Ghost in the Inferno (Ghost Exile #5)

by Jonathan Moeller

  “Don’t,” she said. “Don’t, he’ll kill you without…”

  “Shut up, all of you,” hissed Caina. “If you wake up the rest of the workers, they’ll try to break out, the noise will rouse the garrison, and we’ll all get killed. Follow me.”

  She turned and headed out the door and back into the Hall of Forges. Morgant, Nerina, and Malcolm all followed her, thankfully without any bickering or violence. She had no doubt that if Malcolm attacked Morgant, the assassin would not hesitate to kill him. Morgant claimed to only kill people who deserved it, but she noticed that restraint did not extend to anyone who attacked him.

  A rule that Caina herself often followed, she had to admit.

  But she would not let Morgant kill Malcolm, not after Nerina had thought him lost for so long. Not that she could stop him alone, but she doubted Morgant would want to fight Nasser, Kylon, Laertes, and Azaces all at once. For that matter, Morgant would not turn on them unless he had any other choice. Caina still had Annarah’s pyrikon, and he could not keep his promise to Annarah without that pyrikon.

  So long as they kept heading toward Annarah, Morgant would cooperate.

  Nasser and Laertes had returned when Caina stepped back into the Hall of Forges.

  “We have disposed of the Immortals,” said Nasser. “The others should be returning as soon…ah.” He caught sight of Malcolm. “I see you were successful in locating Mistress Strake’s husband. Curious that he was awake at this time of night.”

  “I was working on designs for new cuirasses,” said Malcolm. “Many Immortals have been slain or wounded as of late, and our quota for armor has consequently risen. Just who are you?”

  Nasser offered one of his sweeping bows to Malcolm. “I am known as Nasser Glasshand.”

  “The master thief of legend?” said Malcolm, incredulous.

  “The one and the same,” said Nasser. “May I presume that you are indeed Mistress Strake’s husband?”

  Malcolm nodded, Nerina still holding on to him. Perhaps she was still trying to convince herself that he was real. “I am.”

  “Might I say that for a man who is supposed to be dead you look remarkably healthy?” said Nasser.

  “Dead?” said Malcolm. “Why would you think that?”

  “Father said you had been murdered,” said Nerina.

  “Your father?” said Malcolm. “I am glad he is dead, otherwise I would kill him myself. I was betrayed. Your father feared I would convince you to give up wraithblood and leave Istarinmul for the Empire. So he had his thugs kidnap me and sell me to Malik Rolukhan.” He gave a furious shake of his bearded head. “Likely he increased your wraithblood dosage at the time to make you more susceptible to his lies.” He looked at them all. “Though I find it implausible that the Balarigar, Nasser Glasshand, and Morgant the Razor have all come to my rescue.”

  “Direct fellow, isn’t he?” said Laertes.

  “I cannot speak a lie,” said Malcolm. “A magus damaged my mind when I was young, and consequently I am incapable of falsehood.”

  “Must be an inconvenience during business dealings,” said Morgant.

  “It really was,” said Malcolm. “While I am grateful for your help, I would like to know what is going on.”

  “All right,” said Caina. “You’ve suffered enough, so you deserve the truth. The wraithblood that poisoned your wife?” She looked around. Where were Kylon and Azaces? “Grand Master Callatas manufactures it from the blood of murdered slaves. He’s using it as part of a spell called the Apotheosis, a spell to summon millions of evil spirits and work a tremendous sorcerous catastrophe. Sealed within the Inferno is the last loremaster of old Iramis. She knows how to stop Callatas’s plan. So we’re going to rescue her, stop the Apotheosis, and kill Callatas.”

  “An admirable summary,” said Nasser.

  “An implausible story,” said Malcolm. “And yet…it rings true. The Lieutenant has said similar things to his acolytes when he thinks that he cannot be overheard. The Inferno is preparing for war, raising as many Immortals and manufacturing as much Hellfire as it can.” Caina spotted Kylon and Azaces coming around the barracks and sighed with relief.

  “It is true, my husband,” said Nerina. “It is all true. Every word of it is as true as a perfectly solved equation. I have seen a laboratory where slaves were murdered and their blood turned to wraithblood. I saw the nagataaru filling the sky, millions of them, more than I could count. Callatas has done many terrible things, and exponentially more are mathematically inevitable should we fail here.”

  That seem to shake Malcolm more than anything else he had heard.

  “How did you know I was here?” he said at last. “If Ragodan Strake told my wife that I was dead?”

  “We didn’t,” said Caina. “She saw you in the Old Bazaar in Istarinmul a few weeks ago.”

  “I was there to oversee iron purchases for the blast furnaces,” said Malcolm. “I was the only one Rolukhan trusted to do it right. None of his acolytes or the other Alchemists have an eye for proper iron. Of course, he sent me under heavy guard so I could not escape.”

  Nerina pointed at Morgant. “I told you. I told you that I saw him.”

  “I’m two hundred and six years old,” said Morgant. “A man of my age and dignity is entitled to a lapse of perception every so often.”

  “You use your age as an excuse quite often, I note,” murmured Nasser.

  “Two hundred and six?” said Malcolm.

  Kylon and Azaces came back into sight.

  “It’s done,” said Kylon. “We had best move. I…”

  “Azaces!” said Nerina. “I was right. Malcolm is…”

  Azaces remained motionless, his expression grim.

  “You,” spat Malcolm, fury filling his voice as he stepped away from Nerina. “You treacherous, murderous dog. What are you doing here?”

  Azaces gave no reaction, his face still solemn.

  “Malcolm?” said Nerina.

  Malcolm snarled, seized the broken axle from where Caina had dropped it, and charged at Azaces.

  Azaces made no move to defend himself.

  ###

  Kylon froze for an instant, his mind trying to catch up to the sight before him.

  The short, muscular man charging at Azaces had to be Nerina’s husband. His emotional sense felt…off, somehow. As if it had been damaged, or perhaps constrained. Nerina had said her husband’s mind had been damaged so he could not speak falsehood, and Kylon had sensed similar things from victims of mind-altering sorcery in the past.

  Right now rage flushed Malcolm’s sense, filling it like molten iron in a furnace.

  Azaces bowed his head. There had been grief and regret in him before, but now they swelled out of control, holding him immobile as Malcolm raised the broken axle to crack Azaces’s skull.

  “Kylon!” said Caina.

  Kylon moved, the sorcery of air lending him speed. He caught Malcolm’s right wrist and twisted, the bar falling from the disheveled man’s hand. Malcolm snarled and drove his left fist around, and Kylon ducked. Malcolm was stronger than Kylon, strong as only a smith could be, but Kylon had better leverage and could draw upon the sorcery of water.

  He twisted again, and Malcolm fell to his knees with a grunt.

  “Stop!” shouted Nerina, running towards him. “Stop, you’ll hurt him!”

  Azaces remained motionless through the entire fight.

  Kylon released Malcolm and stepped back, his hand lingering near his sword hilt.

  “What are you doing?” said Nerina, dropping to her knees next to Malcolm. “Azaces helped me! He spent the last few years looking after me. He saved my life, he took me to the Sisterhood of the Living Flame to help me stop taking wraithblood…”

  “He’s the one who kidnapped me,” said Malcolm, glaring at Azaces.

  Azaces did nothing.

  “What?” whispered Nerina.

  “Who did you think did Ragodan’s dirty work for him?” said Malcolm. “He did. He was Ragodan�
�s loyal dog for years. He got you started on wraithblood. Ragodan gave him money to purchase wraithblood, and Azaces put it into your food.”

  “No,” said Nerina, shaking her head.

  “It is true,” said Malcolm, glaring at Azaces. “You know I cannot lie. To you, or to anyone else.”

  “Azaces?” said Nerina.

  The big man nodded, once.

  Nerina swallowed and looked away. “He…he had to do it. He didn’t have any choice. I couldn’t say no to Father, either. He…”

  “He also kidnapped me and sold me to Rolukhan,” said Malcolm. “He and a few other of Ragodan’s dogs, not long after we were married. I was on my way to the docks of the Cyrican Harbor, and Azaces snatched me off the street. Ragodan himself gloated over me for a while, and then sold me to Rolukhan in person. He said that you would be told that I was dead, and that was that.”

  For a long moment no one said anything.

  “Is that,” whispered Nerina, “is that true?”

  Again Azaces nodded once, his regret roiling against Kylon’s senses.

  “You knew?” said Nerina. “All this time you knew that Malcolm was alive, and you didn’t try to tell me?” She started to shake, not from grief or weakness but from pure fury. “I know that you can’t speak or write, but you could have found some way to tell me! All the time I spent screaming in the Sisterhood’s hospice, all the times I tried to kill myself, all the times I cried myself to sleep, and you knew he was alive?”

  Azaces gave a single nod.

  Something snapped in Nerina Strake then, and she flew at Azaces with a scream, pounding at him with her fists. She might as well have tried to punch through a stone wall. Malcolm pulled her back as Nerina screamed and ranted, while Azaces simply stared at her.

  Suddenly Caina was next to them, clamping a gloved hand over Nerina’s mouth.

  “Be silent,” she hissed. “Did you forget about the Immortals?”

  Nerina struggled for a moment, and then her pale eyes went wide with alarm.

  “That’s better,” said Caina, removing her hand.

  “I’m sorry,” said Nerina, fury and fear churning in her sense. “I just…I…”

  “We should kill Azaces,” said Morgant. “Now. We’ve delayed far too long.”

  “Would he be a spy for Rolukhan?” said Caina. Kylon could not detect her emotions through the shadow-cloak, but her voice was cold and hard and clipped.

  “I do not know,” said Malcolm. There was no fear in his strange aura, only rage. At least not fear for himself. He dreaded the thought of anything happening to Nerina, and that dread inspired fury, which focused upon Azaces. “Rolukhan might recognize him on sight, though.”

  “He didn’t earlier,” said Kylon.

  “We were disguised,” said Laertes.

  “No,” said Caina. “A man like Rolukhan regards slaves and soldiers as furniture. Simply part of the background. Or tools only to be noticed when he has need of them.” She looked at Azaces. “Why did you do this?”

  Azaces said nothing, closing his eyes.

  When opened them a moment later, they shone with a pale blue glow.

  The others reacted at once, drawing weapons and pointing them at the silent warrior. Only Caina remained still, a motionless shadow in her cloak. Kylon looked at her and wished he knew what she was thinking. He was certain, though, that Azaces was not a threat. There was no hint of aggression in the man’s aura, only regret and pain. Even without his arcane senses, Kylon would not have believe Azaces a threat. He had the look of a beaten man.

  “You are an Immortal?” said Malcolm.

  Azaces shook his head.

  “It doesn’t matter,” said Morgant. “We’re wasting time, he’s a threat, and he’s admitted to betraying Strake. Kill him and let’s go.”

  “I agree with the strange crazy man in the black coat,” said Malcolm. “Kill him.”

  “Kylon?” said Caina.

  Kylon hesitated, and then shook his head. “No. There’s no anger in him. He…doesn’t feel like an Immortal, despite the eyes.” The blue glow was already fading from Azaces’s dark eyes. “Only grief and regret.”

  “And just how do you know that?” said Malcolm.

  “He’s a stormdancer,” said Nerina.

  Malcolm shook his head. “You have kept some peculiar company since I was kidnapped, but I am grateful. Perhaps your powerful friends kept Azaces from murdering you.”

  Again the silent warrior shook his head.

  “Enough,” said Caina. “We’re not killing him.”

  Both Morgant and Malcolm protested, and Caina raised a gloved hand.

  “He’s one of mine,” said Caina. “One of the Ghosts.”

  “Ghosts?” said Malcolm. “The Emperor’s spies?”

  “Yes,” said Nerina. “I joined them, too.”

  “We’ll figure out what to do once we escape the Inferno,” said Caina. “If we fight amongst ourselves now, we’re finished.” She pointed at Azaces. “If we are attacked, will you side with Rolukhan and the Immortals?” He shook his head. “Will you fight alongside us?” A nod. “To the death?” Another nod. “Very well, then.”

  “Stay away from me, though,” said Nerina, her voice harder than Kylon had ever heard it. “I don’t care why you did it, but you did. You let me think my husband was dead for years. Whatever happens here, we are done. If we escape alive, I never want to see you again. Ever.”

  Again Azaces nodded, the grief twisting inside of him like a living thing.

  “The longer we stand here discussing this little drama,” said Morgant, “the less likely we are to escape the Inferno alive.”

  “You’re right,” said Caina. “Let’s go.”

  ###

  Caina led the way through the Hall of Torments.

  The Hall was gloomy, lit only by alchemical lanterns scattered upon stands here and there. The air smelled of rotting meat and clotted blood, the faint buzz of flies audible in the distance. The reason for the smell became plain when she saw the chunks of flesh still stuck upon the various implements of torture, the corpses hung from chains or stuffed into iron cages. It was as bad as the torture chamber she had seen in the Widow’s Tower and as grisly as the wraithblood laboratories. In some ways it was worse than the wraithblood laboratories. As terrible as they were, the murders committed there at least had a purpose, done according to whatever twisted vision Callatas followed.

  This was merely killing to sate Rolukhan’s cruelty, to feed the gluttonous nagataaru within him.

  Oddly, the Hall of Torments was more ornate than the others they had seen, the floor covered in gleaming marble, the reliefs upon the walls and columns more intricate and detailed. Perhaps this had indeed been the throne room of the heretical Great Necromancer Kharnaces. Maybe the contrast of the instruments of torture with the elaborate artwork appealed to Rolukhan.

  “There,” said Morgant once they reached the end of the Hall. A broad dais rested there, its sides carved with hieroglyphics. Once it had likely supported an impressive-looking throne, but now it was empty. “She opened the gate there.”

  “Do you sense anything?” said Caina.

  “Nothing,” said Kylon. “I…”

  Caina took one more step, and then pyrikon vibrated against her left wrist. The bracelet began to give off a gentle white glow, and she felt a tingling sensation as it drew in power. A similar white glow appeared over the dais.

  “What is that?” said Malcolm.

  “I believe, Master Malcolm,” said Nasser in his calm voice, “that you are looking upon a gate to the netherworld.”

  Caina took three steps closer to the dais, and the gate opened.

  A shimmering curtain of white light, perhaps ten feet by ten feet, appeared atop the dais. Beyond the curtain she glimpsed a plain of rippling gray grass, the sky covered in writhing black clouds, and a bolt of dread went through her.

  The netherworld.

  Three times before had she entered the netherworld i
n the flesh. None of them had been experiences that she wanted to repeat.

  “There,” breathed Morgant, his face tight with some emotion that she could not identify. “At last.”

  He started towards the gate.

  “Wait,” said Caina.

  Morgant stopped and looked back at her, a dark shadow outlined against the gate’s pale glow.

  “I think,” she said, concentrating upon the pyrikon’s aura, “I think that the gate is only powerful enough to let two of us go through.”

  “Fine,” said Morgant. “You and me.”

  Caina nodded. “Kylon. Give him the valikon. The last time I entered the netherworld, the nagataaru almost killed us. We might need it.”

  Kylon gave Morgant a hard look, but unbuckled his baldric and passed it to Morgant. He pulled it on over his black coat, adjusting the strap, and drew the sword. The sigils upon the ghostsilver blade remained dark, which was good. It didn’t sense the presence of any nagataaru. Of course, she didn’t know if the valikon could detect nagataaru beyond the gate. For all she knew, ten thousand nagataaru awaited a single step into the netherworld.

  “All right,” said Caina. “Listen to me, all of you. We won’t be gone long. Time runs differently in the netherworld than it does here. We’ll either be back within an hour or not at all. If we’re not, try to find a way out of the Inferno by whatever means you can. Claim that Cimak sent you out on some errand.”

  “We will not leave you,” said Kylon, but Caina kept speaking.

  “Keep watch for any Immortals,” said Caina. “Also keep an eye on Azaces, if it turns out I’m wrong about him.”

  “May fortune and all the gods go with you, Ciaran,” said Nasser. “You do a noble deed today, though you know not how noble.”

  Caina hesitated. “You knew her, didn’t you? Annarah, I mean?”

  “I hope to see her again very soon,” said Nasser.

  “You will,” said Caina, taking a deep breath. “You’ll either see her in a few moments, or not at all.” She looked at Morgant. “Ready?”

  “For a hundred and fifty years,” said Morgant.

  “Ciaran,” said Kylon.

  She looked back at him, saw his face working. “Be careful.”