Ghost in the Winds (Ghost Exile #9) (3 page)

“Leady the way,” said Kalgri.

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Caina stumbled to her feet, snatching up her valikon as she did. 

Her head throbbed with agony, and she hoped her brains were not leaking out of her ears because it felt that way. The last time she had suffered a headache so fierce had been in the netherworld a few days ago when she had pursued Callatas, and that had almost killed her when a blood vessel burst in her brain. Only Annarah’s last-minute healing had saved Caina.

What had saved her this time? Why hadn’t Kalgri finished her off?There was a pulse of gray light, faint in the glare of the dawn, and Caina turned, a wave of dizziness almost knocking her off her feet.

Callatas and Kalgri stood together on the other side of the hilltop. A sheet of gray mist seethed before them, shimmering into a gate to the netherworld. Through the gate, Caina saw the bleak, gray plains of colorless grass, the writhing black sky, the ghostly echoes of the golden towers of Iramis. Blue light glinted on Callatas’s finger. He had the Seal, which meant he could traverse the netherworld in safety, binding the wills of any spirits that attacked him.

Once he returned to Istarinmul, he could work the Apotheosis with ease, and there would be no one to stop him.

Caina ran as fast as she could through her headache and the dizziness, wobbling and stumbling like a drunkard.

Callatas and Kalgri stepped through the gate and into the netherworld. The Grand Master turned, and as he did, his eyes met Caina’s.

He smirked and raised his free hand in a mocking little salute, gesturing with the Staff of Iramis as he did.

The gate winked out of existence an instant before Caina could have reached it. 

She stumbled to a halt, managing to stop herself before she pitched over the edge of the hilltop and to a painful death on the jagged hillside. Bitter regret flooded through her, followed by a surge of fear. Callatas had escaped Pyramid Isle, and he could return to Istarinmul with far greater speed than Caina could, even assuming that Sanjar Murat and the crew of the Sandstorm had survived the backlash of necromantic force. 

Caina had failed, utterly and completely. Callatas would work the Apotheosis, and there was nothing she could do to stop him…

Her jaw set. 

Perhaps there was nothing she could do to stop him, but she would not give up. Not yet, not while she still had even a shred of strength. There were too many lives at stake. She had vowed to Kylon that she would meet him again in the House of Agabyzus in Istarinmul, and she would keep that promise, no matter what she had to do. 

Movement in the dead jungle below caught her eye, and a fresh burst of fear erupted through her. She looked towards the sphinx-lined road that led towards the beach, and she saw dark shapes moving along the road and towards the entrance to the Tomb of Kharnaces, hundreds and hundreds of dark shapes. Some of them were the mummified baboons that patrolled the jungle, while others were the embalmed, nagataaru-infested warriors that had been placed in the shadows of the Tomb of Kharnaces. 

Kharnaces had been destroyed, but the lesser nagataaru bound to the Harbinger remained, and the Seal allowed Callatas to command them.

Callatas had sent the nagataaru to kill her while he finished the Apotheosis. 

The nagataaru could not sense Caina, thanks to her abilities as a valikarion, and Annarah’s pyrikon could shield her presence. Morgant carried an enspelled ring that masked him from spirits. But here, on the open hilltop with no cover and no other way out but the stairs, the nagataaru-infested undead could swarm them. 

They had to move.

Caina turned and ran back towards the center of the hilltop, the nagataaru rushing through the dead jungle like a swarm of rotting insects. 

Chapter 2: Tomb Trap

Caina sprinted across the hilltop, dodging the scattered bones and armor and mummified baboons lying on the ground. She snatched up her ghostsilver dagger as she passed it, shoving the weapon into its sheath. Her head still felt as if she had iron spikes driven into her temples, but the dizziness had passed. She spotted Morgant near the entrance to the stairs, resting upon one knee next to Annarah, who…

Another jolt of alarm went through Caina. 

Gods, but that was a lot of blood. 

They had survived the explosion, but had Morgant been injured in the fighting? No, he looked grim and gaunt as always. 

The familiar hilt of one of Caina’s throwing knives jutted from the side of Annarah’s neck. 

“Ghost,” said Morgant, his voice hard. “It’s too late.”

Caina had killed a lot of people with throwing knives, and she knew Morgant was right. To judge from the flow of blood it had nicked Annarah’s vein, and she had only moments left. If Caina tried to remove the knife, it would tear open the vein and Annarah would die almost at once. 

Fresh rage joined the mix of emotions churning inside of Caina’s head. The Red Huntress had murdered so many people, Kylon’s wife and unborn child among them. It seemed Annarah, the last loremaster of Iramis, would join their number.

“No,” spat Caina, her voice cold as determination hardened within her. 

“I’m afraid so,” said Morgant. His gaunt, pale face looked more skull-like than usual, his gray hair stirring in the wind. “We’ve both seen a lot of people die. We know what it looks like.” 

“We do,” said Caina, reaching for her belt, “but not today. I…” 

A dark leathery shape erupted from the entrance to the stairs, loping across the ground on all fours. A long time ago, it had been a baboon, but the necromancers of ancient Maat had mummified it, and Kharnaces had bound a lesser nagataaru within the undead flesh. Now it was a leathery horror, patches of brittle fur bristling from its gray hide, the lips drawn back from its teeth, purple flame and shadow dancing in the empty sockets of its eyes. 

The undead baboon came straight at Annarah. The nagataaru couldn’t sense Caina, and Morgant still wore his bronze ring. Annarah, with her wounds, could not shield herself, and so the nagataaru would kill her first.

Caina leaped to intercept the baboon, and two more of the creatures burst from the stairs. She drew the valikon from its scabbard, and the ghostsilver blade blazed into bright white fire as the weapon reacted to the presence of the nagataaru. The baboon did not see her coming, and she swung the valikon with both hands. The ghostsilver blade crunched through the ancient bone of the baboon’s neck, the white fire shining brighter as it consumed the nagataaru within the creature. The baboon collapsed, its torso disintegrating as the valikon unraveled the necromantic spells upon it. 

She spun to face the next two baboons, but by then Morgant was moving. He flowed forward, his black coat and trousers making him seem like a living shadow. The black dagger flicked in his hand, and it sliced through the neck of an undead baboon without a hint of resistance. The creature collapsed, the nagataaru within rising from the baboon as a hooded wraith of shadow and purple flame as it was pulled back into the netherworld. 

Morgant turned and drove his black dagger into the second baboon, and as he did, currents of power flared in the weapon. The blade had not soaked up much heat as it sliced through the ancient bones of the first baboon, but it had absorbed more than enough heat to set the second baboon afire. The creature went up in flames, and Morgant twisted, driving his boot into its back. 

The baboon sprawled to the ground, the flames consuming it. Morgant stepped back, spinning his scimitar and dagger as he turned towards the stairs.

“There are more of them coming,” said Morgant. “I can hear them.” 

“I know,” said Caina, looking at Annarah. She was still alive, thank the gods.

“Unless you want to die here,” said Morgant, “you need to think up something clever right now.” 

“Hold them off,” said Caina. She tossed the valikon to him. Morgant caught it out of the air. 

“What are you doing?” said Morgant, spinning the valikon to test its balance. 

“Get ready to take cover,” said Caina. “I’m not sure what is going to happen.” 

She knelt next to Annarah, opening the lead foil-lined pouch at her belt. Caina took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. If this was going to work, she had to time it perfectly. 

Two more baboons emerged from the stairs, and Morgant cut them down with quick blows from Caina’s valikon. He could hold out against scattered groups of the undead for a long time. But if the more powerful creatures arrived, equipped with helms that let them see the material world, not even Morgant the Razor could stand against them for long. 

They had to be gone by then. Or, at least, they had to find a defensible location where the nagataaru-infested undead could not swarm them.

Caina had to hurry.

She took one more deep breath, made sure her pouch was open, and reached down and yanked the throwing knife from Annarah’s neck.

Annarah let out a strangled cry, a spasm going through her limbs. More blood bubbled from her lips, but far more blood pulsed from the ugly wound in her neck. Removing the knife had severed the vein, and she had only a few moments before she bled out.

Caina snatched a vial of silver-glowing Elixir Restorata from her pouch, the Elixir boiling violently at her touch as she wrenched away the vial’s seal. She pinched Annarah’s nose shut and pushed the vial between her lips, pouring the Elixir down her throat. 

For an instant, nothing happened. 

Then Annarah shuddered, her eyes opening wide. A heartbeat after that, her green eyes started to glow with silver fire, and her veins started to shine with silver light beneath her skin. To Caina’s valikarion-enhanced eyes, Annarah became a storm of arcane power as the Elixir activated, gathering sorcerous force to release an explosion of healing power. 

Annarah threw back her head and screamed, and Caina scrambled away, hoping to avoid the destructive discharge silver fire that would accompany the healing.

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Annarah’s scream cut into Morgant’s ears, and he shot a glance to the side long enough to see her starting glow. 

In that instant, he rebuked himself for inattention. Of course Caina still had vials of Elixir Restorata, and of course, she would use them to save Annarah if possible. Likely Caina had divided the remaining vials between herself and the Kyracian outside the wreckage of the Desert Maiden in Istarinmul. For a moment Morgant wondered what had become of the Kyracian and where he was now. 

Not out of any concern for the man, but his combat prowess would have been useful because the nagataaru kept coming up the stairs. They couldn’t sense Morgant, but the minute he attacked, the creatures knew where he was. Worse, the nagataaru seemed to have some means of communicating with one another, and whenever one noticed him, the rest swarmed towards him. 

Another baboon came at him, reaching for his throat with withered hands. Morgant danced around its grasp, sweeping his dagger before him, and took off the creature’s right forearm. Undeterred, the baboon pressed on, swinging its damaged arm like a club, and Morgant destroyed the creature with a quick chop from the valikon, burying the blade into the baboon’s skull. White fire drowned the shadow in the baboon’s eyes, and the creature collapsed, but not before its arm clipped Morgant’s left shoulder with wrenching strength. He cursed and ripped the valikon free, raising the sword in guard. The valikon’s curved blade was too damned short. It was a better weapon for someone of Caina’s height. He struck down still another baboon, hoping to gain a moment’s respite. 

“We need to get off this hilltop!” said Morgant, watching the stairwell. “Those stairs are a bottleneck. If we stay up here, we’ll get torn apart.” 

He glanced back as Caina ran to join him, ghostsilver dagger in hand. Annarah still lay prone on the ground, shuddering as the silver fire burned through her veins. Morgant had seen Elixir Restorata used before, so he knew that a discharge of explosive fire accompanied the Elixir’s healing. When Caina had used the Elixir to heal the Kyracian at the Craven’s Tower, the explosion had damaged the wraithblood laboratory. When the Kyracian had used the Elixir to heal Caina at Rumarah, the resultant explosion had destroyed the Corsair’s Rest, killed hundreds of Umbarian soldiers, forced the Red Huntress to flee, and nearly killed Cassander Nilas. 

Pity the explosion hadn’t killed Cassander. Morgant would have been spared much bother.

“As soon as the Elixir finishes, we’ll take Annarah and go,” said Caina. “We’ll make for the beach. Murat and the Sandstorm are waiting for us.”

“Assuming he’s not dead,” said Morgant. “Or that he didn’t flee for his life.” He glanced again at Annarah, watching her shudder as the silver fire burned through her veins. A wave of anger went through him, which was surprising since he rarely felt strong emotions any longer. Annarah had lost her husband and her children when Iramis burned and then spent a century and a half trapped in the netherworld. Her plan had hindered Callatas for a century and a half, and Morgant supposed that if not for her, neither Caina nor the Kyracian nor millions of others would ever have been born. For Annarah to die at the hands of a creature like the Red Huntress seemed a gross injustice.

But when had life ever been fair? Only death was fair. 

But if anyone was good at cheating death, it was Caina Amalas. 

“Yes,” said Caina. “But we have no other choice.” 

“When you used the Elixir, the explosion blew up half of Rumarah,” said Morgant.

“It was one building,” said Caina. 

“Whatever,” said Morgant. “When that Elixir activates, is it going to blast off the top of the hill?”

Caina shook her head. “It reacted that way because my aura was damaged. Annarah’s isn’t. It…”

More dark forms burst from the stairs. Four of them were baboons, eyes shining with harsh purple flame. The fifth was a human skeleton, the bones draped with leathery flesh, the body encased in bronze armor. Maatish hieroglyphs adorned the helmet, granting the nagataaru within the mummified corpse the ability to see the material world.