“Well,” said Nasser at last. “That went rather well.”
“Did it?” said Caina. “She did not know what the Apotheosis was. She didn’t know where to find the Staff or the Seal of Iramis.”
“She knows who hid them,” said Nasser.
Caina shook her head. “A woman a century and a half dead.”
“Not necessarily,” said Nasser. “If the Emissary said that she is still alive, then she is still alive. It is only a matter of finding her before Callatas does.”
“He must not know,” said Caina. “If he did, he wouldn’t have armies of slaves digging up the Desert of Candles. He would be looking for Annarah. Though I haven’t the slightest idea of where to start looking for her.”
“Nor do I,” said Nasser. “First, however, we have more immediate problems.”
“The Huntress,” said Caina.
“Aye,” said Nasser. “Likely the monks saw her starting the ascent. It took us several hours to make the climb, but with her inhuman vigor, I suspect it will take her little more than an hour. Best we proceed to meet her.”
“And do we have a plan for defeating her?” said Claudia.
Caina shrugged. “Simple. We distract her for long enough for Nasser to put the valikon through her heart.”
Claudia snorted. “A very simple plan.”
“The best battle plans are always simple, my love,” said Martin, “for once the chaos of battle begins, no man can see what course events shall take. Not even the Emissary or the Surge or any other oracle. Though it seems the Huntress has brought allies to the fight.”
“The Emissary mentioned that,” said Caina. “Perhaps some of the Silent Hunters escaped Drynemet.”
“Or she may have recruited additional allies,” said Martin.
“Let us go meet them,” said Caina.
“Claudia,” said Martin. “Perhaps you should join the monks in their shelter.”
“Why?” said Claudia.
“Because I have no wish to see you fall to the Huntress’s blades,” said Martin, “and because…because you are carrying our child.” He put his hands upon her shoulders. “In any other place and in any other time, the news would fill me with joy. Now it fills me with dread, for we have twice as much to lose.”
Claudia’s right hand reached up to take his, but her left strayed towards her belly, where even now the child grew within her. A stab of furious jealousy went through Caina at the sight. That was something she had always wanted but would never have. As a child she had dreamed of children of her own, of how she would be a better mother than Laeria Amalas. Caina had wanted to become a wife and a mother, but instead she was…
Instead she had become the Balarigar.
Caina forced aside the jealousy. It was not Claudia’s fault. The world was not a just place, and there was no use bemoaning it. The world was unjust…but it would be even more unjust if Kalgri murdered Martin and Claudia’s child.
Caina vowed to keep that from happening.
“I dare not,” said Claudia, her voice little more than a whisper. “My banishment spell has been the only weapon that slowed the Huntress. Maybe with that and the valikon we have a chance of victory. I cannot leave you to face this alone. Not when I have a chance of aiding you. And…and our child. Would you have me raise the child without a father?” She took both his hands in hers. “If the Huntress prevails, she shall likely cut her way into the monks’ refuge and kill them all anyway, regardless of what the Emissary thinks. You saw how the Huntress reveled in senseless slaughter. Do you think a nagataaru would leave any victims behind?”
“Alas,” said Martin. “I wish I were a wiser man, that I might persuade you to remain behind.”
“My lord Martin,” said Nasser, his tone wistful, “you are wiser than you think. A valiant wife is a treasure beyond reckoning, and you must have been wise indeed to win her.”
“Let’s go,” said Caina, “and greet the Huntress.”
Chapter 18 - Promises
In retrospect, taking Aiovost’s warriors to Silent Ash Temple had been a good idea.
Though not for their value as fighters. Kalgri had fought some of the finest soldiers in the world, Imperial Guards and Immortals and Kyracian stormdancers, and had slain them all. Kalgri could have killed all of Aiovost's warriors without undue trouble.
No, she had another use in mind for Aiovost’s men.
Specifically, food. Though not for her.
They made it a day and a half before Aiovost and the four other possessed men finally snapped.
It was a little before dusk. The rest of the warriors kept away from their headman and the other possessed men, partly out of religious awe, partly due to prudent fear. The newly possessed men muttered and snarled to each other, sometimes speaking in their own voices, sometimes in the voices of their nagataaru.
Aiovost stopped, purple flame and shadow swirling around his eyes, his entire body trembling.
“Headman?” ventured one of the warriors. “Are you all right?”
Kalgri stopped and waited, knowing what was about to happen.
Aiovost screamed and fell to his hands and knees, as did the other possessed men. Shadows and purple flame erupted from their eyes and mouths, wrapping round their bodies in glowing ribbons. Their screams grew louder, more agonized, and they started to shake.
And then, all at once, they changed.
They swelled and grew, their clothes and armor ripping apart. Their skin hardened into the black, glistening armor of their new form, like the chitinous hide of a beetle. Long, serrated claws erupted from their fingers and toes, and pincers rose from their fang-filled mouths. A mane of barbed, spiked tentacles erupted from their heads and shoulders, lashing at the air like hungry serpents. The Kaltari warriors stumbled back in horror as the transformed men turned to face them, purple fire and shadow writhing around their talons.
The Voice hissed with pleasure.
The killing began soon after that.
The transformed men rampaged through the warriors, killing and rending with every strike. Blows from axes and swords split the chitinous armor covering the creatures, but their nagataaru feasted upon the death around them, closing the wounds and regenerating the armor. Kalgri watched with approval as Aiovost and the others killed and killed, the Voice roiling with glee. After about half of the warriors had been ripped apart, the survivors broke and fled, throwing down their weapons and screaming to the lords of the night for mercy.
They ought to have listened to their own shamans. The nagataaru did not offer mercy.
Kalgri let them hunt down the survivors for a while, and then reached through the Voice’s power and commanded the creatures to return to her. Aiovost and the other transformed men raced across the ground on all fours, leaping over the piled corpses and pools of blood, and squatted on their haunches before her.
Bit by bit the horror of what they had done started to spread over what remained of their expressions.
“What did you make us do?” croaked Aiovost, his voice distorted and slurred behind the pincers.
“Nothing,” said Kalgri.
“But these were my men!” roared Aiovost, his talons lashing at the air. “And I slew them! I was so hungry, and killing them…killing them was bliss! But we had gone into battle together. We had shed blood together! And now they are dead at my hand, because of you!” He prowled towards her. “You have made me into a monster!”
“If you did not want those men dead,” said Kalgri, “then you should not have killed them.”
Aiovost and the other creatures roared and threw themselves at Kalgri, but the Voice’s fury rose within her, and the nagataaru bound within the men overcame the wills of their hosts. The creatures threw themselves to the ground at Kalgri’s feet, groveling and hissing.
“Be silent,” said Kalgri, filling her words with the authority of the Voice. “Do not speak again unless I give you leave.”
Aiovost growled, but the nagataaru within him held him fast,
and Kalgri felt her lips curl in a contemptuous smile. The fool had likely spent all his life worshipping the nagataaru, his precious “lords of the void”, but he had no idea what he had really been worshipping. There was some part of him that was recoiling in horror, that was trying to battle the nagataaru that had taken possession of his flesh and mind.
Those who invited spirits into their bodies were often unprepared for the consequences. Of course, it had been different for Kalgri. Given that she agreed with the Voice’s goals of slaughter and murder and feeding, they had been in harmony from the beginning.
“Come along,” said Kalgri. “We have a Balarigar to kill.”
The Voice snarled with anticipation, and Kalgri set off across the Kaltari Highlands, the Voice’s vassals following.
###
Caina stood atop the colonnade and waited, watching as the sun disappeared behind the shoulder of the mountain to the west.
The ancient Iramisians had possessed an eye for both aesthetics and utility, and the outer colonnade was stronger than she had expected. It was backed by a sturdy wall of granite blocks, a narrow walkway running along the top for archers and the engineers manning the siege engines. There was only one gate within the outer colonnade, and the monks had closed and barred it before retreating. Caina supposed a skilled climber could scale a pillar, reach the top of the colonnade, and then scramble onto the rampart. The Iramisians had even planned for that possibility, with downward-sloping tiles across the top of the colonnade that would make it impossible for a climber to get a good grip.
Not that any of it would slow Kalgri in the slightest.
“I think you should keep the valikon concealed,” said Caina to Nasser, watching the stairs.
Claudia raised her eyebrows. “Why?”
Caina stood with Nasser, Claudia, and Martin over the gate. Nearby Laertes and Strabane worked on one of the ballistae, speaking in low voices. Caina did not know how effective the siege engine would be against the Huntress. If the Emissary was correct, if Kalgri had indeed brought allies with her, then the ballista might be of use against them.
“The last time you fought the Red Huntress,” said Caina, “you carried this very valikon.”
“I thought her slain after our fight,” said Nasser, “and so returned the weapon to the Emissary.”
“Did she know where you obtained it?” said Caina.
“I do not believe so,” said Nasser. “I eluded her in Istarinmul, came to Silent Ash Temple, and then wound up fighting her in northern Anshan.”
“Then she probably doesn’t know what we have the valikon now,” said Caina.
“If she does not,” said Martin, “her ignorance will be a tremendous tactical advantage.”
“I agree entirely, my lord ambassador,” said Nasser.
“An advantage that we must not waste,” said Caina. “I suspect Kalgri will come right for me or for Claudia. I shall distract her when she does, and you can take her with the valikon.”
“The fight will be over quickly, at least,” said Martin. “One way or another.”
“Yes,” said Nasser. “We have only one chance at this. If…”
“Something’s coming,” said Strabane.
Caina turned back towards the terrace and the great stair. She saw a flicker of shadow in the setting sun and expected to see Kalgri appear atop the stairs, red cloak streaming around her.
Instead a creature from a nightmare came into sight, eyes of purple flame turned towards them.
“What the hell is that?” said Martin, his battlefield commander’s calm shaken for the first time.
Caina had never seen anything like the misshapen creature. It was about the size of a full-grown ox, but moved upon four limbs like an ape. Yet there was a curiously insect-like quality to its movements, and Caina half-suspected the thing could scuttle up the wall like a spider. The insect-like impression was reinforced by the ridged plates of glistening black chitin that armored every inch of its hide. Razor-sharp, serrated talons tipped its hands and toes, flickering with purple flames, and pincers jutted from the mouth of its disturbingly human-like face. A mane of black tentacles rose from the back of its head and shoulders, each tentacle tipped with a sharp barb. The misshapen thing started forward, its talons tapping against the stone of the terrace.
Laertes grunted, adjusted the ballista, and pulled a lever.
The war engine released with a tremendous twanging noise, and a six-foot shaft of steel blurred from the weapon. It slammed into the creature, hurling it back to the low stone wall at the edge of the terrace. The creature loosed a horrible scream in two voices at once. One sounded like a dying man, full of fear and terror and agony. The other was an inhuman rasp of fury.
The sound of a nagataaru.
The creature shoved away from the wall and staggered forward. More black slime bubbled from the gaping wound in its chest, and at last the creature fell upon its face and lay motionless, the slime spreading in a pool around it.
“Gods,” said Caina.
“A capital shot, Laertes,” said Nasser. “A capital shot.”
Laertes shrugged. “In the Legion I was responsible for assembling the war engines. Guess I haven’t forgotten the trick.”
“Just what the devil was that thing?” said Martin.
“One of Callatas’s alchemical horrors,” said Caina, remembering the creatures she had seen lurking in Callatas’s Maze. “It has to be.”
“Alas, no,” said Nasser. “I fear it is something much worse. A kadrataagu.”
“What is that?” said Caina. “It sounds like another Iramisian word.”
“It is,” said Nasser, eyeing the carcass of the creature. “Of old, when a nagataaru entered a willing host, the loremasters of Iramis called such a creature a kadrataagu.”
Caina frowned. “Then Kalgri is a kadrataagu?”
“Not quite,” said Nasser. The fingers of his left hand opened and closed. “The Huntress maintains control of her own mind, corrupt though it is. A kadrataagu…the nagataaru overshadows the host so utterly that the nagataaru rewrites the host’s mind and body in its own image. A kadrataagu is the result.”
“Gods,” said Caina. The twisted thing lying dead against the edge of terrace had once been a man? “I suppose that poor fool had no idea what would happen to him.”
“A man who accepts a nagataaru into himself is seeking dark power and dominion over his fellow men,” said Nasser. “He met his just reward.”
“Can that thing heal wounds the way that the Huntress could?” said Martin.
The ballista clanked, the string vibrating as Strabane and Laertes pulled it back into place.
“We can shoot it again if it gets up,” said Laertes.
“No,” said Nasser. “Kadrataagu are usually created from lesser nagataaru. They can heal themselves when killing, but they don’t have the reserve of a greater nagataaru like the Voice. If…”
Black shapes blurred on the stairs, and four more kadrataagu raced onto the terrace. Strabane barked a curse and Laertes shifted the ballista to fire, but the misshapen forms scattered, moving close enough to the colonnade that Laertes and Strabane could not lower the ballista far enough to hit them. Caina whispered a curse and yanked her ghostsilver dagger from its sheath, expecting the kadrataagu to race up the walls and attack them.
But the creatures remained motionless, gazing up at them with eyes of purple flame.
“I have a crossbow,” said Laertes.
“Don’t bother,” said Nasser. “It will take more than one bolt to kill them, and it might set them off.”
Caina pointed at one of the kadrataagu. “I think that one used to be our friend Aiovost.” The creature’s misshapen features looked familiar, and the burning eyes seemed filled with a horrible certainty.
“We know where Kalgri found her allies, then,” said Claudia. “Why doesn’t she attack?”
“Because,” said Caina. “I think we hurt her badly the last time we fought. At the Golden Palace, sh
e withdrew because there were too many Immortals in the way. But at Drynemet, we hurt her. If we had been a little luckier, we might actually have killed her. So sending her pet monsters to test us first before she...”
“There!” said Claudia, pointing.
A figure in a red cloak appeared at the top of the stairs, and Laertes shifted the ballista and fired. The steel bolt blurred toward the cloaked shape, so fast that the human eye could not follow it, but the cloaked woman moved faster. The woman dodged, and the ballista bolt struck the wall at the edge of the terrace, bounced over, and tumbled into the nothingness below.
The cloaked figure drew back her cowl, and Caina found herself looking into Kalgri’s face. The Huntress had discarded her mask, and her crimson armor remained slashed and tattered from the fight at Drynemet. It made her look ragged and savage, even beautiful, like a terrible goddess of war. The skin beneath the ripped armor was smooth and unmarked, and she looked the picture of health.
For a moment they stared at each other as the sun sank beneath the mountain’s shoulder and the shadows lengthened.
“Welcome, my lady Huntress,” said Nasser at last. “Alas, I fear the temple is full, and the monks are accepting no further lodgers.”
Kalgri laughed. “Such honeyed words, my lord of dust. Did you speak so charmingly as your family screamed and begged for you to save them? Did you make jokes as everyone you loved burned? Did you have a pleasant witticism as you contemplated the magnitude of your failure?”
Nasser’s smile did not waver, but Caina heard the faint squeal of his leather glove as the fingers of his left hand tightened. “Do come up here, my lady, and you will see if I can make jokes when your death is at hand.”
“My death?” said Kalgri. “You are mistaken. I feed on death. You eluded me once before, but you are trapped now. Here you shall die at last. Fitting, really.”
“If you are so certain,” said Nasser, “come up here and we shall resolve the matter.”
“Why? This is the time for talking. For there is a time for all things. Did not the loremasters of old say that?” said Kalgri. “A time to talk, and a time to kill.” Her smile grew sharper, and a flicker of purple fire went through her hard black eyes. “You have no weapon that can hurt me. I will kill you when it pleases me.”
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