Tam.
He wasn’t here. That was what Mychael was waiting for. And from the silence, the demons hadn’t found him or Vegard. We would have heard that. All we heard was silence. Deadly silence. Killing quiet. I’d seen Tam do it before, and I was sure Vegard was equally qualified, and both of them couldn’t be more motivated. I put on my best poker face and kept it there—and I kept my thoughts on the captive Guardian and the sweetness of payback.
Tam was fast.
He rose up behind the queen’s guards like Death himself, and with one sweep of his demon-killer blade, two Volghuls lost their heads. From the surprised hisses and thumps in the dark, Vegard was having similar success.
Mychael’s voice rang out, and the Volghul’s claws clenched in rigid paralysis at the big vein in the Guardian’s throat. The queen snatched the Saghred from his hands and plunged the Scythe into it, slicing through the stone like living flesh.
My flesh.
I screamed. The Saghred and I were one. Flesh of my flesh. My screams turned to agonized gasps. No air. So cold. I tried to stay on my feet. I had to; I had to get that rock. I felt myself sinking to the floor. You’re not bleeding, Raine. You haven’t been stabbed. Get up!
Tendrils of multicolored light writhed their way out of the Saghred. I felt each soul flow up the blade as if it were coming out through my own skin. Elongated shapes of dark shadow and mist, breaking free into the air around us, circling, searching.
The demon queen saw it and laughed, high and wild, and utterly insane.
Until the light from Mychael’s hand took her in the chest and flung her backward, slamming her against the far wall. Tam was waiting for her.
Mychael caught the Saghred as it fell.
No. Oh please, no.
I heard Tam’s shout, Vegard’s roar, and everything slowed until time barely moved at all.
“Drop it!” It was my voice screaming at him, but I sounded so far away. Too far to reach him in time.
Mychael didn’t drop the Saghred; he didn’t even shield himself. He couldn’t do what he had to with shields in his way. He held the stone tightly against him and pulled on the Scythe with everything he had.
It didn’t budge.
Only for you, Raine.
It was a voice and not a voice. It could have been the rock; it could have been me. I was the bond servant; Mychael wasn’t. I had blood on me where the queen had slashed my neck. I was a Saghred sacrifice waiting to happen. Another wraith flowed up the Scythe to freedom. Maybe the Saghred was too busy spitting out souls to suck mine in. Maybe.
It didn’t matter. Mychael wasn’t going to die or worse because of me.
I was the Saghred; and the Saghred was mine.
I dragged myself to Mychael’s side and put my hand over his, over the Scythe. Something in the Saghred responded to my touch.
Or someone.
Mychael felt it. He moved his hand from the Scythe to grip the Saghred in both hands, holding it for me. I pulled on the blade.
And someone inside the stone pushed.
My father was pushing the Scythe out. When the blade was out, the gash would close. He knew this; he was telling me this. He would remain inside, giving up his chance for freedom.
My father was sacrificing himself.
My vision blurred with tears. Sobs I couldn’t stop came between gasps for breath.
Please don’t. Don’t do this. You can survive; we’ll find a way. I need you. Tears streamed down my face and onto the Scythe, onto the Saghred.
I need you, Dad.
The Scythe jerked in my hand, like someone had grabbed hold of the blade.
Dad.
It felt like he was holding my hand, holding on tight. I desperately pulled air into my lungs, put both hands on the Scythe’s grip, and pulled with the last bit of strength I had, pulling like I was dragging a drowning man from a flood.
The Scythe quivered weakly in my hand. A thin sliver of silvery mist flowed up the blade and into the air above us. It hovered there, flickering with pinpoint motes of light, before gently settling into the dead elven Guardian. The body took a shuddering breath and his now-living eyes looked directly at me.
“Daughter,” he whispered.
The Scythe came free, and the Saghred sealed.
I quickly crawled to his side and took his hand, holding it tightly in mine. Deathly cold was surrendering to life-giving warmth. The body was a young elf; the soul looking out through his eyes was my father. He smiled and weakly squeezed my hand. As he closed his eyes, his chest continued to rise and fall.
And heal.
“What’s his name?” I could barely get the words out.
“Arlyn Ravide,” Mychael told me.
“Does . . . Did he have family?”
There was a smile in Mychael’s voice and tears in his eyes. “He does now.”
Chapter 31
My new leathers arrived just in time for Piaras’s induction ceremony.
The citadel’s Great Hall wasn’t filled to capacity; about a fourth of the Guardians were still out demon hunting two days after we’d closed the Hellgate. Between the Guardians and Sora’s faculty, most of the demons had been trapped or killed, but Guardian patrols were still out in the city hunting down what was left.
But Archmagus Justinius Valerian had made sure that everyone who needed to witness Piaras’s induction into the Conclave Guardians was here.
Except Carnades Silvanus.
Protocol demanded that he be invited, even though I didn’t know of anyone who wanted him here. So the invitation had been extended, and Carnades had refused, politely of course, citing injuries sustained while a prisoner of the demon queen. The only injuries he’d sustained were from my rock-wielding cousin, but no one was lining up to tell him that. The elf mage had earned himself one heck of a concussion, but no doubt the memory of what he’d seen was quite intact. His absence confirmed it.
Carnades was holed up in his town house. He hadn’t had contact with anyone—including the Seat of Twelve, whose signatures he’d need on any arrest and/or execution order. Uncle Ryn had taught us that a quiet enemy is an enemy to be feared.
It was a lesson I’d learned only too well over the years, and I didn’t need a refresher course to tell me that I’d better watch my back.
At the moment, my back was firmly against a wall in an alcove to the left of the Great Hall’s dais. There were chairs, but I didn’t want to sit down. The alcove was a place usually reserved for dignitaries or special guests who didn’t necessarily want to be seen by everyone in the main audience. I didn’t care who saw me, but I went along with Mychael’s precautions. Besides, everyone’s attention should be on Piaras where it belonged. This was his moment, and he’d more than earned every second of it.
On the dais was the archmagus’s throne, and Justinius Valerian looked right at home. His lean and grizzled body didn’t stand a chance of filling that chair, but the old man’s presence more than made up for it. Justinius was wearing formal robes that must have weighed as much as he did; and if they didn’t, the massive sword he lifted to tap the kneeling Piaras on the shoulders had to make up the difference. It was nothing short of a towering testament to the old man’s stubbornness and determination to show that he was back in charge. He wasn’t even breaking a sweat.
Piaras was splendid in his dove gray Guardian cadet uniform. It was identical to the uniform that fully knighted Guardians wore, with the exception of color. Cadets wore dove gray; knights’ uniforms were the color of dark steel. The short, quilted tunic was cut to accentuate broad shoulders, muscled chests, and narrow waists. The formfitting leather trousers did the same thing, but to other places. Piaras and the other cadets who stood in the front ranks still had a little bit of filling out to do, but no doubt those uniforms still did a fine job of turning coed heads on campus. One coed’s head was being turned right now. Being the archmagus’s granddaughter had earned Katelyn Valerian a front-row seat; being Piaras’s girlfriend put an appreciative g
leam in her bright eyes. I knew that look. That girl had intentions, serious intentions. If Piaras didn’t already know, I wasn’t about to tell him. He was going to have to figure out things like that for himself.
“You’re smiling,” said a new, yet familiar voice.
Standing next to me was the father I’d never known, in a body that until two days ago, I’d never met.
Vegard had himself a partner in crime—and I had a second bodyguard. Arlyn Ravide’s brother Guardians thought the kid was a glutton for punishment for requesting the assignment. I knew he was a father with a lot of catching up to do and with a daughter he was determined to protect.
I was a daughter determined to protect him.
“Yeah, I am,” I admitted. I was so proud of Piaras that I could burst, and I had a father. Those were two of the best reasons I’d had to smile in a long time.
In my mind, the absurdly young blond elf by my side was Eamaliel Anguis, my father; but I’d called him nothing but Arlyn in the two days since his body and my father’s soul had become one. And I’d tried my best to think of him only as Arlyn Ravide. On an island full of mages, they didn’t just listen with their ears. No one could know his true identity. Mychael had convinced the Guardian who had been the demon queen’s hostage that Arlyn hadn’t died. He’d been critically injured, but Mychael and the archmagus’s healer had been able to mend his chest wound. Arlyn had stayed secluded until this morning to make the story more believable. No one could suspect that he was really Eamaliel Anguis. There was no statute of limitations on Saghred stealing. If certain people found out, Arlyn Ravide would be put on trial as Eamaliel Anguis, charged with theft, treason, and abandonment of his post. He’d just gotten his life back; no way in hell was anyone taking that from him.
No one was taking him from me.
Mychael was standing at Justinius’s right, wearing his steel gray formal uniform. Vegard had told me once that Mychael was responsible for the uniforms he and his knights wore. If I didn’t know Mychael was humble, modest, unassuming and all that, I’d say that he’d had those uniforms made for the express purpose of leaving no doubt that he was completely irresistible. I smiled. Then again, I’d only known Mychael for a little over two weeks. There was lot about him that I didn’t know.
Mychael was still an enigma, wrapped in a riddle, coated in yum. Only now the enigma was a little less mysterious; I was a few clues closer to solving the riddle—but damn, that man would always be coated in yum.
“A fine man, your Guardian,” my father commented.
“He’s not mine.”
Now it was Arlyn’s turn to smile. “That’s not what your eyes are saying.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Precisely what I said.”
“He’s a Guardian; I’m a Benares—never the two shall meet.”
Vegard cleared his throat meaningfully behind me. Mychael and I had more than met.
“You know what I mean,” I told him.
“Ma’am, the boss doesn’t care what anyone thinks.”
Until the Saghred and I came along, Mychael’s reputation was spotless and his position secure—and his neck wasn’t in danger of leaving his shoulders. “Maybe he should,” I murmured.
“Or maybe you shouldn’t,” Vegard countered.
One side of my mouth quirked in a quick grin. “You sound like your boss.”
He winked at me. “Why, thank you, ma’am.”
At Justinius’s command, Piaras arose to thunderous applause. Arlyn and I joined in, and Vegard added some loud whistles. He wasn’t the only one. The Guardians in the audience were enthusiastically welcoming their new little brother. Between what Piaras had done with the bukas and his display of courage at the Saghred’s containment room door, he was well on his way to gaining the respect and admiration of his brother Guardians that he’d always wanted. I didn’t think I’d ever seen Piaras that happy. The kid was virtually glowing. Dreams coming true had a way of doing that.
Now all we had to do was stop the nightmares from becoming real.
Six souls had escaped from the Saghred.
Sarad Nukpana was one of them.
The demon king was still inside. But to tell you the truth, if I’d had a choice between the demon king and Sarad Nukpana, I would have picked the demon. His demonic majesty just wanted to raise hell. Sarad Nukpana wanted vengeance: slow, sweet, and personal. Then he wanted the Saghred and all the power that came with it.
I didn’t think it could get any worse than demons. I was wrong.
My father had told Mychael and me that Sarad Nukpana and the others would possess one body after another, keeping themselves corporeal until they could find the perfect hosts—people with enough magical power and influence to be useful to them.
“Sarad is still body jumping,” Arlyn said, his voice low enough for my ears only. He could still read my mind. I wasn’t surprised. And considering that we had to hide who he was, it could be a literal lifesaver. “If he remains in the same body from one sunrise to the next, it’s permanent. He doesn’t want that—at least not yet.”
It was the “not yet” part that had me waking up in a cold sweat for the past two nights. I could feel the son of a bitch; I knew he was out there. And he wanted me to know it; he wanted me to wonder when and where he would finally show himself. The goblin wanted me, but first he wanted me terrified. His cat-and-mouse game had only just begun. He could be anywhere—and inside of anyone.
I don’t play cat and mouse. And I don’t do terrified—at least I was trying really hard not to. Not being scared out of my skin was easier said than done. Sarad Nukpana wasn’t just stalking me, he was haunting me. He wanted to drag out the game as long as possible. I was determined to end it before he got started. I knew where he had to be—the goblin embassy. Problem was, getting in would be next to impossible; getting out would take nothing short of a miracle. Quite frankly, I wasn’t chomping at the bit to take a stroll into enemy territory to go ghost hunting.
Rudra Muralin had come through that mirror into the citadel, and he hadn’t been seen since. Tam’s source in the goblin embassy said their new ambassador had come home. What I needed to know was had he come home alone. I was betting he hadn’t.
“What will happen to the people he infests?” I asked Arlyn.
“When he leaves them, they’ll be disoriented for a day or so; or insane if they weren’t emotionally stable to begin with.”
I could see where being possessed by Sarad Nukpana could do that. And Rudra Muralin was already nuts.
“No trail of dead bodies to follow?”
My father shook his head. “Sarad will be careful. He has everything to gain, and too much to lose. He will be cautious until he is ready to make his move.”
And when he made that move, we would all know about it.
I looked back up at the dais where a line had formed to welcome Piaras into the Guardians.
“Piaras is safe,” Arlyn assured me.
“How do you know that?” It came out a little sharper than I’d intended.
“Sarad would possess Piaras for spite, but it is too great a risk for him. As a cadet, Piaras will be living in the citadel, and he will be closely watched. Sarad will not risk capture to satisfy a petty vengeance.”
He was right, and I knew why. Sarad Nukpana wouldn’t waste time or strength on anything petty, most of all vengeance. No doubt Nukpana thought that revenge was best served in cold blood and up close and personal. And when he came for me, I wanted to have a fitting welcome waiting for him. I said I wanted to; I didn’t have a plan yet. I told myself that brilliant retaliation takes time. Too bad my time was running out.
Mychael was walking toward us, and I knew it wasn’t for a casual hello. We hadn’t had much time to talk in the past two days and had had absolutely no time alone. Mychael had the Guardians’ best spellweavers secure the Saghred as well as they could, and they’d done a fine job with no objections from the rock. The Saghred had been cut op
en; apparently it needed some time to heal. The spellweavers had likewise secured the Scythe of Nen, which was being kept in an undisclosed location. Undisclosed was good; hopefully spellweavers were good at keeping secrets—and hopefully elven intelligence hadn’t recently bought itself a Guardian spellweaver.
When Mychael got close enough, I asked the inevitable question. “Your office?”
“Please.”
The Guardians we passed in the wide corridors had smiles and salutes for their paladin. They’d heard that Mychael had closed the Hellgate. That was the story we’d told, and that was the story we were sticking to—and with Mychael’s report, that version had become official. It wasn’t a lie. It was more like a simplification of an entirely too complicated truth. Mychael had been the one to hit the Hellgate and the demons on the other side with more white magic than they could survive. My and Tam’s roles had been reduced to no role at all. Officially, I’d been too injured from my catfight with the demon queen, and Tam’s strength had been exhausted keeping the Hellgate stable until Mychael could take over. It was Mychael’s magic that had closed the Hellgate—that Tam and I had helped fuel that magic didn’t bear mentioning.
Vegard and Arlyn walked a few paces behind us. They were my bodyguards, but Mychael was their commander. I knew it had to feel strange beyond belief for Mychael with my father’s soul being in the body of one of his junior knights, but he handled it well, better than I would have in his place. I had to hand it to Mychael; he would have made a fine actor. No one watching or listening to him would suspect that Arlyn Ravide was anything other than one of his young knights.
Mychael told Vegard and Arlyn to stand guard and see to it that we weren’t disturbed, and then he closed his office door behind us.
Blessed silence, and no sense of anything outside of the room. Mychael’s office had always been warded, but he’d recently laid on a couple of fresh layers. Very recently.
“Just being careful,” he told me.
“There’s no way we can have too much of that.”
Mychael almost laughed. “You? Careful? I would say I couldn’t believe you broke into Carnades’s house and attacked the demon queen, but I can believe it. The last one I saw with my own eyes.”
The Trouble with Demons Page 34