dozen of the spirits shattered in a haze of black smoke. Morgant stepped back, trying to get out of the smoke before it obscured his vision, but the nagataaru slid away from the valikon’s blade. He remembered how the Sifter had reacted with panic when Caina had threatened to destroy it with the valikon. Likely the immortal nagataaru reacted to the sudden prospect of destruction in the same way.
For a moment a gap formed in the swirling ring of nagataaru, and Annarah’s pyrikon shot forward, hewing its way through the dark cloud of spirits. The pyrikon reached the ring of armored warriors and changed form, becoming a sphere of light about a foot across. The sphere touched Annarah’s left arm and she gasped, looking at in in astonishment. As she did, the sphere lengthened and thinned, hardening into the form of a delicate bronze staff. Annarah gaped at the staff in shock, as if unable to believe her eyes.
The nagataaru swirled faster around her, a dark tide of them coming towards Morgant and Caina. Morgant did not think he could destroy all the spirits before the nagataaru drowned them like a tide of shadows.
“Annarah!” he shouted. “The staff! Use it!”
She looked at him in astonishment, and then nodded, thrusting the staff before her as she shouted a phrase in the High Iramisian tongue.
Blinding white fire exploded from her in a ring, passing through the pyrikon spirits without touching them. It slammed into the circle of the nagataaru, shattering it and throwing hooded specters in all directions like black leaves. The nagataaru let out hissing screams, and Annarah spun, the pyrikon staff shining in her left hand.
That was enough for the nagataaru. The spirits fled in all directions, sinking into the stone of the courtyard or vanishing into the tormented sky overhead. The pyrikon spirits around Annarah changed shape, shrinking into those spheres of light. They drifted around her in a loose ring, and her own pyrikon shrank, becoming a bronze bracelet curling around her left wrist. Annarah took a deep breath, caught her balance, and turned.
She stared at Morgant for a moment.
“You came back,” she whispered.
“I told you I would,” said Morgant. “I keep my word.”
###
“Morgant,” said Annarah, staring at the assassin.
Her voice was deep for a woman, but quite musical. Had Theodosia met her, Caina thought, she would have tried to recruit Annarah into the Grand Imperial Opera. A strange accent colored her Istarish, one that Caina had heard before. Both Callatas and Nasser had versions of the same accent, and Caina now realized it was an Iramisian accent. Iramis had burned a century and a half ago, and Nasser’s and Callatas’s accents had faded over time, but Annarah’s was still fresh.
“How long has it been?” said Morgant.
Annarah walked towards him, her white robes stirring in the netherworld’s strange wind.
“About two hours,” said Annarah. “I left you my pyrikon and my journal, and then I retreated through the gate. I cast spells to summon a sanctuary, and called upon the spirits of defense to ward me while I waited for your return. But before finished, the nagataaru attacked in force.” She gestured at the pale balls of light floating around her. “We were driven into the courtyard, and I thought my death was at hand. Then you returned and drove them off. Where did you get a valikon? I thought they were all lost when Callatas burned Iramis.”
Morgant jerked his head at Caina.
Annarah’s green eyes turned towards Caina. “A…Ghost nightfighter? In Istarinmul?”
“Yes,” said Caina, using her disguised voice. She decided to keep Annarah from learning who she was if possible. If Callatas realized that Annarah lived, he would stop at nothing to kill her. Caina hoped to keep the loremaster safe, but if Callatas took her alive and tormented her for her secrets…
“We asked the Ghosts for aid,” said Annarah, “but they could not spare it. With the destruction of Caer Magia and the fall of the Fourth Empire, the Magisterium split into civil war. Has the civil war of the magi ended? Could the Ghosts aid us against Callatas?”
“Aye,” said Caina, wondering how Annarah would react to the truth, “but Caer Magia fell a very long time ago.”
“Long ago?” said Annarah. “How…” Her voice trailed off, and she turned back to Morgant. “You do not look much older, but your sense…it is older, far older. How…how long has it been, Morgant?”
“One hundred and fifty years,” said Morgant. He looked grimmer than usual, the lines on his gaunt face