Ghost in the Pact

by Jonathan Moeller

  Laertes started to reach for the lever, and an idea came to Kylon. Caina had burned down a lot of buildings, though for some reason she always got irritated when someone pointed that out. She thought of herself as a spy, and spies did not draw attention to themselves by burning down buildings.

  Kylon, however, was not a spy, and he had no problem with the tactic.

  He drew the valikon and hammered with the hilt six times in rapid succession, cracking the seals on the lids of the Hellfire amphorae. At once the crimson fluid started to bead around the cracks.

  “What the hell are you doing?” said Laertes. “Are you trying to get us killed?”

  “Pull the lever!” said Kylon.

  Laertes spat a sulfurous curse and pulled the lever. The catapult twanged again, the massive arm heaving forward, and a dozen Hellfire amphorae shot into the air. The ones that Kylon had damaged cracked and split apart from the violence of their flight, spraying a rain of Hellfire droplets along their vector.

  Right into the path of the Immortals, who were advancing towards the catapult.

  “Huh,” said Laertes. “That might…”

  The six intact amphorae struck the ground, shattered, and exploded, fireballs ripping through the lines of the Immortals. They also ignited the rain of Hellfire droplets that the broken amphorae had sprayed across the field, and a howling sheet of flame swept up, burning the trampled grass of the battlefield. For a moment a blazing wall of flame rose up before them, cutting off the Immortals.

  And consuming those caught within the firestorm.

  The smell of burning flesh was ghastly.

  It was a horrible way to die. Kylon regretted the necessity of this, but he had not started this war.

  He would, however, help finish it.

  That, and Erghulan had been planning on using the Hellfire on the rebels. It would be only just if one of the amphorae had landed upon the Grand Wazir’s head.

  The wall of fire burned out quickly, but it had left hundreds of dead Immortals in its wake. The entire center of Erghulan’s army had fallen into disarray, with hundreds of Immortals wounded and hundreds dead, and the rest scattered as they tried to avoid the burning patches of Hellfire.

  Tanzir’s army, however, had suffered no such setbacks, and his infantry crashed into the disorganized Immortals.

  Even from a mile and a half away, Kylon heard the crash as the Kaltari warriors and the infantry of the southern emirates slammed into the Immortals. A ripple of shock went through the Immortals, and to Kylon’s surprise, their damaged formation collapsed. The Immortals were stunned by the sudden explosions of the Hellfire, and the Kaltari were fresh and rested and eager for blood. The wings of horsemen on the left and right flanks of both Tanzir’s and Erghulan’s armies struck, and for a moment Kylon was sure that Erghulan’s horsemen would hold. Yet the Immortals had fallen back in such disarray that Tanzir’s cavalry flanked their foes, and the horsemen, too, began falling back.

  The army of Grand Wazir Erghulan Amirasku was about to collapse in a rout.

  “We need to move, Nasser,” said Laertes. “When that army breaks, they’ll stampede over us. We need to be gone by then or we’re going to get trampled.”

  “Agreed,” said Nasser. “We…”

  Mazyan went rigid, gazing to the south, the smokeless fire flaring in his eyes once more.

  “The Prince is in danger!” said Mazyan.

  “What?” said Nasser. “He is likely with Tanzir behind the lines of the Kaltari. There is no risk the Immortals will break through to him…”

  “The nagataaru come for him,” said Mazyan. “I must go.”

  Kylon felt a surge of alarm, followed by the rage that had filled part of his mind ever since the Red Huntress had cut down Thalastre in the Tower of Kardamnos. Had the Huntress finally decided to reveal herself?

  On the other hand, Rhataban might have decided to win the battle by killing the rebel leadership. With the combat prowess he had displayed during his fight with Kylon in the Kaltari Highlands, Kylon knew that the Master Alchemist would be able to kill Tanzir and Sulaman and the others with ease.

  “Stormdancer, you must aid me,” said Mazyan.

  “Yes,” said Kylon.

  “We shall go right through the fighting,” said Mazyan.

  “Go,” said Nasser, climbing back into the saddle of his horse. “We shall join you as soon as we can.”

  Kylon nodded and drew on the sorcery of air, sprinting alongside Mazyan as the Oath Shadow raced towards the battle.

  Chapter 21: Master and Disciple

  The stairs spiraled up and up towards the peak of Pyramid Isle, and Callatas cast spells as he walked.

  He dismissed his masking spell. It was useless at this point. Kharnaces likely realized that he was here, and the Great Necromancer could see him in any event. Callatas instead cast every warding spell he could manage. As usual, the spell to turn aside any steel blades, and a second to prevent anyone from touching him. He had foolishly let that one lapse in the jungle, assuming that Caina would not attack him.

  He would make her regret stealing the Seal.

  If, of course, he survived the challenge to come.

  Callatas cast more spells as he climbed. A ward to shield his mind from arcane assault. Another ward to repel any creature of the spirit world. A third ward to reflect any spell cast directly at him. A fourth to disrupt any necromantic spell targeted at him. The blaze of the wards’ power surrounded him, a faint shimmer disrupting the air. That many warding spells layered on top of each other would not last long, but the duel would be over before they expired.

  That, and Kharnaces could hammer through them in short order.

  “No warding spells for me, father?” said Kalgri. She giggled. “Why, you will make a girl feel unwanted!”

  He wanted to blast her to ashes against the wall. Unfortunately, right now he needed her help, just as he needed Caina’s help. Once Kharnaces was defeated, he could deal with Caina. And once he had worked the Apotheosis, once he had filled the world with the new humanity, there would no longer be any need to keep a half-failed experiment around any longer.

  “Kharnaces will consider you beneath his notice unless you attack him directly,” said Callatas. “Which you should do, of course, if an opportunity presents itself, but strike only if you are utterly certain of success.”

  Kalgri snorted. “And what good would that do? His spirit would jump to one of the other undead in this dusty old maze. For that matter, he won’t really be there, will he? We’ll just be fighting the projection we saw on the beach.”

  “No,” said Callatas, shaking his head. “No, he’ll be here in the flesh. Such as it is. He can only channel so much power through that projection at once. To activate the Conjurant Bloodcrystal, he shall require the entirety of his strength.”

  The stairs continued their winding ascent, and Callatas saw faint traces of green light upon the walls. They were almost to the top of the hill.

  “Then what do you need me for?” said Kalgri. He sensed the Voice hissing and whispering in her mind, twisting her thoughts as it had poisoned her mind ever since Callatas had summoned the nagataaru lord so long ago. Of course, the Voice had never been able to control her, which must have irritated the nagataaru noble to no end. But no one had ever been able to control Kalgri.

  One simply had to point her in the direction of one’s enemies and stand back.

  “Kharnaces commands many servitors,” said Callatas. The green light ahead grew brighter. “They will try to intervene on their master’s behalf. You will stop them from killing me while I fight Kharnaces.”

  Kalgri sneered, her white teeth reflecting the green light. “And why should I do that?”

  “You like to fight.”

  “I like to kill, father,” said Kalgri. “Preferably without fighting. The Balarigar is right about one thing. Fighting fairly is a fool’s game. Why should I not step back and let Kharnaces destroy you?”

  Callatas gritted hi
s teeth. “Because I can offer you something better.”

  “Better than what? Kharnaces is going to kill the world.” He heard the Voice hissing in her head, urgently pushing her to support Callatas.

  “Because you want to kill the world,” said Callatas, grasping the appropriate lever. “Kharnaces wants to destroy the world. There is a difference. If he finishes the Conjurant Bloodcrystal, the barrier to the netherworld will dissolve. The nagataaru will swarm over the world in an instant, along with every other predatory spirit the netherworld can disgorge. They will kill this world in the blink of an eye…and you won’t get to enjoy it.”

  Kalgri said nothing, silent as death in her shadow-cloak.

  “But if I complete the Apotheosis,” said Callatas, “it will take years for the new humanity to spread across the face of the world. We shall start in Istarinmul. A million people to slaughter there. Then the new humanity shall spread across Anshan and Cyrica and Alqaarin and the Empire and the barbarian north and the Kagari steppes…millions upon millions of people to kill, the old humanity to be supplanted by the new. And you, Huntress, you shall be there to gorge yourself upon their deaths, to feast and feast until even you are glutted with killing.”

  She would not, of course. Callatas had every intention of killing her once he had worked the Apotheosis. But Kalgri didn’t need to know that.

  She laughed, long and mocking, and Callatas wondered if she guessed his inmost thoughts. Perhaps she did. She had known him for longer than anyone still alive in this world save for Annarah and Nasser…and of them, Kalgri knew him better than anyone else.

  It was a strangely disquieting thought.

  “Father, father, father,” said Kalgri. “Such delights you use to tempt me! Very well. Lead on, and I shall keep the Harbinger’s vassals from cutting you down.”

  “Good,” said Callatas.

  “Though, of course,” said Kalgri, “Kharnaces might give me a better offer.”

  He wouldn’t. The Harbinger influenced Kharnaces, and the Harbinger would never work with the Voice, not for any reason. From what Callatas had gleaned from Kharnaces, their enmity was older than the world itself.

  At last the stairs came to an end, and Callatas stepped upon the flat peak of Pyramid Isle.

  It was a rough rectangle of flat white stone about thirty yards across. In all directions he had a view of the lush green jungle, the fringe of beach, and the endless moonlit sea. Under most circumstances, it would have been a view of stunning beauty. The brilliant green glow radiating from the center of the peak covered the island in ghostly green light, making it look like a nightmare or a fever dream.

  The reason for the glow floated a few feet off the ground in the very center of the rectangle.

  Because of his protective spells, Callatas could look at the Conjurant Bloodcrystal.

  Normal, unaided mortal eyes would be unable to do so. Anyone attempting to look at the thing would find themselves looking away, their eyes unable to focus, the reaction involuntary. The mortal mind did not have the ability to process what the Conjurant Bloodcrystal had become.

  Because of his spells, Callatas saw a perfect black sphere about six feet across. Its surface was somehow both utterly black, drinking every bit of light that touched it, and yet mirrored, and Callatas glimpsed his distorted reflection within it. Thousands of Maatish hieroglyphs written in green fire appeared and reappeared in its surface, and despite putting off enough light to illuminate the island, it seemed so dark it was like a hole in the air.

  In point of fact, it was a hole in the air.

  It was both a bloodcrystal and a gate to the netherworld simultaneously. One Ascendant Bloodcrystal could transform its wielder into an immortal god at the cost of every living thing for five hundred miles. Kharnaces had created five Ascendant Bloodcrystals, and with countless spells over the millennia he had merged them together into this thing, this monstrous weapon that was both bloodcrystal and gate at the same time. It was a feat of sorcery beyond Callatas’s imagination. In truth, it would have been a feat of sorcery beyond the abilities of even the mightiest Great Necromancers of old.

  It was a weapon that would destroy the world.

  Even as Callatas watched, he realized that the Conjurant Bloodcrystal was revolving, and growing a little larger with each revolution. The addition of his blood had activated it. Each revolution would come a little faster, and make it little larger, and it would spin faster and faster and grow larger and larger until the barrier between worlds shattered beneath its weight and the nagataaru swarmed out to destroy humanity.

  The creature that had created this awesome weapon floated in front of Callatas, its skeletal, withered feet a few inches from the ground.

  As Callatas had predicted, Kharnaces had come in the flesh to finish his work.

  The Great Necromancer wore a brilliant robe of white and gold, similar to the ones worn by the College of Alchemists. Given that the College had once served the Great Necromancers long ago, it only made sense that the Alchemists would imitate their long-dead masters. A shining golden torque encircled Kharnaces’s neck, wrought in the shape of a falcon clutching a solar orb in its talons. A golden mask covered Kharnaces’s face, the expression serene and unearthly beautiful, and golden bracers glinted upon his forearms.

  His hands were skeletal claws, twisted and blackened, and Callatas knew that the body beneath the golden mask and white robe would be an undead horror. A withered ruin, the same fate Kharnaces sought to inflict upon the world.

  The golden mask turned in his direction, and Callatas felt the awesome weight of that terrible mind fall upon him. Within Callatas the shadow of Kotuluk Iblis waited, watching the final resolution of the dispute between the Voice and the Harbinger.

  For a moment the Grand Master and the Great Necromancer stared at each other. Kalgri circled midway between them, her cowl thrown back, strands of her blond hair dancing in the hot wind rising from the Conjurant Bloodcrystal, her ghostsilver short sword and dagger ready.

  “My wayward pupil,” said Kharnaces. His voice remained unchanged, deep and musical and serene. “I thought you would perish in the jungle.”

  “If you had wanted me to die there,” said Callatas, gripping the Staff of Iramis with both hands, “then you should have killed me.”

  “There was no need,” said Kharnaces. “You came to stop the Conjurant Bloodcrystal? It is already complete. The activation is underway.” He gestured at the sphere. It had grown to nearly eight feet across. “It is only a matter of time. Neither you nor the so-called ‘Balarigar’ nor anyone else can stop it now.”

  “It will be stopped,” said Callatas, “when I defeat you and shatter the bloodcrystal.”

  “Even now, at the very end, you still lack the understanding of the truth,” said Kharnaces.

  “And what truth is that?” said Callatas. He decided to try and goad Kharnaces into speaking. The Great Necromancer had always been fond of the sound of his own voice, and the more time he wasted with speeches, the longer Caina had to find and destroy the canopic jars.

  Assuming that she could do so.

  “It is amusing,” said Kharnaces.

  “I’m not laughing,” said Callatas.

  “You still do not see the truth,” said Kharnaces.

  “You still haven’t told me this truth,” said Callatas.

  “That you and Caina Amalas desire the same thing,” said Kharnaces.

  An incredulous laugh burst from Callatas. “You are mad. She and I are nothing alike. We…”

  “You are very alike,” said Kharnaces. “You both cling to different forms of the same delusion.”

  “And what delusion is that?” said Callatas, his anger rising again.

  “That humanity can be saved,” said Kharnaces.

  “I do not want to save humanity,” snarled Callatas. “I want to perfect it, perfect the only thing about mankind that is perfectible. To cast aside all its corruptions, and to make mankind into the perfect, immortal predators
, free from dependence upon the weaknesses of civilization.”

  “A delusion,” said Kharnaces. He looked a little to the right, the golden mask glinting in the eerie light from the spinning bloodcrystal. Kalgri had moved closer to him, but he did not seem concerned. “That is the final truth that you do not understand.”

  “Enlighten me,” said Callatas.

  “Mankind cannot be saved,” said Kharnaces. “Mankind does not deserve to be saved. Humanity is a blight upon this world, a disease that shall be purged in the devouring fire of the nagataaru. You know this truth, but you deny it. You think that mankind can be improved.”

  “The new humanity will correct the flaws of the old…” started Callatas.

  “Your new humanity would be an abomination,” said Kharnaces, “murderous and insane, much like your minion here.” The bony hand flicked in Kalgri’s direction. “What you see as perfectibility is only another kind of corruption. Humanity is a disease upon the world, and it must be purged. Every man, woman, and child must be slain.”

  “Are you telling me this?” said Callatas. “Or is the Harbinger speaking to me?”

  “I realized this truth long before I ever found the nagataaru, before I ever opened the way to the netherworld, before I ever summoned the Harbinger to me,” said Kharnaces. “Now I am the Harbinger and the Harbinger is me. Our purposes are one, and together we shall bring a merciful end to mankind, just as a farmer brings a merciful death to a horse with a broken leg.”

  “No,” said Callatas. “I shall stop you.”

  “You will not,” said Kharnaces. “You are already defeated, and you know it not. I know your plan.” Callatas tensed, thinking that Kharnaces had realized that Caina had gone after his canopic jars, but the Great Necromancer kept speaking. “You think to harness the nagataaru, to bind them to mankind as a beast of burden is bound to a plow. You think to betray your pact with Kotuluk Iblis, to violate your promise to hand this world over to him. As if he did not know your intentions.”

  “Knowing my intentions,” said Callatas, “and stopping them are two different things entirely.”