to do this my way, then you should have come here alone. Let’s go.” She looked at Nerina. “Get changed into trousers. You can’t run in that dress, and we might need to run before this is done.” Kylon removed his pack and handed it to Caina. “Thank you. The rest of you, get ready.”
Caina did not wait for an answer, but walked to the bedroom and closed the door. She stripped out of the robe and donned clothes from the pack, the clothes she wore as a Ghost nightfighter. Black trousers, black boots, black gloves, a black jacket lined with thin steel plates to deflect knives. A black mask covered her head, concealing everything but her eyes. A belt with knives and other useful tools went around her waist, and she hid more throwing knives up her sleeves and tucked daggers into her boots. Her ghostsilver dagger went in a sheath at her belt.
She pulled out a long, black-wrapped bundle from the pack and opened it. The bundle contained two things. The first was a leather pouch lined with lead foil. It held three of crystalline vials of Elixir Restorata that she had stolen from Grand Master Callatas’s library, Elixirs that could heal any wounds.
Caina hoped she would not need them. Not that she could use them herself. The same old wounds that let her sense sorcery also caused the Elixir to become dangerously, explosively unstable when it touched her. If she ingested it, the resultant explosion would be impressive.
The second thing was the valikon. The sword was wrought of ghostsilver, and wound with spells that made it lethal to the nagataaru. If necessary, they could use it to kill Rolukhan and his nagataaru with one stroke, though Caina hoped to escape the Inferno without fighting anyone. She had promised Kylon to help kill Rolukhan and avenge his wife, though the interior of the Inferno, the heart of Rolukhan’s power, was certainly not the place to do that.
Both the valikon and the pouch of Elixir had been wrapped in her shadow-cloak, and Caina slung it around her shoulders. She didn’t know if Rolukhan or his nagataaru would have been able to sense the weapon or the Elixir, but best not to take chances.
Caina took the valikon, crossed the dining room, and returned to the anteroom. Nerina had changed to trousers and leather armor, her crossbow and a quiver of quarrels slung over her back. Azaces waited next to her, his expression grimmer than usual, his face drawn and tight beneath its scars.
“Here,” said Caina, handing Kylon the sheathed valikon. “Maybe you’ll have the chance to use this.”
Kylon nodded and hooked the valikon to his baldric, the hilt rising over his shoulder.
“Try not to get yourself mortally wounded this time,” said Morgant.
“It’s not an experience I’m keen to repeat,” said Kylon.
“No,” said Morgant, opening the door in the wall. Beyond yawned a dark archway, spiral stairs descending into the earth. A cold breeze blew out of the stairs, the air musty and carrying a faint scent of crumbling bone and mummified flesh.
Rhames had smelled much the same way.
“Well,” said Laertes. “Here we go again.”
“It can’t be any worse than the time we went to the netherworld,” said Nasser.
Kylon looked at him. “You went to the netherworld?”
“While escaping from Grand Master Callatas’s palace,” said Caina. “I wouldn’t recommend it.” She took a deep breath, the musty smell flooding her nostrils. “Let’s have some light.”
She held out her left hand and focused upon the pyrikon, asking it to take the form of a staff. The bracelet unwound and expanded, lengthening until it became a staff, white light shining from the end.
“Yes,” said Morgant. “That’s how the pyrikon looked the first time.”
“Let’s hope it knows what we need,” said Caina.
“I’ll go first,” said Kylon.
“No,” said Caina. “If the light repels the undead, I should go first.”
“If it doesn’t,” said Kylon, “you’ll need help.”
Caina hesitated, nodded. “Aye.”
She took another deep breath, regretted it again, and started down the stairs.
###
Silence reigned in the Halls of the Dead.
Kylon walked alongside Caina, the valikon in his right hand. The sigils upon the sword’s blade remained dark. As far as he knew, the sword’s symbols only burned with white fire in the presence of spirits. He hoped the weapon would prove effective against the undead.
Because he was certain that they would encounter the undead sooner or later.
The air around him crawled and throbbed with the cold, corrupting presence of necromantic power. He sensed the power radiating from the