Armed & Magical rb-2

by Lisa Shearin

  “Since you only have two daggers, just let me know if you need to borrow anything. I’ve got you covered.”

  “I just might take you up on that.”

  The house lights were still up, so we could see everyone as they entered and were escorted to their tables. That made it impossible to miss when Taltek Balmorlan, Giles Keril, and party arrived.

  Phaelan saw where I was looking. “A shark and a weasel. Are those our primary targets for the evening?”

  I nodded. “They’re two of them. Unfortunately, there are a lot more. I’m also keeping an eye out for a thousand-year-old psychotic goblin teenage spellsinger.”

  “Rudra Muralin?”

  “The very same.”

  I had warned Mychael about the possibility of Muralin masquerading as a student, or as one of the many Mal’Salins here for Countess Sanura’s performance. There were a lot of young and good-looking goblins in Sirens tonight. But Rudra Muralin had fallen into the Great Rift. I’d imagine bouncing down a ravine hadn’t done him any good, though if contact with the Saghred kept him alive for a millennium, it could certainly repair any damage. So that meant any young male goblin was a potential candidate.

  Phaelan and I were within sight of the dressing room that Piaras was sharing with Talon Tandu. I had checked their mirror myself. Even glancing at it made me nauseous. Nothing was coming through that mirror.

  The door opened and Talon Tandu sauntered out. I guess it was taking Piaras longer to dress because he had more clothes to put on. Talon’s costume consisted solely of silver silk trousers, slung low on narrow hips and leaving little to the imagination. His otherwise bare chest was covered by a long, aqua, silk dressing gown that perfectly matched his eyes. Eyes that saw me and liked what they saw.

  “Evening, gorgeous. Since all the mirrors in this place are warded, I thought I’d let you tell me how hot I look.”

  I gave him a flat look. “You’re sizzling. I can barely stand the heat.”

  “Likewise. You should doll up more often. It suits you.”

  Ronan swept by, his robes this evening edging more toward the gold and orange end of the flame spectrum. “Talon, you’re first. Get dressed.”

  The goblin gave the maestro a little salute. “Yes, sir.”

  I waited until Ronan had gone. “You are dressed, aren’t you?”

  “Oh yeah. I’ll drop the robe before I go on and whatever else is left is what I’m wearing.” He shrugged. “Most of the people out there have seen me perform. They’d be disappointed if I wore too many clothes.”

  “And you can’t disappoint your adoring fans.”

  Talon’s crooked grin was full of fang. “Finally, someone who understands.”

  “And your song?”

  “Ronan said to keep it tasteful and decent,” Talon said smugly.

  “Is that possible?”

  “It was during rehearsals.” The kid had a sparkle in his eyes that he shouldn’t be old enough to have. “It won’t be onstage.”

  “And you wanted to go first?”

  “I wanted to get it over with. We drew numbers for our singing order. Naturally, I cheated. Then there’s the added plus of Ronan being too busy with the rest of his songbirds to be pissed at me after what I’m going to do out there.”

  Phaelan nodded approvingly. “Cheating to get what you want, ignoring the rules, and defying authority. And to think some people are worried about the next generation.”

  The dressing-room door opened and Piaras came out. Riston’s wife had gone shopping for Piaras, too. I looked at him and just couldn’t stop looking. Formal and formfitting black velvet doublet, black buckskin trousers, black boots. A fine, white linen shirt gleamed through the slits in the velvet doublet. The clothes were undeniably elegant.

  And Piaras was unmistakably grown up.

  “Our somber songbird is singing right after my exhibitionist self,” Talon was saying. “That should soothe any offended sensibilities.”

  Piaras looked at me. “I wanted to go second.”

  And I knew why. The sooner he sang, the quicker we could leave.

  Talon clapped Piaras on the back and lowered his voice. “I knew which end of the box the number two tile was in, so I helped him out.”

  And Piaras had to cheat to get it. First cheating, then possibly going on the run from the law. I didn’t like that he was being forced to do any of it.

  “Well, I’m off to warm up my pipes,” Talon told me. “Don’t miss my act, gorgeous.”

  “No chance of that.”

  Talon left and it was just the three of us.

  “Where are the two of you going to be while I’m singing?” Piaras asked Phaelan and me.

  “Right here,” I promised him. “I’m not moving from this spot.”

  Phaelan was looking out into the theatre. “The old man just arrived.”

  Justinius Valerian was entering the best box in the house. Normally Mychael would be by his side. Tonight it was Riston and three other Guardians I didn’t recognize. Mychael was doing his best to be everywhere at once. If there was any trouble, he wanted to either be there when it happened or just a few seconds away. Vegard was backstage, along with enough Guardians to make me feel safe if we decided to stay, or seriously outnumbered should we opt to leave. I wanted to trust Mychael’s promised political asylum. Piaras and I had signed the papers before leaving the citadel, but when push came to shove, some documents weren’t worth the parchment they were scratched on.

  In the next box were Carnades Silvanus and a too-beautiful-to-be-real elven lady wearing a gown of silver gossamer. Carnades had a date. I guess someone had to find him appealing.

  “I need to go warm up, too,” Piaras said, and he didn’t sound excited about it.

  I didn’t want him to leave, and he clearly didn’t want to go.

  “I’ll be right here,” I promised. “Phaelan, I want you to go with Piaras.”

  Neither Phaelan nor Piaras liked that idea. I held up a hand to stave off any arguments. “I’ve got a soul-sucking rock at my beck and call, and anyone who wants to get their hands on me knows that. I’ve got plenty of magic muscle of my own. And Vegard’s back there lurking somewhere in the shadows, aren’t you Vegard?” I called over my shoulder.

  “Lurking and ready, ma’am,” came his voice from the dark.

  I spread my hands. “Plenty of firepower. Ample backup.” I lowered my voice. "Phaelan, just take care of Piaras. And if things go to hell in a handbasket later, just stick to the plan.”

  I stood on tiptoe and wrapped my arms around Piaras’s neck. He hugged me back, tightly. We just stood there holding each other for a few moments; then I stepped back, my hands on his upper arms.

  “You’re going to be magnificent,” I told him. I looked up into his dark eyes. “And we’re going to be just fine,” I whispered. “Go warm up.”

  He and Phaelan disappeared into the area directly behind the stage where Ronan waited to go through warm-ups with each of his students.

  I looked across the stage to the opposite wing. Tam was staring at me.

  My heart skipped a couple of beats. Of course Tam was here; it was his club. There was nothing odd about him being backstage, nothing in the least. I instinctively ran a hand down the side of my gown. One dagger, check.

  Tam and his nightclub staff wore all black, but no one wore black like Tam. Unless my eyes deceived me, his shirt didn’t have any buttons. When it came to Tam, at least my eyes had never lied to me. The shirt fell open, treating me to a view of smooth, silvery chest.

  I had weapons. Hell, I was a weapon. So what if Tam was stalking around backstage? I’d protect myself any way I had to. Problem was, I didn’t know if I could do that to Tam. Bigger problem was, I didn’t know if I really wanted to protect myself.

  Moments later the house lights blinked, and those in the audience who hadn’t yet taken their seats hurried to do so. The lightglobes in the backstage area dimmed to near nothing. I looked back across the stage.

>   Tam was gone.

  Shit.

  Propriety be damned. I slid the velvet of my gown up to my thigh and put one of my daggers where it belonged—in my hand.

  The house lights went down and unseen musicians began to play in the near darkness. I slipped into the shadows near the stage curtains where I could see anything coming at me. Drums and two other percussion instruments established a languid beat, and then the low, vibrant tones of a goblin flute joined with the melody.

  Talon Tandu appeared in a single, silvery spotlight, his slender form lithe, his movements impossibly smooth and slow. In the stage light, it was nearly impossible to tell where Talon’s silver silk trousers ended and Talon began. His hair cascaded in ebony waves to just above hips that moved slowly in time with the music, languorous, hypnotic. Every ear in the room was enslaved to his voice; every eye was on his body.

  His tenor voice was rich and vibrant. His words were Goblin, his intent seduction. His song reached every corner of the theatre, but the intimacy of his words was sung for each listener.

  Part of me wanted to throw a tablecloth over him. Another part wanted to see more. One word described him— feral. Talon was generating enough sexual energy to power every lightglobe in the club. It was almost too intimate to be watched, but I couldn’t look away—and I didn’t want to.

  The stage’s shields were to diffuse the effect of the spellsingers’ songs. They ran from the footlights to the rafters, invisible unless you saw them from the stage wings. From where I stood, they shimmered like a silvery net.

  None of Ronan’s students were going to do anything potentially lethal. Talon’s song would make everyone horny, then Piaras’s lullaby would make them sleepy. There was nothing wrong with either one.

  Once Talon’s final note evaporated, the audience erupted in thunderous applause. If anyone had been offended, it sounded like they’d gotten over it.

  The stage had gone dark and Talon exited off the other side. I could just barely see Piaras walking out onto the stage. When he reached the center, he stopped and bowed his head. He stood that way for a few moments, then raised his head, the light coming up with him. The single light illuminating him looked like moonlight. The effect was enchanting.

  If Piaras was scared to death, I couldn’t see or sense it. His voice was rock solid. There was no sign of nerves whatsoever, no hesitation or lessening of intensity in the higher notes, and his low notes were resonant waves washing over the audience, again and again. If the shields hadn’t been at full power, they’d all be asleep. I looked out over the sea of upturned faces. Piaras had them all in the palm of his hand. He could have done anything with them and they would have loved him for it.

  I heard a sibilant whisper, and goose bumps prickled at the back of my neck and ran down my spine. Only one thing did that—magic, power of the worst kind. The whisper evolved into a singing voice, heartbreakingly beautiful and hypnotic.

  And gleefully malevolent. The voice carried whispered promises of unbearable agony or the heights of ecstasy. Or both.

  An instant later, that voice hit me in the chest like a battering ram, knocking the air out of my lungs and driving me to my knees.

  Not this time, you bastard.

  I took short, shallow breaths and fought to stay conscious. I grabbed the velvet curtain and hauled myself to my feet. The voice was coming from above me. A metal catwalk spanned the width of the stage. I couldn’t see him, but he was up there. I had his psychic footprint in the center of my chest to prove it.

  I tried to swallow. “Vegard?” I whispered.

  No response.

  “Vegard?”

  Silence. Really bad silence.

  I muttered my personal shields into place. I pushed down the pain and forcibly dragged air into my lungs.

  There was a ladder mounted against the wall and I used it. I clenched my dagger between my teeth, hiked up my gown, and climbed as fast as I could. Anyone looking up from below would get one hell of a view.

  I reached the top and stepped out onto the catwalk.

  There he was, standing directly over the center of the stage. He was young and he was perfect, like a fine sculpture, and just as ageless. His youthful beauty was no glamour, no spell to trick the eye; it was all him. He turned and looked at me, and the air between us wavered, his eyes becoming pools of darkness I could gladly fall into and never want to find my way out of. I shook my head and pressed the pommel of my dagger into my thigh until the pain was greater than the desire to drown in those black eyes. I clenched my teeth and reminded myself that those eyes had been the last thing thousands of elves had seen before they were slaughtered in bloody sacrifice.

  Rudra Muralin smiled at me, never ceasing his poisonous song. He pointed in a direct line out into the audience, and his smile broadened until his fangs were showing.

  The stage’s shields were solidly in place—except for the foot-long gash where Muralin had aimed his voice. I looked where the goblin proudly pointed.

  Justinius Valerian staggered to his feet, his hands clutching his chest—just as Piaras finished his lullaby.

  I stared in dawning horror. I knew what he’d done. Rudra Muralin had attached his song like a malignant leech to Piaras’s voice. A true master spellsinger could kill with a lullaby. It was all in the intent.

  To everyone in Sirens, it looked like Piaras had just assassinated the archmagus.

  Chapter 19

  There were gasps from the audience and then the screams started.

  “Two birds with one stone,” Rudra Muralin said. “Or in this case, one song.” His beautiful black eyes glittered. “Now it’s your turn.”

  My horror turned to disbelief as armed Guardians grabbed Piaras and forced him off the stage. He had no idea what had just happened. The Guardians thought they knew.

  “No! He’s up here!” I screamed at them.

  “They can’t hear you, Raine. Even if they could, they wouldn’t believe you.” Muralin chuckled. Even his chuckle was beautiful. “No one believes you.”

  The smarmy punk was right. He was also between me and the quickest way to Piaras. He closed the distance between us and I let him. When he was close enough, I tossed my dagger from my right hand to my left. When the goblin’s eyes involuntarily flicked to the blade, my right fist took him hard in the temple.

  The cocky ones never shielded. I smiled in a baring of teeth.

  The ancient goblin absorbed the punch, and then he smiled right back at me.

  Oh crap.

  I never saw his fist coming. My shoulder and head slammed into the catwalk’s metal grille. This is really bad, I thought while I could still feel my head. My dagger clattered down the catwalk behind me, well out of reach. Then Muralin’s full weight was on top of me, his lean body warm, his lips next to my ear, whispering, discordant, feeding my disorientation, softly seducing me into submission, coaxing me into unconsciousness.

  Son of a bitch! I raised my head and sank my teeth into his ear.

  His whispers turned to screams, then hissing. The spellsong lost its hold on me, my vision cleared, and I used my knees and fists anywhere on Muralin that I could reach. My growls joined the goblin’s hisses. I let go of Muralin’s ear and, using every bit of body weight and leverage I had, shoved him off of me. I tried to get to my feet, but my legs tangled in my gown. No gowns again. Ever. The goblin grabbed for me. I rolled away and out into empty air.

  I desperately grabbed the railing at the base of the catwalk. I didn’t fall, but I was dangling at least thirty feet above the stage. A fall would either break my legs or kill me. The backstage area suddenly erupted in shouts and panicked screams. Terrified female shrieks.

  The dressing rooms. The spellsingers.

  Muralin’s hands grabbed my arms just above the wrist. Hands that felt like living stone: cold, hard, and unyielding. I gripped the railing harder.

  The goblin actually laughed. “I’m trying to save you. I can’t let you die yet.” His lips curved into a slow grin. �
�But I can’t help you unless you let go.”

  The sound of steel-on-steel combat joined the screaming from backstage.

  My hands were starting to sweat—and slip. My breath came in shallow bursts. I’d never realized how hard it was to breathe with your arms stretched over your head.

  “Back… off,” I managed.

  “Very well.”

  Muralin abruptly let me go; I gasped and slipped some more.

  The goblin stood up; the tips of his boots were entirely too close to my fingers. He looked down to the stage. “A drop of that distance is nothing for us, Raine. The Saghred would save you. Just ask and I’ll tell you how to do it. It’s simple—even an elf could understand it.”

  “Back. Off!”

  Muralin shrugged and walked a few steps down the catwalk, turned, and leaned against the railing. He glanced down into the backstage area and smiled. “Nightshades,” he noted. “Once again elves are doing my bidding without me even asking. You and your people have been most accommodating.”

  I pulled myself up inch by inch. I thought my fingers were going to snap off gripping the flat bars that made up the catwalk floor. It hurt like hell and I ignored it. The only thing that motivated a Benares more than greed was vengeance. I pulled myself up onto the catwalk, lay on my belly, and panted. When I thought I had enough air to do it, I got to my feet.

  And stared.

  Tam was standing about ten feet behind Rudra Muralin. His face gave nothing away, but his eyes promised murder.

  To Rudra Muralin.

  Muralin spoke without turning. “Your services are no longer required, Tamnais. I have what I came for.”

  Tam didn’t budge. “I’m still protecting my investment.”

  A pair of armed goblins stepped onto the other end of the catwalk. They weren’t in uniform, but they were big and wearing identical arrogant smirks. Had to be Khrynsani temple guards. A trio of Tam’s bouncers came up the ladder to stand behind their boss. I was trapped smack dab in the middle of everybody, with straight down being my only way out.

  Rudra Muralin slowly half turned so he could see Tam. Unfortunately, he didn’t turn his back on me. I swore. I had one dagger left and it had Muralin’s name all over it—all dressed up and nowhere to go.