The Trouble with Demons

by Shearin, Lisa

  “I thought it necessary.” Mychael paused. “And worthwhile,” he added with quiet conviction.

  Damned smoky fireplaces, making my eyes water.

  Justinius kept his eyes on Mychael. The only sound was the pop and crackle of the burning wood.

  “You’re going to need help, son,” Justinius said in Mychael’s mind. “And soon.”

  Since Mychael heard it, I heard it. And Justinius knew it. He’d meant it for both of us—for all of us.

  “I know, sir,” Mychael responded.

  Mychael had gone leagues beyond his job and the old man and I both knew it. No one else needed to. And Justinius Valerian wasn’t going to tell them. I had to resist the overpowering urge to hug the old man’s neck. I settled for taking my first decent breath in five minutes and giving Justinius the slightest nod of gratitude. If the old man had blinked, he’d have missed it. He didn’t miss it.

  “You’re looking well, sir,” I said.

  Justinius smiled slyly. “And feeling better than I look.”

  I didn’t move my head, but my eyes indicated the healer and two Guardians.

  “Other than Mychael here, those are the three people on this island that I trust the most,” Justinius told me. “Hugh and Farold have been my personal bodyguards since I took this miserable job, and Dalis does more than just look good. She’s my eyes and ears outside the citadel. If I need to know information, Dalis knows where to find it and who to ask.”

  Piaras had been standing there the entire time in complete confusion and stunned disbelief.

  I said what I knew he wanted to. “You faked an assassination attempt.” I kept my voice calm and level; it wasn’t easy, but I managed. And I didn’t ask it as a question; it was obvious to anyone with working eyes that Justinius Valerian wasn’t going to his great reward anytime soon. I was sure the old man had a perfectly good reason for his little charade, but that didn’t change the fact that Piaras had gone through a living hell thinking that he’d killed Justinius. Taltek Balmorlan had tried to trick Piaras into signing a confession. The inquisitor wanted a legal way to take Piaras off the island, and trying to kill Justinius had given him just what he needed. He’d damned near gotten away with it—and Piaras.

  The old man pulled himself up on his pillows. It took more than a little effort, and I almost felt a twinge of guilt. “I faked nothing. I knew I was being attacked and I protected myself. Some of that spellsong got through; most of it didn’t. I’ve waited years for this chance.”

  “For what? To lay in bed and let Carnades run amok?” My voice felt the need to snap, and I let it. The old man—or his twin Guardian behemoths—would probably make me regret it, but right now I was more angry than smart.

  “To lay in bed and watch my enemies slither out of hiding,” he said smoothly. “Thanks to that goblin trying to spellsing me to death, I’m finding out who my enemies really are.” A shadow of pain that wasn’t physical flowed across his face. The old man had been betrayed and he was hurting. “It’s been an eye-opening experience.”

  There had been another attempt on Justinius’s life on my and Piaras’s first day on the island. “The Nightshades at the welcoming ceremony,” I murmured.

  Justinius nodded once.

  Nightshades were elves—they were also assassins, kidnappers, blackmailers, or whatever they had been given enough gold to do. You pay and they’ll play. And someone had given them enough gold to try to kill the archmagus and Mychael. I had a feeling Justinius now had a couple more names on his list of enemies.

  I was still mad at the old man, but I had to admire the simple beauty of his plan. “Nothing flushes out predators like wounded prey,” I said.

  The old man’s eyes flashed dangerously as he brushed his finger past the tip of his nose, confirming my theory.

  I looked at Mychael. “You didn’t tell me.” I glanced at Piaras. “Or us.” I know the kid had to feel betrayed; I was getting used to it.

  “It was necessary that information not leave this room.” That was the paladin talking, not Mychael. “For his own safety, I can’t allow the archmagus to leave this room until he is physically and magically recovered.”

  “One sign of weakness and Carnades would claim he was still incapacitated,” I said.

  “Exactly.”

  “What he means is that I can’t leave this room until I can kick Carnades’s lily-white, patrician ass,” Justinius said. “I’ve told Mychael here that I just have to be strong enough for one kick.” He grinned evilly. “I’ll get it right the first time.”

  I didn’t doubt that. Secrecy was critical for the old man’s plan to work, but that didn’t mean I had to like it. I didn’t, and neither did Piaras. But any hurt, disappointment, or anything else he felt was well hidden.

  “Archmagus Valerian, I am glad you were not seriously injured,” Piaras said. He looked at Mychael uncertainly, and kept his voice down. “Sir, is my being here a good idea?”

  Piaras didn’t mean hearing something he shouldn’t, though I was questioning the wisdom of that. Piaras didn’t want Sarad Nukpana to suddenly possess him and compel him to kill the old man for real this time—or feel a sudden urge to go running to Carnades and blurt out the old man’s plan.

  “It’s necessary,” Mychael told him. “And you don’t need to be concerned.” He looked at Justinius and a quick, unspoken communication passed between them.

  The old man muttered a rather crude obscenity. Mychael had just relayed what Sarad Nukpana was up to: the Scythe of Nen or Piaras’s sanity.

  “Hugh, Farold,” Justinius said to the Guardians by the door.

  “Since Mychael’s here, why don’t the two of you take a break.

  Say half an hour. Dalis, you, too.”

  The Guardians immediately did as ordered; the healer gave him an openly disapproving look.

  “Dalis,” Justinius said with surprising gentleness. “I’m quite well, and perfectly safe.”

  The healer reluctantly left with the Guardians, who closed the door behind them.

  The archmagus regarded Piaras in silence for a few squirm-inducing moments. It took everything Piaras had not to run out after the old man’s bodyguards. Not for fear of the archmagus, though no doubt Piaras thought the old man was just as scary as Sarad Nukpana, maybe more. Piaras was afraid of what Nukpana might suddenly make him do.

  Justinius spoke. “Master Rivalin, you can’t hurt me—and you won’t.”

  “Hurting you is the last thing I want to do, sir.”

  The old man chuckled. “With the wards on this room, Sarad Nukpana can’t reach you here; and even if he did, I can take out one scrawny goblin black mage bastard on my worst day.”

  Piaras swallowed. He knew exactly what the old man just said. If Justinius took out a scrawny goblin, he’d be taking out a scrawny elf.

  “Just laying my cards on the table, young man.”

  “Yes, sir. And an impressive hand it is.”

  That comment almost earned Piaras a smile from the old man.

  “Master Rivalin, I told Katelyn only this afternoon that I wasn’t at Death’s door.” Pride shone in his eyes. “The girl damned near took my head off. Can’t say that I blame her.” His voice softened slightly. “I heard what you did for my Katie—this morning and under the elven embassy. As a grandfather, you have my thanks and gratitude.”

  That’s what his mouth said. His eyes were saying in no uncertain terms that the kid had best behave himself around his grandbaby. Piaras’s feelings for Justinius’s granddaughter were well on their way beyond casual infatuation. He’d rescued Katelyn Valerian from that purple demon this morning and from Rudra Muralin’s clutches last week—and they’d spent a lot of time together in between.

  Piaras flushed until the tips of his ears went pink. “You’re welcome, sir. I’m glad I was able to help.”

  Those blue eyes regarded me. “This morning Dalis told me that Carnades threatened you down at watcher headquarters.”

  I shrugged. “I’m
starting to get used to it.”

  “I heard what all you did today, girl. You’ve made quite an impression.”

  “It wasn’t exactly what I had in mind when I got out of bed this morning.”

  “There’s no one on this island who can hurt you now—and Carnades and his yes-mages know it.” Justinius lay back on his pillows, paler than before. “This would all be more fun if I felt better.”

  Mychael spoke. “Rest and you will.”

  “Carnades’s whispered threat to you at headquarters wasn’t as quiet as he thought it was.” The old man’s eyes gleamed. “Lets people hear all kinds of interesting and incriminating things. He was in here just last night.”

  “So I heard, sir.” Mychael didn’t sound happy that he’d only been told and not been here himself.

  “Mychael, the son of a bitch would hardly incriminate himself if he thought I was listening to every word. Hell, he doesn’t even think I’m conscious yet.” The old guy winked slyly at me. “I’m saving that for a surprise.”

  “I would love to see that.”

  “I’m getting stronger every hour. Dalis says I’ll be sitting in a chair in a day or two. The day after that I plan to be on my feet and back in charge. Then Carnades gets to see me with my eyes wide open, and my bootprint on his backside.”

  “Other than myself and Phaelan, the only people close enough to hear Carnades this morning were the fancy-robed mages with him,” I told Justinius. “And I know for a fact that my cousin hasn’t paid you a visit.”

  “No, he hasn’t. And once Mychael here deems me well enough to lift a pint, I want to rectify that oversight. And I understand his father is in the harbor.”

  “With warships.”

  “And me in a room without windows.” He threw an accusing glare at Mychael. “My bloody harbor is teeming with pirate ships, and I don’t get to see a damned one of them.”

  Mychael sighed. “No windows are for your protection, sir.” It sounded like he’d uttered that phrase a couple dozen times. And until the old man was back on his feet, he’d probably say it a few dozen more.

  “You have ears in convenient places,” I told Justinius.

  “Any more convenient, and they’d be in Carnades’s robes right along with him.”

  “They?” Sounded like some of those fancy-robed mages might be with Carnades, but they were working for Justinius. Nice.

  “I don’t do anything halfway, girl.”

  “No, sir. I don’t imagine you do.” I felt my lips curl in a grin.

  “Don’t take this wrong, but you’d make a fine Benares.”

  Justinius laughed, a dry wheezing sound. “Nicest thing anyone’s said to me in days.” Those sharp eyes were on Piaras. “However, I will not have Carnades threatening my students.”

  I swore silently. I hadn’t told Piaras about Carnades because we were doing all we could to prevent anyone acting on his orders.

  Piaras shot a glance at me. “He threatened me, sir?”

  “Just the usual—that you’re ‘tainted by my influence,’ ” I assured him. “He threatened all of us; you just got added to the list.” It wasn’t exactly the truth, but it wasn’t a lie. “Don’t worry; he can’t act on any of it.”

  Piaras looked at me as if to say what had happened tonight wasn’t bad enough.

  “Okay, we won’t let him act on any of it.”

  “Who’s we?”

  “Me, Mychael, and my entire family.”

  “Add me to that list, girl,” Justinius said. “Mychael and Ronan have told me what you’re capable of, Master Rivalin—without Sarad Nukpana at the reins. You’re the most gifted spellsinger to come through here since the two of them. And Katelyn told me everything you did this morning. You have my word that I will not lose you to Carnades’s ignorance, the Seat of Twelve’s arrogance, or Inquisitor Balmorlan’s greed.” His eyes narrowed. “Or Sarad Nukpana’s manipulations.” He pursed his thin lips. “I understand you’ve been doing more than studying.”

  The old man could have meant any number of things by that, and Piaras was smart enough to keep his mouth shut until his brain had a chance to work through it. One, it wasn’t a question. Two, it wasn’t specific. Sleeping wasn’t studying, but the kid knew that wasn’t what the archmagus was getting at. And three, Piaras had been around me long enough to know the first rule of the Benares family: don’t confess to something you ain’t been accused of doing yet.

  “Yes, sir. I have.”

  Honest, yet admitting to nothing. Maybe my influence wasn’t all that bad.

  Justinius’s bright eyes narrowed. “I understand you have used a containment spellsong against a class ten demon; a Volghul to be precise. And that you held it immobile, unable to summon reinforcements, or cast your song back in your face. And I understand that you did so until Miss Benares here could cram the purple bastard in a bottle.” He regarded Piaras in silence. “Do I understand correctly?” The old man’s voice sliced through the silence as smoothly as razor-sharp steel.

  Piaras was almost too stunned to respond. “Yes, sir. You do.”

  Justinius’s next questions came rapid fire. “And do I understand that you did all this to defend your fellow classmates—and my granddaughter?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “After giving little or no thought to your qualifications to act as you did, the consequences of your actions, your chances of success, or the danger to yourself or others?”

  Piaras blew out a little breath and shifted from one foot to the other, finding a simply fascinating spot on the floor by his right boot.

  “That was a direct question, Master Rivalin.” Justinius’s voice cracked like a whip. “I require a response.”

  “Yes, sir. I know.” Piaras raised his head and met the archmagus’s intense gaze. “And no, sir, I didn’t.”

  The old man’s eyes glittered like sapphires. “Didn’t what, Master Rivalin?”

  “Think about any of those things, sir. I just acted.”

  “And why did you ‘just act’?”

  Piaras stood a little straighter. “No one else was doing anything, and if I hadn’t acted, more people could have been hurt or killed.” He paused and cleared his throat. “I did what I thought was right, sir . . . And I would do it again.”

  The archmagus sat in silence, unmoving. “And you would do it alone,” he said quietly. “Just like you did this morning.” His next words were slow and precise. “There was no Sarad Nukpana in the Quad with you this morning—just your talent and foolhardy bravery.” The tiniest smile curled the corner of the archmagus’s thin lips. “You’re noble to the point of suicide, boy.” He glanced at Mychael. “Just like a certain paladin of my acquaintance.”

  Piaras’s eyes flicked to Mychael, and he bit the corner of his bottom lip to stop a smile.

  Justinius spoke. “Master Rivalin?”

  “Sir?”

  “Look at me.”

  Piaras did.

  I could feel Justinius doing the same kind of gaze with Piaras that he’d done with me.

  After a few moments, the old man broke his gaze and chuckled. “Bukas. Brutal savages. A fine choice, Master Rivalin.” He looked at Mychael. “And you said they were solid, complete with roars?”

  Mychael nodded. “Roars that took out all the first-floor windows on the Judicial Building.”

  Justinius laughed, a bright bark. “Nicol and his office lackeys will have a hell of a cleanup in the morning. I’d like to see that.”

  “I only meant to conjure one, sir,” Piaras hurried to explain.

  Justinius waved his hand dismissively. “You got carried away with all the excitement; happens to the best of us.”

  “But I’ve never done anything like that before.”

  “Have you ever been attacked by elven embassy guards disguised as Guardians?”

  “No, sir, but I—”

  “Just because you’ve never done something before doesn’t mean you can’t do it, and do it well. There’s a first time fo
r everything. It appears that the more you’re challenged, the more you’re capable of. Maestro Cayle told me the same thing about you.”

  “He did?”

  “I said so, didn’t I?”

  “Yes, sir, but I didn’t know he thought I could—”

  “When Maestro Cayle wants you to know what he thinks, and what he thinks you can do, he’ll tell you.” The old man grinned impishly. “Unless I tell you first.”

  Piaras flushed slightly with well-earned pleasure. “Yes, sir.”

  “In the meantime, I’m inclined to trust his assessment.”

  Piaras didn’t respond. I could virtually see the wheels turning in his mind. “So Sarad Nukpana didn’t have anything to do with the bukas?”

  “Not. One. Thing. Once again, it was just you and yours. Nice work, young man.”

  Piaras looked like the weight of the world had just dropped off of his shoulders. “Thank you, sir.”

  “Though apparently Nukpana was involved when you took on those elven embassy guards.” His expression darkened. “Disguised as Guardians. How many survived?” he asked Mychael.

  “Two, sir. Jari Devent and an embassy guard by the name of Kasen Aratus.”

  “Isn’t Devent’s brother the defense attaché at the elven embassy?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And his uncle is with elven intelligence.”

  Mychael’s distaste was obvious. “Correct.”

  “And Aratus . . . Isn’t that General Daman Aratus’s son?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Shit,” the old man spat.

  “My thoughts exactly.”

  I looked from one of them to the other. “What?”

  Mychael answered me. “Taltek Balmorlan receives much of his funding from General Aratus.”

  “One hand washes the other,” Justinius said. “And rumor has it that General Aratus can’t take a crap without permission from his new boss.”

  That wasn’t exactly enlightening. “And this is bad how?”