Free Ghost in the Inferno (Ghost Exile #5) by Jonathan Moeller Page B

their victims in short order, and the victims rise themselves as undead.”
    Caina frowned. “So whoever is killed in the Inferno rises again as an undead creature? How does the Lieutenant keep the undead from overrunning the entire fortress?”  
    “Pardon,” said Moryzai. “I was not clear. Only those slain in the lower halls, the Halls of the Dead, rise again. Those who are killed in training in the upper halls, or executed at the Lieutenant’s command, do not rise again. They, at least, get to escape the torment of the Inferno.” 
    “As you did,” said Caina.
    “By accident,” said Moryzai, his gurgling voice growing fainter. “It was a mistake. I…well, I have never been particularly graceful. The peril of using one’s mind to earn one’s bread, I suppose. My master Kurzir gave me a message to deliver, and as I hastened, I lost my balance and fell from one of the walkways and into the Halls of the Dead.”
    “How did you escape?” said Caina.
    Moryzai offered a sickly little smile. “I ran. I ran as fast as I could. I was younger and lighter in those days, and I could still run. The undead…they called out to me as I ran. The oldest demanded that I stop in the name of their pharaoh and his gods. The younger ones screamed the manner of their deaths and demanded that I share their fate. I managed to climb my way out and I fled the Inferno. By Istarish law, a slave who deserts his master is crucified, but I thought crucifixion preferable to remaining another moment in that awful place. I fled to the city and turned my skills to less legal but more profitable ends. I feared Kurzir’s vengeance, but in time he died and his son Rezir ascended to the Emirate of the Vale of Fallen Stars. I suppose he had other matters to occupy than my fate, and then the Balarigar slew him at Marsis, may the Living Flame roast his black soul. His brother Tanzir became emir in his place, and Tanzir was a bookish, quiet sort. Though I have heard he found his backbone of late, and is most angry with the Brotherhood of Slavers.” 
    “Thank you,” said Caina. “I know it was not pleasant to revisit those memories, but your help is appreciated.” 
    Moryzai’s account of the undead troubled her. Of all the tales she had heard of the Inferno, none of them had mentioned the undead. Of course, Samnirdamnus had hinted at it with his talk of ancient Maatish necromancy. Caina suspected that there was a Maatish relic buried somewhere in the Inferno, something that raised the undead and commanded them to defend the fortress. Though if that was true, she wondered why Callatas hadn’t claimed the relic or destroyed it. 
    Maybe he didn’t care. 
    No – even if he didn’t care, he would have destroyed the relic or claimed it to prevent his enemies from using it against him. 
    Maybe the relic was too powerful for him to control or destroy. 
    Or, worse yet, perhaps the relic was under the control of something else. Maybe one of the undead Great Necromancers of ancient Maat still lurked in the depths of the Inferno. The priest Rhames had been one of the Undying, and his sorcery had been so terrifyingly powerful that he had defeated the Moroaica in a battle of spells. If another sorcerer of Rhames’s potency waited beneath the Inferno… 
    Moryzai was speaking. Caina rebuked herself and turned her thoughts back towards him.
    “It is no trouble,” said Moryzai with an airy wave of his thick hand. “Your employer is paying for my fine dinner, after all.”
    “A sum that could have bought food for five grown men,” said Agabyzus, eyeing the table.
    Moryzai grinned and slapped his belly. “A sum that could have brought food for five lesser men, sir. I am may be a eunuch, but no man has a stomach as strong as mine.” His smile faded. “Tell your employer to take care, madam. I would not return to the Inferno for any reason. Not if you offered me every golden bezant in the Padishah’s treasury.”
    “I shall,” said Caina.