Ghost in the Winds

By Jonathan Moeller

The Apotheosis has come at last, and it will shatter the world.

CAINA is trapped in the ruins of an ancient necromancer's tomb. Unless she escapes the lethal trap, there will be no one to stop Grand Master Callatas from unleashing the Apotheosis.

KYLON is desperate to save Caina's life. The deadly Red Huntress is coming for Caina, and only by the sacrifice of his own life can Kylon save Caina from the Huntress's blade.

Or the Red Huntress might simply kill them both.

CALLATAS is ready to call the Apotheosis and create a new humanity to replace the old.

Of course, the old humanity will have to die first...every last man, woman, and child.

And he will start with Caina Amalas.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jonathan Moeller
• Release date: Aug 23, 2016
• ISBN: 9781370679690

Jonathan Moeller

Standing over six feet tall, Jonathan Moeller has the piercing blue eyes of a Conan of Cimmeria, the bronze-colored hair of a Visigothic warrior-king, and the stern visage of a captain of men, none of which are useful in his career as a computer repairman, alas.He has written the "Demonsouled" trilogy of sword-and-sorcery novels, and continues to write the "Ghosts" sequence about assassin and spy Caina Amalas, the "$0.99 Beginner's Guide" series of computer books, and numerous other works.Visit his website at:http://www.jonathanmoeller.comVisit his technology blog at:http://www.jonathanmoeller.com/screed

Book preview

Chapter 1: The End Of Their Strength

Caina Amalas ran as if the fate of the world depended on her speed.

It probably did.

The view from the hilltop should have been beautiful. The rocky hill was the highest point on Pyramid Isle, rising a thousand feet tall, and Caina saw the rosy dawn to the east and the blue sea stretching away in all directions as far as the eye could see. She should have been able to see the jungles of the island encircling the hill like a broad belt of green. The defeat of Kharnaces and the destruction of the colossal Conjurant Bloodcrystal had unleashed a wave of necromantic power, killing every living thing in its path and reducing the island’s jungle to a collection of withered brown husks. A smoking crater at the apex of the hill marked the spot where the Conjurant Bloodcrystal had floated. Hundreds of mummified corpses, both of humans and baboons, littered the top of the hill, along with bones and pieces of destroyed armor and weapons.

None of that held Caina’s attention at the moment.

The Seal of Iramis shone with power to her sight thirty yards away.

The ring of silvery metal lay on the ground, its massive blue stone carved into a seven-pointed star, the ancient sigil of the Princes of Iramis. She saw potent arcane strength blazing within it. The Seal could command the spirits of the netherworld, could bind vast numbers of them with little effort. It was one of the three relics that Grand Master Callatas needed to work the Apotheosis and unleash the nagataaru upon the world.

Callatas held the other two relics, and he stood sixty yards away on the other side of the Seal.

When he had come to Pyramid Isle, he had been an old man with stooped shoulders and a lined, weary face. After Caina had stabbed him a few times, he had been forced to drink a vial of Elixir Rejuvenata to heal his mortal wounds. Now he looked like a vigorous man in his twenties, his hair and beard thick and black, his eyes like gray sword blades. In his hand, he carried the Staff of Iramis, and the Star of Iramis rested against his chest. The Staff had been wrought of the same silvery metal as the Seal, and the Star was a faceted azure crystal about the size of Caina’s fist. Both shone with sorcerous power to her sight. Callatas had used the Star to burn Iramis to ashes, and the Staff could summon countless spirits from the netherworld.

The Seal was all that Callatas needed to finish his Apotheosis, and the thing lay unguarded upon the ground.

Caina ran faster.

Callatas started to cast a spell, currents of power swirling around his free hand. Caina had seen him cast spells several times, and they had always been workings of mighty power, spells potent enough to kill dozens with a wave of his hand.

Compared to the inferno of his previous spells, the amount of sorcerous power he summoned now was little more than a candle flame.

He was exhausted.

His long duel with Kharnaces had drained his strength. Of course, Caina was exhausted, too, but she was not a sorceress. She didn’t need sorcery to kill.

All she need to do was stab.

She yanked the ghostsilver dagger from her belt. It would tear through the remnants of Callatas’s defensive wards and his spell-armored robes. The alchemical Elixir might have rejuvenated Callatas, but Caina had far more experience fighting hand to hand than the Grand Master. If she closed with him, if she avoided his spell, she could kill him.

After one hundred and fifty years, the destruction of Iramis would be avenged, as would the tens of thousands of slaves Callatas had murdered to make wraithblood. More importantly, the Apotheosis would be stopped.

If Caina could kill him.

The woman standing next to Callatas might make that difficult.

Kill her! snarled Callatas, and Kalgri the Red Huntress moved.

Like Caina and Callatas, Kalgri had come through the fight with Kharnaces the worse for wear. Her red armor was tattered and charred, and half-healed cuts and burns covered her angular face and bare arms. The Ghost shadow-cloak hanging from her shoulders swirled around her like a shroud of smoke. Nevertheless, her scimitar and dagger gleamed in the dawn sunlight.

Kalgri strode forward, raising her weapons, the familiar twisted smile coming over her face as her blue eyes pulsed with the shadow and purple fire of the nagataaru. She had almost killed Caina once before in Rumarah, and only Kylon’s boldness had saved her.

Oh, gods, Kylon…

No, Caina couldn’t think about Kylon now.

There was no one else to help her. She didn’t know where Morgant and Annarah were, or if they had even survived the explosion. If Caina did not stop Callatas and Kalgri right here and right now, Callatas would prevail and unleash the Apotheosis.

Caina knew she did not have a chance against Kalgri in a fair fight, even if Kalgri had been weakened.

But Caina never fought fair unless she could avoid it.

And she had found something in the Tomb of Kharnaces that might surprise both the Grand Master and the Red Huntress.

###

Callatas drew in as much power as his tired, exhausted mind could hold.

It wasn’t much.

With a few moments’ rest, he could have cast a spell to rip Caina to shreds where she stood. With an hour’s rest, he could have transmuted her into a statue of frozen crystal, to stand as her own tombstone for eternity.

But he didn’t have that time. The duel with Kharnaces had been the most challenging battle of his long life, and his reserves had been depleted. The shadow of Kotuluk Iblis flooded through Callatas, renewing his strength, but it wasn’t nearly fast enough.

If he did not find a way to kill Caina right now, she would kill him first.

Kill her! he shouted to Kalgri. He intended the command to sound authoritative, but his voice sounded ragged and thin. Not that it mattered. The Red Huntress often chose to interpret his commands in her own way.

This time, though, their desires aligned.

Kalgri ran forward, heading right towards Caina.

###

The Voice’s fury and hate snarled within Kalgri’s skull as it had for over a century and a half.

It was quieter than usual. The long battle had drained most of the Voice’s strength. Kharnaces had summoned lesser nagataaru to his side, dozens of nagataaru spirits housed within the undead flesh of mummified humans and baboons. Kalgri had fought them off, allowing Callatas to duel Kharnaces until Caina figured out a way to destroy the Great Necromancer and the Harbinger within him.

The Voice hissed with glee at the thought of the defeat of its ancient rival.

The glee did not last long. The fight and the explosion had drained both the strength of Kalgri and the Voice. The moment of ultimate triumph was at hand, and Kalgri would feast upon the death of the entire world.

But only if she killed Caina Amalas first.

Caina had escaped Kalgri at Silent Ash Temple and again at Rumarah. Both times she had been saved by her friends, but this time, there was no one to help her. For all her cunning and boldness, even if she was a valikarion, she was still just one young woman with a dagger.

Kalgri would finish her.

She ran towards Caina, blades ready. Had the Voice been at full strength, the nagataaru would have infused her with superhuman strength and speed, and she would have already killed Caina. As it was, the Voice barely had the strength to start healing Kalgri’s injuries from the battle. She was in considerable pain, and it slowed her down. The Voice needed to feed on life force to recover its strength. Kalgri needed to kill someone right now.

Killing Caina would be a pleasure. Her only regret was that Kylon of House Kardamnos wasn’t here to see it. Well, perhaps Kalgri could keep Caina’s head and present it to the Kyracian before she killed him, just as she had killed his pregnant wife in front of him. How he had roared with rage! Yes, she would look forward to dropping Caina’s head before Kylon in the final moment before he died…

Kalgri rebuked herself. She was exhausted and hurt, and her mind wandered. Such distractions in the midst of a fight were often fatal. She hurried towards Caina as Callatas continued his spell.

Once she crippled Caina, she could take her time, drawing out the Ghost’s death slowly and painfully.

Caina stooped and snatched up the Seal, shoving it into a pouch at her belt, her ghostsilver dagger still in her right hand. The cowl of her Ghost shadow-cloak had fallen back, revealing her thick black hair, her cold blue eyes, the sharp cheekbones and the thin mouth. Right now her blue eyes were bloodshot, the mouth tight with strain, and Kalgri was pleased to see the fear. She couldn’t sense Caina, not after the woman had become a valikarion, but Kalgri did not need the Voice’s senses to tell her that Caina was also exhausted.

Kalgri slashed with her scimitar. Caina jumped back, the shadow-cloak fluttering around her, and Kalgri stalked after her. She launched a series of quick slashes with her scimitar, forcing the Ghost back. Caina dodged aside, catching a few of the slashes on her dagger. Caina was not Kalgri’s equal in blade work, and Kalgri easily took command of the fight. At last, she forced Caina’s dagger hand out to the side and drew back her own dagger for the kill.

Caina’s hand flew to her belt. Beneath the shadow-cloak, she wore one of her favored disguises, that of a caravan guard with dusty boots and trousers and a coat of leather armor reinforced with steel studs. At her belt hung a short, curved scabbard, which Kalgri thought odd since Caina never used a sword in combat.

Kalgri’s dagger darted forward for a killing stab, and Caina yanked the short curved sword from her belt.

In a flash of white light and silvery metal, Kalgri realized that she had made a serious mistake. She jerked backward with a snarl of fury, the Voice hissing with fear, and Caina swept the sword forward in a clumsy arc. At her full strength, Kalgri could have killed Caina before she finished the strike. In her weakened state, she got out of the way, but the curved blade raked across her left forearm with a flash of burning white fire.

Agony erupted through her, and Kalgri screamed. The Voice echoed her scream of pain, the nagataaru’s wail of fear shuddering through the inside of her skull.

The damned sword was a valikon, one of the blades wrought by the loremasters of lost Iramis to destroy nagataaru, shorter than the valikon Caina had given to Kylon. Where the hell had Caina gotten the damned thing? She must have found it in Kharnaces’s tomb. Trust the damned Great Necromancer to keep a weapon capable of his own destruction.

Kalgri didn’t care about Kharnaces’ destruction, but she cared very much about avoiding her own.

She scrambled to the side, avoiding another swing from the valikon. The agony from the touch of the valikon still flooded through her, and blood dripped down her left arm. Her previous wounds were healing slowly enough, but the wound from the valikon was barely healing at all. The last time Kalgri had been wounded with a valikon, it had taken months to recover.

Kalgri retreated, and Caina came after her. Yes, let her come.

Because behind Kalgri stood Callatas, still gathering his power for a killing spell.

###

Caina pursued Kalgri, valikon in her right hand and ghostsilver dagger in her left.

Kalgri retreated, her weapons held out in guard. Her face looked so much like Caina’s that it was disturbing, with the same blue eyes and nearly the same features, though her hair was blond instead of black. They could have been sisters, though Caina hoped that cruel, insane rage never twisted her expression.

Within Kalgri’s rage, Caina thought she saw a hint of fear.

The valikon could kill Kalgri and destroy the Voice. It could also pierce Callatas’s wards and kill the Grand Master. Caina could end this entire conflict if she could just close with Kalgri.

She just could not manage to do it.

Caina was too tired, her limbs too heavy. Kalgri was just as tired and hurt far worse, but she still had more experience than Caina, and she kept ahead of Caina’s blows. Any other time, Caina would not have lasted more than a few seconds against the Red Huntress. Only Kalgri’s wounds let Caina match her, but unless Caina landed a decisive hit, Kalgri would prevail sooner or later.

Arcane power shone before her eyes.

Callatas had almost finished his spell.

Caina recognized the shape of the spell, the threads of power weaving together to form a blast of psychokinetic force. Kalgri leaped to the side, leaving a clear line of sight from Callatas to Caina. The Grand Master thrust out his free hand, his tattered white robes blowing around him, and the spell erupted from his fingers. The vision of the valikarion meant that Caina could see it coming, and she attempted to dodge, but the spell was too fast.

Invisible force slammed into Caina.

It felt as if she had run full speed into a brick wall. At Callatas’s full strength, the spell would have turned her bones to dust and her flesh to paste. As it was, the spell sent her stumbling backward, blood flying from her nose and mouth, her body throbbing with pain.

Kalgri was right on top of her.

Countless hours spent practicing the unarmed forms of combat had transformed them into reflexes for Caina, and that alone saved her life. She jerked back, just avoiding the points of Kalgri’s scimitar and dagger, and struck back. The valikon raked across the side of Kalgri’s left arm, drawing blood as the ghostsilver blade pulsed with white fire, and Kalgri threw back her head and screamed, the cords in her neck bulging.

She surged forward, dropping her scimitar and dagger, and seized Caina by the wrists, forcing her arms to the side.

Take her! shouted Callatas, his hoarse voice ringing over the hilltop. Take her and bring me the Seal!

Caina stumbled, trying to pull her wrists from Kalgri’s grip, but could not wrench her arms loose. Even wounded, Kalgri was still stronger than Caina. The Huntress’s lips pulled back from her white teeth in a snarl, and Caina kicked, driving her boot into Kalgri’s right knee over and over again. On the third kick, she heard something crack, and Kalgri hissed with pain.

She responded by driving her forehead into Caina’s face.

Pain exploded through Caina’s head, and she felt her head snap back. In that instant of dazed pain, Kalgri swept her foot to the side, catching Caina in the ankles, and Caina lost her balance. She stumbled, and Kalgri shoved, knocking her to the bone-strewn ground.

Caina hit the ground hard. She scrambled away, trying to raise the valikon up to strike, and Kalgri grabbed her wrist, trying to wrench the weapon from her grasp.

She and Kalgri wrestled over the ground, rolling over each other, trying to get control of the valikon.

Caina felt herself losing.

###

Morgant?

The voice was faint, distant, but familiar. It was so familiar that sometimes Morgant’s own thoughts spoke to him in that voice.

Morgant! The woman’s voice filled with alarm.

The eyes of Morgant the Razor, legendary master assassin and the finest painter in all of Istarinmul (or anywhere else, really), twitched open.

He saw a pale pink sky overhead, which was odd. He should have seen the cracked ceiling of his dilapidated house in Istarinmul’s Cyrican Quarter. For that matter, it felt like he was lying on the rocky ground. That was peculiar. Maybe one of his efforts to enter the Inferno and free Annarah had gone awry…

Morgant!

He remembered that voice…and with that memory came a jagged series of recollections.

Oh, hell, muttered Morgant.

They were in a lot of trouble.

He sat up and looked around.

Annarah knelt next to him, her silver hair in disarray, her face and her clothing smudged with soot and ashes. Her green eyes were bloodshot, and she bled from a cut on the right side of her jaw. Her pyrikon had returned to its bracelet form, the bronze metal aesthetically pleasing against the brown shade of her skin…

Morgant put aside the thought. He could think about painting later, once the Grand Master and a nagataaru-infested madwoman were no longer trying to kill them.

You’re alive, said Annarah. I thought the explosion had killed you.

You know me, said Morgant, getting to his feet. He only wobbled a little. It takes more than a cataclysmic explosion and a deranged sorcerer to kill me. Lived through a few of those by now.

He helped Annarah to stand. They were on the edge of the hill, Pyramid Isle spread out beneath them. Another few feet and Morgant would have rolled right over the edge, bouncing down the steep, rocky slope to his death. His broken corpse would have fit right in with the dead jungle. Likely the wave of necromantic power released by the destruction of the Conjurant Bloodcrystal had killed every living thing on the island.

Kharnaces had been destroyed with his creation. Morgant was still alive, and so was Annarah. Had Callatas and Kalgri survived as well?

Where’s Caina? said Morgant.

I don’t know, said Annarah. I just woke up myself. It…

There was a loud cracking sound, followed by a rushing noise, a man’s voice echoing over the hilltop. Morgant had fought enough sorcerers to recognize the sound of a spell of psychokinetic force. That meant Callatas had survived, and if he was casting spells at someone, that meant Caina had survived.

Pity the explosion hadn’t killed Callatas.

After two hundred years, Morgant knew that life was rarely so convenient.

Time for some fighting, said Morgant, reaching for his weapons. He had sheathed them to help Caina carry that damned stone box up the stairs, which was just as well since they hadn’t been thrown free by the explosion. His crimson scimitar gleamed in his right hand, the blade sharp and keen and reinforced by spells.

The black dagger in his right hand, a red pearl glinting in its pommel, was more dangerous by far.

Annarah nodded, and as she did, the bracelet unfolded itself from her wrist, expanding and lengthening. In a heartbeat it had transformed into a slender bronze staff, white light glimmering up and down its length. Morgant had seen both Annarah’s and Caina’s pyrikons transform a hundred times by now, but it was still a strange sight.

They hurried in silence along the edge of the hilltop, moving past the pile of boulders that framed the entrance to the stairwell sinking into the depths of the Tomb. The bone-strewn crest of the hilltop came into sight, and Morgant was pleased to see that the explosion had destroyed all the undead creatures and lesser nagataaru that Kharnaces had called to his side.

He was less pleased to see Caina and Kalgri lying on the ground, struggling for leverage. Even as he watched, Kalgri flipped Caina upon her back with enough force that the back of her head bounced off the ground. Caina flinched, and Kalgri laughed, snatching up a dagger from the ground and raising it for the kill.

Morgant hurried towards them, and several things happened at once.

Beware! shouted Callatas, turning towards Morgant as he raised his hands in the beginnings of a spell.

Kalgri’s head snapped around, her eyes narrowing as she saw Morgant, and purple fire writhed in the depths of her gaze like a flame behind blue glass.

Annarah leveled her staff and shouted something in the Iramisian tongue, and a bolt of scintillating white fire leaped from her pyrikon and sped across the hilltop. It slammed into Kalgri’s chest and hurled the Huntress off Caina. Kalgri hit the ground and bounced, staggering to her feet, fresh red burns marking the side of her face and neck. A strange mixture of rage and glee twisted her damaged face, her eyes glittering like blue knives.

Morgant liked to think that his sanity had weathered the centuries at least somewhat better than hers.

It occurred to him that she was battered and injured, that she was at the limits of her endurance. He would not want to fight the nagataaru-infested Red Huntress at her full strength, but in her weakened state, this was his best chance to kill her.

Then he could figure out how to deal with Callatas.

Kalgri spread her arms, grinning at him. In her left hand, she held a leather pouch. In her right hand, she carried one of Caina’s throwing knives, gripping the weapon by the blade. She must have taken them while she wrestled with Caina, and Morgant realized that the pouch likely held the Seal of Iramis.

That was bad.

Caina was still moving, but she couldn’t seem to get up. She had taken a bad hit or two to the head.

Old man, hissed Kalgri, the purple fire brightening in her eyes. Come and get me. Let’s see if you can still perform.

Whatever you’re charging, said Morgant, the price is still too high.

Kalgri let out that demented giggle of hers. Morgant glanced back, saw Annarah move to the side. As he did, Kalgri surged forward. Morgant turned to face her, wondering why she was doing that. Did she plan to throw the knife at him? He could easily dodge it, and…

Callatas shouted again, flinging out his hands.

Invisible force slammed into Morgant, throwing him from his feet. He tucked his shoulder and rolled, springing back to his feet in a single fluid motion. As he did, Annarah cast another spell, hitting Kalgri with a burst of white fire. The Huntress screamed in pain again, the crackle of burning flesh audible even over her scream, but she did not fall.

She stepped forward, arm snapping, and hurled the throwing knife at Annarah. Morgant heard the thud as the blade sank into the side of Annarah’s neck. She fell to her knees with a strangled scream, blood dripping from her lips.

Morgant cursed and started towards Annarah, and Callatas hit him with another pulse of invisible force.

He hit the ground just as he saw Caina push herself to one knee, breathing hard.

###

Callatas drew on more sorcerous power. White spots danced across his vision, and Pyramid Isle felt as if it had started to spin around him. Too much more effort and he would collapse, and Caina and that damned assassin and Annarah could stroll over and cut his throat.

The surge of emotion that went through him when Annarah fell with the knife jutting from her neck was a surprise. She had hindered his plans for a century and a half with her cleverness. If not for her, the Apotheosis could have been achieved decades ago.

Yet she had been his favorite student.

No matter. To work the Apotheosis, to sweep away the old humanity and bring the new, he would have to kill Annarah.

He was going to kill far more people than her before this was over.

Kalgri sprinted towards Callatas, giggling as she ran, the pouch holding the Seal clutched in her fist. Calculations flashed through Callatas’s mind. Annarah was down, bleeding to death. Caina was still trying to rise. Morgant was down as well, but once he regained his feet, he would attack.

For a moment, Callatas considered attacking and killing them all.

Then Kalgri came to his side, and he ripped the pouch containing the Seal from her hand, taking the ring and sliding it upon his finger.

At last he had all three pieces of the regalia once carried by the Princes of Iramis, and this time, there was no self-destructive compulsion upon his mind. If he tried to press the attack now, if he tried to kill the Balarigar and her allies, he might succeed…but in his weakened state it was just as likely that he would perish.

Callatas dared not gamble with his own life, not when ultimate victory was just within his grasp.

Fortunately, he had a way to escape the island and kill the troublesome Balarigar with a single stroke.

Hear me! roared Callatas as he lifted his hand, the Seal glinting upon his finger. The ring’s stone glowed brighter as it projected his will over the island. By the power of the Seal, I call you. By the power of the Seal, I bind you! By the power of the Seal, I compel you! Come forth to the hilltop and slay the Balarigar. Come now and kill all those with her!

Power surged through the Seal, and Callatas felt his mind expand, his will reaching out to touch the entire island. Hundreds of Kharnaces’s undead creatures and nagataaru servants had been destroyed atop the hill, but hundreds, perhaps even thousands more, remained on the island. They had been vassals of the Harbinger, the nagataaru lord possessing Kharnaces, but the Harbinger had been banished back to the netherworld.

Callatas felt the tug as thousands of alien, malevolent minds responded to the Seal’s power. There were still lesser nagataaru upon Pyramid Isle, and if they had been able to do so, the ferocious spirits would have slain Callatas and devoured his life force. But he was stronger than them, and with the power of the Seal, they had no choice but to obey him and kill Caina.

Callatas would be long gone by then.

What now, father? said Kalgri, her voice a harsh rasp. The fire unleashed by Annarah’s Words of Lore must have damaged her throat. Shall we finish them?

No, said Callatas, focusing his will upon the Staff.

The ancient relic answered his call, gray light glimmering along its length.

Kalgri gave him a sharp look.

Stay here and fight if you wish, said Callatas, slashing the Staff through the air in a vertical line. A curtain of gray mist rose from the ground, shaping itself into a gateway, and Callatas glimpsed the bleak gray plains of the netherworld through the gate. I am returning to Istarinmul to begin the Apotheosis. Stay here and kill them, and then starve to death on this wretched island. Or come with me, and watch the old world and the old humanity die.

Kalgri shivered, her blue eyes widening, and the lustful smile that spread over her burned and bloody face made her look savage and insane.

Leady the way, said Kalgri.

###

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 of silver fire that would accompany the healing.

###

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