Ghost in the Pact (39 page)

“I have always cared about mercy,” said Kharnaces. “For the very existence of humanity is a torment. Human life is misery and wretchedness without end, their every word a deception, their every action futile, their every success transient. Better to end it swiftly and mercifully without additional suffering. Better to never have existed at all…and soon the endless torment of mankind shall end in their deaths.” 

“No,” said Callatas. “I will forge a new humanity, better than the first, and it shall hold dominion over this world forever.”

“Such needless defiance,” said Kharnaces. “You indeed sound like the Balarigar. She offered me such defiance as well.”

Callatas said nothing, his fingers tight against the Staff. 

“Tell me,” said Kharnaces, still calm, “do you think the Balarigar has found my canopic jars yet?” 

Callatas managed to keep the alarm from his face. “Who?”

“Caina Amalas, of course,” said Kharnaces. “The Balarigar. The instrument that, for some reason, the Knight of Wind and Air has employed in his feeble efforts to defend this world from Kotuluk Iblis and the nagataaru.”

“She is dead,” said Callatas. “The nagataaru killed her in the jungle.”

“Of course she is not dead,” said Kharnaces with gentle reproof. “My servitors saw her in the lower levels of the Tomb. Your plan is transparently obvious. You shall challenge me and draw my attention, while the Balarigar proceeds to the throne chamber and destroys my canopic jars.”

“Then why haven’t you stopped me?” said Callatas.

“Because there is no danger,” said Kharnaces. “I am the Harbinger and the Harbinger is me. My soul has fused to the nagataaru. Even if the Amalas woman succeeds in destroying the canopic jars, it will not destroy me. For that matter, she will be unable to destroy the canopic jars. I have ringed them with wards potent enough to withstand even a valikarion armed with a ghostsilver weapon. And yet even if by some twist of fate she manages to destroy the canopic jars and you manage to defeat me, you have already lost. The Conjurant Bloodcrystal has activated. There is no power on this world or any other than can stop it. Even if by some mischance you overcome me, you will not be able to stop…”

Callatas struck. The time for delay had passed. If Kharnaces had been telling the truth, if his words had not been a misdirection, then Callatas’s only hope was to defeat Kharnaces and destroy the Conjurant Bloodcrystal himself. And his only chance of defeating Kharnaces was to take the Great Necromancer off guard with every scrap of arcane power he could gather together. 

The spell ripped from his fingers, a piercing thrust of blue sparks to shatter any wards around Kharnaces, followed by a hammer of psychokinetic force to rip apart the undead body. Kharnaces actually staggered back several steps from the weight of the attack, a thunderclap ringing over Pyramid Isle. He crossed his arms over his chest, the golden bracers flashing, and a haze of blue light surrounded him, a potent warding spell that unraveled Callatas’s attack.

“So be it,” said Kharnaces. “If you choose to uselessly fight the inevitable, rather than accepting the necessary end of humanity, then I can oblige you.”

He gestured, necromantic green fire erupting around him, and over the sides of the hill swarmed dozens of his undead warriors, khopesh blades in hand.

Callatas and Kalgri fought for their lives.

Chapter 22: Bearer Of The Last Valikon

Kylon sprinted through the chaos of the battle, following Mazyan’s lead.

Mazyan, somehow, forged an unerring path through the collapsing formations of Immortals and the charging Kaltari, surging with the inhuman speed granted by his djinni. Around them the battle raged, the formations of Kaltari holding their own as the Immortals’ lines collapsed. Patches of Hellfire still burned here and there upon the ground, the air heavy with the smells of smoke and burned flesh. The emotions of the battle washed over Kylon’s arcane senses, rage and terror and despair and exultation and wild bloodlust. They seemed to form a drumbeat inside his head, thundering in time to his heartbeat, as if the drums of the armies still beat to sound the march.

It was a ghastly sensation. Kylon wished he could have drawn back his arcane senses, but he dared not. There were nagataaru among the host, Rhataban and possibly the Red Huntress herself, and Kylon needed to sense them coming.

“Faster!” barked Mazyan, and he leaped, soaring over a struggling knot of Immortals and Kaltari. Kylon wished he could have stopped to help the Kaltari warriors, but the Kaltari could stand against the Immortals.

They could not fight someone like Rhataban or the Huntress. 

So Kylon kept running, and followed Mazyan’s leap over the melee with a burst of air sorcery.

Then they had passed the main part of the battle, though here and there groups of stragglers pushed forward to join the fight. Kylon spotted a band of horsemen ahead, waiting beneath the banners of the Padishah and the House of Shahan. 

Even as he looked, the horsemen scattered, dissolving into a melee, and the presence of the nagataaru brushed against Kylon’s mind. 

Several nagataaru. One powerful, several weaker. 

Rhataban had brought assistance. 

Kylon spotted the white-armored Master Alchemist charging at the horsemen. His massive hammer blurred in his hands, and the power of the impact threw both a horse and its rider into the air, the horse screaming horribly, the rider flailing before he landed with bone-crushing force. 

Around Rhataban charged creatures from a nightmare. 

The things stood about as tall as a living man, albeit much thicker. If forced to describe them, Kylon would have said they looked like men with the armored carapaces and pincers of beetles, their faces distorted and twisted, their eyes burning with the mad purple fires of the nagataaru. Manes of twisted, barbed tentacles writhed around their heads, and their fingers and toes ended in serrated, dagger-like claws.

Kylon had faced these creatures with Strabane at Shaman Hill in the Kaltari Highlands. They were called kadrataagu. Sometimes when a nagataaru possessed a living mortal, the mortal maintained his own personality and will, like Rhataban and the Huntress and Malik Rolukhan. Sometimes, though, the nagataaru overshadowed its host, dominating the body utterly. 

The kadrataagu were the result, fast and strong and vicious, and Rhataban had brought a score of them with him. 

The kadrataagu were tearing their way through the guard of horsemen, forcing their way towards Tanzir and Sulaman and the other leaders of the army. Tanzir had his sword out, as did Sulaman, but Kylon had no illusions how long either of them would last again the kadrataagu or Rhataban himself. 

A shout rang out, and a mass of warriors in black armor charged into the fray, broadswords rising and falling. For a terrible moment Kylon was sure that a group of Immortals had broken through the battle, but then he saw the purple cloaks of Imperial Guards. Lord Martin had sent his men to the defense of Sulaman and Tanzir. Rhataban whirled and gestured, a gout of golden fire snapping from his white gauntlet, and two of the Imperial Guards transmuted into statues of gleaming blue crystal.

But by then, Kylon and Mazyan had reached the battle. 

Mazyan leaped, and as he reached the apex of his arc, the sword of smokeless flame appeared in his hand. He brought the blade slamming down onto Rhataban’s back as the Master Alchemist killed an Imperial Guard with a sweep of his massive hammer, and for a moment Kylon thought the fight would end then and there.

Yet the white armor must have been enspelled against even such a potent weapon. Mazyan’s burning sword rebounded from the white armor, though the blow sent Rhataban stumbling. The Master Alchemist whirled with the inhuman speed of his nagataaru, and Mazyan dismissed his sword of smokeless flame, leaping back and drawing his scimitar as the hammer missed him by mere inches. 

“Lord Kylon!” called Rhataban, his eyes flaring with purple fire beneath his white helmet, his gold-trimmed cloak streaming behind him as he strode forward. “Hiding behind this pathetic djinni?” He laughed, and Kylon heard the snarl of the nagataaru beneath his voice, felt the spirit’s malice and hate. “How appropriate! For the Court of the Azure Sovereign is as broken and useless as you are. The Azure Sovereign is imprisoned, his vassals scattered and reduced to impotent games, and…”

“By the Living Flame!” barked Mazyan. “You nagataaru talk too damned much!” 

Rhataban glared at him as the kadrataagu continued their struggle against the Imperial Guards. 

“He’s right,” said Kylon. He raised the valikon, the blade burning with white flames in answer to the nagataaru around him. “You do talk too damned much.” 

“Then hear me speak one more time, Kylon of House Kardamnos, failure and exile,” said Rhataban. “You shall die today, here and now. And then, once you are slain, there will be no one to protect the Balarigar. I shall find her, or another follower of the Grand Master shall find her, and we shall kill her in great pain.”

Kylon smiled. “Then she is still alive? Thank you for that news. It is most reassuring.” 

Rhataban’s mockery melted into raw fury. “Take him!” 

A dozen of the kadrataagu broke off from their struggle against the Imperial Guards and the emir’s guards and charged at Kylon, while Rhataban himself attacked Mazyan, his hammer blurring back and forth as the Oath Shadow retreated. Kylon gripped the valikon’s hilt in both hands, the ghostsilver blade burning before him, the Iramisian characters carved into the sword glowing with their own power.

The kadrataagu closed around Kylon in a circle, and then he moved. 

He dodged to the left and leaped, jumping over the nearest kadrataagu, and as he landed he slashed down. The carapaces of the kadrataagu looked as hard as black marble, but the valikon’s blade ripped through the strange armor like paper. The white fire of the sword flashed as the weapon destroyed the nagataaru, and the kadrataagu shrank into human form, a gaunt, crazed-looking Istarish man of middle years with a wild gray beard, his face twisted with rage. He didn’t even seem to notice his garish wound, at least until he collapsed to the ground as his blood seeped into the soil. 

The other kadrataagu came at Kylon, and he retreated, snapping the valikon back and forth to block the slashes of their claws. His foes recoiled from the touch of the valikon’s burning blade, shying away from the white fire. Their human hosts might have been insane with mad rage, but the nagataaru within them knew that the valikon could end their eternal existence. Yet the nagataaru also wanted Kylon dead, and they fanned out around him, snapping and clawing. He sidestepped, taking off a kadrataagu’s hand at the wrist, and then split the creature’s skull. 

It shrank back to human form, collapsing to the trampled grass.

Kylon leaped backwards and landed a half a dozen yards away, and the rest of the kadrataagu stampeded after him. He caught a brief glimpse of Mazyan’s furious duel with Rhataban, scimitar and hammer blurring back and forth, and saw that Mazyan was getting the worst of the battle.

Then the kadrataagu came again at Kylon, and all his attentions turned to his defense. 

He managed to cut down one of the kadrataagu, and then he had to retreat again, the rest of the creatures pursuing him. They were driving him towards the battle. If he was forced to stop to fight the Immortals, or if he stumbled over a dead or dying man, the kadrataagu would have him in short order. Kylon retreated, parrying and ducking and dodging. He managed to kill two more of the kadrataagu, but the rest swarmed after him. 

A claw caught Kylon across the left shoulder. His armor deflected it, but the force of the blow staggered him, and he barely kept the kadrataagu from driving him to the ground, like hyenas swarming a wounded Anshani grass lion. Through the press he saw Rhataban driving the Oath Shadow back step by step. Blood dripped down Mazyan’s face and his right forearm from glancing hits, his scowl more ferocious than usual. 

The kadrataagu swarmed around Kylon once more. He cut down another of the creatures, the valikon flashing with white fire, and opened a gap long enough to leap free before they encircled him. The kadrataagu continued their pursuit, driving Kylon towards a group of Kaltari warriors struggling against a band of Immortals. A little further, and he would run out of room to retreat…

Steel flashed overhead, and a rain of javelins fell into the kadrataagu. 

The creatures loosed horrible, metallic screams, frozen in shock for a moment, and Kylon seized the opening, sweeping the valikon with massive two-handed swings. He cut down one, two, three kadrataagu in rapid succession as the creatures recovered from the volley of javelins. One of the kadrataagu flung itself at him, jaws yawning wide, its mane of barbed tentacles lashing like whips. Kylon dodged, but the kadrataagu’s charge clipped him, and he lost his footing and dropped to one knee, trying to get the valikon up in time to block. 

A blue spark flared before his vision and slammed into the kadrataagu. The creature let out another horrible scream, blue sparks crawling up its limbs, and then it shrank back into human form. Blood poured from his mouth and nose, and the man collapsed as Kylon heaved himself back up. 

He saw a line of Imperial Guards charge into battle, Lord Martin and centurion Tylas leading the Guards. Lady Claudia stood behind them, blue sparks flaring around her hands as she began her spell to banish a nagataaru spirit. Martin’s eyes met Kylon’s across the line of the kadrataagu, who wavered between their old foe and their new.

“Go!” shouted Martin in his commander’s voice. “You’re the only one of us who can deal with that Master Alchemist! Go!” 

The Imperial Guards reached the kadrataagu, attacking as a shield wall, swords stabbing over the tops of their shields. The kadrataagu screamed in fury and attacked with claws and fangs and barbed tentacles. Kylon sprinted around the edge of the battle, the valikon blazing with fury, and headed towards Mazyan and Rhataban. 

A ring of a dozen corpses surrounded the duel, both Imperial Guards and Istarish horsemen. Mazyan continued retreating before Rhataban’s furious attacks, the hammer like a miniature avalanche of steel in the Master Alchemist’s armored hands. Mazyan’s scimitar had torn the gold-trimmed white cloak to shreds, but Rhataban was otherwise unharmed.