by Lisa Shearin
“He won’t kill her—or hurt her,” I said.
I expected him to react angrily, or at the very least demand how I could possibly know. But he didn’t. He understood all too well why Sarad Nukpana wanted to keep Tarsilia alive and whole. The goblin had other sorcerers he could use to fuel a Gate. Tarsilia was more valuable to him as a hostage. At least for now.
Piaras was looking at me. I knew he saw me for a brief moment as Sarad Nukpana saw me. A commodity to be traded for, used, and discarded. Piaras did not like seeing me that way. That made two of us.
“And he’s not going to kill or hurt me either. Or you.” I said it as much for my own benefit as Piaras’s. Seeing Piaras getting misty triggered the beginnings of a salty sting in my own eyes. I concentrated really hard on making it stop. Mychael would be here any moment, and he was not going to see me cry. It wouldn’t do Piaras much good either. Mychael had promised to fill us in on the details of this plan of his. A little enlightenment would go a long way toward improving morale right now.
The door opened, and I was instantly on my feet. Not that I expected anything bad to come through the door, but old habits—and recent events that had reinforced those habits—were hard to break.
It was Garadin, which was a relief to both of us.
I sheathed the dagger that had found its way into my hand.
“Was Calchas at home?” I asked him.
“He was.”
Garadin had come with us to the Guardians’ safehouse, but had left soon after with an escort of two Guardians to see Calchas Becan, a nachtmagus who had the largest private collection of books on the higher dark magics, including Gates. An exorcist and demonologist by trade, Nachtmagus Becan was a nice enough gentleman by all accounts, but I wouldn’t want to sleep in the same house as that library. Still, research was good. I was going to be seeing Sarad Nukpana face-to-face tonight and I wanted to know what had happened and why—or more to the point, what had not happened and why.
Garadin was taking his time helping himself to cheese, meat, and ale at the sideboard.
“Well?” I asked impatiently. “What happened to me…it…whatever?”
“Gate got in your way,” he said around a mouthful of cheese.
“What? It was a Gate. It was open. I was on one side, Nukpana on the other. Nothing between us but air. No problem.”
Garadin held up a hand, stopping me. “Big problem. About four miles worth. You’re forgetting about distance. Apparently distance is very important, critical even.”
“What distance? We were in the same room.” As soon as I said it, I knew I was wrong. “He was on the other side of the city from me.”
“Correct.”
“But I had a clear shot,” I protested.
“Through a Gate,” Garadin clarified. “The distortions on that threshold were violent enough to diffuse all but a small part of what you threw at him.”
I had a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. “How much got through?”
My godfather shrugged. “Maybe five percent, maybe less.”
I flopped down in my chair. “Just enough to piss him off.”
“Probably.”
No, definitely. The rest was so simple. I would have pounded my head against the wall if Nukpana hadn’t already done it for me. I was so stupid.
Piaras spoke. “Then what I did worked because I aimed at the Gate itself, not anything on the other side.”
“Precisely.”
I knew what it meant, and I didn’t like it in the least. “So if I want to do any damage to Sarad Nukpana of the permanent variety, I need to be in the same room with him.”
Garadin took a swig of ale. “Just close by will do.”
No, close by wouldn’t do. I didn’t want to be close to Sarad Nukpana or a soul-stealing rock either. But what I wanted didn’t seem to matter much this week. Though if there was one thing to be grateful for, the goblin had experienced the same problem I had, otherwise I wouldn’t be standing here to feel stupid.
“So other than closing the Gate, I didn’t do much good either,” Piaras said.
“You did the equivalent of slamming a very big, very heavy door in Nukpana’s face,” I told him.
“Then why do I feel so…” he struggled to find the right word. “Helpless?”
Garadin and I both stared at him in disbelief. Mine was the open-mouthed kind. Garadin kept his closed. He was busy chewing again.
“Helpless is the last word I would use to describe you tonight,” Garadin told him, after he swallowed. “I’m sure Sarad Nukpana doesn’t see you as helpless. And just because Tarsilia isn’t here with us doesn’t make you helpless or ineffective.”
“But I couldn’t save her. I failed.”
I spoke up. “You didn’t fail. I couldn’t save her either. If you failed, that means we both did. But blaming ourselves isn’t going to do us or Tarsilia any good. We did our best.”
“And it wasn’t good enough.”
I sighed. I felt the same way, but I was going to keep that one to myself. Piaras was just another perfectionist in the making. Nothing he ever did would be good enough, at least not for him. And while I could warn him off that path that I had well and thoroughly trampled myself, I knew it wouldn’t do any good. I hadn’t listened either. I glanced at Garadin. The tiniest smile curled the side of his mouth facing me.
“Oh, shut up.”
His smile widened. “I didn’t say a word.”
“But you were thinking plenty.”
“And I would deny every one of them.”
Piaras was looking from one of us to the other. We’d completely lost him. “What are you talking about?”
“Garadin was just thinking how much you remind him of me at your age. And he finds it funny that I’m getting back some of what I gave him.”
The young elf was still baffled.
Garadin chuckled. “Payback is hell.”
“You’ll never find a worse critic than the one inside your own skin, or a more difficult one to silence,” I told Piaras, by means of explanation. “The best you can hope for is to teach it some manners.”
“It was you against three Khrynsani shamans and a Magh’Sceadu,” Garadin told him, “and who knows how many more on the other side of that Gate. Sarad Nukpana doesn’t travel with incompetents. You kept yourself from being taken prisoner—”
“And me, too,” I chimed in. I believe in giving credit where due. “You saved both of us. Our situation would be a lot different right now if you hadn’t slammed that Gate in Nukpana’s face.”
The shadings of a gratified blush crept up the young spellsinger’s neck. “But Grandma—”
“Was beyond your reach,” came Mychael’s voice from the doorway.
“Unless someone is keyed to a Gate during its construction, once you cross the threshold, you cannot come back across,” the Guardian told him. “Once Tarsilia was on the other side, it would have been impossible for her to return. There was nothing you could have done.”
Piaras considered what Mychael had said for a moment, then nodded. I guess having your conscience absolved by a legendary spellsinger carried more weight than your friends and family, regardless of their qualifications.
“What exactly did I do?” Piaras’s voice was subdued, as if he needed to know the answer, but wasn’t all that sure he really wanted to.
“Your instinct told you the Gate needed to close,” Mychael said. “It had harmed someone you love. You wanted that Gate, and anything that had come through it, gone. You channeled that desire—rather intensely—through your voice. The Gate obeyed and collapsed on itself. In simple terms, you used your voice to make your wish a reality.”
Piaras just stared at the paladin. “But I don’t know how to do that.”
“Apparently you do. On a deep level, you knew exactly what needed to be done, and you did it.” Mychael paused, his blue eyes calmly searching Piaras’s face. “The sight of that Gate opening terrified you beyond thought.”
&n
bsp; He hadn’t asked it as a question, but he expected a response.
Piaras nodded mutely.
“Beyond thought lies instinct. That which tells us to fight and protect, or flee and survive. It’s primal and we all have it at our core. Your instincts were telling you to do both. But you couldn’t run and you couldn’t use your body to fight, so you struck out in the only other way you knew. It was raw and primitive, but it accomplished what you wanted.”
Mychael paused. I could tell he wasn’t comfortable in the least with what he was about to say.
“A master spellsinger would have been hard pressed to do what you did tonight,” he said. “You destroyed in an instant what it took Sarad Nukpana and his best shamans hours to construct. You have an incredibly powerful instrument, Piaras. Though I’d imagine Sarad Nukpana thinks of it more as a weapon. In this one instance, I agree with him. Either way, for your own safety and the safety of others, you need to learn to harness and control that power, or at the very least guide it. And you need to learn it now. Who’s your teacher?”
“I am,” Garadin replied. “Though not for much longer, I suspect. He’s never done anything close to what he did tonight, though I’ve suspected for some time he had the potential.” He grinned crookedly. “I just didn’t think the boy would bloom so soon. Two weeks ago, I sent a letter to Ronan Cayle asking that he accept Piaras as a student next term. Ronan’s a former colleague of mine, and a friend, so I think my recommendation will carry sufficient weight to persuade him.”
The last remaining bit of color drained from Piaras’s face. He knew only too well who Ronan Cayle was. Anyone who had any aspirations to spellsinging did. Everyone also knew that it was virtually impossible to get an audition, let alone be accepted as a student.
I smiled. I think Piaras was even more stunned that Garadin thought highly enough of his abilities to recommend him, even with what I had told him in The Ruins. From the expression on his face, the combination of the two scared him almost as much as Sarad Nukpana had.
“I think that’s a good idea,” Mychael told Garadin. “Have you heard back from Ronan?”
Garadin smiled. “I had a letter waiting for me at home this morning. On my recommendation, Maestro Cayle will grant Piaras an audition.”
“Based on what I witnessed tonight, I’ll add my recommendation to yours.” Mychael grinned. “And when I return to Mid, I’ll drop by and talk to Ronan. He was my teacher, too, Piaras. Between Garadin and myself, I can virtually guarantee he’ll open his tower to you.”
This was all too much for Piaras. He started to say something, then stopped, flushing to the tips of his ears. He was still having a bad night, but at least now he had some happiness to go along with it.
Mychael was now looking at me. Unlike Piaras, I knew with an absolute certainty that I didn’t want to be told what I had done tonight. Mychael could save his breath. I already knew. First obliterating six Magh’Sceadu, then trashing Nukpana’s Mermeian laboratory. Thanks to the Saghred, I was alive; but also thanks to the Saghred, I now possessed a largely unknown, potentially unlimited power—one that drew sorcerers of questionable character to me like lodestones to north. I didn’t want either the power or the crazies, but I knew that even if I could get rid of the power, there was no guarantee the crazies would leave me alone.
Mychael must have seen that knowledge in my eyes, because he didn’t say a word. I wish I could deny what had happened to me, and keep my mouth shut, too. But I had to ask.
“Was the elf Ocnus described my father?”
“Yes.”
“We’re going to the embassy after the Saghred tonight, aren’t we?”
“Yes.”
“I just made myself completely irresistible to Sarad Nukpana, didn’t I?”
“Undoubtedly.”
Not what I wanted to hear, but what I expected.
“And Sarad Nukpana will hunt me for the rest of my life unless I hunt him down first.”
“Yes.”
“Can you answer me with more than one word?”
A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “If necessary.”
Piaras was not smiling. “We’re not going to rescue my grandmother tonight?”
“The moment the Saghred is secure, we will go after your grandmother,” Mychael assured him.
“And Sarad Nukpana,” I added.
“Have you ever been inside the goblin embassy?” he asked me.
“Once or twice.” I didn’t particularly care to dwell on those occasions. I hadn’t been an invited guest either time.
“Good, that will be helpful. Are you familiar with the grounds?”
“I haven’t had the pleasure.” Considering what I’d heard about what the goblins considered gardens, I didn’t think I had missed out on much.
“The embassy is the newer building on the property,” Mychael said. “The royal residence is considerably older. The mausoleum and the ruins of a temple are between the two. I have Guardians staking out the goblin embassy and the Mal’Salin family compound. One wall surrounds them both.”
“How convenient.”
My sarcasm didn’t go unnoticed. Considering my present and future circumstances, I thought everyone would understand my lack of enthusiasm.
“Ocnus says the Saghred is in the mausoleum,” I said. “There’s probably not a sign pointing to where it’s hidden. I do hope you’re not planning on opening crypts until we hit the jackpot.”
“The beacon will let you know when we’re getting close.”
“How?” I asked warily. The beacon’s previous communications hadn’t exactly been subtle. I could really go without another near-death experience.
“The same way that most beacons work. An insistent tugging, becoming stronger as you get closer to the object to which it’s keyed.”
I could handle tugging.
“Between your attack, and Piaras slamming the Gate on him, Sarad Nukpana isn’t going to be back to full strength in the next day,” Mychael continued. “And I plan to take full advantage. He will still be dangerous, but perhaps not as deadly. It’s an advantage we didn’t have before.”
“Getting in should be easy enough,” I said. “Considering who I am and what I’m wearing, they’ll welcome me with open arms. Leaving will be the hard part.”
Mychael’s expression turned sly. “Not if you leave with everyone else.”
I didn’t like his plan already. “Everyone else?”
“The goblin king’s masked ball? The social elite of your city are in a frenzy. You might have noticed.”
“The masked ball,” I said, without enthusiasm.
“Tonight at the goblin embassy,” Mychael finished for me. “It couldn’t be more perfect—everyone will be wearing masks.”
I didn’t think anything about it was perfect. Not only would I be going into the equivalent of a dragon’s den, I had a feeling I’d be doing it wearing something I ordinarily wouldn’t be caught dead in. Though if I was lucky, or if Mychael was as good as everyone seemed to think, I’d end up neither caught nor dead.
“I, and a few of my men, will be attending as representatives of the Archmagus.” Mychael backed off a step, and executed a courtly bow. “I would be honored if you would accompany me as my guest.”
All I could manage was, “Is this a date?”
That must not have been the response he was used to. He thought for a moment. “You could call it that. If you’re concerned about your reputation, we’ll both be masked so no one will recognize us.”
“The only damaged reputation would be yours,” I told him. “I’m a Benares, remember?”
“That doesn’t concern me.”
Another surprise. A really nice one. “It doesn’t?”
“Not in the least. However, you’re also probably an Anguis.”
Of course. That meant I was only half criminal. My father was a Conclave Guardian. That made the other side of my family marginally acceptable. I was sure he didn’t mean it like it sounded. Few
people did, but that didn’t stop them from saying it—or more often, thinking it. Either was just as bad. Snow in the Nebian desert. The paladin of the Conclave Guardians with a Benares. Both ranked in probability right up there with the lower hells freezing over. I looked around for something to kick. Where was Ocnus when you needed him?
There was a knock at the door.
“Come,” Mychael called.
It was the blond ax wielder, whose full name I’d discovered was Vegard Rolfgar. “Sorry to interrupt, sir. But we have a message from the Khrynsani.”
Mychael stepped forward to take the wax-sealed paper. “How was it delivered?”
Vegard came in and shut the door behind him. “It wasn’t. Hugh and Teris were on watch at the goblin embassy when two shamans stepped outside and tacked this to the gates.” He grinned. “Hugh kind of thought it might be for us, so they retrieved it. It’s addressed to the lady,” he said, indicating me. The blond Guardian removed a long, narrow cloth-wrapped bundle from his belt. “The goblins used this for a nail.”
Mychael took the bundle and carefully unwrapped it. From his expression, he knew what it was. I had a good idea myself. The last fold of cloth fell open. It was a Khrynsani ceremonial sacrificial dagger. I hate it when I’m right. Judging from the dark gems encrusting the grip above the nearly foot-long triangular blade, and the single ruby topping the pommel, it probably belonged to Sarad Nukpana himself. I knew then that whatever words were written on the parchment, it was just an invitation to play. The real message was the dagger. Though if Nukpana had ordered this one used to tack a note to a gate, at least he couldn’t use it for more twisted purposes. But I was sure he had a spare. The crazies always did. The dagger was a personal challenge, and I took it as one.
Mychael studied the envelope. It was sealed with black wax, and appeared to be harmless enough. But we both knew better. Nothing that Sarad Nukpana produced could be harmless. I let Mychael finish his inspection. He included a scan that made me feel more confident about his results. After another moment or two he passed it to me, his distaste apparent.
“It seems to be safe,” he told me. “Not clean, but safe.”
It was as much as I expected. I accepted it, and to Mychael’s bemusement, still did a scan of my own. I valued my life more than the Guardian’s feelings, but I got the impression that considering the author of the message, Mychael didn’t take my caution personally.