by Lisa Shearin
I answered with a grin of my own. Like myself, Tarsilia believed in the importance of practice. And if Piaras had needed help, she was more than able to back him up. “What did you use?” I asked.
The tips of Piaras’s pointed ears were visible through his curls. They blushed pink. “An illusion song Garadin taught me last week. I thought it’d be fun to make Ocnus think there were a pair of werehounds guarding your door.”
“And?”
Piaras’s smile broadened into a boyish grin. “Ocnus thought they were so real he conjured a swamp cat to lure them away. You could see through his cat, but other than that, it wasn’t half-bad.”
“What did you have the hounds do?”
“What comes naturally. They ate the cat. That’s when Ocnus ran.”
“I hate that I missed it.”
Garadin nodded in satisfaction. “You just can’t beat the classics.”
My godfather sported a tiny smile for my benefit. I knew what it meant. The spellsong Piaras had used was one of the most advanced, and summoning realistic images of something as complex as werehounds took a level of talent that only came from years of hard work and training. Piaras could do it now. Easily. His singing voice was surprisingly deep, vibrant, filled with quiet power and impossible to ignore. He had a prodigious, natural gift. And after years of hard work and training with the right voice master, who knew what he could accomplish. The image of the Conclave Guardian instantly sprang to mind. I pushed my thoughts away from that path. That wasn’t the kind of power I ever wanted to see Piaras wield.
“After Grandma sensed the goblins hiding behind Maira’s bakery, she sent me after Garadin,” Piaras was saying. “I wanted to stay and help, but she insisted.”
“Tarsilia doesn’t doubt your abilities,” Garadin said, “and neither do I, but she needed to warn Raine. And Khrynsani shamans are a whole different beast than Ocnus.” He looked at me, and his bright blue eyes narrowed. “Care to tell me the reason for your sudden surge in popularity?”
“I have no idea what Ocnus was doing there, but I know what the goblins were after. Have you heard what happened at Nigel Nicabar’s place?”
Garadin slowly drew on his pipe, blue puffs rising toward the beamed ceiling. “We heard. Watchers coming off duty stopped at the Piper for a pint. Sounded like quite a fight.”
“It was.”
“You were there.” He didn’t ask it as a question, and I didn’t take it as one.
“Phaelan and I dropped by.”
A corner of his lips quirked upward. “And there stands the source of the trouble?”
“No, that would be Quentin.” I hesitated before continuing. I felt more than a little uncomfortable talking about Quentin’s sideline employment around Piaras. He had met Quentin, so I’m sure it wouldn’t come as any great shock, but I couldn’t help feeling like I was somehow tainting the innocent. “He was hired to acquire something from Nigel.”
“You mean steal,” Piaras said point blank.
Garadin likewise ignored my effort to tiptoe around the subject. “I take it he was successful?”
“Unfortunately, yes. Equally unfortunate is that a few people are disappointed they didn’t get to it first.”
I paused before continuing. I came to see Garadin to get his advice. That was going to be next to impossible with Piaras in the room. Quentin’s daily struggle with morality might not be the best topic of discussion around an impressionable elven teenager, but given the proper disclaimers, it was acceptable. But Khrynsani shamans and Conclave Guardians, along with the death, dismemberment and general mayhem that had made up my evening was another matter. I didn’t want Piaras hearing any of it. Knowing what had happened tonight could endanger him, not to mention I’d rather he didn’t know the finer details of what I did for a living. To someone of Piaras’s age and gender, my job could be perceived as glamorous. It was anything but. Though considering what had just happened a few blocks away at Tarsilia’s, having Piaras wait outside while I talked to Garadin wasn’t a viable option. My breath came out in a sigh.
“I don’t suppose you’d be willing to stand in the corner with your fingers in your ears?” I was only half joking.
Piaras’s expression spoke volumes on his feelings about that idea. “Not really.”
“He’s already heard most of it at the Mad Piper,” Garadin said, making it clear he knew my dilemma and just wanted me to get on with it.
“No, he hasn’t.”
Garadin stopped midpuff. “That bad?”
“Let’s just say the fewer people who know about it, the better.”
Piaras was slouching against the door jam, well on his way to a good sulk. To his credit, he didn’t do it often. I couldn’t really blame him. I did ask him to stand in a corner. He knew I didn’t mean it literally, but my meaning was clear enough. I didn’t think he was old enough to hear what had happened tonight. And he wasn’t. Truth be told, I wasn’t old enough. The safest thing for Piaras was complete and blissful ignorance. If protecting Piaras meant he had to suffer the indignity of actually standing in a corner, so be it.
“I’m sorry, Piaras. But it’s not safe for you to hear any more of this.” Or be anywhere near me right now, my maternal instinct chimed in.
“I wouldn’t tell anyone,” he said.
“I know you wouldn’t. I trust you. But trust isn’t the issue here. Your safety is. You can’t tell what you don’t know.”
A confused look passed over his face. “I don’t understand.”
I hesitated. Tact was called for here, and I didn’t have any. “I’m not worried about you talking to your friends. I’m worried about those involved in this. They would want to know what was said here. If they knew you were here, they would ask you.” I paused. “They wouldn’t ask nicely.”
The young elf’s expression didn’t change, but his dark eyes widened slightly. I think he got the idea.
“How long do you want me to stay in the corner?” he asked.
I smiled slightly. “Not long.”
“You don’t have to stand in the corner,” Garadin told him. “And I can fix it so you don’t have to stick your fingers in your ears.” He took one last puff, then set his pipe aside. “Fingers don’t work, anyway. You don’t even have to face the wall, just don’t try to read our lips.”
“I promise.”
Garadin nodded. “Good enough.”
I pulled a chair over to where Garadin was sitting, and he muttered a brief shielding spell, confining our voices to that small area. It meant neither one of us could get up and move around, but I had done more than enough moving for one night. Piaras found a book and settled himself cross-legged by the fire, his profile to us. Occasionally, he would steal a quick glance. The curiosity of youth is a powerful thing.
I told Garadin the whole story, in as short a form as possible without omitting anything that might be important—which meant I told him everything. Fortunately, it didn’t take as long as I thought. I had lived it once, and that was quite enough. When I’d finished, Garadin sat quietly for a few moments. He was absorbing and sorting, as I liked to think of it. I wasn’t about to disturb him. He’d talk when he was ready.
“From your description, the elven Guardian and spellsinger would be Mychael Eiliesor.”
I knew I’d come to the right place. “You know him?”
“I know of him. He was appointed paladin of the Guardians after I left.”
I sat in stunned silence. I had just kicked the commander of the Conclave Guardians in the balls.
“What is it?” Garadin asked.
I told him.
Garadin laughed until tears were streaming down his face and he couldn’t breathe. Piaras couldn’t hear a thing, but the shield couldn’t keep him from knowing that his teacher found something hysterical—at my expense. He grinned.
I didn’t share their opinion. “It’s not funny!” I said it out loud for Garadin, and towards Piaras so he could read my lips. It just made it worse.
“I’m sorry,” Garadin sputtered.
I crossed my arms and sat ramrod straight against the back of the chair. “You don’t sound sorry.”
“I am.” He snorted one last time, and wiped his eyes. “Really.”
I sat up even straighter, gathering what little shreds of dignity I had left. “Well, what do you know about him?”
“Nothing bad. He was personally appointed by the Archmagus. Justinius Valerian has a knack for hiring good people, plus he’s always wanted to clean house. Putting Mychael Eiliesor in as paladin sounded like a good start. He’s one of the best spellsingers on Mid, and a top-notch healer. Some say the best of both.”
I could have guessed the spellsinger part. “What else?”
“Paladin Eiliesor takes his job very seriously. He’s honest and he doesn’t play favorites.” Garadin chuckled as he relit his pipe. “And don’t even think about offering a bribe. Rumor has it a couple of Caesolian mages tried when he first took office. Eiliesor didn’t take the offer, but he did take the mages on an extended tour of the Conclave dungeons. You thinking about setting up a meeting?”
“That’s the last thing on my mind. For now I just want to find out who the good guys are. If there are any.”
Garadin’s expression darkened. “I can guarantee you one of them isn’t named Sarad Nukpana.”
“I know. I’ll be seeing someone in the morning who might be able to shed some light on how Sarad Nukpana knows me.”
“Nathrach?” Garadin’s distaste was evident.
“Yes, I’m going to see Tam.” My tone was weary in my own ears.
Garadin and I had trampled this ground before. I didn’t blame him. As my godfather, Garadin felt he had certain duties. One of those duties was protecting me from inappropriate men. A couple of fond and fun memories reminded me in no uncertain terms that Tamnais Nathrach certainly qualified. But sometimes a girl likes a little inappropriate in her life. I know I do.
“Mind if I look at the amulet?” Garadin set his pipe aside, along with his animosity towards Tam. For now. Garadin picked his battles carefully with me. This was one he knew he couldn’t win.
“That’s what I’m here for.” I reached down the front of my shirt and pulled out the chain. The silvery disk felt smooth and surprisingly cool after spending the past two hours next to my skin. I lifted the chain and the amulet over my head.
I almost didn’t live to regret it.
I knew there was air in the room, but my lungs didn’t believe me. Gasping didn’t help. Garadin lowered me to the floor before I fell there on my own. My fist convulsed on the amulet, and pain shot up my arm as the metal bit into my palm. Garadin tried to pry my fingers open. I wanted to help him, but my body—and the amulet—had other ideas.
The air was hot, the room too small. Through half-open eyes, I saw Garadin and Piaras above me. There were others that I couldn’t see. They pressed close, taking what little air remained. I couldn’t see them, but I knew who they were. A Khrynsani shaman, Mychael Eiliesor, and from farther away, Sarad Nukpana. They knew who I was—and soon they would know where I was.
I felt Garadin wrench the amulet from my fingers and push the chain back over my head.
The air cleared. The presences vanished. I took a shuddering breath and tried to open my eyes more than a squint. The room was too bright. I was draped across Garadin’s lap. He had one arm around my shoulders, the other clutched to his chest. He had a burn where he had grabbed the amulet. Piaras was at my side. The air was cooler now. My lungs still burned, but at least I could breathe.
Garadin was in pain. Piaras was scared. I was both.
Garadin nodded towards the shelf by his worktable. “Second shelf, fifth jar,” he said between pain-clenched teeth.
Piaras hurried to comply. I decided to lie there and breathe. Not that I had any choice. My body still had a mind of its own, and I wasn’t entirely convinced it belonged to me. Garadin’s injury was worse, so Piaras treated him first. He applied the salve to Garadin’s burn and bandaged it with a strip of linen. Then he did the same to my hand.
My godfather drew a ragged breath, and blew it out. “I don’t think it likes me.”
“I don’t like it either, so we’re all even.”
Once I could sit up on my own, I held the amulet so Garadin could study it. He wasn’t going to try to touch it, and I certainly wasn’t about to take it off again. Piaras may not have heard the previous part of our conversation, but he saw the results. When the amulet burned him, Garadin had dropped the shield blocking our voices. Pain can make you do that. He didn’t bother putting the shield up again, and I didn’t bother reminding him. It’d be like shutting the stable door after the horses were gone. A little too much, a little too late.
The silver disk glittered in the firelight. To me, it looked like it was proud of itself. I swear I felt it vibrate, almost like it was purring. Glad one of us was happy. I leaned back against the side of the chair. The floor seemed relatively stable. I thought I’d stay there for a while.
“What do you think it is?” I asked Garadin.
“I don’t know,” he admitted without the least embarrassment. “I’d say it’s quite old, and judging from the style and quality of workmanship, it is of elven make.”
“Maybe that’s why it likes me so much.”
“Unlikely.”
“One could hope.”
“Objects like this don’t usually ally themselves along racial lines. From its reactions to you, and the identities of those who want it, I think we can assume that it is a magical talisman of some sort.”
“You think?”
“Sarcasm won’t help.”
“It won’t hurt. And it’s about all I can muster right now. I can’t take it off, I don’t want to keep it, but I can hardly hand it over to anybody who’d take my life to have it. And who only knows what it’s doing to me.”
“Do you feel different?”
“A little.”
“How?”
“Twitchy, for one thing. And when Quentin was ambushed, I didn’t know who had set him up, just that it was magic and it was trouble. That’s a new talent for me.”
“Interesting.”
Everyone was entirely too fond of using that word to describe my predicament. “No, it’s not interesting,” I told him. “But then I’m the one the thing has grafted itself to. I just want to know what it does, and why the Khrynsani and Guardians want to get their hands on it.”
“Conclave Guardians? Here?” Piaras asked, looking entirely too eager for my taste.
Great.
“Sorry. I didn’t hear that,” Piaras said quickly. “I didn’t hear a thing.” He tried getting to his feet, his long legs tangling in the process. “I’ll just go stand in the corner. Better yet, I’ll step outside.”
“Sit,” Garadin and I said in unison.
Piaras sat.
Garadin sighed. “If you hear anything you consider fascinating, just forget it immediately.”
“Yes, sir.”
Exhausted, I slouched back against the chair leg. “Garadin, you were once a Conclave mage. You must have some idea what that Guardian”—I shot a glance at Piaras—“who shall remain nameless, meant by ‘that box and its contents are our only concern.’”
Garadin leaned back against the other side of the chair. “The Conclave has many interests, and it’s been a while since I was on Mid. I still have contacts there, some I can trust. Let me ask around. In the meantime, you need to keep that trinket out of sight, and you need to be careful.”
“I’m always careful.”
Garadin gave me the look. You know the one.
“Whenever I can,” I added.
“You’re going to have to do better than that. Have you talked to your best client?”
I knew he meant Markus. No need to share that name with Piaras either.
“I sent him a note a few hours ago asking if I could use one of his safehouses as a base for the next couple of days. An
d after what you told me about Tarsilia’s visitors, I think it’s an even better idea.”
Garadin shook his head. “You may want to consider arranging for more protection than that. I don’t like you wandering around the city alone.”
“I don’t ‘wander’ anywhere,” I told him. “I know the under-belly of this city better than anyone, and you know how I feel about someone playing shadow. I work alone.”
“As long as you’re wearing that, you won’t be lacking for company.”
“No one can sense it when I’m wearing it.” I paused uncomfortably, remembering Mychael Eiliesor—and feeling his presence all too clearly in the past hour. I didn’t doubt for a moment that it was his seductive lullaby Garadin and Piaras’s arrival had interrupted. If he had managed to put me to sleep, then traced me here, who knows where I’d have woken up. “With the exception of my Guardian acquaintance.”
I remembered another reason why I wanted to talk to Garadin. I didn’t want to ask in front of Piaras, but I had no choice. “How much do you know about Gates?”
My godfather was silent before answering. “I have knowledge, but not firsthand experience, though I know some who have both.” His distaste for the subject was apparent. “I don’t count any of them as friends.”
“I think that’s how the Khrynsani got into Nigel’s house tonight,” I told him.
Garadin didn’t say anything, but I could see his jaw tighten. Piaras had gone a shade paler, if that was possible. I didn’t know how much he knew about Gates, but I was pretty sure it wasn’t as much as Garadin or I knew, and I wasn’t going to be the one to expand his education. This was one topic I would tiptoe around. I’m sure Garadin would agree with me.
A Gate is a tear in the fabric of reality. It’s not naturally occurring. Nothing about a Gate is natural—or legal or moral. Stepping through a Gate is like stepping through a doorway, except that doorway can cover miles instead of inches. In theory, I guess any distance is possible. Gates are a convenient way to get around, if you don’t mind what it takes to make one. Magic of the blackest kind, fueled by terror, torture, despair, and death—the more the merrier. It takes a twisted sorcerer to open a Gate. Luckily I hadn’t had the pleasure of meeting anyone quite that sick—at least not until tonight. It sounded like something that’d be right up Sarad Nukpana’s dark alley.
