Armed & Magical rb-2

by Lisa Shearin

  “Is it really like sleep?” I asked Mychael quietly.

  He gave me a sad smile. “Yes, it’s like sleep.”

  I looked from Mychael to Ronan Cayle. “Tell me what you need me to do.”

  The Guardians’ containment rooms were beneath the basements of the citadel. They were rooms that could be locked down tight enough to hold something as powerful as the Saghred. The corridors were cold stone; the doors to various rooms were thick wood and banded with some serious iron. There was nothing supernatural beasties liked less than iron. I wondered if those supernatural occupants had included the two-legged variety from time to time. Considering that Mid was an island full of sorcerers, I would be willing to bet these rooms had also been used as prison cells.

  The farther into the depths of the citadel we went, the thicker the air got. Chilled and constricting. Breathing became an effort. It wasn’t the closeness and thickness of the walls that gave me that impression; it was something else.

  “What kind of containments do you have on this place?” I asked Mychael, using more breath than I could actually spare.

  “Level ten here, level twelve on the next two floors down.”

  Containment spells only went up to twelve. Mychael had arranged housing for the Guardians’ newest guest on the bottom floor of the citadel. Bottom floor, subterranean, level-twelve containments, plenty of experienced Guardian chaperones—and someone was trying to break curfew. I bet I knew who the bad boy was. I didn’t need any proof to know that Sarad Nukpana would have turned ringleader the moment he was inside the Saghred.

  “Level twelve should be reassuring,” I said.

  Mychael’s expression was grim. “It usually is.”

  I prided myself on being in good shape. Most times being a seeker just demanded that you be in better shape than what was chasing you. I had always aspired to go beyond that. Yet here I was, going down flights of stairs, and I was out of breath. That was just plain wrong.

  I took a ragged gasp of air. “Is this normal?”

  To my satisfaction, Mychael did look a tad flushed himself, and so did Ronan Cayle. Being paladin meant he had to be in better shape than everyone, and Ronan Cayle’s lung capacity was as well-known as his voice.

  “To a degree.” Mychael took a deep breath. “We layer our shields. When they’ve just been replenished, it can thicken the air somewhat.”

  “Somewhat like this?”

  “Nothing like this.”

  Not only was the air thick, it was cloying in my mouth, my throat, my lungs, threatening to choke me, and it didn’t smell too great, either. Though the smell was the least of my problems. Sliding up from below along the chilled stone walls came a sibilant whisper. I knew that voice. I didn’t know if I heard it with my ears or in my head, but I knew who it was and where it was coming from. The language was Goblin, as was the speaker.

  “Good morning, my little seeker,” Sarad Nukpana murmured.

  Those five silky little words were all it took to start my skin crawling on the soles of my feet and keep going until it reached my scalp. The voice sounded husky from sleep, carried the warmth of the bed, and was way too intimate under any circumstances, especially since Sarad Nukpana was the last person I wanted to open my eyes and find sharing my pillow.

  I took a slow and careful breath, not daring to move. “Do you hear that?” I asked Mychael.

  From my expression he knew I had heard something bad. “Hear what?”

  “He cannot hear my words or thoughts, little seeker. Only you.”

  Mychael scowled. “Nukpana?”

  I nodded in the smallest motion possible.

  “Give your paladin my regards.”

  The goblin’s voice felt like a cat rubbing up against my face—not a sensation I used to mind. Until now.

  I swallowed. “He says hello.”

  We picked up the pace. Nukpana’s warm laughter bubbled up around us.

  “Our power grows.” I could almost feel the goblin’s languid stretch. “Tell your paladin and his maestro that they cannot stop us.”

  “Mychael, unless Sarad Nukpana’s taken to referring to himself in the royal ‘we,’ he’s found some like-minded friends in there.”

  “I’m not surprised.”

  “I am. He never struck me as the friend-making type.”

  “Allies, little seeker. Allies. All of a like mind; all with the same goal.”

  If Sarad Nukpana could talk to me in my head, the least I could do was return the favor. I knew how.

  “So, what kind of club are you and your new friends starting?” I asked.

  “We merely wish to ensure our survival—and our prosperity. You will help us accomplish both.”

  “Fat chance.”

  “You cannot refuse us any more than you can refuse to breathe. You are a bond servant to the Saghred, like your fatherbefore you.” There was a knowing smile in his voice. “Even now you do its will.”

  That was unwelcome news. I tried to find breathable air and go down the stairs, while my mind raced to find what I could have done to make the Saghred happy. I’d lifted the stage this morning with the power the Saghred had already given me. I didn’t tap the stone. And when it tempted me in that courtyard, I didn’t give in. I couldn’t see how either was doing the Saghred’s will.

  “Soon its desires will become your own, and you will have an eternity to fulfill them. You are strong enough to serve, but too weak to resist.”

  The sense of Sarad Nukpana abruptly vanished. “So much for him ignoring me,” I said out loud.

  Concern flashed in Mychael’s blue eyes. “What did he say?”

  “Oh, nothing much, just promised me eternal servitude.” I made a little dismissive waving motion with my hand. I saw that it was shaking. “He’s just trying to scare me.”

  “Scared is the smartest thing you could be right now.”

  “That must make me the smartest person on the island.”

  “Are you all right?”

  “If I said yes, I’d be lying. Having an evil madman popping into my head isn’t something I want as a permanent arrangement.”

  “And it won’t be,” Mychael promised, his intense expression telling me he’d never broken a promise and wasn’t about to start with me.

  “It’s my new life’s goal, too. By the way, he’s found some new friends to play with, and they have plans.”

  That earned me a couple of words I didn’t expect to hear from a paladin.

  Sarad Nukpana’s low laughter bubbled up again in my head. I told myself it was only the memory, not the real thing. It didn’t lessen the creepies. And I didn’t share with Mychael that Nukpana considered me his new helpmate. One catastrophic problem at a time.

  We arrived at the citadel’s lowest level. The Saghred’s containment room’s door was just a door. It didn’t look like a portal to the bowels of hell or the entrance to the unspeakable. It was just a thick wooden door, banded with iron, and flanked by a pair of burly Guardians who didn’t look happy to be there. I didn’t blame them.

  Sarad Nukpana wasn’t going to go to sleep without a fight. I thought the comparison to an obnoxious child was oddly appropriate. I’d threaten to spank him, but unlike a child, Sarad Nukpana would probably enjoy it. In fact, I was sure of it.

  “Once we’re inside, let us know if the subject begins to misbehave,” Cayle reminded me.

  It looked like I wasn’t the only one using a naughty schoolboy analogy.

  “Trust me—when the Saghred misbehaves, you’ll know about it whether I tell you or not. But I’ll be glad to mention the obvious when it happens.”

  “You mean if it happens.”

  “Well, we can all hope for that.”

  Mychael had been speaking in low tones with the Guardians on duty at the door. He crossed the corridor to where we waited. “Are we ready?”

  “To get it over with,” I said.

  Mychael nodded, and the Guardians posted on either side of the door unlocked, unlatched, an
d opened it.

  The stairs and the room below were brightly lit, but only for the benefit of the Guardians on duty. Being its own self-contained little world, the Saghred made its own interior light. The outside world was not visible from inside. Unfortunately, I had this knowledge firsthand.

  The room contained only the essentials—four Guardians and the object they guarded. One look at the Saghred sitting on its pedestal told me that the stone had its figurative eyes closed, but it was far from asleep. Unlike with a child pretending to be asleep, Mychael, Ronan, and I weren’t just going to turn off the bedroom lights and close the door on our way out.

  Sarad Nukpana was nowhere to be heard. Maybe he’d rolled over and gone back to sleep. Maybe he and his new friends were up late last night plotting world domination.

  I didn’t like any of it, no maybe about it.

  The Saghred sat on a small table in the center of the room, still in the translucent, white stone casket Mychael had used to transport it to Mid. It was still translucent, but it sure wasn’t white.

  I couldn’t ever think of a time when a red glow was a good thing.

  The Saghred’s glow reminded me of an angry, red eye. I half expected to hear a warning growl to go along with it. The rock was clearly not amused, which told me the shields might be holding. Barely.

  I had heard about the kind of power Conclave-trained Guardians could put into their containment spells. It was an accepted fact that if a Guardian clamped something or someone down, it stayed put. I didn’t think the Saghred had heard the same stories—and if Sarad Nukpana had, he was delighting in ignoring them.

  The Saghred’s glow faded to a softly pulsing pink, and I felt the faintest tug, like a child’s hand wrapping around my little finger, a soft insistence, a come-watch-what-I-can-do kind of invitation. Sweet and innocent and perfectly harmless.

  “You can bat your eyelashes at me all day,” I told the Saghred. “I’m not buying.”

  I could only describe what happened next as a tantrum.

  The containment box lid sprang open and a beam of blood-red light shot out and engulfed one of the Guardians. He screamed, and I lunged for the box. I knew it was a bad idea. I also knew it was exactly what Sarad Nukpana wanted. But I knew the Guardian was dead or worse if I did nothing.

  As soon as my hand touched the open lid, I realized just how bad an idea it was. The last voice I heard from outside the Saghred was Mychael’s shout.

  Chapter 4

  My world turned gray and silent.

  More of a twilight fog actually, the kind you see on a waterfront pier—just before you step off the edge. Last time I had been inside the Saghred, it had been a gray void filled with filmy figures. This almost looked the same, but with the notable and welcome absence of the figures. I wasn’t going to complain; some of the figures had wanted me dead. Besides, there was no one to complain to. Then I saw movement through the shimmering silver light, movement that resolved itself into a tall figure. I looked around. There was no cover, no place to hide; I was half tempted to close my eyes. If I couldn’t see it, maybe it couldn’t see me.

  “It doesn’t work that way,” the figure murmured.

  I knew that voice. The speaker emerged from the shifting mist. Sarad Nukpana. I wasn’t surprised, but I sure was disappointed. Of all the Saghred’s residents, he was the one I least wanted to run into.

  With a negligent wave of Sarad Nukpana’s elegant fingers, the fog retreated.

  No mere featureless wasteland would do for Sarad Nukpana.

  We stood in a space filled with sensual comforts. A low bed covered with pillows. A plush chaise upholstered with fabric that looked too soft to be real, a low table with two chairs, the table set with glasses and a heavy, cut-crystal decanter of dark, ruby liquid. My feet sank into a fur rug so soft and decadent, I had to resist the urge to drop and roll. Not the sort of surroundings you’d expect of someone plotting world domination.

  Sarad Nukpana himself didn’t look any worse for wear, and he also looked amazingly solid. Going from corporeal to disembodied soul hadn’t diminished his dark beauty one bit. His long black hair was shot through with silver and fell loosely around his strongly sculpted face; the tips of his upswept ears were barely visible through the midnight mass of his hair. Nukpana’s pearl gray skin set off what was any goblin’s most distinguishing feature—a pair of fangs that weren’t for decorative use only. The danger didn’t detract from the race’s appeal; some would say it fueled it. I guess all that sinuous grace and exotic beauty can make you overlook a lot, and Sarad Nukpana was certainly devastating. He was also insane—that I couldn’t overlook.

  “You redecorated,” I remarked, my mouth dry. “Not my taste.”

  His eyes were bottomless black pools. “It suits my taste—and my needs—perfectly.”

  I didn’t move. “So the newest inmate gets to choose the color scheme?”

  He laughed, a dark, rich sound. “In a way of speaking. I am the newest here—and the strongest.”

  I couldn’t help but notice that the plushness extended only so far. I wondered if the same was true of his influence. Where the room’s walls should be, the void with its shimmering waves of mist resumed.

  “Did someone else not agree with your taste?”

  The goblin’s flawless face remained expressionless. “The most intimate surroundings are small. I have all that I need here.”

  “Or are you using all the strength you can spare?”

  The goblin’s dark eyes narrowed. “Still playing dangerous games, little seeker?”

  “They seem to be the only kind available.” I helped myself to the plush chaise. “You wanted me here, and you went to a lot of trouble to make it happen.” I leaned back and crossed my legs. It really was very comfortable. “What do you want?”

  “To make you an offer.”

  “No.”

  He smiled. “ ’No,’ I can’t make you an offer, or ‘no,’ you refuse?”

  “Oh, you can make me an offer; I just won’t have any part of it.”

  “Just like that.” His smile broadened, his fangs peeking into view. “No hearing me out and then casting my offer back in my face?”

  “That’s right. Regardless of what you say, I already know I’m going to turn you down. And since you’ve turned my mind into your personal bedroom, I’m sure you know what I know. So it seems counterproductive to prolong this conversation any more than it has to be.”

  “I do know your thoughts. See what you see.” He paused suggestively. “And feel what you feel. Shall I hazard a guess as to why you fear what I can offer you—what the Saghred can give us both?”

  “Insanity and prolonged death? Just because you’re merrily skipping down that path doesn’t mean I want to join you.”

  “I merely want to give you what you truly desire.”

  “You and the rock are going to go away?”

  “That is not what you really want.”

  This promised to be good. I crossed my arms. “And just what is my heart’s desire?”

  “Power.”

  “No, power is what you want. I want you to vanish.”

  Sarad Nukpana made himself at home on the bed, and took his time doing it. “There are many kinds of power— with many uses. So we can both desire power, but have different uses for it. That does not change the fact that we essentially want the same thing.”

  I’d heard enough and sat up. “I’ve seen what your idea of power does. There isn’t anything I could want less.”

  “Even if you had the power to protect?” His smile was slow and confident. “The power to defend those in danger, the ones you love? The power you scorned this morning. If you had accepted what the Saghred offered, that girl wouldn’t be in Banan Ryce’s hands.” The smile reached his black eyes. “That means whatever is happening to her this very moment is entirely your fault. You could have prevented it with one word.”

  I didn’t move. “The Saghred doesn’t offer that kind of power.” I said it,
but I wasn’t sure of it.

  “Oh, but it does.” His voice rubbed over me like the soft fabric beneath my fingertips. “The power is the same; the only difference is how it is used. You could choose how you use your gift. That is what the archmagus fears; it is the fear your paladin won’t admit. The strength the Saghred gives you also gives you the strength to choose.”

  “Whether to become a disembodied soul now or later? I don’t consider that much of a choice.”

  “Your choices are the Saghred’s choices. Do you think you and your paladin chose to bring the Saghred to Mid? Hardly, little seeker. The Saghred chose where it would go, and who would take it there. We are all instruments of its will; I have merely found a way to make that will work to my advantage.”

  “So you want to live like an evil genie in a bottle?”

  “It will not be forever.”

  “I’m sure your buddies in here felt the same way—for the first hundred years or so.” I looked out into surrounding grayness. There were slender forms all around us. They weren’t the screaming wraiths I’d encountered last time I was inside the Saghred; these were standing perfectly still, patiently waiting for something. Creepy. I could feel the power coming off of them, though the force from Sarad Nukpana was stronger. He was definitely the big dog in the pack. For now. I wondered which one out there was second in the pack order. Disturbingly, my father was nowhere to be seen.

  I’d had enough, and stood. Sarad Nukpana rose and came toward me with predatory grace, quicker than any mortal creature had a right to move. He caught my wrist in his hand. I had to remind myself that the goblin wasn’t mortal anymore. However, his hand was strong and all too solid around my wrist. I felt his will meld with the Saghred, stretching outward, beyond the room, beyond the void.

  I dimly heard an agonized scream. The Guardian.

  Two could play at that game. With my free hand, I grabbed the front of his shirt and twisted my fingers until the silken fabric was firmly knotted in my fist. “Release him. Now.”