by Lisa Shearin
“You ever think of knocking, girl? Hurts a lot less.” He motioned and the shield parted for me.
Tarsilia was standing behind the counter, hands braced on the polished wood, eyes leveled on the doorway. I turned and saw Mychael and Tam still standing just beyond the threshold.
“You’re home,” she said to me, but her gaze had settled on my two escorts. Perhaps settled was too mild a term. A slab of granite landing on something doesn’t exactly settle. No doubt Garadin had told her who Mychael was and what he wanted—and Tarsilia was already all too familiar with Tam. And from the gorgon stare both of them were on the receiving end of, Tarsilia held Mychael and Tam personally responsible for everything that had happened to Piaras and me over the past two days. It was overdone and completely overprotective—and I loved her for it.
“It’s all right,” I assured her. “They’re with us.”
She didn’t look entirely convinced, and unless she gave her permission, there was no way, short of using a magical battering ram, that Mychael and Tam were getting inside. Tarsilia had to invite them to cross her threshold. Her scowl told me she’d do it, but she wasn’t happy about it.
“Mychael Eiliesor, Paladin of the Order and Brotherhood of Conclave Guardians, and Sacred Protector of the Seat of Twelve,” she pronounced formally. Then she stopped and looked at me.
“Tarsilia, they need to get inside. Now.”
She sensed my urgency. “You and your guests may now enter my home,” she finished quickly.
There was an audible pop, and the shield parted and Mychael and four of his Guardians came inside, Tam bringing up the rear guard. The rest remained outside. The shield and wards resealed themselves seamlessly and without sound.
“What happened?” she asked me.
“Where’s Piaras?”
“He couldn’t sleep; he’s in the workroom.”
I brushed past her, and headed for the back of the shop.
Tarsilia was right at my heels. “What’s wrong?”
Suddenly, everything was. The air grew heavy with power, and it felt like the atmosphere before a lightning strike, prickling my skin like a thousand hot needles. Sarad Nukpana wasn’t looking for a way around Tarsilia and Garadin’s wards—he was punching his way through them.
Tarsilia and I were closest to the workroom door. We were the only ones who made it inside the room. As soon as we crossed the threshold, the force of the opening Gate sealed the room like a trap door slamming over our heads. Piaras looked up from where he had been grinding dried herbs, his eyes wide, like a deer caught in a hunter’s sights. I swore and reached for every shield I had. The Gate and the dark magic that fed it ate them like a late night snack. There was no way Mychael or Tam or anyone else could get in. And we weren’t getting out.
Sarad Nukpana’s Gate opened simply, no mouth of hell, no brimstone stench, just a parting curtain of silvery fog. I tried to draw my blades; I wanted to push Tarsilia behind me. Neither one was going to happen. The same dark sorcery that sealed the room held the three of us immobile. A sickly sweet smell came from the Gate and the sibilant chanting of combined goblin voices came from beyond it. I knew the chanting and what was feeding its power was worse, much worse. I heard the screams in the background to prove it.
Tarsilia was next to the Gate when it opened. She was the first to be taken.
“No!” Piaras’s anguished scream was in my ears and my mind.
A trio of black-robed goblin shamans crossed through the Gate into the room. A fully formed Magh’Sceadu drifted silently behind them. I couldn’t do a thing to stop any of them—and neither could Piaras. They grabbed him and pinned him to the floor, the Magh’Sceadu floating eagerly within touching distance. Piaras’s wide eyes tracked the creature’s every move. He knew what to be most afraid of.
Sarad Nukpana stood just on the other side of the portal. He made no move to come through. He didn’t need to. His shamans and Magh’Sceadu were doing a fine job all by themselves. And if he had created the Gate himself, he’d have to stay on the other side to keep it stable and open. It had taken an obscene amount of strength to punch a hole through the shields and wards surrounding Tarsilia’s shop. Nukpana had the strength, and from the sudden silence behind him, he had taken the lives.
“Welcome, Mistress Benares. This is a pleasant surprise. Just when I thought you were going to be elusive again, you’ve become most accommodating.”
His voice was just as I remembered: crisp, cultured, and skin-crawling creepy. I could see his eyes and I didn’t want to. Reflected in those dark eyes was something quiet, something ageless and malignant. If eyes were the windows to the soul, Sarad Nukpana’s soul had never seen the light of day.
Here was a goblin who enjoyed his work way too much.
To him, Piaras was little more than a boy, and what magic I had of my own would be hard pressed to mess up his hair, and he knew it. The Saghred was capable of more—much more. He knew that, too. He smiled slowly.
Then he extended his hand through the Gate to me. Dark blood was smeared on his palm. I knew it wasn’t his. As his hand passed over the Gate’s threshold, the pressure holding us immobile lifted. I treated myself to a deep breath. Piaras drew a ragged gasp. I guess if a hunter wanted his prey, he had to open the trap.
“Come, Mistress Benares. We have much work to do, and time is short.”
A reasonable request, in a reasonable tone. No maniacal laughter, no gleeful wringing of hands. None of the usual hallmarks of evil. Then why did I want to scream and run, and not in that order?
I swallowed the scream. “Let him go.”
That confused Nukpana. I guess he wasn’t too familiar with demands.
He realized what I meant, and glanced down at Piaras. You think I’d have asked him to give up a favorite lab animal. “I’m afraid that’s not possible.”
“That’s the deal, take it or leave it.”
He smiled again. “You are in no position to bargain, Mistress.”
“Neither are you.”
I could let the Saghred use me, but it would take my breath, what was left of my strength—and would bring me one step closer to whatever awaited me by using it again. I didn’t want any of those things. Yet if I did nothing, the goblin would get everything his blackened heart desired, including two of the people I held most dear.
Easy decision. Some things are worth any price.
I knew what I wanted to do. I just had no idea how to do it. Fortunately, the Saghred knew both. My heart hammered in my chest, and my breath came quick and shallow from the awakening power. The goblin’s smile widened. I knew why I couldn’t breathe. He didn’t. Let him think I was terrified. I was. But not only of him.
The Gate was in my home because of Sarad Nukpana. I wanted to hurt the goblin grand shaman very badly. Hurt him, hurt the Gate. It was simple and brutal, but then I’m a simple and brutal kind of girl. If he wanted the power of the Saghred, he could have it. I hoped he choked.
At that moment, Piaras wrenched himself free of one of his captors, kicking the shaman under the chin with the heel of his boot. Sarad Nukpana’s attention went from me to Piaras for a fraction of a second. It was the only chance I was going to get. I took it.
I had the brief satisfaction of seeing the goblin’s black eyes widen in shock as the impact hit him. It lifted him off his feet, propelling him backward out of my line of sight. I felt the tremors, saw the chunks of stone fall from the ceiling in the room beyond the portal. The screams of pain I now heard were goblin. Over it all I heard Sarad Nukpana’s voice, calling for order, weakened, but hardly dead.
He wasn’t dead? I had vaporized six Magh’Sceadu in The Ruins. The Saghred could level armies, but it couldn’t kill one goblin? My throat constricted and I tasted blood in my mouth. I continued forcing the power that coursed through me into the Gate. Black flowers bloomed on the edge of my vision. If I lost consciousness, I was dead.
Piaras roared.
His terror was compounded by a rage that
had been born last night in an alley, grew in The Ruins, and now ripped itself fully formed from his vocal chords in an apothecary’s workroom. I’d seen him angry, but never like this. The power within him fed off of that anger.
His wordless scream was filled with pent-up rage and fear—and was aimed in a straight line through the Magh’Sceadu to the Gate that had just swallowed his grandmother. The three shamans and the Magh’Sceadu were unfortunate enough to be in his path. The force of Piaras’s voice blasted them back through the Gate’s mouth, and slammed it shut behind them.
I slid down the wall I found myself against. Piaras lay sprawled on the floor. The force field vanished with the Gate that spawned it, and Mychael, Tam, and Garadin all but fell into the room.
I crawled over to Piaras and knelt beside him. He scrabbled back as far in the corner as it was possible to get. He would have pressed himself through the wall if he could have. Anything to get away from the things that he had banished, from me, and from himself.
“Don’t touch me!” His dark eyes were haunted and his breath came in short, shallow bursts.
The remnants of his magic crackled in the air around him. I was sure he saw the Saghred’s leftovers all over me. I didn’t want to be near me, either. I lowered my hands and slowly sat back on my heels, utterly exhausted. I knew how he felt. When you feel like your skin is trying to crawl free of your bones, the last thing you want is someone touching you, regardless of how badly you may want to be held.
I sensed Mychael and Tam’s solid presence on the floor beside me. Garadin stood just behind me. The beacon had stopped burning. I didn’t need it to tell me that the danger was over. For now. Sarad Nukpana may not have gotten what he came for, but he had stolen enough.
“We’ll get her back,” I told Piaras. “I’ll do whatever I have to.”
I said it like a promise, but I couldn’t promise Piaras anything right now, least of all the safe return of his grandmother. But that didn’t mean I wasn’t going to do everything I could to make that happen, even if it meant turning myself over to Sarad Nukpana.
“That won’t be necessary,” Mychael said, his voice close. “Even if it were, I wouldn’t let you do it.”
I turned my head toward him with an effort. My thoughts must have carried, or Mychael was just that good. Probably the latter.
“Do you have a better suggestion?”
“He will contact us, with the terms for Tarsilia’s release—”
“Release? You mean trade.” I saw no reason to dance around what was essentially an exchange that would never happen. Sarad Nukpana had no intention of trading Tarsilia for anyone. He would have other uses for her. I didn’t say it out loud. We all knew it, and if Piaras didn’t know, he didn’t need to.
“That’s what he’ll ask for,” Mychael said, “but it’s not what he’s going to get.”
“And just what is he going to get?” I snapped.
Mychael’s face was grim. “More than he bargained for.”
“I just tried to give him ‘more than he bargained for’ and it didn’t work.” I looked to Garadin for the answers I didn’t have. I knew he didn’t have them either, and that just fed my rage and frustration. “Why didn’t it work? It felt the same as it did in The Ruins. The power was there. There was nothing left of six Magh’Sceadu. How did he survive?”
“I don’t know,” my teacher admitted. “But we’re dealing with a Gate, the darkest of magics, and the Saghred. Who knows what kind of magic is at work there? But they’re both magic, so the same or similar rules should apply.” He looked genuinely concerned and didn’t try to hide it.
Nice to know it wasn’t just me, but that was nowhere near the answer I wanted.
“All I want to know is, how are we going to get my grandmother back?” Piaras asked from the corner. “And when.” There was a steely edge to his voice that I’d never heard before. His question, and his stare, were aimed directly at the Guardian.
“Sarad Nukpana is in the goblin embassy,” Mychael told him. “I can’t imagine him holding your grandmother anywhere else.”
“And the Saghred is in the mausoleum on the grounds,” Tam said.
“Convenient one-stop shopping,” I muttered.
“Do you have a plan?” Piaras asked Mychael point blank.
“I do.”
“What is it?”
Mychael looked at him in silence for a moment. “Not now.”
“Why? You don’t want to talk in front of me? You think I’m too young?” Piaras’s eyes were the darkest I’d ever seen them. They were a match for Mychael’s intensity, and then some.
“Not until you’ve had a chance to recover.” His tone said he’d tolerate no argument.
I agreed with him completely.
“You just closed a Gate, from the outside,” Mychael continued. “Do you have any idea how difficult—no, how impossible—that is?”
Piaras’s own voice was subdued, but only slightly. “No, I don’t.”
“Which is probably why you could do it,” Garadin said.
Mychael continued to look at Piaras. I didn’t know if he was sizing him up, testing him, or just seeing if he would blink first. Piaras didn’t blink and he didn’t look away. Apparently satisfied with something, Mychael broke the contact.
“We can’t talk here. There’s a place the Khrynsani can’t tear a Gate into.”
“And just where would that be?” I asked.
“We Guardians have a safehouse of our own.”
Chapter 18
Piaras was pacing.
We had arrived at the Guardians’ safehouse in the central city just before dawn. I had already seen the master bedroom in my previous visit, and the rest of the palazzo was just as lavish. It belonged to the Count of Eilde, a cousin of Mychael’s who was conveniently away on his honeymoon at the moment.
Our trip to the count’s home had been uneventful. And not much had happened since. That was Piaras’s problem. Nothing was happening at this particular moment to rescue his grandmother, and he was not happy about it. The beacon, on the other hand, seemed to know that there was a reunion with the Saghred in its immediate future. It hadn’t stopped purring since we’d arrived.
“If not now, when?” Piaras asked.
“Before midnight, tonight.” I was just repeating Mychael’s timeline, and truth be told, I liked saying it about as much as Piaras liked hearing it, which wasn’t much. But unlike Piaras, I saw the wisdom in waiting. Piaras had been forced to watch Khrynsani shamans drag his grandmother through the ugliest Gate I had ever seen or heard of, so wisdom and waiting weren’t a big part of his thinking right now.
“Sarad Nukpana will kill her before then.” Piaras swallowed and looked away, but not before I caught a glint of tears in his eyes. “Or worse.” The Piaras of two days ago wouldn’t have cared all that much if I had seen him cry. The Piaras standing with his back to me now in the Guardians’ safehouse was trying desperately to show no signs of weakness. I personally didn’t see tears as a weakness; but being in his late teens, and male, Piaras viewed the world a little differently, especially now. I guess I couldn’t blame him.
“He won’t kill her—or hurt her,” I said.
I expected him to react angrily, or at the very least demand how I could possibly know. But he didn’t. He understood all too well why Sarad Nukpana wanted to keep Tarsilia alive and whole. The goblin had other sorcerers he could use to fuel a Gate. Tarsilia was more valuable to him as a hostage. At least for now.
Piaras was looking at me. I knew he saw me for a brief moment as Sarad Nukpana saw me. A commodity to be traded for, used, and discarded. Piaras did not like seeing me that way. That made two of us.
“And he’s not going to kill or hurt me either. Or you.” I said it as much for my own benefit as Piaras’s. Seeing Piaras getting misty triggered the beginnings of a salty sting in my own eyes. I concentrated really hard on making it stop. Mychael would be here any moment, and he was not going to see me cry. It wouldn’t
do Piaras much good either. Mychael had promised to fill us in on the details of this plan of his. A little enlightenment would go a long way toward improving morale right now.
The door opened, and I was instantly on my feet. Not that I expected anything bad to come through the door, but old habits—and recent events that had reinforced those habits—were hard to break.
It was Garadin, which was a relief to both of us.
I sheathed the dagger that had found its way into my hand.
“Was Calchas at home?” I asked him.
“He was.”
Garadin had come with us to the Guardians’ safehouse, but had left soon after with an escort of two Guardians to see Calchas Becan, a nachtmagus who had the largest private collection of books on the higher dark magics, including Gates. An exorcist and demonologist by trade, Nachtmagus Becan was a nice enough gentleman by all accounts, but I wouldn’t want to sleep in the same house as that library. Still, research was good. I was going to be seeing Sarad Nukpana face-to-face tonight and I wanted to know what had happened and why—or more to the point, what had not happened and why.
Garadin was taking his time helping himself to cheese, meat, and ale at the sideboard.
“Well?” I asked impatiently. “What happened to me…it…whatever?”
“Gate got in your way,” he said around a mouthful of cheese.
“What? It was a Gate. It was open. I was on one side, Nukpana on the other. Nothing between us but air. No problem.”
Garadin held up a hand, stopping me. “Big problem. About four miles worth. You’re forgetting about distance. Apparently distance is very important, critical even.”
“What distance? We were in the same room.” As soon as I said it, I knew I was wrong. “He was on the other side of the city from me.”
“Correct.”
“But I had a clear shot,” I protested.
“Through a Gate,” Garadin clarified. “The distortions on that threshold were violent enough to diffuse all but a small part of what you threw at him.”
