Ghost in the Winds (Ghost Exile #9)

by Jonathan Moeller

  “No,” said Damla, and the words surprised her even as she spoke them. “No, she is alive.”

  She found that she was certain of that.

  “How do you know?” said Kylon.

  “Because she is the Balarigar,” said Damla.

  “The Balarigar,” said Kylon. “There is no such thing. She doesn’t even believe in the Balarigar herself. I was there when it started. She killed Rezir Shahan in Marsis, and the Szaldic slaves he had taken from the city named her the Balarigar, the legendary demonslayer of the Szalds. Then she called herself the Balarigar when she threw that Master Slaver off his balcony, and the legend grew from that.”

  “No,” said Damla again. “She may not believe it herself, and you may not believe it, but I do. She is the Balarigar. The Living Flame sent her to us in our hour of need.”

  “Why do you say that?” said Kylon.

  “Because,” said Damla in a soft voice, “I have seen her do miracles.”

  “Miracles,” said Kylon. She could not identify the emotion in his voice.

  “The Brotherhood took my sons,” said Damla. “I knew I would never see them again. I know what happened when the Brotherhood kidnapped people. Caina promised to get my sons back. I thought she was a madwoman, but she did it. She brought them back. I thought my brother had died years ago, but she brought him back as well. And then on the day Cassander was going to burn us all, I thought we were going to die…but we did not. You and Caina stopped him.” Damla shrugged, unsure of what to say, unsure of the words to express the truth she knew. “She is the Balarigar. We will see her again, I am certain of it.”

  “I hope,” said Kylon, “that you are right.”

  The door opened, and Agabyzus and Tomazain stepped out, both of them armed to the teeth.

  “Mistress Damla,” said Tomazain. “Fancy a walk? If anyone threatens you, I promise to break his jaw.”

  From the corner of her eye, she saw Kylon’s lip twitch in an almost-smile.

  “That sounds lovely,” said Damla.

  “Let’s go talk to Nerina Strake,” said Kylon.

  Chapter 10: Ancient Trophies

  Caina and Annarah hurried down the spiral stairs, and Morgant followed them, black dagger and crimson scimitar ready in his hands. A new energy had taken hold of Caina. Morgant wondered what the Knight of Wind and Air had told her. In his experience, the damned djinni was constantly enigmatic, sharing only just enough information to set Morgant upon his intended path

  But to what end? What did Samnirdamnus want? Morgant did not like serving as someone else’s pawn, though he had been the pawn of the Knight of Wind and Air for a long time. Caina had said that that djinn were enemies of the nagataaru, that Samnirdamnus himself served as a spy for the Court of the Azure Sovereign.

  So at least they had a mutual enemy in Callatas.

  Still, Morgant wondered if Samnirdamnus intended to engineer their deaths.

  Well, there was only one way to find out. That, and since Samnirdamnus had gone to all that work to save Caina’s life, it seemed a waste to simply kill them all on Pyramid Isle.

  Unless, of course, Samnirdamnus had made an error.

  “There is no one competent these days,” muttered Morgant.

  “What?” Caina said, glancing up at him.

  “Someday,” said Morgant, “I’m going to ask a question and get a clear answer, and the seas will turn to ashes and the sky to fire because obviously, the end of the world will be at hand.”

  “Maybe,” said Caina, “but not today.”

  They hurried down the rest of the spiral stairs and returned to the corridor outside the armory. The undead baboons continued their patrol through the corridor, sweeping it in a regular pattern. Human guards would have given up by now. The nagataaru continued their relentless search, a search that would not end until they had found and killed Morgant, Annarah, and Caina.

  Caina led the way forward, sidestepping around the undead baboons as they skittered back and forth across the floor. Several times they had to duck into side rooms and wait for the baboons to pass, but step by step they made their way into the heart of the Tomb and back to the domed chamber.

  “Where now?” said Morgant.

  “This way,” said Caina, pointing at one of the hieroglyph-lined passages. “Back up to the library, and then to the throne room and the trophy room.”

  “The trophy room?” said Morgant. “What, did the djinni tell you to start using the amphorae of Hellfire?”

  “He did,” said Caina.

  Annarah frowned. “But if we use the Hellfire, we’ll burn with the undead.”

  “Maybe,” said Caina, “but I don’t think so. I think Kharnaces made another mistake. He shouldn’t have left that valikon in his trophy room, and I think he left something else in there that he should have destroyed.”

  “And the Knight told you that, did he?” said Morgant.

  “Yes,” said Caina. “Let’s see if he was right or not.”

  ###

  It took Caina and the others several minutes to cross the library of Kharnaces. The papyrus scrolls sat on their shelves, shielded by their preservation spells, the wards shining with a hazy gray light to the vision of the valikarion. Nearly a score of undead baboons crawled through the library, and several times Caina and Annarah and Morgant had to behind a shelf and wait for a baboon to pass.

  At last, they crossed the library and entered the throne room. The ornate marble throne, once holding the mummified and masked body of Kharnaces, still rested upon its dais. The marble slab that had concealed the hidden compartment beneath the throne lay upon its side where Caina and Morgant had left it. To her surprise, neither undead baboons nor warriors guarded the throne room or the trophy chamber. Perhaps the nagataaru did not think they would have made it this far alive.

  Or perhaps the nagataaru, like Kharnaces himself, had made the mistake of assuming that nothing in the trophy room could be used against them.

  The trophy room had not changed since Caina’s last visit. The rack of Hellfire amphorae filled one wall. The design of the amphorae was different than the amphorae the Alchemists of Istarinmul used, the neck a little longer, the handles a little wider, but with the sight of the valikarion, she saw the harsh, furious power of Hellfire within the containers, its fiery potency undiminished by the centuries.

  Niches lines the other tree walls, and stone pedestals stood around the room. On the pedestals and in the niches rested the trophies of the Great Necromancer Kharnaces. Many bore the marks of battle. Caina saw shields and swords and helmets of bronze and iron, all of them scorched or bearing marks of violence. One pedestal held a thick tome that looked like the Book of Corazain that Caina had dumped into the Alqaarin Sea, though this book was badly charred. There were golden ornaments, and she saw three damaged wedjet-dahns, torques of gold and jade adorned with precious stones. Every single item in the room glowed with sorcerous power, and most of the pedestals and niches had been sealed with warding spells. Caina had no idea what most of the relics or trophies did.

  She stepped into the trophy room, glancing at the empty niche that held the valikon now sheathed at her belt.

  “I suppose one of these things will destroy nagataaru?” said Morgant.

  “This will,” said Caina, tapping the valikon’s pommel. “One at a time, anyway.”

  “We need to destroy rather more than one at a time,” said Morgant.

  “The Hellfire can do that,” said Caina.

  “Oh, certainly,” said Morgant. “And we’ll burn with it. There are lots and lots of ways to die, but burning to death isn’t more of the pleasant ones.”

  “No, it’s not,” said Caina, thinking of Rolukhan’s screams as he had plunged to his death. “But that’s the problem. An amphora of Hellfire is too much. Break that and you can burn a ship to ashes or blow up a building…”

  “You would know,” said Morgant.

  Caina chose to ignore that. “But the Alchemists throw vials of Hellfir
e when they’re in battle. They don’t throw entire amphorae.” She walked through the pedestals of stone, examining the relics. “My first day in Istarinmul, I saw an Istarish war galley. The Istarish have always used Hellfire in battle. Their ships have a spraying mechanism to pump Hellfire at enemy vessels. But where did they get that?” She looked at the rack of Hellfire amphorae. “The Alchemists used to serve the Great Necromancers of Maat. That means the ancient Maatish used Hellfire in war, and that means they had to have some method of using it against their enemies without burning themselves up.”

  “You’ve seen how undead burn,” said Morgant. “Like walking pieces of kindling.”

  “Exactly,” said Caina. She stopped at the end of the rack of Hellfire amphorae, gazing at one of the niches. “They had armies of undead, which meant they must have had a way of using Hellfire…”

  A thrill went through her as she gazed at the mechanism in the niches, and she drew the valikon from her belt.

  “And I think this was it,” said Caina.

  A peculiar machine of bronze and silver rested within the niche. It was about the size of Caina’s head, its core built of gears and metallic tubes. Its base looked like an intricate metal grapnel, while its top was a metallic cone with the tip cut off. Powerful warding spells had been woven throughout the entire apparatus, and Caina suspected the spells had been designed to shield against intense heat and flame.

  Like the kind of firestorm Hellfire could unleash.

  “That machine,” said Annarah. “It looks like it could fit over the mouth of an amphora.”

  “I think so,” said Caina, raking the valikon through the center of the niche. The warding spell flared and collapsed as the ghostsilver blade unraveled the spell. She sheathed the valikon and picked up the machine. It was a much heavier than it looked, and she had to strain a little to lift it.

  The metal felt freezing cold beneath her fingers, so cold that she did not think she could carry it for long.

  “Look at the base,” said Annarah, and Caina turned the machine over. The base was a metal ring, lined with gripping arms, a spike rising from the center of the ring. The spike looked hollow, with a small aperture at its tip.

  As if it had been designed to pierce the seal of a Hellfire amphora and siphon out controlled amounts of the substance.

  “Are we going to test it?” said Annarah.

  “Yes,” said Caina. “In the throne room. That way if it explodes, it hopefully will not set off every single amphora at once.”

  “Yes,” said Morgant.

  “You're very agreeable today,” said Caina.

  “That’s true,” said Morgant. He beckoned, and he and Annarah wrestled one of the amphorae from the rack. “Given your history of setting things on fire, it seems prudent to take every possible precaution. I would prefer not to burn with Pyramid Isle if you accidentally blow up the island.”

  “I haven’t burned down that many buildings,” said Caina.

  Both Annarah and Morgant blinked at her, the amphorae gripped between them.

  Caina sighed. “Never mind. Follow me.”

  Together they lugged the machine and the Hellfire amphora into the throne room. Morgant and Annarah set the amphora on the dais before the empty throne, and Caina stepped towards the dais. As she did, she felt the aura of the machine shift, the pale blue color of the wards intensifying.

  It was reacting to the power of the Hellfire.

  “Are you sure this is a good idea?” said Annarah.

  “Not at all,” said Caina, standing over the amphora. “You…might want to stand back.”

  The amphora’s mouth was closed with an ancient wax seal. Caina lifted the machine, lining it up with the amphora’s mouth, and pushed it onto the top of the container. As she did, the machine came to life. She felt the needle jab down, stabbing through the seal, while the metal arms gripped the edge of the amphora. The spells on the machine intensified, melding with the aura of the Hellfire.

  Then nothing else happened.

  Annarah cast a spell. “I…don’t think it’s going to explode. The aura doesn’t seem right for it.”

  “No,” said Caina, walking in a circle around the amphora, watching it with the vision of the valikarion. The Hellfire within the amphora seemed…excited, somehow. It reminded her of a loaded crossbow, the tension of the string awaiting only the pull of the trigger.

  So what was it waiting for?

  “It’s not going to explode,” said Morgant. “Excellent. So are we supposed to do with it?”

  “I’m not sure,” said Caina, giving the machine a tentative tap with her finger. The power of the sorcery in the thing made her skin crawl, painful tingles shooting up and down her arm. There was something that looked like a trigger on the side, and it reminded her again of the crossbow. She tugged at the trigger. “Maybe…”

  A loud click came from the device, and the amphora shuddered.

  “Down!” shouted Morgant, Annarah already diving toward the floor.

  Caina followed suit. An instant later a spray of Hellfire droplets erupted from the end of the truncated cone and shot into the air. For a horrified moment, Caina was sure that the droplets would fall upon them like rain, but the droplets were so fine that the hovered in the air like a gentle mist.

  Then they ignited, forming a cone of howling flame above the machine. The heat of it hammered at Caina, and she threw an arm over her face to shield herself from the searing heat. The flames vanished as the Hellfire burned out, and Caina lowered her arm, blinking.

  “Is anyone hurt?” she said.

  “I’m fine,” said Annarah, getting to her feet.

  “Good,” said Caina, standing as Morgant rose. She took a deep breath, the air filled with the peculiar harsh ozone scent of ignited Hellfire. “That…might have been stupid on my part.”

  “Might have been?” said Morgant.

  “We’re still alive,” said Caina, crossing back to the machine and the amphora.

  “I can see how that would make an effective weapon of war,” said Annarah. “The droplets are fine enough that the machine sprays them away from its user.”

  “So as your enemies don’t stand upwind,” said Morgant.

  “By the Divine, what a dreadful thought,” said Annarah. “Though Hellfire is a dreadful weapon. I wish the Alchemists had not devised it.”

  “You’re right,” said Caina, looking at the handles on the side of the amphora. They looked solid enough, and the amphora probably held between seven to ten gallons of Hellfire. She and Morgant ought to be able to carry the thing between them. “Fortunately, we won’t be using it against living foes.”

  “You think we can use it against the undead warriors?” said Annarah.

  “I’m certain,” said Caina. “You saw how quickly those undead baboons burned when Nasser and Laertes set them on fire. The undead warriors might have wards that let them see us, but they don’t have anything to protect themselves from Hellfire. So we’ll burn a path right through them, march through the jungle, and get back to Murat’s ship.”

  “Or we’ll set ourselves on fire in the process,” said Morgant.

  “Maybe,” said Caina. “Do you have any better ideas?”

  Morgant sighed. “Do you want the left side or the right?”

  “Right,” said Caina. “The trigger is on that side. Annarah. Stay behind us. Be ready to cast wards to protect us against Hellfire or to attack the nagataaru.”

  “The Hellfire amphora,” said Annarah as Morgant grasped the left handle and Caina took the right. “Will the nagataaru be able to sense it?”

  “Maybe,” said Caina, remembering the tests she had done with Kylon as they traveled north from Drynemet, examining the limits of her valikarion abilities. “When I carried Morgant’s scimitar, Kylon couldn’t sense it, and you couldn’t detect it with your Words of Lore. I’m hoping they can’t sense the Hellfire while a valikarion is carrying it.”

  “Test it now,” said Morgant.

 
Annarah gestured with her free hand again, more white light flashing around her fingers. “I can’t sense the Hellfire while you’re carrying it.”

  “Good,” said Caina. “Let’s give the nagataaru a surprise.”

  With Morgant’s help, Caina carried the amphora back to the corridor, Annarah following after them. The amphora was heavy, but Caina and Morgant managed it between them, though it was unwieldy. Because of that, getting from the throne room to the entry hall took three times as long as it had the last time. Again and again, they had to backtrack to avoid patrols of baboons, and twice they had to wait against the wall until a band of undead passed.

  Step by step they advanced, and at last they reached the chamber before the entry hall, the purple fire in the warriors’ eyes shining in the distance. Caina did not know how far the spells upon the warriors’ helmets permitted them to see, but she suspected they could see in the dark without much trouble.

  “What now?” said Morgant, grimacing as he adjusted his grip.

  “The archway,” said Caina. “That will make a bottleneck. We’ll try to spray the Hellfire there. Annarah, when I give the word, release your pyrikon and attack. That will draw the nagataaru towards us…”

  “And we’ll set them on fire,” said Morgant.

  “That’s the plan,” said Caina.

  “Let’s hope it works,” said Morgant. “Ready when you are.”

  Caina took a deep breath, memories of her past tasks for the Ghosts flashing through her mind. In Rasadda, she had fought a mad pyromancer, a fool who had thought to claim the powers of the ancient Ashbringers for himself. She had seen the corpses he had left in his wake, living men reduced to twisted, blackened husks…and Hellfire was far more potent.

  Would that be the fate of Caina and Morgant and Annarah?

  At least it would be a quicker death than starvation and thirst.

  “Annarah,” said Caina, resting one of her hands on the machine’s trigger. “Now.”