by Lisa Shearin
I let that one pass. He was right.
“I have an idea of what you did.” Garadin’s blue eyes were solemn as he looked back at me. “But I have no idea how you were able to do it.”
It was only as much as I knew, and didn’t know, myself.
“How much do you know about the Saghred?” I asked him.
“Enough to know that you don’t want anything to do with it.”
“Too late for that.” Now for the question of the night. “What can contact with it do to me?”
Garadin didn’t want to answer that one. That much was obvious.
“Legend has it the Saghred can level armies or kingdoms,” he said. “Though there’s no historical record of the Saghred linked with any destroyed army or no-longer-existing kingdom. So it’s probably safe to say those are false claims.”
“Probably safe?”
“More than likely.”
“But not definitely.”
“No.”
I sighed and took a sip of coffee. Phaelan served it laced with whiskey, and it burned its way down my throat.
“Though the Great Rift in Rheskilia was said to have been caused by the Saghred in a Khrynsani experiment gone wrong,” Garadin added.
The Great Rift was a mile-wide, nearly fifty-mile-long tear in the mountains of the Northern Reach. That was some experiment.
“But what would it do to me?” My voice sounded rather small.
“I’ve only read about Khrynsani shamans using the Saghred,” Garadin said. “And they weren’t too sane to begin with, so I don’t think they’re your best point of reference.”
“For what?”
“The Saghred affecting mental stability.”
My coffee stuck in my throat. I managed to swallow. “I’ve heard that one, too.”
“Just another claim, probably false,” Garadin hurried to assure me. “I’m sure what you experienced tonight was the beacon, or the shielding spells protecting the Saghred.”
That was easy for him to say. He wasn’t the one possibly on the verge of going off the deep end.
“Mychael Eiliesor would be the one to ask,” Garadin added. “The Guardians play anything to do with the Saghred close to the vest. You’ve decided to meet with him?”
I nodded. “As soon as I’ve had some sleep. I have a feeling I’m going to need it.”
“Do you know where to find him?”
I smiled, though it probably looked more like a grimace. “That’s the only easy part of this whole mess. I don’t have to do a thing. He’ll find me. He’s been popping into my head on a regular basis lately, so the next time he does it, I’ll just make a date. I was going to find him first, but I’d rather have a few hours of sleep.”
“Do you want some company when you meet with him?” Phaelan asked.
I took another swig of whiskey coffee. It didn’t burn now, but then I couldn’t feel my tongue anymore, either.
“All I can get,” I told him. “I don’t want any misunderstandings. When I tell him he can have the beacon, he needs to know that I’m not part of the deal.”
Phaelan drained his own mug. “I think we can help him understand that.”
“Tell me more about the creatures that attacked you and Piaras,” Garadin said.
“What Sarad Nukpana cooked up?”
“Those are the ones.”
“More like shadows than anything,” I told him. “That is, if shadows were solid, and if ink could eat people.” I fought a shiver and failed. “Nukpana called them Magh’Sceadu. I know goblin, but I’ve never heard that term before. Do you know what they are?”
Garadin nodded. “They’re a Khrynsani creation, supposedly made out of goblin elemental magics. They function much like a sponge. They absorb magic in those who have it, and the life force of those who don’t. The shaman who created them can then use the harvested power for other purposes.”
If Sarad Nukpana was their creator, I wasn’t anxious to hear about those other purposes, or think about how close Piaras and I came to finding out firsthand. The first order of business when I met with Mychael Eiliesor should probably be a thank you.
“They can take any form their creator chooses,” Garadin continued. “But as with most conjurings, you can make them as elaborate or simple as needed. Elaborate takes time and effort. From your description, what you encountered were Magh’Sceadu at their most basic. A quick and dirty version. Apparently the Khrynsani are more concerned with getting a specific job done rather than making them look pretty.”
I didn’t need to ask what that job was. Or more to the point, who that job was.
I looked over at Piaras. He was still asleep. Good. I didn’t want him to hear what I was going to ask. I didn’t want to know the answer, but I needed to. I had seen what they had done to Siseal Peli and the goblin shamans who had tried to rein them in, but I didn’t know what had actually happened to them. If I ran into Nukpana’s beasties again, I wanted to be better prepared, though I really didn’t think it would help. The shamans thought they were prepared, and look what it got them. But I’d take a little knowledge over a lot of ignorance any day. At the very least, I’d die knowing what killed me.
“I don’t think Sarad Nukpana intended the Magh’Sceadu for you or Piaras,” Garadin said, not completely misreading my thoughts. “Considering what they were made to do, sending them after you would have been heavy-handed, not to mention wasteful in Nukpana’s opinion. You have the beacon, he wants the Saghred, so he wants you alive.”
Garadin didn’t need to tell me that. I had figured out that sickening fact all by myself.
“Nukpana probably turned them loose in The Ruins to feed on the magical creatures there,” Garadin continued. “Less chance of attracting the city watch that way.”
Made sense to me. “The shamans lost control of them and paid the price. If I hadn’t been able to do whatever it was I did, we probably would have ended up the same way.”
“Possibly.”
I fought down a wave of nausea. No, probably.
“I’d say that you and Piaras together attracted their attention. You certainly got mine. One whiff of your magic and they probably snapped their leashes, so to speak, to get at you. Once they were on your trail, all the shamans could do was chase them down and try to regain control.”
“So the shamans were eaten?” Phaelan asked.
I didn’t like the sound of that last word at all. But from the horror that I had witnessed, that was the most apt description.
“Absorbed would be more accurate,” Garadin said. “Once a Magh’Sceadu has had its fill, a Khrynsani shaman uses what was taken to power their own sorceries. Then they turn it loose to fill its belly, or whatever, again. As to what a shaman does with that power boost, it’s generally big, nasty, and something even a group of the most talented shamans couldn’t, or wouldn’t want to, do alone.”
That sounded too close to the Saghred’s idea of fun for my taste. I suddenly wanted more whiskey in my whiskey coffee.
“That ‘big and nasty’ wouldn’t extend to opening Gates by any chance?” I asked.
Garadin nodded. “That and a whole bevy of other nice, wholesome activities. I haven’t exactly gone out of my way to get direct knowledge. Like Gate creation, the rituals said to be used to make a Magh’Sceadu are repugnant to say the least. Blood, torture, and living sacrifices—it’s unclear whether any of these are actually required, but it gives the Khrynsani an excuse.”
A kidnapping could leave a trail. Absorbing didn’t leave anything. It went a long way toward explaining the sorcerers who had vanished recently without a trace. Magh’Sceadu didn’t leave leftovers.
I had a lot to think about, and I had a feeling no one I had run into this evening was going to wait patiently while I sorted everything out. I looked up. Garadin was watching me intently.
“What are you going to do about…?” He nodded in Piaras’s direction, not wanting to say his name out loud for fear of waking him.
Pia
ras was curled under the blanket, his breathing deep and even. I knew exactly what Garadin meant. Too many people knew what he was capable of. Too many of the wrong kind of people. I wasn’t the only reason those Magh’Sceadu came after us. I may not have even been the main reason. After putting the goblin guards to sleep, and then confronting Nukpana’s pet monsters, Piaras had glowed with power, and it hadn’t diminished until we had left The Ruins. He had left a trail for just about anything that wanted to follow us.
“He did good work tonight,” I said quietly.
“I know,” Garadin said. “I heard him.”
“So did a lot of other people.”
“You weren’t exactly discreet yourself.”
“But I’ve dealt with crazies before,” I said. “Some almost as bad as Sarad Nukpana. It’s what I do for a living. It’s my choice. Piaras didn’t have a choice.” I lowered my voice further. “Piaras used a repelling spell against the Magh’Sceadu. In goblin. You taught him that, right?”
Garadin’s gaze met mine unflinchingly. “I thought it was something he might need to know. How did he do?”
“Very proficient. Almost too much so.”
“Those spells are complex. Especially in goblin. The boy kept his head.” Garadin nodded his own in approval. “Good.”
I agreed it was good that Piaras kept his head. But I wasn’t happy that he had been put in a situation where he risked losing it in the first place.
“I’d just rather he not have to make a habit of defending himself against creatures like that. Normally I could arrange for him to stay in one of Markus’s safehouses, but they’re all full. Besides, I’d rather he be with people he knows. Any suggestions?” I asked Garadin.
“Home would be the best place for him.”
“But is it safe?”
“Tarsilia has some of the strongest house wards in the District,” Garadin said. “And I’ll move in until all this is settled.”
“Hopefully that’ll be soon, and with a win for our side.” I finished off my coffee. “Now, if everyone will excuse me, I need to take a nap and make a date with a Guardian.” I indicated the cabin’s other bunk, presently buried under maps and papers. “Can I borrow that for a few hours?” I asked Phaelan.
In response, Phaelan stood and started cleaning it off. Except his idea of cleaning involved mostly transferring the pile from the bed to the top of a nearby trunk.
I pulled back the blanket and sat down on the edge of the bunk. “Wake me if we’re about to be slaughtered.” I meant it as a joke, but it didn’t quite come out that way.
Phaelan probably meant to smile. It didn’t quite make it either. “Other than Eiliesor, don’t worry about any interruptions. We’ll make sure it stays quiet for you.”
From his serious tone, I had no doubts. But as I lay down and pulled the blanket over myself, my last thought before drifting off hoped those wouldn’t turn out to be famous last words.
Chapter 14
Sleep didn’t take long finding me, and I didn’t take long finding Mychael Eiliesor. I had no idea how I found him, but if the beacon could talk, I was sure it could tell me.
I found myself in an unfamiliar and lavishly decorated bedroom. Only the best and most expensive furnishings and linens, and my eye for such things was very accurate. I’d come to realize that if I liked it, it was expensive. Another Benares family trait. I heard movement from the canopied bed. The embroidered bed curtains were pulled back, and the occupant shifted in sleep. I stopped breathing.
Mychael Eiliesor lay on his side with a pale sheet draped loosely over his waist. One arm was curled under the pillow, and the other stretched across the bed. His coppery hair gleamed in the light of a single bedside lamp and one loose curl brushed his temple. My eyes were drawn lower, down the leanly muscled torso and beyond. If he was wearing anything, it wasn’t obvious to me. He moved and the sheet slipped farther. Nope, he definitely wasn’t wearing anything. I felt my face flush, which shouldn’t have been possible considering that I wasn’t really there. I looked away. Then I looked back. I couldn’t help myself.
His glorious sea blue eyes were open and watching me. I didn’t like water, but I could drown in those eyes and die happy. I froze in shock. He could see me. I looked down at myself. I could see me. But I was asleep onboard the Fortune. I couldn’t be in both places at once. Or could I? But how?
Eiliesor was now propped up on one elbow. He was still watching me, but now there was the beginning of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Heart-stopping.
“This is unexpected,” he said.
He was telling me.
“We need to talk,” I heard myself say. It didn’t sound quite like me, but then I wasn’t quite here, or there. I had a fluttering moment of panic and disorientation. Actually, I didn’t know where I was.
His smile had turned into a grin. “We are talking.” Then his eyes widened slightly. “You’ve never done a sending before, have you?”
I shook my head. “The past two days have been full of firsts.” I swallowed, and looked back down at my hands. “I’m not supposed to be this solid, am I?”
“I know of only two mages on Mid who can manifest that well, and you’re doing it through three layers of my best shields.”
That did it. I had just gone from being merely creepy to truly scaring myself. I wondered if I could faint. I think it must have showed, because the Guardian started to get up.
I waved my hands. “No, no. Stay.” Seeing him get out of bed, now or anytime, would not soothe my rattled nerves. Quite the opposite.
He stayed. But he moved so that he was sitting on the edge of the bed, the sheet gathered around his waist. He motioned me to a chair. I looked at it and wasn’t exactly sure if it would work; that is, whether I could actually sit down when I wasn’t really there. I gingerly sat down—and didn’t fall through. A pleasant surprise, disturbing, but pleasant. Much like the unobstructed view of the elf’s smoothly sculpted chest.
Having never done this before, I wasn’t sure how long I would be able to stay, so I thought I’d better get to the point.
“I have questions; you have answers.”
“I have some questions myself,” he said.
I’ll bet he did. “I’ll make you a deal,” I told him. “You answer mine, and I’ll answer yours.”
“I’ll tell you what I can.”
I nodded. It was as much as I would be doing myself. There were some things about myself I’d rather a Conclave Guardian didn’t know.
“I’ll start,” he said. “Sarad Nukpana hired your partner to steal the beacon. He called you by name. You can use the beacon. This isn’t a coincidence.”
“You get right to the point, don’t you?”
“I don’t have time for anything else. Neither do you.”
Looking at our mutual situation from his point of view, I guess my involvement did look rather shady. To a point he was right. I couldn’t exactly walk the moral high road here. But knowing a thief didn’t make me one; and a psycho knowing my name didn’t make me one of those either, so I felt entitled to get on my high horse, however briefly.
“I didn’t steal anything, Paladin Eiliesor. And I resent being treated as if I did. I deemed you the most likely to help me solve my problem, and the least likely to try and kill me afterward. That’s why I’m here. It’s not how I normally choose sides, but it’ll have to do.”
He just looked at me. “Then how did you get the beacon?”
I told him. However, I completely neglected to mention Quentin by name at all, or Phaelan or Piaras or anyone else I cared about. Amazing how little details can get glossed over in relaying the bigger picture. I’m certain Eiliesor wanted to know the details, but I didn’t think they were necessary. If he felt otherwise, he didn’t show any sign. Apparently only one thing was important to him, and it was hanging around my neck.
When I had finished, he just sat there, watching me, no doubt weighing my words against his own version of the truth. My t
one had betrayed no emotion, nor doubt as to my sincerity. And I knew he didn’t believe me for a minute. His problem, not mine. Yet.
He finally spoke. “So you know what you have.”
It wasn’t a question.
“More or less. Chigaru Mal’Salin told me last night. Though I think he told me because he didn’t expect I’d be going anywhere.”
“Probably. How much do you know about the Saghred, Mistress Benares?”
“More than I did yesterday, which is a hell of a lot more than I ever wanted to know. I know what it is, some of what it supposedly does, and that a lot of people want to get their hands on it, yourself included.”
“Let me tell you what I know, Mistress Benares. Your partner”—he paused and smiled slightly—“who apparently has no name, discovered the beacon the night before last in the home of a prominent Mermeian necromancer. The moment he opened the containment box was obvious to me, as it was to many in this city. I know the beacon passed into your possession at Simon Stocken’s warehouse. I sensed it again, a few hours later on the edge of the Sorcerers District. The signal was subtle. I sensed it only because I knew what I was listening for.”
He stood, and holding the sheet loosely around his waist, reached for a long dressing robe draped across the foot of the bed. “What I heard last night in The Ruins was not subtle, nor was it the small magics innate to a beacon. I followed it and found you and a spellsinger far too young to be that powerful. You had just destroyed six fully formed Magh’Sceadu. A casual observer would say you had accomplished this feat all by yourself.” He paused. “I’m not a casual observer.”
He turned away from me, put on the robe, and let the sheet drop to the floor.
I swallowed.
He tied the sash, and turned to face me. “Forgive me, Mistress Benares, but your natural gifts are marginal at best—at least they used to be. What you accomplished last night is a level of craft you should not be capable of. You reached through the beacon and used the Saghred. How, I do not know. I’ve never agreed with Sarad Nukpana on anything, but in this instance he is correct. You’re playing a dangerous game.”
