Ghost in the Razor (21 page)

Kylon shook his head, face tight with concentration. “I can’t sense anyone. We’re alone.”

“Likely all the Immortals went to see your fireworks show,” said Morgant. 

“Or died in the collapse,” said Caina, pointing with her ghostsilver dagger. The corridor curved around the base of the tower, but ahead it had been blocked by fresh rubble. Dust hung in the air, looking like bloody mist in the crimson light leaking through the windows. 

“It would be amusing,” said Morgant. “All this effort, and we buried the laboratory.”

“No,” said Caina. A stone arch opened in the curved wall, revealing a flight of stairs descending into the earth. She felt the faint tremors of arcane power beneath her boots, the familiar presence of a wraithblood laboratory. Caina beckoned, and they took the stairs. They sank into the tower’s foundations, light coming from vials of alchemical elixirs set into the wall. The stairs ended in a set of double doors, closed and bound in steel. 

“Any wards on the doors?” said Caina. 

“Nothing,” said Kylon. “But…there is a lot of power behind those doors. A sorcerer might not need a concealment spell to mask his presence. The radiance of that much arcane power would do it for him.” 

Caina nodded and put her weapons back in their sheaths. “Help me with the doors.” 

Kylon stepped to help her, while Morgant remained on watch. Together they heaved and pushed the doors open. Pale light spilled out of the doors, and Caina stepped back, shading her eyes. 

“Gods of storm and brine,” whispered Kylon. “What is this place?”

“A wraithblood laboratory,” said Caina, drawing her ghostsilver dagger. 

The vast room was circular, as wide as the drum tower overhead, the ceiling supported by thick stone pillars. Dozens of rows of steel tables waited in the room, and upon each table rested a dead male or female slave. The slaves had dozens of steel spikes driven into their flesh, slender chains dangling from them. Black blood dripped from their wounds, charged with arcane power, and collected in metal troughs below the tables. The hanging chains had been knotted together to form an intricate maze of metal cables upon the floor, all of them leading to the far wall. There they joined together to form a metal cable as thick as both of Caina’s legs put together. 

And then the cable reached the Mirror of Worlds. 

The mirror was a huge square, sixteen feet by sixteen feet, mounted in a wooden frame. The vast sheet of glass reflected the laboratory, and Caina saw her reflection and Kylon’s and Morgant’s in it. Yet there was something beneath the glass, something moving. Beyond the reflection stretched a vast bleak plain, gray grass rippling and undulating in an endless wind. Bands of black clouds choked the sky, roiling and flashing with bolts of silent green lighting.

The netherworld. 

The Mirror of Worlds radiated arcane power, and more sorcerous energy flowed down the chains to the tables. 

“Gods,” said Kylon, looking around. “There must be two hundred corpses.”

“And many more have died here, I can promise you that,” said Caina. She remembered the wraithblood laboratory she had found in the Widow’s Tower, her horror at discovering just what Callatas had done with the thousands of slaves he had purchased from the Brotherhood. “That’s why I’ve been terrorizing the Slavers’ Brotherhood. To cut off the flow of slaves…”

“To places like this,” said Kylon, taking a cautious step forward. “To abattoirs like this. Gods. I did not doubt you when you told me of the wraithblood laboratories, but to hear it described and to see it with your own eyes are two different things.” 

“Yes,” said Caina, taking slow, quiet steps down the aisles between the rows of metal tables. As far as she could tell, the laboratory was deserted. That was good. Unfortunately, she saw no sign of the Sifter. 

“That is why your life is more important than mine,” said Kylon.

Caina stopped and looked at him. “What?” 

“No one knew this was happening,” said Kylon. “No one even suspected.” He waved a hand at Morgant. “He might have known, but he didn’t do anything useful about it.” Morgant snorted, but Kylon kept talking. “No one knew. No one tried to stop it. You…”

“This is pointless,” said Caina. She took another look around the laboratory. There were doors in some of the walls, no doubt leading to other chambers beneath the Craven’s Tower, but she did not want to take the time to search them. “We can’t linger here. If the Sifter doesn’t appear soon, we’ll…”

Both Morgant and Kylon whirled, weapons leveled. Caina followed their gaze. An Immortal emerged from one of the side doors, armor clanking. The black-armored warrior carried no weapons, and Caina soon saw why.

The eyeholes of the skull-masked helm blazed with crimson fire. 

The Sifter had come for her.

Chapter 17: Dark Sword

The Sifter regarded the demonslayer and her allies with its stolen eyes of flesh, while its immaterial eyes of energy contemplated the maze of destiny spreading through the tapestry of the world. 

Its gambit had worked, had brought Caina Amalas into its grasp at last. It had not been able to see her destiny thread, not while she labored so carefully to shield it…but her shielding did not extend to all threads around her. The demonslayer exerted a mighty pull on the paths of those near her, altering the flow of their threads with her choices. The Sifter had not been able to see her, but it saw the effect she had on the fates of those around her. 

Like a hunter tracking an unseen gazelle by watching the waves in the tall grass. 

Neither the demonslayer nor her allies moved, their hands on their weapons. 

The Sifter took a step closer, considering the proper course of action. The assassin’s destiny thread was far longer than that of most mortals. Quite a few threads terminated when they touched his. Not that it mattered. The assassin carried no weapon that could harm the Sifter. The stormdancer was much the same way. Far younger, but his destiny line had touched many others, altering their fates.

They were of no consequence. Minor obstacles to be overcome. 

The demonslayer’s thread occupied the entirety of the Sifter’s attention. It hummed with energy, with possibility. Her choices had altered the course of the world more than once. She would do it again, in the future, and all that potential energy waited within her thread. 

Energy that the Sifter could devour.

It saw the possibility of her imminent death…but there was as another potentiality in her thread.

She might prevail.

The Sifter accepted that risk. If she destroyed its form here, so close to the stable gate, the currents of power around the Mirror of Worlds might well pull the Sifter back to the netherworld. That would break Cassander’s binding spell, but would also mean the Sifter could not devour Caina Amalas. The path of her thread in the tapestry of destiny was not clear. She might die…or she might prevail.

The Sifter had twice failed to consume her using main strength, but guile would succeed where force had failed. 

“Demonslayer,” it said.

“Sifter,” said the demonslayer. “I’m glad you could join us. I was worried you would be late.”

“I know your purpose in drawing me here,” said the Sifter. “If you force me from my material form here, I shall be pulled into the netherworld before I can claim another.”

“Clever for a talking fireball,” muttered the assassin.

“If you know my purpose,” said the demonslayer, “why come here? Why walk into the trap?” 

“I propose a bargain,” said the Sifter. “My purpose is to kill you. Your companions and allies are of no interest to me. Remove the pyrikon and surrender yourself freely to me.”

“Or?” said the demonslayer. 

“Or I shall kill your friends, companions, and allies before I kill you,” said the Sifter. “Your destiny thread has crossed the paths of many others. You have preserved many lives that otherwise would have been lost. I observe these lives have value to you. Therefore, if you do not yield yourself to me, I shall destroy them one by one. Your work shall be undone, and you shall experience this failure before I consume you. However, if you yield to me, I shall depart to the netherworld and trouble your allies no further.” 

“I’ve heard this offer before,” said the demonslayer. “The Red Huntress made it to me at Silent Ash Temple. I refused her, too.” 

“The nagataaru feed upon pain and fear and death,” said the Sifter. “This leads them to indulge in wasteful cruelty, which in turn provides an opportunity for their defeat. That is how you survived the Huntress. You will not survive me, and nor will your companions, should you refuse me.” It raised an armored hand and pointed at Kylon. “I shall start with him. You value his life greatly, and his death would inflict damage upon you.” The pointing finger shifted to the smirking assassin. “Then I shall kill him. His life holds less value to you, but the loss of his knowledge would grieve you.” 

“How flattering,” said the assassin. 

“If you know me as well as you claim,” said the demonslayer, “then you know I will refuse you and I will fight you.”

“This is entirely true,” said the Sifter. “Therefore, I have brought additional inducements. Come forth!”

###

Caina shifted as Ikhardin emerged from the side door. The towering Kindred assassin walked with a wide smile on his scarred face. In his left hand he carried a long dagger, the blade glittering with razor sharpness. In his right hand…

In his right hand he carried a sword of sorcerous power. Caina felt its aura from across the room, even through the power radiating from the Mirror and the necromantic aura of Ikhardin’s bloodcrystal. A shadowy mist writhed and twitched around the sword, and it gave off a sharp chill. Ikhardin stopped at the Sifter’s side and smiled at Morgant. 

“Morgant the Razor,” said the Kindred assassin. “We meet again.” 

“Ikhardin,” said Morgant. “Why are you so excited to see me? Weren’t you hired to kill Lord Kylon?”

“Lord Kylon is simply another contract, another sheep culled from the herd of the weak,” said Ikhardin. “You are a traitor to the Kindred. A century and a half have passed, Razor, but the Kindred do not forget their debts. The Elder was most pleased when he learned that you still lived, for he remembered your treachery.” Ikhardin smiled and raised the shadow-wreathed sword. “He was so pleased that he bestowed this weapon of power upon me. You shall find that your dagger is somewhat less effective against its power.” He held it up before him, and Caina saw the bloodcrystal embedded in the weapon’s pommel. “A mere touch will steal away your life and bestow it upon me.”

“One fool with a sorcerous sword,” said Morgant, and rage flashed over Ikhardin’s scarred face. “That hardly makes for a deterrent.”

Four Immortals walked to Ikhardin’s side, scimitars in hand.

“Still not impressed,” said Morgant. 

“Perhaps this shall change your mind,” said Ikhardin. 

The Sifter beckoned, and smaller shapes poured from the doorway.

A jolt of fear went through Caina. 

“Gods!” said Kylon. “What are those things?”

“Daevagoths,” said Caina, voice quiet.

She had seen them before in the Widow’s Tower and in Grand Master Callatas’s laboratory. Once they had been living men and women, but then they had been transformed by alchemical elixirs. Now they were spiders the size of wolves, their yellow-green bodies swollen with tumors and growths. Spiked legs clicked against the stone floor, and a curved scorpion’s tail, as long and as thick as Caina’s leg, curled over their bodies, the barbed stinger dripping with lethal toxins. They still had human heads, the flesh gray and bloodless, their eyes filled with madness. Slime dribbled from their lips, and the daevagoths whispered curses and threats as they moved. 

Eight daevagoths moved out of the doorway and flanked the Sifter, their tails twitching, their eyes bright with madness and hatred. 

“I didn’t know ifriti could create daevagoths,” said Caina.

“The Alchemist Rolukhan has lent them to us for this endeavor,” said the Sifter in its roaring, hissing voice. “He desires the stormdancer’s death. His fate is of no concern to me. Surrender to me, demonslayer, and I shall permit him and the assassin to go.” 

“You know how I’m going to answer that question,” said Caina. 

Ikhardin smiled. “Yes. I rather hoped you were going to say that. The Balarigar, Lord Kylon, and Morgant the Razor all slain in the same day. Truly, the Elder shall reward me well.”

He raised his dark sword, and the Immortals and the daevagoths moved forward.

###

Kylon sheathed his broadsword and drew the valikon from its sheath over his back. The weapon might not work against the Sifter, but it was a stronger, sharper weapon than the broadsword, and he needed every advantage that he could find. The sigils upon the blade glimmered with white fire in response to the power swirling through the air, the hilt vibrating beneath his fingers. 

The daevagoths scurried forward, their legs clicking against the floor, their tails waving back and forth. Ikhardin strode towards them, that necromantic sword ready in his hand, the four Immortals flanking him. Kylon drew on the power of water and air, preparing himself. Perhaps if he leapt over the daevagoths and struck down the Sifter, Ikhardin and the daevagoths would withdraw…

“You two,” said Morgant, “handle the daevagoths. I’ll deal with Ikhardin and the Immortals.”

“You will?” said Kylon.

“Fine,” said Caina, her voice hard. “Their stingers are poisoned. One scratch is enough to kill.”

Kylon nodded and braced himself, preparing to attack.

Before he finished, Morgant was already moving.

###

Morgant had come prepared. 

His black dagger could deal with most threats, but he had seen a lot of fights over the centuries. He had seen all the tricks and knew all the tactics, and he knew that there was no more powerful weapon than the unexpected. 

That, and he had been inspired by the smoke bomb Caina had used in the training room below the Ring of Cyrica, so he had gotten a few of his own. 

Morgant’s hand dipped into his coat, and he flung one of the small clay spheres that had been in his pocket. He looked away as the sphere shattered against the floor with a dazzling burst of light, so bright that it threw dark shadows against the brick walls. The daevagoths had been focused on Kylon and Caina, but Ikhardin and the Immortals had been looking right at Morgant.

Which meant they had been looking right at the sphere. 

Ikhardin reacted correctly. He jumped back, sweeping his blades back and forth before him to ward off any attackers. The Immortals stumbled, raising their hands to block the glare from their eyes.

That was the wrong reaction.

Morgant sprang forward, the black dagger blurring in his left hand. The nearest Immortal had his hand raised to shield his eyes, and the black dagger sliced through the armor and flesh and bone, the hand falling to the floor, the stump sizzling. The Immortal screamed, and Morgant flicked the dagger around and bisected his skull. He spun as the Immortals recovered from the flash of his smoke bomb, and raked his dagger through the chest of another Immortal. His blade tore through black armor, the edges glowing white-hot, and the dagger sliced through the Immortal’s heart. The Immortal collapsed, slain in an instant, and the other two charged at Morgant, scimitars raised to kill.

Morgant twisted like a serpent and drove the black dagger home in the nearest Immortal’s wrist. It was a weak blow, but it was enough for the dagger’s power. The weapon pulsed, and the stored heat from the previous two blows poured into the Immortal. The black-armored warrior rocked backwards, screaming as flames erupted within his armor. Morgant leapt away from the burning man, and the remaining Immortal stalked after him, scimitar held low. Ikhardin shook himself with a growl and moved forward, weapons ready, his sword swirling with shadowy mist. 

Now it was one against two, rather than two against five. Morgant liked those odds better. 

Unfortunately, he suspected that Ikhardin would prove as dangerous as four Immortals. 

###

Kylon took the valikon’s hilt in both hands. The daevagoths surged forward in a wave of twisted flesh, their eyes shining with the same eerie, dead blue glow as the eyes of the Immortals. If he stayed here, they would encircle him. He doubted even the sorcery of water would be enough to fight off their poison. Perhaps he could jump over them and strike from behind.

Before the thought fully formed, Caina was in motion. 

She scrambled up the nearest table, perching atop the dead man lying there. One of the daevagoths turned to look at her, and her right arm shot forward in a blur, something gleaming in her fingers. An instant later a throwing knife sprouted from the daevagoth’s throat. Kylon did not know if the creatures needed to breathe. Yet the daevagoth loosed a howling shriek of pain and outrage, going into a wild, furious dance. The creature shrieked again and fell over, and the other seven daevagoths ran over its corpse. 

“The tables!” said Caina. “The high ground!”

Kylon  jumped backwards, landing on a table a few rows away. A dead woman stared up at him, her eyes glassy, spiked chains hanging from her pallid flesh. Kylon just had time to wonder how many thousands like her had died in Callatas’s vile laboratories, and then his mind snapped back to the daevagoths. Three of them rushed towards Caina, and four surged towards him. Caina flung another knife, clipping one of the daevagoths, and jumped to another table. 

Then the four daevagoths scrambled up Kylon’s table.

He swept the valikon around in a silvery blur, taking the head from the nearest daevagoth. The sigils upon the valikon’s blade shone brighter for a moment, and the daevagoth’s head and corpse fell to the stone floor, glowing blue blood spurting from the severed head. The surviving three daevagoths reached the top of the table, their tails drawn back to strike. 

Kylon leaped backwards, the stingers blurring towards his legs as he jumped. He felt one of the stingers tug at the bottom of his boot, wondered if the razor-edged spike had managed to reach his flesh. Would he feel the poison if it entered his blood? Would he die in screaming agony, or would it still his heart and mind and leave him to die in numb oblivion? 

He landed on another table, and the daevagoths pursued him. Two of them scrambled across the floor, their jerky movements propelling them forward with tremendous speed, and one hurled itself at Kylon. He swung the valikon again and caught the daevagoth as it soared towards him, taking off the creature’s head in a spurt of blue-glowing blood. The two surviving creatures tried to come at his table from either side, but Kylon jumped to another table. The daevagoths spun, their legs skittering to keep their balance. The creatures were fast, their toxin lethal, but they were not effective fighters. They relied too much upon their speed, and without their poison, they were not terribly dangerous.