death in your hand. Who among those you love shall you bring death now?”
Caina reeled, stumbled back several steps, and grabbed one of the scarab-headed statues with her free hand to keep her balance. Horrible cold washed through her, the gauntlet’s vibrations getting worse.
“Death eternal,” whispered Laeria. “Take me from this place and bring death to your foes. Take me and raise an army of the dead, and sweep this world clean of evil. Take me and slay those you love, and they shall be at your side forevermore.”
Caina pushed away from the statue, reached back, and pulled up the cowl of her shadow-cloak.
Laeria’s voice faded to an indecipherable whisper, and the gauntlet’s vibrations grew gentler. Caina heard another voice instead, and after a moment realized that Annarah was talking to her.
“How do you feel?” said Annarah.
“Chilly,” croaked Caina. She coughed and shook her head. “But alive.” The black bloodcrystal blazed with green fire in her armored fist, the facets shimmering with hieroglyphics. The pyrikon gauntlet gave off a gentle white glow, fighting against the cold radiance of the crystal’s necromantic aura.
“I did not think it possible,” said Annarah. “What will you do now?”
“What I came here to do,” said Caina, “and a little extra.”
She stepped from the dais, holding up the Subjugant Bloodcrystal. Thutomis flinched away from her, and a ripple went through the ranks of the Undying.
“Do you see this, Thutomis?” said Caina.
“You hold the High Priest’s bloodcrystal,” said Thutomis, and there was something new in his exhausted voice. Disbelief? Awe? Perhaps even hope? “It is not possible.”
“Will you do as I say?” said Caina.
“We must obey,” said Thutomis. “Our corpses and will are bound to the crystal’s power. We must obey its bearer.”
“Then I make you this promise,” said Caina. “If I emerge from the Inferno, if I see the sun again, I will destroy the Subjugant Bloodcrystal. I will shatter it, undo the spells upon you, and grant you all the peace of death at last.”
“Truly?” said Thutomis, and murmurs rose from the other undead. “Could this eternity of torment end at last?”
“More than that will end tonight if I work my will,” said Caina. “This is my command to you, Thutomis and the Undying of the Inferno. Follow me to the higher levels of the fortress. There I command you to free every slave that you encounter and take them through the gate to freedom. There I command you to kill every Immortal that you find.” She raised the bloodcrystal higher, the horrible green light falling over the undead. “There I command you to kill Malik Rolukhan, the Lieutenant of the Inferno.” Caina walked closer. “You say I am the Destroyer? Then I shall be the Destroyer, and bring the hour of destruction to the Inferno! Go and destroy the Inferno, and your freedom is at hand.”
For a moment none of the undead said anything. The Subjugant Bloodcrystal thrummed in Caina’s hand, the green fire blazing brighter.
Then a moan rose from the undead, a wail that rapidly climbed to a scream of fury. It was as if a dam had been breached, and centuries of rage and pain and despair now poured forth in a torrent.
Centuries of rage and pain and despair that Caina had given a target.
As one the Undying turned and raced from the chamber, making for the stairs leading to the higher Halls of the Inferno. The Halls of the Dead rang with the cries and screams of the undead, the rustling sound of thousands of animated corpses moving with terrific speed.
“This is either valor or madness,” said Annarah, staring at the Undying with wide eyes.
“Perhaps both,” said Caina. “Let us hurry. This isn’t over until we find Rolukhan.”
Chapter 20: Hear The Words Of Lore
“Prepare yourselves!” said Nasser, raising his bloodied scimitar. “They will come again soon.”
Kylon was not so sure.
Something was wrong.
Of course, quite a few things were wrong. The Immortals had charged them twice, and twice Kylon and the others had repulsed their attacks, though a third of the enslaved blacksmiths had been killed. Thanks to the blacksmiths’ stout courage and the skill of Kylon and Morgant and Nasser, they had killed three times their number of Immortals. Malcolm’s men had looted the dead Immortals, stealing scimitars and armor and helmets, though no one wanted to wear the black skull masks.
“No,” said Morgant. The gem in the hilt of his dagger radiated a pale red glow. Three times he had thrown the blade into the charging mass of the Immortals,