Ghost in the Throne (Ghost Exile #7)

by Jonathan Moeller

  Imagined the lives that would end in the inferno that he would unleash.

  It was a pleasing thought.

  Cassander allowed himself one more moment to consider the carnage he would unleash, and the turned away from the window. There was still work to be done.

  The Throne of Corazain stood in the center of the chamber.

  Harsh orange-yellow light seemed to dance and writhe within the obsidian depths of the rough throne. It looked hot, as if it should have radiated more heat than a foundry. The Throne gave off pyromantic sorcery, and that pyromantic sorcery could unleash more fire than a thousand foundries.

  Three concentric rings of symbols written in green fire encircled the base of the Throne, burned into the very marble of the floor itself. The warding sigils of necromantic power served a dual purpose. They shielded the Throne from divinatory spells until it was too late for Cassander’s summoning spell to be stopped, and they also linked the Throne with the spells hidden in the ring of houses the Order had purchased throughout Istarinmul. The spells within the circle of houses would feed power into the Throne, even as the Throne augmented the power to an exponential degree. Cassander couldn’t possibly control the amount of power that reaction would create.

  The entire Umbarian Order, working in concert, could not control that kind of power. The entire Imperial Magisterium, before the civil war had split the Empire, could not direct that kind of arcane surge.

  But Cassander didn’t need to control the power. He didn’t even need to direct it. He just needed to summon it, and then get out of its way.

  “Well, my dear Huntress?” said Cassander. “What do you think of this instrument of death?”

  Kalgri’s blue gaze turned towards him. She sat comfortably in one of the high windows, mask in her lap, her back against the frame, her crossed legs stretched out before. Her red armor made Cassander think of a crimson spider waiting for prey to stumble into her web. Kalgri had sat there as the Throne had been brought to the compound, as Cassander and the lesser Umbarian magi prepared the spells binding the ancient artifact. Cassander would have thought her more enthusiastic, given the amount of people the Throne was about to kill.

  Maybe she was planning to betray him.

  Cassander opened and closed his armored fist, the gauntlet’s plates rasping.

  If she was planning to betray him, he would just have to kill her first.

  “Surely you have an opinion,” said Cassander. “You seem to have an opinion upon every other topic under the sun.”

  Kalgri gazed at him for a moment, and then turned her head towards the spiral stairs descending towards the mansion proper.

  “My opinion,” said Kalgri, “is that you have visitors.”

  Cassander frowned, and then heard the click of boot heels upon the stairs. Maria Nicephorus strode into the solar, followed by a pair of Adamant Guards. Her face was a cool mask, but her eyes strayed towards the Throne of Corazain and its fiery light. Even her icy control could not conceal the unease she felt around the Throne.

  Fear was the proper response to something like the Throne.

  Cassander turned his gaze upon Maria and waited for her to speak.

  “The work at the emir Fariz’s palace is finished, my lord,” said Maria. “The spells are in place, both the wards and the channeling sigils.”

  “The echo rift?” said Cassander.

  “Stable,” said Maria. “I do not believe it will close.”

  “It will not,” said Cassander. “In fact, it cannot. Not until the primary rift collapses. By then, of course, it will be too late to stop.”

  “Yes,” said Maria, her eyes straying to the Throne again. “It is an innovative theory, my lord. Bold, even. Yet…”

  “You have doubts?” said Cassander, the scars on his face tightening as he smiled.

  Maria swallowed. “It will summon a titanic quantity of arcane force, my lord. The summoning…surely so many spirits cannot be controlled.”

  “You are correct. They cannot,” said Cassander. Had he been able to obtain the Staff and Seal of Iramis, he could have summoned and bound as many spirits as he wished. Still, there would be ample opportunity to find the relics after Istarinmul had been reduced to ashes. “But they need not be controlled, only…aimed. Fear not. Soon we shall be victorious.”

  “Of course, my lord,” said Maria. “I never doubted it.”

  “What of our embassy?” said Cassander.

  “It has been emptied,” said Maria. “A few Adamant Guards remain to create the illusion of occupancy, but our men have dispersed and our treasures and funds moved to the compound here.”

  “Good,” said Cassander. “Once Callatas realizes what is happening, he will attempt to retaliate, and the embassy is the logical place to strike. By the time he realizes it is empty, it will be too late for him.”

  “Of course, my lord,” said Maria. “What commands do you have for me?”

  “Fariz Terdagan,” said Cassander. “Does he realize what we intend?”

  Maria hesitated, a mixture of contempt and uncertainty flickering across her expression. “No. The man is too stupid to grasp the subtleties of the arcane sciences. Yet he realizes we intend something…and he knows our embassy was banished from Istarinmul. He may sell us out to the Grand Wazir in order to gain favor.”

  “I thought as much,” said Cassander. “Return to his palace and watch over him. If he tries to betray us, kill him and his entire household. Once our work is complete, he will be of no further use.”

  “My lord,” said Maria, bowing. She left the solar, her escort of Adamant Guards following. Cassander turned back to the Throne, intending to begin the final sequence of warding spells that would link to the wards Maria and the other lesser magi had cast in Fariz’s palace.

  “Does she know,” said Kalgri, “that you intend to abandon her?”

  Cassander offered an indifferent shrug. “She is intelligent enough to realize what the spell will do. If she fails to take precautions to survive, well…that is her own affair.”

  “Mmm.” Kalgri leaned against the sill, her eyes half-closed, though he knew that she was watching him. Perhaps she was waiting for something.

  Well, if she was waiting for him to lower his guard, she would be disappointed.

  Cassander began another spell, preparing for the moment he would unleash the might of the Throne.

  ###

  The Voice hissed and seethed in Kalgri’s thoughts, like a ravenous serpent slithering through its lair in search of prey. It wanted to go to Callatas and tell him of the Staff and the Seal. It wanted to kill Cassander, to kill everyone in the fortified compound, to kill, kill, kill…

  Kalgri understood and agreed.

  Yet for now, she did nothing.

  Cassander’s plan, she judged, had an excellent chance of success. Another day and a half, and Istarinmul might become ashes. Kalgri shivered at the thought. Istarinmul was an ancient city, full of history and the work of generations. Nearly a million people lived within its walls.

  Soon, most of them would be dead.

  What would it feel like when that many people died at once?

  Oh, but she wanted to find out. She needed to find out. All she had to do was nothing and watch Cassander go about his murderous work.

  And yet…

  In the longer term, Callatas could kill far more people with his foolish plan to create a new and better humanity. Cassander would destroy Istarinmul. Callatas would kill the entire world.

  And what would that feel like?

  She did not think Cassander’s plan would destroy Callatas, not really. The old Grand Master was too well-protected, too well-warded from sorcerous assault. If his life was in danger, he would flee. All his work in Istarinmul would be destroyed, of course, but Callatas would begin again somewhere else. The Voice wanted her to warn Callatas, but Kalgri saw no reason to do so.

  Besides, it was Callatas’s own fault. The old man was brilliant and far-sighted, but an utter imbe
cile when it came to politics. Had he not alienated Cassander so badly, none of this would have come to pass. Callatas should have either given Cassander what he wanted, or killed the Umbarian magus on the spot. Offending an enemy as powerful and clever as Cassander Nilas and leaving him alive was a recipe for disaster.

  It wasn’t Kalgri’s fault if Callatas was too blind to see that.

  Though there was one thing Cassander had overlooked.

  He didn’t know Caina Amalas was still alive. Though that might not prove an obstacle to Cassander’s plan. There was no way that Caina could know what Cassander intended. For all Kalgri knew, Caina might not even be in Istarinmul.

  And yet…

  Caina should not have been able to defeat Kalgri at Silent Ash Temple. Caina should not have destroyed the Inferno. Caina should not have survived Rumarah.

  But all those things had happened.

  Perhaps it was best to let Cassander’s plan proceed simply because it might kill Caina and all her allies. Yes. That was best. All Kalgri had to do was to wait, and then…

  The voice exploded inside of her head.

  It was not her nagataaru, the creature she called the Voice. It was not even a voice, not really. Death did not have a voice. Agony and torment could not speak in words. Alien hatred beyond the capacity of the human mind to comprehend could not form speech.

  Yet if they could, they would sound like the voice that now thundered inside of Kalgri’s skull.

  KALGRI THE RED HUNTRESS.

  The Voice let out a howling wail of terrorized obeisance. For a moment fear gripped Kalgri, and then she understood. The nagataaru, like mortals, had a society. They organized themselves into a kingdom, with lords and nobles. The Voice was a lord of the nagataaru.

  The thing speaking inside of Kalgri’s skull was their prince.

  The creature that Istarish myth named Kotuluk Iblis, the sovereign of the nagataaru, was addressing her.

  CHILD OF MURDER. ONCE YOU WERE A SLAVE. ONCE YOU WERE A MURDERESS IN THE PETTY FASHION OF MORTALS. NOW YOU ARE MORE.

  The Voice gibbered in obeisance, the way the emirs prostrated themselves before the Padishah’s throne. Assuming they ever saw the Padishah again. Kalgri wondered where Callatas had hidden the old wretch, and then realized that her thoughts were reeling in fear.

  She glanced at Cassander, but he was busy casting his warding spells. He hadn’t realized what was happening.

  YOU SHALL BE A FITTING INSTRUMENT FOR MY PURPOSE.

  The thunderous voice sent pain through her skull, but Kalgri ignored it. She knew pain. She had been stabbed, shot, burned, and flung from the top of Silent Ash Temple to smash against the valley floor a thousand feet below. Pain alone could not daunt her.

  Kalgri concentrated, and spoke to the voice using her thoughts.

  “Your purpose?” she said. “I am not a nagataaru. You cannot command me. My purpose is my own, and not yours.”

  For the first time in Kalgri’s recollection, the Voice was shocked into silence.

  The laughter exploded through her head.

  YOU ARE INDEED A FITTING INSTRUMENT. YOUR DEFIANCE HAS MADE YOU STRONG. IT HAS TORN AWAY YOUR MERCY AND COMPASSION, AND WROUGHT YOU INTO THE IMAGE OF THE NAGATAARU.

  “Image or not,” said Kalgri, “you cannot command me.”

  PERHAPS YOUR NAGATAARU WILL TAKE CONTROL OF YOUR MORTAL FLESH.

  “Try,” said Kalgri.

  The Voice attempted it. Its rage and hate surged through her, attempting to shove aside her own will and seize control of her body. The nagataaru had tried this many times before, and Kalgri was ready. She fought back with determination, fending off the Voice’s furious attacks, and the nagataaru subsided, retreating into her mind to hiss and spit impotent threats.

  She was the master here.

  “Do you think to dominate me?” said Kalgri. “I carved my own path across the centuries. I slew my victims and grew strong upon their pain and death. I am the Red Huntress, and I have killed and killed!”

  THE BALARIGAR DEFEATED YOU AT THE TEMPLE.

  Kalgri shuddered with remembered rage. “And I stabbed her in the back at Rumarah.”

  WHERE SHE WAS REBORN AS MORE THAN ONCE SHE WAS.

  “I will not debate with you,” said Kalgri. “Speak your business, and then depart.”

  YOU SHALL BE MY INSTRUMENT.

  “You cannot compel me,” said Kalgri.

  IF YOU COULD BE COMPELLED YOU WOULD NOT BE A WORTHY INSTRUMENT.

  “Then what do you offer me?” said Kalgri.

  THE DEATH OF THIS WORLD. THE DEATH OF COUNTLESS OTHER WORLDS BEYOND YOUR KNOWLEDGE.

  “Explain,” said Kalgri.

  THE PLOT OF THE UMBARIAN SHALL SUCCEED BETTER THAN HE IMAGINES. HE SHALL BURN ISTARINMUL, AND YOUR WORLD SHALL ESCAPE MY GRASP.

  “And why should I care?” said Kalgri.

  BECAUSE YOU CAN KILL THIS WORLD. YOU CAN FEEL IT DIE. YOU CAN FEAST UPON ITS DEATH. THE UMBARIAN WILL GIVE YOU THE DEATH OF A CITY. I SHALL GIVE YOU THE DEATH OF A WORLD, AND WORLDS BEYOND COUNT.

  She laughed in her thoughts. “What if I refuse?”

  YOU SHALL NOT.

  “You seem so very certain.”

  FOR I KNOW YOU, RED HUNTRESS. MORTALS WERE MADE IN THE IMAGE OF THE DIVINE. YOU HAVE CAST ASIDE THAT IMAGE FOR ANOTHER. YOU ARE NOW WROUGHT IN MY IMAGE. YOU ARE ONE OF MY CHILDREN, AND MY CHILDREN SLAY AND SLAY. NEITHER COMPULSION NOR BRIBERY ARE REQUIRED. YOU SHALL DO AS I BID FOR IT IS IN YOUR NATURE.

  “And what do you bid?” said Kalgri.

  STOP THE UMBARIAN MAGUS. PERMIT THE GRAND MASTER’S PLAN TO REACH ITS FRUITION. FOR HE SHALL OPEN THE WAY FOR ME, AND THEN I SHALL DEVOUR THIS WORLD. STOP THE UMBARIAN, AND YOU SHALL SEE THIS WORLD DIE.

  The terrible voice faded away, leaving Kalgri with a fierce headache. The Voice muttered and twitched in her thoughts, urging her to act. Cassander kept circling the Throne, unaware that anything had happened. Kalgri watched him for a moment.

  Her thoughts returned to the compass she had seen a long time ago, the bronze compass with a needle of ghostsilver, and she made up her mind.

  Kalgri waited until Cassander circled out of sight on the far side of the Throne, then drew the cowl of her shadow-cloak over her head. Before Cassander came back into sight, she surged forward in silence, using the power of the Voice to hurtle towards the stairs.

  As far he would know, she had just disappeared.

  A few moments later Kalgri left the compound, making for the College of Alchemists.

  ###

  By the time night had fallen, Kalgri moved alone through the College of Alchemists.

  The College was a sprawling maze, almost as large as the Golden Palace or Callatas’s palace, and it was easy for Kalgri to remain unseen, especially with the Ghost shadow-cloak hanging from her shoulders. She walked through a tall corridor of gleaming white stone, light coming from stones set in the arched ceiling overhead. The stones had been transmuted to give off light, and they would glow for a long time. Likely they would continue glowing after Callatas had destroyed humanity and Istarinmul had become a desolate ruin.

  Here and there crystalline statues stood in niches, images of naked men and women. Of course, they were not really statues. The Alchemists’ power allowed them to transmute flesh into crystal, and any slaves who displeased their Alchemist masters became a permanent part of the College’s artwork.

  The corridor opened into a wide, pillared hall. Stone plinths stood in rows, supporting display cases of gleaming glass and wood. Inside each of the cases lay some enspelled artifact or another. The Alchemists stored their most powerful relics and Elixirs in a fortified vault guarded by Immortals in the heart of the palace. This chamber displayed curiosities – minor trinkets of academic interest or curios of the College’s long history. One case held a crumbling Maatish scroll, a charter from a Maatish pharaoh when the College had still served the Great Necromancers of the Kingdom of the Rising Sun. Another case held a crystal hand, the relic of a Master Alchemi
st who had botched a spell and transformed half his flesh to crystal. A third held a tarnished silver goblet that had the singularly useless power of transmuting any wine it contained into saltwater.

  The object Kalgri sought rested in a dusty case in the corner, long-forgotten and neglected.

  She gazed at it for a moment, a hard smile spreading beneath her mask…and the Voice hissed in excitement.

  The compass looked just as she remembered it, a flat bronze disc about the size of her hand with a crystalline face. Within lay a bed of mercury, and upon the bed of mercury floated a jagged needle of ghostsilver. The last time Kalgri had seen this compass, the needle had swung back and forth constantly.

  Now it was motionless, pointing to the northeast.

  She drew upon the power of the Voice, summoning a blade of shadow and purple flame, and sliced open the case. Her gloved fingers curled around the compass, and she lifted it, walking in a circle around the plinth.

  The needle turned in a circle as she did…but it never stopped pointing to the northeast.

  Her guess had been correct.

  A long time ago, an Alchemist with an interest in necromancy had created this compass in an attempt at self-defense. Fearing the wrath of the Iramisian valikarion, he had devised a way to detect the valikarion based upon the disruption they caused in divinatory spells, creating a compass that pointed at the nearest valikarion. Unfortunately for the Alchemist, at the time there had been hundreds of valikarion traveling back and forth across the world, and the needle had spun back and forth constantly. It failed to save him from the valikarion, and the compass ended up in the College’s hall of curiosities.

  Most of the valikarion had been dead for a century and a half, burned to ashes with Iramis, and the few survivors died long ago.

  The valikarion had been extinct…but a new one had been born in Rumarah, just as Kalgri had guessed. The compass would point unfailingly towards the one remaining valikarion in the world.