Ghost in the Winds (Ghost Exile #9)

  GHOST IN THE WINDS

  Jonathan Moeller

  Description

  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.

  Ghost in the Winds

  Copyright 2016 by Jonathan Moeller.

  Published by Azure Flame Media, LLC.

  Cover design by Clarissa Yeo.

  Ebook edition published August 2016.

  All Rights Reserved.

  This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination, or, if real, used fictitiously. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the express written permission of the author or publisher, except where permitted by law.

  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 its path and reducing the island’s jungle to a collection 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 frame.

  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 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 na
gataaru 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 second 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 Cain
a 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.”