Ghost in the Winds (Ghost Exile #9) (30 page)

They had to kill Grand Master Callatas. 

That, Kylon knew, would likely fall to him. As far as he knew, he was the only one with a ghostsilver weapon, the only one with a blade capable of penetrating the Grand Master’s protective wards and destroying whatever nagataaru spirits lurked within his flesh. The Red Huntress would almost certainly be with Callatas, and Kylon would have to fight her as well. He would have help, of course, but Kylon was the only one with a valikon.

The Emissary had predicted that he would have to sacrifice himself to save Caina from the Huntress, but he wondered if she had made a mistake. None of the Ghost circle had seen Caina. Most likely, he knew, she had died on Pyramid Isle with Morgant and Annarah. Perhaps Caina’s valikarion abilities had thrown off the Emissary’s vision, causing her to misread the future. 

He heard a rattle of armor and turned as men in the black steel and purple cloaks of the Imperial Guard approached. Lord Martin and Lady Claudia walked with them, Martin with his sword in hand, and Claudia with her hand half-raised to begin a spell if necessary. 

Claudia gave him a faint smile. “Lord Kylon. Did you expect to return to Istarinmul so soon?”

“Not really,” said Kylon. 

“Lord Prince, Lord Tanzir,” said Martin, “all the momentum is ours. We should strike for the Golden Palace at once.”

“Agreed,” said Sulaman. “Lord Tanzir?” 

“The Kaltari will lead the assault,” said Tanzir. “We should proceed straight from the Bazaar of the Southern Road to the gates of the Golden Palace. The nomads can screen the alleyways, and the horsemen can patrol the main avenues.” He shook his head. “We will likely face little resistance until we reach the Golden Palace. All of Erghulan’s loyalists will retreat there. The rest of his soldiers have fled into the city and will hide until the fighting is over.”

Strabane snorted. “You mean until they’ve seen who has won?” 

“Most likely,” said Nasser. “The common soldier must be practical when nobles war against each other.”

“Perhaps we shall have a chance to put an end to such fighting,” said Sulaman. “Lord Tanzir, your plan seems best to me. Proceed with…”

“Wait,” said Kylon, frowning. 

Now that the chaos of battle had passed, at least momentarily, he had caught his breath, and again he could sense the torrents of arcane force gathering around the Golden Palace. They had been strong before the army had passed the gate, and they were stronger now, far stronger, and they were weaving themselves together like the strands of a rope. 

The valikon shivered in Kylon’s hand, and the blade started to glimmer with white flames. 

“Lord Kylon?” said Martin, who had noticed the fire first.

Claudia stared to the north, her eyes stricken. “Oh, no. No, no, no.” 

“The Apotheosis,” said Kylon.

There was a sound as if the world had ripped itself in half, the ground shaking beneath Kylon’s feet, and a pillar of darkness erupted from the Golden Palace and spread across the sky like a stain of shadows. 

But it wasn’t a pillar. He could sense the individual creatures in the pillar, the tens of thousands of nagataaru spirits that writhed within it, pouring across the world in search of prey.

Chapter 18: Perfectible

Kalgri waited at the entrance to the Court of Justice. 

The Court had emptied as Erghulan and his lackeys went to command the defense of the city, though to judge from the noises Kalgri heard rising from the walls and the Hellfire explosion she had seen near the gate, the defense had not gone well. She wondered if Erghulan’s idiocy had finally gotten him killed, and decided that she did not care, save for a faint disappointment that she hadn’t gotten to kill him herself. Six Immortals stood guard at the entrance to the court, though even those hardened killers made sure to stay well away from Kalgri. 

From her, and from the half-dozen bodies lying motionless on the ground.

Part of the reason Kalgri was sure the defense had not gone well was that couriers kept rushing into the Court of Justice, begging for the Grand Master to come lend his powers to the defense of the city. Callatas had given her strict instructions to make sure that no one interrupted him. Normally, Kalgri would have been delighted to ignore those instructions, or to wriggle through the loopholes that would let her arrange all manner of interruptions, just to enjoy the expression of immense irritation on the Grand Master’s pompous face. 

But not now, not today. 

She could sense that the Apotheosis was almost done. 

Kalgri was no sorceress and had no interest in becoming one. In her considerable experience, sorcerers were lazy and stupid, relying too much on their arcane power to defend themselves. Like a man leaning upon a crutch, when that crutch was kicked out from beneath them they were helpless, and she had killed many sorcerers. 

But even without arcane skill, both she and the Voice sensed the immense power swirling around the Golden Palace, power enough to blast the palace and most of the city to rubble. 

The huge Mirror of Worlds gave off a steady, pale gray glow, and from time to time the immense glass sheet flexed and wobbled within its frame of steel and wood. The three rings of sigils that Callatas had written around the great Mirror glowed as if they had been written in molten gold, and sometimes the entire palace shuddered in time to their pulsing light. The Padishah still sat chained to his cart and throne, begging for someone to kill him, and Kalgri ignored his pitiful cries. 

Half the time, she couldn’t hear them over the pitiful cries of the other prisoners. 

A dozen chained wraithblood addicts knelt before the circles of glyphs, moaning and sobbing and begging for someone to bring them wraithblood. That had been Callatas’s last command before he had begun the final phases of the spell. He had ordered the Immortals to find a dozen wraithblood addicts and bring them to the palace alive and unhurt, and the Immortals had obeyed. Now the addicts knelt and wept. Kalgri wondered if they realized what wraithblood really was, if they knew what it would do to them, and decided that she did not care. 

Callatas himself walked in a circle around the Mirror and the three rings, again and again, casting spell after spell. He should have collapsed from exhaustion by now. He had been casting spells nonstop ever since the Mirror of Worlds had arrived. The Staff of Iramis in his hand and the Seal of Iramis upon his finger both glowed with the same gray light as the Mirror and no doubt the twin relics were doing the bulk of the work of the great summoning spell. From time to time, the Star of Iramis resting against his chest gave off harsh azure light, painting his brilliant white robes with an eerie glow. That, too, seemed to be carrying the effort of the spell, though Kalgri did not understand how it worked and would not have cared if she had known.

She only cared about one thing.

They were moments away from the Apotheosis. 

The Voice hissed in her mind, filled with the gloating expectation of imminent triumph. In a few moments, the Apotheosis would come to pass, and Callatas would create his monsters, believing them to be the new version of humanity. Of course, the old humanity and the new humanity could not coexist so there would have to be a lot of killing. 

Millions upon millions of deaths and Kalgri shivered in glee at the thought of all the killing that awaited her. 

Just a little longer…

The sound of boots slapped against the flagstones, and Kalgri turned as another courier ran into sight. This one was an Istarish soldier in chain mail and a spike-topped helmet, spatters of blood marking his sleeves and soot staining his face. Perhaps he had been a little too close to that Hellfire explosion. 

“Where is the Grand Master?” shouted the courier. 

“You really shouldn’t disturb him just now,” said Kalgri. 

The courier must not have realized what she was because he gave her red armor and black cloak an incredulous look, and then started shouting at one of the Immortals. “The Grand Master must come at once! Spies entered the gatehouse and opened the gates, and the rebels stormed inside before we could stop them. We have lost control of the walls, and they are even now seizing control of the Hellfire catapults to turn them against us! If we do not have the aid of the Grand Master’s spells, the city is lost. I fear it is already too late!”

“If it makes you feel better,” said Kalgri, “you were all about to die horribly in a few minutes anyway.” 

“Stop babbling, woman!” said the courier. He peered past her and into the Court of Justice. “The Grand Master must help! If he wishes us to hold the city, we…”

Kalgri smiled, flexed the fingers of her right hand, and drew on the Voice’s power. The sword of the nagataaru appeared in her grasp, shadow and purpled flame blended together, and she stabbed the courier through the heart. The soldier just had time to scream, clawing at her arm, but the mortal wound stole his strength, and he slumped dead to the ground. The Voice feasted upon his death and agony, some of that stolen strength funneling into Kalgri. She let out a contented sigh and let the sword dissipate, rolling her shoulders. She had killed a lot of people since she and Callatas had returned to Istarinmul, and she felt better than she had in a while…but she was still not sated.

It would take far more death than this to satisfy her.

“He should have listened to me, you know,” said Kalgri to one of the Immortals. “I told him to run.” She giggled. “He really ought to have run.” 

The Immortal said nothing. Wise of him. 

Kalgri contemplated killing them. Normally killing them would have irritated Callatas, which would have been an added pleasure, but Callatas was about to finish the Apotheosis, and then he would care about nothing else. That and Kalgri could kill the Immortals when Callatas finished the Apotheosis.

She might also find a use for the Immortals. If the rebel army breached the wall, they would make for the Golden Palace, and Kylon of House Kardamnos would be with them. In fact, knowing his abilities, he might arrive well the rest of the rebels. The Immortals would make useful fodder to distract him. 

Perhaps she could tell him of Caina’s fate, torn apart by the baboons before she killed him.

Assuming, of course, that Caina was actually dead, that Kotuluk Iblis was correct, and that Kalgri had not overlooked something. So many had been undone by overweening pride moments before claiming victory. Kalgri had killed quite a few men like that. Best not to join their number. 

No, the Immortals might yet be useful, so they could still live. 

For now. 

Hooves clattered against the paved ground, and Kalgri looked up. A band of horsemen rode down the pillared arcade that led to the Court of Justice. Kalgri was not surprised to see Grand Wazir Erghulan Amirasku riding at the head of a dozen lesser emirs. Most of them looked grim, and a few even looked panicked. Erghulan himself looked stern as ever, but his eyes were a little wide, the lines of his face cut a little deeper.

Defeat had that effect upon some men. 

Erghulan started forward, then looked at her, and stopped. He was smarter than his couriers. Of course, he had seen her butcher a score of Immortals in the Court of the Fountain.

“I must speak to the Grand Master at once,” said Erghulan.

“He doesn’t wish to be disturbed just now,” said Kalgri in a sing-song voice.

Erghulan grimaced. “He is about to be disturbed. The city is lost.”

“Then you should have fought harder,” said Kalgri. 

The Grand Wazir’s jaw worked. “Spies entered the gatehouse and opened the gate, jamming the machinery in the process. Damned contraption!”

“So you lost the walls,” said Kalgri.

“The city is lost,” said Erghulan, his disgust plain. If not for his fear of her, he knew, he would have struck her dead. “The city is lost because Callatas did not conjure his precious sorcery in time to defeat them. The Apotheosis indeed! He can enjoy his Apotheosis when the rebels storm into the Golden Palace and that damned Kyracian stormdancer cuts off his head.”

Kalgri smiled. “Then Kylon of House Kardamnos has been sighted?”

“Fighting on the walls,” said Erghulan. He glared through the archway and into the Court of Justice. “What the devil is he doing? Walking in circles?” 

“Finishing the spell,” said Kalgri. “Any minute…”

“Enough!” bellowed Erghulan. “I have put my trust in that sorcerer, and what has it brought me? Ruin and defeat. I am taking the treasury and fleeing the city aboard one of the galleys berthed at the Towers of the Sea. If the Grand Master is with me when the ship leaves, he may accompany me. Otherwise, he can stay here and deal with the rebels himself.” 

The air around Kalgri began to tingle with power, and the Voice’s hissing rose to a moan of fulfilled pleasure, of a long-delayed triumph arriving at last. 

She started to laugh. 

Erghulan glowered at her. “Are you laughing at me?”

“You really,” said Kalgri, flexing the fingers of her right hand, “should not have said that.” 

A thunderclap rang through the Golden Palace, and behind her, the Mirror of Worlds blazed with light.

The Padishah let out a long, despairing wail.

###

Callatas walked in a circle around the Mirror of Worlds, casting the spell of summoning time after time after time. 

The amount of power he had channeled should have destroyed him, reducing his body to smoking coals. The relics of Iramis, the lost regalia of the Princes, made such a spell possible. The Staff could summon vast hordes of spirits. The Seal could bound those spirits, directing them as Callatas wished. The Star, joined to both relics, empowered them both, and together the three relics interlocked their powers, producing far greater effects than they could have on their own. 

Even with the aid of the relics, the spell still should have been too much for Callatas. Even for his rejuvenated stamina and strength, the strain of moving that much power should have killed him. The shadow of Kotuluk Iblis filled his mind, and the lord of the nagataaru was more generous with his power than he had ever been, pumping fresh strength and stamina into Callatas, allowing him to continue working for far longer than he could have otherwise.