But there was also a pang of regret. To her surprise, she did not want to die, not yet.
The anger saw to that.
She did not know what Ricimer and his master Callatas intended, but it was something monstrous. Certainly they had worked horrors enough in pursuit of their unknown goal. The slavers, the wraithblood, the daevagoths, the corpses upon the table – someone had to make them pay for what they had done.
To stop them before they did worse.
But someone other than Caina would have to do it.
The daevagoths’ stingers drew back for the final strike.
Then a chain before them snapped taut, and the daevagoths blundered into it. Their eight legs let them move with terrifying speed, but if they lost their footing they went down hard. The daevagoths fell in a tangled heap, and Caina saw Agabyzus straining to pull the chain, the muscles trembling in his thin arms. She scrambled to her feet, stabbing down with her dagger, and the blade sank into the soft flesh behind the nearest daevagoth’s head. The creature died with a shriek, and Caina raced away as the other two regained their feet.
“Kill him!” bellowed Ricimer again. He loosed another blast of lightning from the fork, and Caina ducked behind a steel table. The bolt slammed into it as Agabyzus threw down the chain with a curse, the corpse upon the table dancing and twitching as the lightning brought a ghastly simulacrum of life to its dead limbs. The shock also stunned the daevagoths, their spiny legs hammering at the floor, their tails lashing madly. Caina lunged forward and stabbed again, killing another daevagoth. The final creature jerked free of the entangling chain and raced at her, and she hit it with a throwing knife. The daevagoth stumbled, and Caina drove her dagger home.
The spider-thing went limp, and she and Agabyzus faced Ricimer alone.
For a moment they stared at each other, the right side of Ricimer’s face glistening with blood. The gray light from the Mirror of Worlds began to sputter, and Caina felt the arcane aura from the mirror flicker and flare. Hitting the elaborate web of spells upon the chains with two bolts of lightning had not helped their integrity.
“You could surrender,” said Caina. “You’re having trouble aiming that thing, and I can hit you before you cast another spell. Or I could wait until you loose a little more blood and faint.”
Ricimer bared his teeth. “Or I can fetch the Immortals. Let’s see how your little tricks do against them.”
“You could,” said Caina, “but then I might be able to put a knife into the back of your neck.” She rolled her wrist, drawing a blade from the hidden sheath. “I’d wager that would hurt.”
The gray light burned brighter, turning almost white, and a surge of arcane power spiked against Caina’s skin.
“We shall have to decide quickly,” said Ricimer. “The spells are now drawing more power than they can handle from the netherworld. They shall overload in short order.” He grinned. “I fear the results shall be…rather explosive.”
“And what happens,” said Caina, “if the explosion reaches the Hellfire storeroom or laboratory?”
Ricimer’s smile faded in alarm.
“Something of a mess, I imagine?” said Caina. “Perhaps you had better let us pass.”
“You are daring!” said Ricimer. “You terrorize the slavers, you raid the Widow’s Tower itself, and then you have the gall to negotiate?”
The gray light flickered again, growing still brighter, and the Mirror started to give off a high keening noise.
“Time is growing short,” said Caina.
Ricimer took a step back towards the door, keeping the fork leveled at her. “Or you will wait here until I fetch the Immortals.” He stepped into the aisle between the rows of steel tables, giving him a clear shot at Caina. “I like that idea better.”
The aura of power radiating from the mirror began to fluctuate.
“Last chance, Ricimer,” said Caina, gauging the distance between them. She was sure she could hit him in the head with another throwing knife. But if he saw the blade coming, he could dodge. And she might only wound him. It would take just once burst of the sorcerous lightning to kill her. “Either all three of us walk out of here, or only Agabyzus and I do.”
“And how are you going to manage that,” said Ricimer, “when you are dead?”
He pointed the fork, the spark between the tines brightening, and suddenly Caina remembered lightning rods.
And a new idea came to her.
Could she make the throw? It was no harder than the ones she had made while performing in front of the crowds with Damla. Of course, in Ulvan’s garden there had been no Alchemist preparing to bring death upon her head.
“Let’s find out,” said Caina.
Ricimer thrust the fork, the spark brightening, and Caina flung the knife.
For an agonizing instant nothing happened, and then she heard the faint clink as the steel knife struck between the tines of Ricimer’s fork.
The blue-white fire of the lightning erupted from the fork, wrapped around the knife, and blasted up the shaft and stabbed into Ricimer. The fork melted in the grip of its own sorcery, setting Ricimer’s hand ablaze. The Alchemist went rigid with a scream, the fingers of lightning ripping up and down his body, his white robes erupting into flame. He screamed once more, his back arched, and collapsed dead to the floor.
Smoke rose from his sleeve and collar, and the stench of burned meat filled the air, drowning out the rotting odor of the dead daevagoths.
“You killed him,” whispered Agabyzus, stunned.
Caina nodded, staring at the dead man.
“But…but how?” said Agabyzus. “You turned his spell against him. Are you sure you are not a sorcerer?”
“Reasonably sure,” said Caina. “And I didn’t use sorcery.” She remembered Ark describing his duel with Kleistheon below the gates of Marsis. “A lightning rod.”
“A what?” said Agabyzus. The poor man looked utterly bewildered.
“Come on,” said Caina. “We’ll want to be well away from here when the mirror shatters.” The explosion would draw attention from the guards below, Immortals and mercenaries both. “Let’s…”
Ricimer sat up.
Caina froze, drawing another throwing knife. Her first thought was that Ricimer had survived. But the Alchemist was not blinking. He was not breathing.
He was dead.
And his eyes burned with the purple fire and shadows she had seen earlier.
“The Living Flame preserve us,” whispered Agabyzus.
Ricimer got to his feet, moving with jerky, twitching motions, like a puppet dancing upon invisible strings. Caina sensed corrupted waves of arcane power snarling around him. His eyes remained open and unblinking, the purple fire and darkness blazing around them, and Caina had the sense of a malignant will focused open her.
A spell. Some last spell of Ricimer’s. She had seen Sicarion and other necromancers raise corpses as undead puppets. Yet the power radiating from the dead Alchemist did not feel necromantic. And why would Ricimer have prepared the spell in the event of his own death?
The corpse began to speak. The mouth did not move, did not even twitch, yet Caina heard the voice against her ears nonetheless.
“The Balarigar,” rasped the voice, deep and inhuman. “The child of shadows. The barren huntress. The slayer of the Moroaica. So scarred, so wounded. Wrapped in so many shadows. So many lines of fate knotted around you.”
“You’re not Ricimer,” said Caina, “are you?”
A horrid laugh came from the dead man. “So clever, too.”
“What is it?” said Agabyzus.
“I don’t know,” said Caina. “I think it’s a spirit of some kind. A djinn, an elemental, a demon, whatever. It was inside Ricimer's head when he was alive. And now that he is dead…the spirit can do whatever it wants.”
“Clever, indeed,” said the corpse.
“Then what are you?” said Caina.
“Your kind have named my kind the nagataaru,” said the dead ma
n.
“I know not the word,” said Caina.
“I do,” said Agabyzus. “They are legends. Servants of the Demon Princes of old. The ancient enemies of both the djinni of the air and mortal men.”
“So much of what your kind believes of us,” said the voice with a malevolent purr, “is incorrect. But you will not stop us, Balarigar. The pact has been made. The price has been paid. The seal shall be found. The harvest shall be reaped.”
“And why,” said Caina, “will I fail to stop you?”
“Because the slayer of demons cannot slay demons,” said the nagataaru in Ricimer’s body, “if she herself is first slain!”
In one jerky motion Ricimer turned, seized one of the metal tables, and lifted it over his head one-handed. The table had to weigh at least four hundred pounds, and also bore the weight of the dead slave, yet Ricimer lifted it as if it weighed nothing.
“Perish!” shouted the nagataaru, and flung the table like a missile.
Caina flung herself to the floor. Agabyzus followed suit, but the edge of the table clipped his shoulder and he fell with a cry. The table crashed into three others with a tremendous clang, and one skidded across the floor and smashed into the Mirror of Worlds.
The mirror exploded in a spray of razor-edged shards.
The shock wave knocked Caina to the floor, and she threw an arm up to shield her face. Broken glass rained around her, and the gray light shining from the wreckage of the mirror turned white, the air crackling with discharged power. She saw Agabyzus crawl behind one of the tables, his sides and back marked with a half-dozen bloody lines. Caina grabbed the edge of a table and heaved herself to her feet. Ricimer stood near the door, his face a bloody ruin, the purple fire and shadow blazing around his eyes.
“Come to me, slayer of demons!” roared the nagataaru, its voice grating against Caina’s ears. “Come to me and perish!”
A length of broken chain fell from the shattered mirror. Caina seized it and ran at Ricimer. The dead Alchemist turned as she approached, the horrible weight of his gaze digging into her. He lifted his hands, and the purple flames blazed around his fingers.
Caina swung the chain like a whip, and it coiled around Ricimer’s ankles. The dead Alchemist showed no sign of pain or discomfort. But superhuman strength or not, he still had weight and balance, which played against him when Caina jumped backward just as Ricimer pointed at her. The chain snapped taut, jerking Ricimer from his feet, and he fell, the nagataaru’s voice howling with fury. A blast of purple fire ripped from his hand and tore into the ceiling, slashing through the stone like butter.
Caina ran to Agabyzus and help him to stand.
“Leave me,” he rasped, blood dripping down his side. “Just go, leave me, I…”
“Oh, for the gods’ sake, shut up already,” said Caina, and she hurried him along as Ricimer started to untangle himself from the chain.
“Balarigar!” screamed the nagataaru. “The star is the key to the crystal!” Caina froze, just for an instant, and then pushed Agabyzus along. “Lies! The star is the key to your death! The star is the key to our harvest! And you shall be reaped first!”
Ricimer ripped the steel chain into splinters. Caina raced down the stairs and into the night air, and Agabyzus stepped onto the bridge. She slammed the heavy door behind them, thrust her key into the lock, and turned it. The bolt engaged with a satisfying thud.
“He can open it from that side,” said Agabyzus, wheezing.
Caina drew a dagger and jammed it into the lock.
“That ought to hold him for a little while,” said Caina. “Long enough for us to get away, at least.” She looked at the courtyard below. The destruction of the Mirror and the blast of purple flame had drawn attention, and she saw mercenaries and Immortals running towards the drum tower. “We need to move, now. Let’s…”
The door shuddered, and Ricimer’s fist smashed through the thick wood. The hinges shrieked, and an instant later he punched another hole through the door.
“He’s dead,” said Agabyzus, grabbing at the stone railing for support. “You already killed him. How can we stop a dead man?”
Caina looked around, thinking. Could they throw Ricimer over the side of the bridge? It was a hundred and fifty feet to the courtyard. Yet would that even harm him? The nagataaru controlled Ricimer’s body now, wearing the dead flesh like a suit of clothes.
“There’s a storeroom full of Hellfire over there,” said Caina.
“It’s too dangerous,” said Agabyzus. “We’ll burn ourselves to ashes. By the Living Flame, we might blast the Widow’s Tower to rubble.”
Ricimer’s fist ripped through the thick door a third time.
“We’re dead anyway,” said Caina. “Run!”
They ran back to the storeroom. The amphorae of Hellfire waited in their racks, silent and motionless. Caina grabbed one and carried it to the bridge, her muscles straining with the weight. The jar was heavier than she expected.
“It will burn if exposed to air,” said Agabyzus, his bloodshot eyes wide.
Caina drew one of her remaining daggers and began breaking the seal. “Immediately?”
“No. But shortly,” said Agabyzus. Her dagger broke the wax seal, and the lid shuddered. Caina tossed it over the railing and looked into the amphora. The Hellfire roiled within like thick red blood. It smelled of sulfur and chemicals, and she felt the arcane power bubbling within the fluid.
A power that grew stronger as it reacted to the air. If the amphora of Hellfire ignited between her hands, it would explode, burn her to ashes in a heartbeat, and likely carve a crater in the floor. And if any of the flying shards cracked the other amphorae…
The door to the secret laboratory exploded open, and Ricimer’s mangled corpse staggered through it, his white robes stained crimson. The burning eyes fixed upon her, and the dead man raced across the bridge.
Caina lifted the amphora of Hellfire, some of the crimson slime sloshing over the lip, and flung it. It spattered across the stones, and much of it splashed into Ricimer, soaking into his stained robes. The empty amphora tripped him, and he grabbed at the railing for balance.
“Run,” said Caina, turning.
Agabyzus obeyed and sprinted for the door to the Hellfire laboratory as fast as he could manage.
A heartbeat later, the Hellfire erupted into howling crimson flame.
A curtain of blood-colored fire filled the bridge, the flames eating into the very stones. The nagataaru screamed and surged forward, wrapped in a billowing inferno, and Caina ran faster. Ricimer’s corpse came into the storeroom, tripped, and collapsed into one of the racks.
A half-dozen amphorae of Hellfire fell to the floor, cracks spreading across their surface.
Agabyzus made a strangled noise of sheer terror.
Hot pain stabbed through Caina’s side, and she looked down and saw a small crimson flame dancing over her leather armor. One droplet of Hellfire had spattered here. In sudden terror she ripped off her armor and flung it aside. It erupted into flame as she threw it, and came to a stop next to Ricimer’s burning corpse. If Hellfire started leaking from the damaged amphorae…
Without a word, both she and Agabyzus ran for the Hellfire laboratory.
The great machine continued its work unabated. The acolytes toiled around the massive apparatus, casting spells and pouring strange fluids and powders into its pipes and boilers. The two Immortals stood guard at the door, and both drew their scimitars as Caina and Agabyzus approached.
For a moment the acolytes and the Immortals stood stunned, staring.
“Run, you fools!” said Caina. “The Hellfire is burning. Run before it is too late!”
They kept staring at her, and then a burst of hot wind came from the doorway to the storeroom, followed by a flare of blood-colored light.
“Gods!” screamed one of the acolytes. “The storeroom's on fire! The storeroom's on…”
“Run for it!” bellowed another man.
As one the acolytes f
led toward the door. The crimson fire at the machine’s heart began to throb and pulse, as if the fire elemental saw an opportunity for escape. The Immortals hesitated, looked toward the storeroom, and then fled as well.
Caina and Agabyzus followed them as a howling roar rose from the heart of the machine. The air grew hot, so hot that Caina’s eyes watered, and the sensation of sorcerous force against her skin redoubled. She suspected the spilled Hellfire was reacting to the air, and the gods only knew what the alchemical apparatus in the laboratory would do if left untended.
They raced down the stairs. Screams and shouts rose from the courtyard, the sounds of panic echoing through the tower. They reached the great hall, and the acolytes and the Immortals joined the terrified slaves fleeing from the kitchens and the storerooms. Order had been abandoned, and every man fled for his own life.
Caina and Agabyzus reached the courtyard as the mercenaries ran from the walls, sprinting through the gate. Caina risked a look up, and saw the top of the laboratory tower wreathed in a crimson halo of bloody fire. Next to her a slave stumbled and fell, and Caina helped him up, urging him along with a push. They raced through the gate and into the darkened countryside, the slaves and the Immortals and the acolytes and the mercenaries fleeing in all directions.
“Which way?” gasped Agabyzus, his bare feet skidding and slipping against the ground.
“Away from the Tower!” said Caina, shooting a glance over her shoulder. Crimson flames danced atop all three of the drum towers now, painting the sea around them the color of blood. A hot gale blew from the Widow’s Tower, so hot that sweat poured down her chest and shoulders. “Keep running!”
They sprinted forward another few steps, and then the earth dropped out beneath Caina’s feat.
The world turned the color of blood.
The titanic thunderclap hit her, so loud that it felt as if her ears had burst. A wall of dust and a screaming gale of hot air followed a second later, and Caina curled up into a ball, head buried in her knees, arms wrapped around her legs as the wind howled past. Still the ground shook and heaved, and she heard the sound of debris raining around her. For a terrified moment Caina wondered if the world was about to burn, that the Hellfire had reacted with the damaged Mirror of Worlds to create a sorcerous cataclysm that would devour all of Istarinmul.
Ghost in the Cowl Page 26