by Lisa Shearin
A’Zahra Nuru was still looking at me. “You do not seem to have experienced any adverse effects from its use.”
It wasn’t a question, so I didn’t answer.
“What is your proposal, Your Highness?” Mychael asked the prince.
I welcomed the change of topic.
“The Guardians have failed in their duty,” Chigaru said without hesitation. “The Thief of Souls is too dangerous to be left in the custody of your order. As long as it is, there will be a danger of it being found and misused by those such as my brother or Sarad Nukpana.”
I’d heard enough. “Or yourself? To use against your brother?”
“The Thief of Souls cannot be wielded,” Primari Nuru said. “It brings madness and death to any who try. You are the first known exception. The stone’s very existence is an abomination.”
I already knew all that, and really didn’t want to be reminded with the rock itself probably less than a hundred yards away.
Mychael spoke. “In the nine hundred years since my order took the Saghred into our keeping has it ever been taken or used again for evil purposes?”
Prince Chigaru stood mute.
Mychael tactfully didn’t directly mention the single recorded use of the Saghred—by the prince’s own ancestor, whom the Guardians defeated. Subsequently, they took protective custody of the stone.
“Nine hundred years isn’t too shabby a record, Your Highness,” I said quietly. “Why don’t you just let these gentlemen do their job?”
The prince was as still as the marble statues in the garden, his dark eyes on Mychael. “You question my motives because I am a Mal’Salin.” It wasn’t a question. He knew the answer.
“Yes,” Mychael replied truthfully. “I do. But my main concern is for your present circumstances. You are still gathering allies with which to overthrow your brother. I wish you well and hope that you succeed. Your people will suffer under your brother’s rule. But for now, yours is a young government in exile. You may have the means to acquire the Saghred, but you lack the experience and—no insult intended—the strength needed to protect it. There is also the temptation to use the stone, if not by you, then by your allies. You trust them to help you defeat the king, but can you trust them near the Saghred?”
The prince placed his hand on A’Zahra Nuru’s slender shoulder. “When I first learned my brother’s plans, I will admit the temptation to use the Saghred against him was strong. But Primari Nuru has convinced me that I must choose another way.”
Good for her.
“Using the Saghred would only turn me into that which I have sworn to destroy,” he continued. “It may take longer to defeat Sathrik, but my allies grow more numerous and stronger every day. In the end, I will prevail. If I do not, Sathrik would use the Saghred against our own people and yours. He must not possess it.”
“Then we are in agreement,” Mychael said. “Allow me to carry out the duty of my office unimpeded.”
When the paladin stopped talking, the rest of us started holding our breath. To his credit, the prince seemed to give honest consideration to Mychael’s words.
“Is there any assistance either I or my people might offer you?” Chigaru asked.
I started breathing again, and I think I heard A’Zahra Nuru do the same.
“Thank you, Your Highness,” Mychael said, with a slight smile. “Yes, there is one thing I may need your help with.”
I had to consider the possibility that Chigaru Mal’Salin may not have inherited all the personality defects his family tree had to offer. The primari thought the world of her prince. Tam trusted A’Zahra. I trusted Tam. Completing the circle shouldn’t be difficult, but it was.
“Excuse me, Your Highness, but I have a question,” I asked.
“Yes?”
“The Saghred isn’t all your brother and Sarad Nukpana want this evening. Does your agreement to help Paladin Eiliesor extend to me and mine?”
“I understand that having you and your spellsinger at his mercy would please Sarad Nukpana and my brother. My brother and I have long enjoyed depriving each of what makes the other happy. Preventing my brother from capturing the two of you would greatly annoy him.” He smiled. It was genuine, and it transformed his face with almost boyish glee. “This would please me.”
It wasn’t exactly the I’m-your-ally-now-and-you-can-trust-me answer I was looking for, but who am I to deny a goblin prince the simple joys of life?
Chapter 22
Only the Mal’Salin family would buy a house with a mausoleum in the gardens—and gardens that backed directly into The Ruins.
To tell you the truth, I couldn’t tell that much difference between The Ruins and what the Mal’Salins referred to as their gardens. In the distance, I could even see a few pinpoints of light that looked suspiciously like fire pixies. It was disconcerting to say the least. I glanced at Piaras. A muscle in his jaw was starting to twitch. Looked like I wasn’t the only one who had noticed.
The mausoleum was on what passed for a hill on the property, and that was where the now-tingling beacon wanted to go. I’d rather just go directly for Sarad Nukpana, but the beacon hadn’t asked my opinion.
Chigaru Mal’Salin had agreed to help. I was hardly surprised. We were going after the very thing that he had been willing to torture Piaras for quite recently. So I think I could be excused a healthy dose of skepticism. On the other hand, Prince Chigaru had a perfectly good chance to kill us once and he didn’t take it. That didn’t exactly earn him sainthood status in my book, but sometimes a girl had to take what she could get.
I shot Mychael a look that I think fully conveyed the extent of my feelings and received a bare nod for my trouble. At least he was being cautious. The goblin prince and Primari Nuru were flanked by Vegard and Riston. The prince’s four guards would keep their distance while keeping watch. A few people strolling in the gardens was one thing, but with Chigaru’s guards, we more closely resembled a herd—and herds attracted attention. The prince had agreed. So far he was being the perfect gentleman. I hoped it lasted, but I wasn’t going to hold my breath.
The beacon was likewise behaving itself, and I held out as much hope for its continued good behavior as I did for the prince’s. The tingling had resolved itself into a quiet hum. It had let me know where we were going, and was now content to wait until we got there.
In a few minutes we would be surrounded by the dark, the damp, and the dead. I had never had the pleasure of visiting the Mal’Salin mausoleum, and would feel better about our destination if I knew more about it. I would also feel better if I could get my hat off my head. There was no way I was going into a cramped mausoleum wearing that hat. With a whispered apology to Mychael’s cousin, I removed the hat pins and ditched the hat under the nearest bush. If I was going to die tonight, at least I’d die comfortable. I kept the hat pins and tucked them into the top of my bodice in between it and the corset. The more sharp, pointy things in my possession, the better. Then I removed the pins holding my hair up, and my hair came cascading down. I looked up to find that I had Mychael’s complete and undivided attention. From his expression, you’d think I was standing there naked.
“So, how many of your family are interred in the mausoleum, Your Highness?” I asked, trying to shift attention to anyone but me. I felt Mychael’s eyes following me. I wasn’t sure whether to feel flattered or to run.
The goblin prince looked puzzled. “None. All Mal’Salins are entombed in our family citadel at Regor.”
I didn’t want to ask, but I had to. “Then these people are…?”
He shrugged. “They came with the property. My great, great grandfather saw the mausoleum and had the house and gardens built around them. I believe the original owners were an old Mermeian family who have long since died out. My family would often spend summers here. When we were children, my brother and I would play among the crypts beneath the mausoleum.”
Ick. Piaras’s frozen expression told me he was having the same thought.
/> “Crypts?” I looked from the prince to Mychael.
“Yes, there is a small network of catacombs beneath the mausoleum,” Chigaru told us both.
Mychael said nothing. I kept my own mouth shut, but I was thinking plenty—and most of what I was thinking wasn’t suitable for polite company. Ocnus hadn’t mentioned catacombs. Maybe he hadn’t known. Maybe the little weasel had. Since Mychael and I thought Ocnus had told us the truth, we had let him go. His ship was probably halfway to wherever by now. I hope he was seasick. The only things worse than dead dusty bodies were dead dusty bodies in a dark tunnel. The beacon continued to hum happily. Apparently it didn’t care about Ocnus or dead bodies in a dark tunnel, dusty or otherwise.
I heard a splash and the slap of something against a muddy bank. It wasn’t small, and it was entirely too close.
“A small pond in the orchard,” the goblin prince said calmly as if that explained everything. “I believe that was a serpent dragon, what you might know as a knucker. They prefer to feed in the night.”
Other Mermeian nobles kept ornamental fish. Naturally, the Mal’Salins would be different.
Piaras was incredulous. “Your family keeps knuckers as pets?”
“They keep themselves, spellsinger. Like the temple ruins, the pond was already here. Oddly enough, the serpents did not occupy it until my family acquired the house.”
Who said only opposites attract?
We were alone. No one had made any move to follow us. That was both good and bad. I didn’t want anyone following us, but at the same time, I expected some kind of interference. The complete lack of opposition made me more than a little jumpy. Garadin’s spell preparation on the terrace paled in comparison to the one he had ready to let fly at the first sign of a Khrynsani temple guard. I had knives that were likewise itching to go airborne, but I didn’t want to inadvertently waste any on a waving tree branch. The wind was up, so there were a lot of those. My guard was also up, along with the tiny hairs on the back of my neck.
Vegard moved swiftly out of the shadows toward us. I relaxed my grip on the throwing knife.
“We’re in position and ready, sir,” he reported to Mychael. “Feroc and Hugh took out the wards around the outer garden walls. They weren’t easy, but they weren’t difficult either—and no sign of an alarm being given. Or Khrynsani guards. That has them worried.”
“Sarad Nukpana does other things this night,” Primari Nuru said. “He cannot spare the strength.”
I knew the primari was right. “He wants me here,” I said. “If you want someone in your house, leave the door open.”
“Step into my parlor, said the spider to the fly,” Garadin said.
I shot him a look.
“Sorry, I couldn’t resist.”
“Try harder next time.”
We approached the temple and mausoleum from the back through the trees, hopefully out of sight of any goblin guards roaming the grounds. I still hadn’t seen any. I liked this less every second.
The mausoleum was built of a smooth dark stone and was only about thirty feet across. I walked into the center of the single room. Thankfully all of the vaults were still sealed. I was sure the crypts below wouldn’t be as tidy. Various titles and first names all ending with the last name Ramsden were etched into the stone, and the most recent date I could see was from over a hundred years ago. I ran my hand over the wall’s dark surface. It was cool and perfectly smooth. The canal that surrounded The Ruins was less than fifty yards away and flooding was common. I wondered how the crypts had faired. Hopefully we wouldn’t be finding out.
“No one’s here,” I said, though I was still careful to keep my voice down. “Good.”
“You expected someone?” Garadin said.
“If a couple of the guests wanted to be alone, this would be the perfect place.”
Garadin thought about that. “Good point.”
“Here?” Piaras asked, clearly creeped.
“It’s not my idea of romantic surroundings either,” I assured him.
The goblin prince looked around, then gazed outside at the moon and the clouds racing overhead. His black eyes glimmered in the faint light. “Actually these surroundings are very romantic.” His voice was low and almost wistful.
I didn’t know whether to feel reassured that he had romantic thoughts or disturbed that he was having them in a mausoleum—and while standing next to me.
“I cannot believe it,” Primari Nuru was saying, her voice echoing faintly against the walls. “How could something that powerful be concealed so closely without our knowing?”
Mychael answered her. “The Saghred has remained hidden for nearly nine hundred years, Primari Nuru.”
“How long has it been here?”
“Only the stone’s Guardian could answer that.”
“And he died centuries ago.”
“Apparently that’s come open for debate,” I said.
The primari’s dark eyes widened. “But that would make him—”
“Very old and very tired.”
The prince spoke. “Sarad Nukpana knows the Saghred is in Mermeia, but I would give much to see his face when he discovers that he has been meditating next to it for over a year.”
“Meditating?” I asked.
“According to agents I have in my brother’s court, when the grand shaman is in Mermeia, he sits here for hours at a time. He finds the surroundings relaxing.”
Sarad Nukpana sits with dead bodies for fun. Why wasn’t I surprised?
“Raine?” Mychael was looking at me expectantly.
I took a deep breath. Right. It was my turn now. I relaxed as much as I could considering where I was and who was with me—and what I was looking for. I slowly walked around the mausoleum. It wasn’t large, so it didn’t take long. The beacon’s vibration had increased in intensity when we’d come inside, but the signal wasn’t getting any stronger, though if it didn’t stop soon, my shoes were going to vibrate right off my feet.
I stopped. My feet and the stone floor beneath them were the only things that were vibrating. The mausoleum’s dead were in the walls around me. The catacombs’ dead would be under the floor, beneath my feet.
Crap.
I looked at Mychael and pointed down. “Guess what?”
He looked almost as thrilled as I did.
“Time grows short, Your Highness,” Mychael told Chigaru. “Would you please show us the entrance to the catacombs?”
The goblin prince’s expression was unreadable. “It would please me very much.”
“Do you require more light?” Mychael asked.
Chigaru shook his head. “This is more than sufficient.”
The goblin prince walked slowly into the corner of the mausoleum farthest from the house and ran a long-fingered hand along an upper vault until he came to what appeared to be several flowers carved into the stone. He pressed at several points, there was a faint click, and a panel below the flowers swung open into inky darkness.
The goblin turned to me and smiled as if from a private joke. “Your catacombs, Mistress Benares.”
I knew there was a reason why I still didn’t like him.
I had expected the entrance to the catacombs to be in the floor. It had never occurred to me that it would be hidden in the wall. The vaults in the mausoleum were stacked four high, one on top of the other, and covered every wall. The vaults concealing the entrance to the catacombs were fake. Where there should be four bodies interred was an incredibly steep and narrow stair leading down into the center of the hill.
Mychael held out his hand and stared at his palm. A pinpoint of white light flickered to life from the center of his hand, beneath the skin. It was no larger than a firefly. It spun, weaving a trail of light until a globe, the size of his fist, hung suspended above his open hand. It glowed steadily and seemed to solidify, the interior crackling with something akin to lightning. It floated down the stairs, then stopped, hovering, waiting for us.
Mychael indicated that
the goblin prince should precede us. “After you, Your Highness.”
Chigaru raised one elegant brow.
“You have been in these catacombs before,” Mychael explained. “We have not. Rest assured, we’ll be right behind you.” He looked to Garadin. “Garadin, if you could remain here with Primari Nuru? Piaras, stay with Vegard. We won’t be long. Riston,” he said to the other Guardian with us, “you’re with me.”
“Sir?” Vegard asked uncertainly. He didn’t glance at the prince. He didn’t need to. Mychael understood.
“From the looks of things, there’s not much room to maneuver down there,” the paladin said. “Riston and his knives are a better fit. Just make sure there’s a hole for us to come out of.”
The blond Guardian grinned. “Count on it, sir.”
“I am.” He again gestured to the prince. “Shall we?”
Prince Chigaru descended the stairs. Mychael and I followed, with Riston at our backs.
The walls glistened in the globe’s pale light, moisture trickling down the sides to collect on the uneven floor, making footing uncertain at best. The air was cool and damp. Somewhere ahead in the darkness, water dripped methodically into a pool. I gathered my gown up as best as I could. Mychael was directly in front of me. I aimed a dirty look at the center of his back. What I wouldn’t have given for my old leathers and boots. Aside from our breathing, there was no other sound. The damp wasn’t nearly as bad as the cloying smell of decay—or the unexpected silence. Not from the residents—I didn’t expect any trouble from them. I did expect to hear or sense something from the Saghred. I suddenly felt faintly nauseous. Though that could be from being in such close quarters with centuries of Ramsden dead and a Mal’Salin prince.
The globe’s light illuminated a white crust that shone in lines at differing heights along the rock walls. Salt. My subconscious knew what the lines meant, but my conscious mind didn’t want to dwell on it. There were many ways we could die tonight, and I didn’t want to add drowning to the list. The tide wouldn’t turn for hours, and we certainly weren’t going to be here that long. Knowing that didn’t help. Fear was irrational that way. If I survived all this, I wasn’t going to have to look far for fresh nightmare inspiration.