to see Callatas’s final victory, almost hoped that he would see the former Prince’s despair as the new humanity rose from the ashes of the old.
Kalgri’s voice cut into his self-congratulation. “A fitting trophy to your vanity, father. Do you sometimes come to the netherworld to stare at it?”
He glared at her. “You are still carrying that shadow-cloak and ghostsilver short swords. Trophies from the Ghost nightfighter you killed years ago, are they not?”
“I keep things because they are useful, and when they are no longer useful I discard them,” said Kalgri with disdain. “The pleasure is in the killing, father. In feasting upon torment and fear and death.” She shivered a little, her blue eyes widening as purple fire pulsed within them. “What use are baubles beyond that?”
Callatas stared at her with disgust. For a moment, he considered killing her. With the Seal on his hand, he could bind the will of the Voice, command it to take control of her body, and order it to kill her. Previously, killing Kalgri would have been a challenge even for him, but with the Seal, she posed no threat. That, and killing her would be immensely satisfying…
No. Cold caution cut through his dark musings.
Callatas might have need of the Red Huntress yet. Caina and Annarah and Morgant were no longer a threat, and Erghulan would have dealt with the rebels by now. Yet Nasser might be alive, and he would attempt something reckless to stop him. For that matter, Kylon of House Kardamnos likely still lived. A Kyracian stormdancer would not normally have troubled Callatas, but a Kyracian stormdancer armed with a valikon was a far greater danger. Both Cassander Nilas and Malik Rolukhan had been powerful sorcerers. Rolukhan had been possessed by a powerful nagataaru, and Cassander’s spell had almost destroyed Istarinmul. Kylon of House Kardamnos had vowed to kill both men, and now both men were dead.
Best to exercise caution, then.
Callatas had not come this far and overcome so many obstacles only to be undone by pride at the final moment. He had to admit that his pride had caused him problems before. If he had not mishandled Cassander so badly, he could have acquired the relics months ago. If he had not dismissed Caina as a serious threat, the Inferno would not have been destroyed. For that matter, if Callatas had not treated Morgant so high-handedly after the destruction of Iramis, he might have found the Staff and Seal long before Kylon and Caina had ever been born.
So best not to kill Kalgri while he still had a use for her.
That, and once the new humanity arose, the old one would have to be killed, and Kalgri was excellent at killing.
“Very well,” said Callatas. “Come, then. If you wish to live in the moment and revel in slaughter, then follow me to Istarinmul. You shall have all the slaughter you desire.”
“I desire quite a lot, father,” said Kalgri, but she followed him.
Callatas lifted the Staff, focusing his will on it. Here in the netherworld, the Staff gave off a constant gray light, while the Seal shone with a steady blue glow and the Star looked as if it had been carved from a frozen blue flame. Enspelled objects reacted that way in the netherworld. If he looked closely, he saw the faint white glow of the sheathed ghostsilver short sword at Kalgri’s belt.
“This way,” said Callatas, focusing his will into the Staff.
The netherworld shifted and rippled around him. The plans vanished, replaced instead by the streets of Istarinmul, ramshackle apartment towers of crumbling brick and adobe rising around him. The Anshani Quarter, he thought, and he prepared to cast another spell, focusing his will.
“A fine notion,” said Kalgri. “But just how are we to return to the city? It is rather a long walk from Pyramid Isle.” She looked at the rippling reflection of Istarinmul around them. “Even longer from the netherworld.”
“It is normally useless to use the netherworld for travel across the material world,” said Callatas. “Some sorcerers have sought to do so, but have invariably perished due to the dangerous spirits that dwell here. Distance in the netherworld corresponds precisely to distance in the material world, though time does not.”
“Normally?” said Kalgri.
“A useful property of the Staff,” said Callatas, and he cast the spell again, the Staff pulsing. The Anshani Quarter dissolved into the colorless plain and then reformed itself a moment later the Court of the Fountain at the Padishah’s Golden Palace. Callatas detested the