanted to do that, you could purchase a few tickets to the fighting pits. Then you could sit in comfort and eat sugared dates as you …”
“Fool!” said Ricimer. “This is about neither money nor power.”
“Then what?” said Caina.
“The reformation of humanity,” said Ricimer. “The Apotheosis.”
Caina did not like the sound of that. She had fought more sorcerers than she cared to remember. The ones who desired wealth and power were dangerous enough. But those with a mission, those with some grand vision for humanity, were far more dangerous. The Moroaica had almost destroyed the world with her great work, and Rhames had been ready to kill hundreds of thousands of people to resurrect the Kingdom of the Rising Sun.
“By turning them into muttering lunatics?” said Caina. “That hardly seems a promising beginning.”
“But it is only the beginning!” said Ricimer, taking a step forward. The daevagoths followed him, as if on invisible leashes. “I came to this city as a child, a slave taken from the lands north of the Empire. I grew up in the wilderness, among the hills and the mountains of the Arthagi homeland. Clean and pure. And then I came to Istarinmul, this corrupt city, this reeking pile of degenerate, decadent human refuse.”
“And then you met the Grand Master,” said Caina, “who showed you the way forward.”
“Yes,” said Ricimer, his eyes flashing. “I developed arcane ability, and the College claimed me for its own. At first I thought the Masters wise and strong, but then I realized they were simply another set of fools. Another set of thieves leeching off a dying civilization. Humanity itself is irretrievably corrupt. Everything we make turns to ashes in the end.”
“And so the solution, of course,” said Caina, “is to kill them all. How very wise.”
“No,” said Ricimer. “Only some of them. The rest shall be changed. Transmuted.”
“Appropriate for an Alchemist,” said Caina.
“A new humanity,” said Ricimer, “pure and incorrupt. There will be no more need for walls, for cities, for farms, for Padishahs and Emperors. Only humanity, evolved and made stronger.”
“I have heard such grand speeches before,” said Caina, “in the mouths of fools who destroyed themselves and worked a great deal of harm.”
Ricimer only smirked. “Mock all you like, Ghost. You will see the truth in the end. When we sweep away the old world and cleanse the world of the corruption of civilization, you will see and weep. Or you would, if you were still alive.”
“And you will be one of the masters of this new world,” said Caina. “Hardly. You’re just another dupe for Callatas, another tool for him to use and discard. Just like all the others.”
“Do you think so?” sneered Ricimer.
Caina gestured at the corpses upon the tables. “This hardly seems like a purer and a stronger mankind.”
“Fool,” said Ricimer. “You do not understand. The wraithblood is not the agent of the change. It is the gateway of the change. The herald. It…”
Ricimer fell silent and tilted his head to the right, as if he was trying to hear something.
And for just an instant, his blue eyes flashed with purple flame and black shadow.
It happened so quickly that Caina was not sure she had seen it.
“What?” said Ricimer. “Yes…yes, I understand. A ruse.”
“Who are you talking to?” said Caina.
Ricimer straightened up.
“No one you would understand,” said Ricimer. “But you are clever, Ghost. Getting me to talk? Prying out one last secret before death?”
“It’s a habit,” said Caina.
She took a step closer to one of the metal tables, taking care not to let her boots touch the steel chains lying on the floor.
“Agabyzus,” said Caina. “Make sure you’re standing on the stone, not the chains.”
“But…” he started.
“Do it now,” said Caina, and he hastened to obey.
“Know this as you die,” said Ricimer, pointing his fork at her. The spark between the tines brightened. “I am not a dupe. In fact, I was one the first Master Callatas took into his confidence. I was there from the beginning of his work. I am one of the very first of the new race of humankind, the first of the Apotheosis…and the last you shall ever meet. Farewell, Ghost or Balarigar or whoever you are.”
He leveled the fork, and a snarling blast of blue lightning leapt from it, throwing harsh shadows across the laboratory. The blast stabbed at Caina, but at the last second veered to slam into the steel table with a spray of sparks. The fingers of lightning crawled up and down the chains and sank into the Mirror of Worlds, and the gray light began to flicker and dance.
“What?” said Ricimer. “I wasn’t…”
But Caina knew how her friend Ark had defeated the stormdancer Kleistheon during the battle for Marsis. He had explained how a lightning rod had worked to her.
Apparently Ricimer had not received the benefit of the same education.
The Alchemist cursed and shifted his aim, bringing the fork back to bear upon her, but Caina was already moving. She stepped forward, her arm snapping back and then forward again, sending the throwing knife hurtling for his face.
It was just like throwing knives at Damla, the crowd cheering as they watched.
But Ricimer, unlike Damla, tried to dodge. Her knife had been aimed at his throat, but he jerked to the side, and the blade slammed into the side of his head.
There was a burst of blood, and his right ear fell atop one of the dead men.
Ricimer stumbled with a scream of shocked pain, his free hand flying to his wounded head. Caina threw another knife, and this one struck his chest. The weapon bounced away from his white robe and clattered across the stone floor without even scratching the fabric.
His robes had been imbued with the strength of steel. If Caina could line up another knife, hit his neck…
“Kill him!” roared Ricimer. “Kill him, kill him, kill him, kill…”
The six daevagoths shrieked and surged forward, claws tapping against the stone floor as they bounded over the chains. Caina flung two knives in quick succession. The first slammed into the fleshy throat of a daevagoth, and the creature went rigid and keeled over, black slime leaking from the wound. Her second blade plunged into another creature. It staggered to a halt, legs twitching as the
life drained from its wound.
The remaining four climbed over their dead companions and came for her.
Caina turned and ran as fast as she could, dodging and dashing around the tables. Agabyzus stumbled back, and Caina shouted for him to run, but he tripped over a chain and fell to the floor. Caina cursed, expecting the daevagoths to kill him, to plunge their poisoned pincers into his exposed flesh.
But they ignored him as Ricimer leaned against the wall, his eyes narrowed and his lips peeled in a furious, bloody snarl.
The four daevagoths closed on Caina, shrieking nonsensical threats.
Caina seized the nearest table, changed direction, and jumped atop it. She almost lost her footing upon the corpse, but kept her balance, the heavy table rocking beneath her. One of the daevagoths bounded after her, and Caina drove a heel into its face. As Agabyzus had said, the creatures were fast, but not strong. The force of her kick slammed it to the floor, and Caina yanked another throwing knife from her sleeve and flung, spearing the daevagoth.
The creature went limp in a spreading pool of black slime.
The other three climbed up the table after her, and Caina jumped, shadow-cloak billowing, and landed on a table in the next row. The daevagoths scrambled down the first table, pursuing her. Caina jumped from table to table, her mind racing as she tried to formulate tactics…
Even through the sorcerous power filling the room, she felt the sudden spike of force as Ricimer cast a spell.
An invisible blast of psychokinetic power drilled into Caina and knocked her from the table. She fell hard to the ground, stunned, feeling the crawling tingle of the arcane power surging through the steel chains beneath her. The daevagoths shrieked in glee and lunged at her, the barbed tails rising high over their carapaces. She started to stand, trying to ignore the pain in her back and legs.
But the daevagoths would be upon her in a heartbeat, long before she could rise. One scratch from their stingers could kill a large man. No doubt they would make short work of her.
And Caina realized that her life had come to an end.
She had expected it to feel like a relief, and it did. She had not killed herself. She had tried her best and been defeated, and there was no shame in that. She would see Corvalis again, would see Halfdan again, her father and all the others she had lost over the years.
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