Ghost in the Seal (Ghost Exile #6)

by Jonathan Moeller

  He fell silent. His mind was numb, though he knew the rage and grief would come later. Right now he could not think, and could do nothing but gaze the burning wreck of the Corsair’s Rest. Ashes crunched as Nasser and Laertes picked their way over the rubble and the dead Guards.

  “Lord Kylon,” said Nasser. “We should go.”

  Kylon nodded, not moving.

  “The explosion will have drawn attention,” said Nasser, “and…”

  “I know all that,” said Kylon.

  Nasser said nothing for a moment.

  “At least,” said Nasser, “Cassander Nilas will trouble us no more.”

  Kylon nodded again, his mouth twisting at the bitter thought. He had come to Istarinmul to kill Malik Rolukhan and Cassander Nilas. Now both men were dead, but so was Caina.

  It had not been worth the exchange.

  “The Surge was right,” said Kylon. “The silver fire was my only salvation. It saved me twice, once at the Craven’s Tower, and now here. It saved all of you. Just not…”

  He fell silent, blinking.

  “The Huntress is still out there,” said Laertes. “I wonder why she ran.”

  “She was probably clever enough to see the trap,” said Morgant. “Someone doesn’t survive as long as she has by ignoring the signs of danger.”

  The mention of the Huntress jarred Kylon back to something like sanity.

  “I’ll go with you to Catekharon,” said Kylon. “Long enough to make sure that we get the regalia into the hands of the Scholae. Then I’m going after the Huntress.”

  “Very well,” said Nasser. “We…”

  Something shifted in the wreckage burning within the Rest. Kylon lifted the valikon. He sensed nothing alive beyond the broken doors to the common room, sensed nothing save the echoes of the tremendous amount of arcane power that had just been unleashed, but if any of the Adamant Guards had survived, Kylon would have a target for the overwhelming rage that simmered beneath his numb mind.

  The wreckage shifted again…

  “What the hell?” said Morgant, as shocked as Kylon had ever heard him.

  Caina Amalas staggered out of the Corsair’s Rest and into the bazaar, her face smudged with ash and soot.

  Kylon noticed two things right away.

  The first was that he couldn’t sense her at all. He sensed the emotions of the others, mostly astonishment, and the faint aura of the combined emotions of Rumarah, a combination of fear and shock from the massive explosion at the heart of the city. Yet from Caina he sensed absolutely nothing. It was as if she wasn’t there.

  The second thing he noticed was that save for the pyrikon bracelet and a layer of soot, she was naked.

  The detonation of the Elixir had burned away her clothes, just as happened to Kylon in the Craven’s Tower. He saw the sharp definition of the muscles in her calves and thighs. There was a nasty scar stretching across her stomach just below her navel. He knew she could not have children – likely that was the injury that had done it. There were old, faint scars on her arms and sides, the marks of near misses from daggers and knives. His eyes moved to her chest, where under happier circumstances his gaze would have preferred to linger anyway, seeking the gaping wound that should have been between her breasts.

  It was gone. The skin there was smooth and unmarked.

  The Elixir had worked. Somehow, the Elixir had worked.

  There was no sign of the wedjet-dahn.

  Caina stumbled to a stop a few paces away, staring at them in utter bewilderment.

  “That’s not possible,” said Morgant, incredulous, his usual sardonic manner gone. “That…is simply not possible.”

  “By the gods,” muttered Laertes. “The Elixir healed him…but it transformed him into a woman.”

  Morgant shook his head. “She was always a woman. She just happened to be a very good liar.”

  “Ah,” said Nasser, looking at Kylon. “I see. Yes. That…explains rather many mysteries, actually.”

  “Caina,” said Kylon.

  She looked at him, blinking, and held her hands out before her. At first he thought she was warning him away, but then she spoke.

  “Fingers,” she said.

  “Fingers?” said Kylon.

  “How…how many fingers do I have?” said Caina, her voice slurred and unsteady. “I can’t tell just now.”

  “Ten,” said Kylon. “You have ten fingers.”

  “Good,” said Caina. “I wasn’t sure.” She started patting herself. “Arms, eyes, legs, I think…I think I have two of both. Ears? Two ears?”

  Kylon nodded, still too shocked to do anything else.

  “Do I have anything growing out of me?” said Caina, and she turned in a circle. Had he not been so alarmed, Kylon would have enjoyed the sight. “Ears? Arms? Eyes? Extra mouths?”

  “No, nothing,” said Kylon.

  “Everything appears to be where it is supposed to be,” said Morgant.

  Caina stopped turning, reeled a bit, and caught her balance. “Good. The Alchemist. Sinan. I saw him use Elixir Rejuvenata in Malarae. Turned him into a monster. Thought the Elixir Restorata might have done the same thing to me.” She shook her head, her hair lashing around her face. “Guess not. Oh…I don’t feel at all well.”

  “You’re delirious,” said Kylon. “The Elixir…it did the same thing when you used it on me.”

  “That’s right,” said Caina. She smiled at him. She did not often smile, and when she did, it was usually part of her disguises. But this smile seemed to take in her entire face. “I’m glad I did. I’m so glad. I…” She shook her head again, blinking. “I need…”

  “What we need is to get off the street,” said Annarah. “Lord Kylon, can you sense her at all?”

  “No,” said Kylon, not looking away from Caina. “It’s as if she has a shadow-cloak.”

  “I cannot sense her aura, either,” said Annarah. “Lord Prince, we must get off the street. Someplace where she can rest. The Elixir might have healed her, but something is wrong.”

  “And we should find her some trousers,” said Morgant. “Probably a shirt, too.”

  “Agreed,” said Nasser to Annarah. “Perhaps Quartius’s workshop. We have certainly spent enough coin at…”

  Caina let out a sharp cry, grabbing at her head.

  She fell to her knees, still clutching her temples, and Kylon ran to her, at last shaking off his shock. He went to one knee next to her, taking her shoulders. As he touched her skin, her emotional aura flooded over him. He could sense her emotions, it seemed, so long as he was touching her. She was confused and dazed, nearly delirious.

  And in an increasing amount of pain.

  Caina looked at him, her eyes filling with blackness, and then slumped against him.

  “Annarah!” said Kylon.

  Annarah rushed to join them, put a hand on Caina’s shoulder, and cast a spell.

  “The necromantic poison,” said Annarah. “The Elixir healed her body…but it also vastly strengthened the necromantic poison in her blood. It’s attacking her mind now, not her body…and I fear it is going to kill her. It is a psychic assault upon her mind. If she were stronger, perhaps she could fight it off…”

  “But she is at the end of her strength,” said Kylon. “Can we do nothing to help her?”

  Annarah shook her head. “If I dispel it now, it will just reform and grow stronger. She will have to fight it off herself, if she has the strength left.”

  “The spell,” said Kylon. “The spell you used in the Inferno to let Azaces speak through your voice.” Annarah nodded. “Could you use it to bridge my mind to hers, so I could help her fight this thing off?”

  “I…I, yes,” said Annarah, blinking. “Yes, that could work. The poison’s attention would be divided between you and Caina. But it will do its uttermost to shatter your mind.”

  “Let it try,” said Kylon. Caina had survived the Moroaica and Caer Magia and Catekharon and whatever had left that scar across her stomach. She had even sur
vived the Huntress’s mortal wound, thanks to the Elixir Restorata and Morgant’s stolen wedjet-dahn. He would be damned if he let this necromantic poison kill her. “Do it now.”

  “Here in the bazaar?” said Laertes.

  “There’s no time,” said Kylon. Caina’s eyes darted back and forth behind closed lids, her mouth tightening into a grimace. “If anyone tries to stop us…well, kill them.” He lifted the valikon and tossed the weapon to Morgant, who caught it with a flourish.

  The assassin laughed. “It will be entertaining to watch them try.”

  “Do it,” said Kylon to Annarah.

  The loremaster nodded. “May the Divine go with you, Lord Kylon.”

  She whispered and placed a hand upon Caina’s face, the other on Kylon’s right temple. He felt the surge of deep, resonant power as she cast her spell…and suddenly he seemed very aware of Caina, of every beat of her racing heart, of every ragged draw of her breath. The necromantic poison sank deeper into her mind, like blood into a sponge.

  It was almost too late.

  Annarah spoke the final word of her spell, and white light swallowed the world.

  Chapter 22: Aspects

  Kylon found himself walking along a path to a Nighmarian villa overlooking a small town, the sea spreading away to the east.

  There was no disorientation or confusion. He knew he was still in the bazaar of Rumarah, Caina slumped against him. He knew that this was Caina’s mind, or at least a representation of it. Everything around him seemed blurred, as if viewed from a distance or through a pane of cloudy glass. He realized that it was a memory, that he was looking at something from Caina’s past.

  A memory that was burning.

  Flames chewed at the sky overhead, making it curl up like paper. More flames danced over the green hills and the town below. They were a manifestation of the necromantic assault, the power that was breaking Caina’s mind. Kylon had to hurry. But how could he fight in this strange place?

  A flash of white light caught his eye, and he spun. His sword of storm-forged steel, destroyed by the Red Huntress, appeared out of nothingness in his hand. He didn’t know if it could harm anything in this dream-place, but he was willing to find out.

  A sphere of brilliant white light floated towards him. It stopped a dozen paces away and swelled, expanding into the shape of a warrior armored from head to toe in plate steel, an Iramisian valikon in its right hand, a massive shield upon its left arm. Kylon leveled his sword, wondering if the warrior was an aspect of Caina’s mind or something the poison had wrought.

  Then he remembered the Inferno, remembered the ball of light that had shot from the gate to the netherworld as Caina and Annarah and Morgant escaped from Annarah’s Sanctuary.

  “Wait,” said Kylon. “You’re…the pyrikon, aren’t you? You’re Caina’s pyrikon.”

  The armored figure inclined its glowing head, and a voice like thunder boomed from its helm.

  “The liberator is under attack,” said the pyrikon. “The shadow of the Great Necromancer lies upon her, and his will commands her death. Her will has fractured, and is unable to resist. I must defend the liberator. I am unable to defend the liberator.” The pyrikon lifted its sword. “If you have come to assail the liberator, I will destroy you.”

  “I’ve come to save her,” said Kylon. “Help me save her. Tell me where I can find this shadow, and I will destroy it.”

  “You are not strong enough,” said the pyrikon. “The shadow will destroy you.”

  “What if we found Caina first?” said Kylon. “Maybe the three of us would be strong enough to defeat the shadow.”

  “This plan has merit,” said the pyrikon. “We must gather the fragments of the liberator. Hasten! Our foe is almost victorious.”

  The glowing warrior beckoned, and the world blurred around Kylon.

  He found himself standing in a library.

  Kylon turned, his sword raised in guard. Rows of books stood in orderly rows upon polished shelves, and a large desk rested nearby. Behind the desk were high windows showing the bay and town below. Kylon realized that the library was within the villa. Perhaps this was where Caina had grown up? He knew that she had been Nighmarian nobility, even if…

  A whimper came to his ears.

  A child, a girl of about eleven, sat huddled near the hearth. She wore a gray dress stained with blood and dirt and sweat, her black hair a tangled mess, her blue eyes enormous in her pale, gaunt face. The girl looked up at Kylon, and a shock went through him.

  Those were Caina’s eyes. This was Caina as she had been as a child.

  “Caina?” he said.

  “Get away from me!” screamed the child, backing away. “They killed him! I’ll kill them for it!” Her hands balled into fists, her face almost feral with rage and pain. “I’ll kill Maglarion and I’ll kill everyone who ever helped him! I don’t care how long it takes!”

  “Behold,” said the pyrikon, its glowing form moving past the desk. “One of the fragments of the liberator’s will.”

  “I’ve come to help you,” said Kylon to the child. “If you…”

  “Get away!” screamed the girl, backing towards the hearth. Suddenly a bloody fireplace poker appeared in her hand, and the air seemed to ripple and distort around it.

  “She will not listen to you.”

  Another version of Caina walked into the library. This version of Caina was about twenty-five, her long black hair hanging to her hips. She wore the blue robes of a priestess of Minaerys, the Imperial goddess of knowledge, and her expression was aloof and distant.

  “Another fragment of the liberator’s will,” said the pyrikon.

  “Or, more precisely, an aspect,” said the priestess. “I fear the Great Necromancer’s assault has fractured Caina’s mind into its component parts.”

  “Then you and the child are…parts of Caina’s mind?” said Kylon. “Aspects of it?”

  “Aspects,” said the priestess, tapping a finger to her lips. “Yes. A precise metaphor. The child, as you likely guessed, represents Caina’s rage. You have no doubt sensed it on multiple occasions. Her annoyance at her inability to conceal her feelings from you is mitigated only by the considerable trust she had developed in you.”

  “And you would be…her reason?” said Kylon. “Her intellect?”

  “This is correct,” said the priestess. “I flatter myself that my powers are not inconsiderable. However, the intellect can only be employed at the direction of the will, and Caina’s will is fractured. Therefore I am unable to prove effective in our current crisis.”

  “I’ll kill them,” whispered the child, her eyes full of rage.

  “Then tell me about the crisis,” said Kylon to the intellect-aspect. “What is happening?”

  “While upon Pyramid Isle, Caina encountered Kharnaces himself,” said the priestess. “Kharnaces laid a binding upon her, a compulsion to give the Staff and Seal to Callatas.”

  “Why would he do that?” said Kylon. “Callatas betrayed him, I presume.”

  “Correct,” said the priestess. “However, Kharnaces also laid a binding upon Callatas. Once Callatas has the regalia of Iramis, he will feel an irresistible compulsion to return to Pyramid Isle. Kharnaces will then use the Grand Master’s blood to dissolve the barrier between this world and the netherworld, allowing the nagataaru to consume all living things.”

  “Gods of storm and brine,” muttered Kylon. He pushed aside his shock. None of it mattered if Caina died. “So why is his poison killing her? She can’t give Callatas the Staff and the Seal if she’s dead.”

  “The poison is malfunctioning,” said the priestess. “Unfortunately, when you used the Elixir Restorata and the wedjet-dahn to cure the mortal wound – clever, that – it also empowered the necromantic poison. It broke free of the constraints laid upon it, and is now determined to kill her.”

  “How do we stop it?” said Kylon.

  “Kill it,” hissed the child.

  “Caina’s mind must be reunified and her
will focused,” said the priestess. “Even then, it may not be enough. Your assistance is necessary, along with that of the pyrikon.”

  “The liberator must be defended,” said the pyrikon in its thunderous voice.

  “Where are the other fragments?” said Kylon. “The other aspects?”

  “Fighting in the greater battlefield of her mind,” said the priestess. “I can take all of us there.”

  “Do it,” said Kylon.

  The priestess nodded and closed her eyes, and the room swirled around Kylon.

  Suddenly he found himself standing at the docks and piers of Malarae, the Imperial capital and the seat of the Empire. The city spread around the foot of the mountain, the Megaros River to the east and the Bay of Empire to the south. The Imperial Citadel, fortress of the Emperor and heart of the Empire, sat on a spur over the city, the mountains of the Megaros valley rising away to the north.

  The city was dying.

  Ghostly green flames danced through the warehouses and the mansions and the temples and the towers of the magi. The fire was spreading, driving through the city toward the Imperial Citadel. Soon the green fire would consume all of Malarae.

  “The city represents her mind, doesn’t it?” said Kylon.

  “More or less,” said the priestess.

  “The other aspects,” said Kylon. “Where are they?”

  “I am uncertain,” said the priestess. “Were I able to determine their precise location, I would have reunified with them already. I think…”

  “They are coming!” shouted the child.

  Kylon turned, his eyes sweeping over the dockside alleys of Malarae.

  The shadows charged at him.

  They looked a great deal like the undead he had fought in the darkness of the Tomb of Kharnaces, shadowy images armored in scale and tall helms, khopesh blades ready in their hands and round shields upon their arms. Kylon raced to meet them, frost swirling around his sword of storm-forged steel. The valikon would have collapsed his frost spell, but his sword of storm-forged steel had been wrought to withstand the stress of such sorcery. He drove the blade through one of the shadow warriors. The simple touch of the frost-wreathed sword collapsed the warrior into nothingness, and Kylon spun, taking two more of the shadow warriors with a sweep of his blade.