of the undead.
But the Undying ignored them. They charged past the bewildered smiths, racing for the Immortals. One of the blacksmiths stumbled into the path of the undead, and Kylon expected the withered corpses to tear him apart. The Undying simply pushed the living man out of the way and kept running.
“I believe you were saying something about miracles, Master Najar” said Nasser.
Najar was too astonished even to spit on the floor.
“Attack, if you have a brain in your head,” said Morgant, his voice hard and urgent. “Whatever is going on, it is to our advantage. If we cut down Rolukhan, the day is ours, and we can rescue Annarah and Ciaran at our leisure.”
A blaze of green light came from the door at the rear of the Hall, radiating from the hand of a figure wrapped in shadow.
###
Annarah dismissed the white light from her pyrikon, though it remained in staff form as they hastened through the galleries of the Halls of the Dead. The light was no longer necessary. The terrible, unearthly glow of the Subjugant Bloodcrystal in Caina’s armored left hand provided ample light.
The wrath of the Undying had been turned in a different direction.
All around them ran the undead, bound to the will of the Subjugant Bloodcrystal. They raced for the higher levels of the Inferno, some of them even climbing the walls like giant, rotting spiders. The creatures screamed in rage as they ran, howling with centuries of pain and despair. It was like being trapped inside a storm of dusty bone and wailing shrieks.
Gods forgive her. What had Caina unleashed upon the Inferno?
She could not waver now. It was the only way to stop the Apotheosis, to save Kylon and the others from the Inferno.
“Here!” shouted Caina, pulling at Annarah’s arm. She looked just as frightened as Caina felt, but neither did she hesitate. “These stairs go to the Hall of Forges. Can you manage with your ankle?”
“I would crawl up the stairs on my hands and knees if it aided our escape from this place,” said Annarah.
“That’s the spirit,” said Caina, and they hastened up the stairs. The tide of undead around them did not slacken, an endless line of animated corpses pushing past them as the Halls of the Dead disgorged its dead. Confined in the narrow spiral stair, with the corpses brushing past her, their dusty scent filling her nostrils, made Caina want to scream. Instead she gripped the Subjugant Bloodcrystal all the tighter, the plates of her ghostsilver gauntlet creaking against the ancient relic. So long as she held that, the Undying would obey her, would fight to save her friends from the Immortals.
If Kylon and the others were still alive.
Caina ran up the stairs as fast as she dared, Annarah hobbling behind her, the corpses streaming past them.
Then she burst out of the awful stairwell, Annarah gasping besides her, and found herself in the Hall of Forges once again.
Hellfire burned across the floor, dancing over the ruins of the barracks. Corpses lay strewn before the smoldering barracks, both armored Immortals and gray-clad slaves. A mob of slaves stood before the corpses, armed with hammers and armored in bits of armor stolen from the dead Immortals. Nasser and Morgant and Laertes stood near the forges, and Caina spotted Malcolm and Nerina amongst the slaves. Kylon stood talking with Nasser, the valikon in his hands, and a wave of such relief went through Caina that her knees wobbled.
Kylon looked at her and flinched in alarm. She wondered why, and then realized what she must look like. A cloaked shadow, holding a crystal that burned with green flame. The slaves themselves backed away in terror, eyes wide.
Caina hurried forward, drawing back the cowl of her shadow-cloak with her free hand. She kept her mask on, though. There were hundreds of slaves here, and if she lived through this she needed to keep her identity secret.
“Kylon!” shouted Caina. “It’s me.”
“Gods of storm and brine,” he whispered. Around them the dead ran to battle against the Immortals. “This was your doing, isn’t it?”
“I knew you were a troublemaker,” said Morgant, who only seemed amused, though he smiled at Annarah. “With this, Balarigar, you have surpassed yourself.”
“That is one of the greater bloodcrystals of ancient Maat,” said Nasser, and he looked more shocked than Caina had ever seen him. “How did you do that? How are you even still alive?”
“Oh, by the Living Flame,” croaked one of the enslaved blacksmiths, a black-bearded Anshani man holding a