All Spell Breaks Loose

Chapter 12

So far, so good. No Carnades.

Piaras was disappointed. Me? Not so much. Today had been one fight or disaster after another, and I, for one, didn’t want any more excitement, at least for the next hour.

Mychael and Tam had finished searching the house. Tam had run upstairs to make a quick raid on a weapons stash he had hidden in the walls of his bedroom. Mychael was talking in low tones with Piaras, and Imala was down the hall pulling weapons out of her supply pack. Kesyn Badru was standing with me keeping an eye and ear on the front door, on guard for any additional Khrynsani visitors.

Carnades had told one of Sarad Nukpana’s spies that I didn’t have a spark of magic to my name. If that spy had gotten away… and made it back to his boss…

I dropped my forehead into the palm of my hand and groaned.

“Headache, girl?” Badru asked.

“Yes, sir, and his name’s Sarad Nukpana.”

The old goblin laughed. “I’ve had that headache for years. And since we’re probably on our way to get killed together, you might as well call me Kesyn.”

I nodded, then winced at the movement. Great. Now I was getting a real headache. “Though at least I’m still in one piece, and I’m not in one of Nukpana’s cells—unlike Tam’s father.” I shot a quick glance upstairs. Tam was still in his room, but I lowered my voice anyway. “I feel like I know him pretty well, but I’ve only known him for two years. You taught him.”

Kesyn held up a hand. “I tried.”

“He’s a good man,” I insisted.

The goblin mage glanced at the upstairs landing and sighed. “Yes, he is. I don’t want to lose him again.”

“Well, demigod or not, Nukpana’s not the man I’d put my money on in that fight. He’s got Tam’s father, and maybe his mother and brother, so when those two get—”

“That’s what scares me, girl.”

“I hope it doesn’t come to that, either. But if Tam can catch him flat-footed—”

Kesyn smiled sadly and shook his head. “That’s not what I mean. To fight black magic, Tam will use black magic. He’s already admitted to using it once since he got here.”

“On Magh’Sceadu that were about to eat his son.”

The goblin mage responded with silence. “You say you know him,” he eventually said.

“I do.”

“You know about his use of black magic in the past.”

I didn’t move. “Some.”

“This is the most dangerous time in Tam’s rehabilitation, though he believes he’s already completed it. Some of the people he loves most in this world might lose their lives if he doesn’t do something about it.”

I clenched my fists. “If I still had what the Saghred had given me, I’d do something about it. But I can’t, and Tam knows it.”

Kesyn nodded. “Cursed rocks aren’t the only way to get power. There are demons who would gladly give Tam what he needs to fight Sarad. Right now. Calling them is quick and easy. The vermin make it easy to call, hard to say no—and impossible to pay them back. Tam wants this; he wants to kill Sarad Nukpana. He will kill and he will enjoy it. Black magic is intoxicating. Demons make it even more so. And they like keeping their mortals alive and owing them plenty.”

“Their souls?”

“Worse. Favors. Favors are demon currency. And if you don’t play, you pay. Tam can call a demon and make a deal, but if he backs out on it or even tries to back out, the demon will drag Tam to Hell for his personal amusement—for eternity.”

“Tam doesn’t have to fight Sarad Nukpana.”

“What do you think the chances are that he’ll even try to avoid that confrontation?”

I took a deep breath and blew it out. “Icicles in Hell kind of chances.”

“Exactly. The sacrifices begin tomorrow night; the time for subtlety is gone.” Kesyn slid down the wall to sit on the debris-covered floor, pulled out that chunk of stinky cheese again, and took a bite. “I’ve never questioned Tam’s strength or his skill. He has both in spades; more than any student I’ve ever taught. With Cyran imprisoned, and the rest of his family missing, Tam’s rage and desperation will only add fuel to the fire. Black magic feeds off of equally dark emotions. The goblin court is a natural and fertile breeding ground.”

“If you start playing the game to survive, soon the game is playing you.”

Kesyn nodded. “And you don’t mind it, either. Being adept at the game keeps you alive. The better you are at the game, the more political power you gain. For the magically gifted ones, the growth in that area is exponential. Unfortunately in our royal court, it’s also unavoidable. Once in the court, it is nearly impossible to leave.”

“So I heard. But Tam left for two years.”

“And now he’s back again.” Kesyn wearily rolled his neck, the bones cracking. I felt the sudden urge to do the same.

“Power is seductive, Raine. But I imagine you know all about that now.”

I’d used the Saghred to kill nine firemages just a few weeks ago. Yes, I was killing people who had been hired to and were bent on slaughtering every living being in that hotel. I’d killed those firemages, using the Saghred’s power to consume them in their own fire. I’d told myself that they deserved to die. If I hadn’t killed them, they would have killed hundreds. Mychael had tried to reassure me, comparing what I had done to what he did in battle. I agreed with him; it had to be done.

But Mychael hadn’t killed enemies on a battlefield with near-giddy joy.

I had.

It was the Saghred. The rock was behind that sick joy. I would never enjoy causing death.

Or would I?

That question was what had kept me from falling asleep easily at night since then. That was what woke me up in the still, quiet hours, lying in my bed, heart racing. Mychael had been sleeping by my side, but that hadn’t helped. I felt tainted, wondering what I would be like if I never rid myself of the Saghred. How long would it take until I became like those firemages? I’d seen their faces; they had reveled in their destructive power.

So had I.

Those firemages had been elves; their targets had been goblins, Chigaru’s court-in-exile. Many elves—too many elves—would have seen those firemages as patriots, loyal to their kingdom and race, cutting the head off the Mal’Salin serpent before it could grow. I was seen as a traitor by those same people for stopping and killing those they saw as fighting to preserve the elven race.

No doubt many of the goblins who had heard Sathrik’s speech agreed with his recognition of Sarad Nukpana and his Khrynsani as heroes. They had fought, killed, and died to bring the Saghred back to the goblin people. They were merely good soldiers serving their king and people.

Over nine hundred years ago, the Saghred had been theirs. My father taking the stone and putting it in Guardian custody had made him, in the eyes of those same goblin people, a common thief. The goblins who backed Sarad Nukpana could just as easily find themselves chained to the temple altar; but for now, he was a hero. And now he was also their king.

It was all about perception.

For everyone, whether elf or goblin, it was all in the perception, pure and simple. Though my actions hadn’t been pure, and my reasoning was far from simple.

I had killed.

And I would do it again.

It had been the right thing to do, for what I believed to be the right reasons. That I’d enjoyed the act of killing was the Saghred’s doing. I wasn’t like that.

I would never be like that.

Tam would never be like that.

Kesyn Badru had been closely watching my face the entire time. “Almost any action can be justified,” he said quietly.

“We all do it.”

The old goblin nodded once. “Every last one of us—good or evil.”

I didn’t have to worry about using the Saghred again. I didn’t have a choice; the rock had taken that away from me, too.

Maybe that was a good thing. The best thing.

Or the thing that was going to get us all killed.

I raised my eyes to the top of the staircase. Tam was still upstairs.

“I still feel like myself,” I said in a small voice. “I don’t feel like the Saghred ripped a hole inside of me and dragged my magic out kicking and screaming. Yeah, the Saghred consumed that elven mage through me. I felt it when he died, his soul pulled out of his body, through mine, and into the rock. But I didn’t feel any part of me leave. I’d had a decent amount of magic to begin with, and over the past few months, the Saghred had been giving me more power nearly every day. Something that big doesn’t vanish without a trace.” I glanced down at the goblin mage. “Does it?”

“Have you asked yourself why the Saghred took your magic?”

“Just constantly. I assumed it was being a spiteful rock.”

“The Saghred is a simple thing. When it hungers, it feeds. But critical to you right now—it protects itself. You didn’t feed the Saghred, so it took that elven mage. And from what you’ve told me, your magic vanished about the same time that shape-shifting goblin thief stole the Saghred for Sarad Nukpana.” Kesyn stretched his legs out in front of him with a sigh. “It’s simple—the rock got a better offer. And to prevent you from interfering, the rock bound your magic. The Saghred didn’t take your magic and leave you with just a spark. It bound and gagged your magic, and a spark was all that could get out.”

“But Nukpana put sensors around the city. Magic sets them off. I didn’t.”

Kesyn shrugged. “The rock did a good job.”

I was thankful and pissed at the same time. I possibly still had my magic; it also couldn’t do me or anyone I cared about a damned bit of good right now.

“So I destroy the rock and chances are I get my magic back,” I said.

“That would be logical. However, this is the Saghred we’re talking about.” Kesyn flashed his broken-fanged grin. “That thing makes its own rules.”

Movement out of the corner of my eye drew my attention to the top of the curved staircase.

Tam Nathrach was armed and armored for the end of the world.

His armor was black, but in no way, shape, or form was it plain. Engraved, inlaid, and embossed with silver—this was armor for a battle you intended to win.

Or armor you intended to be buried in.

Tam’s long hair was pulled back in an intricate goblin battle braid with the silver circlet resting low on his forehead and set with a single ruby. I’d seen him wear it before. That, and his silver chain of office, now set over his broad, armored shoulders, identified him as a duke of the royal court, chancellor to the prince, and the chief mage of the Mal’Salin family—a family Sarad Nukpana was bent on destroying, along with anything or anyone else he deemed a threat to his new rule.

Everything Tam wore and the way he wore it was meant to be exactly what it looked like—a direct challenge, an affront, and a figurative knee to the nuts. Tam wanted everyone who saw or fought him to have no doubt who he was.

No one said anything. Tam was dressed for Sarad Nukpana’s funeral—or his own.

“Sarad’s men didn’t find my private armory,” Tam said. “I usually have Barrett to help me with the back plate buckles. Mychael, would you—”

Mychael had already started up the stairs. “I’d be honored, Tam.”

“I keep a second suit. We’re of a size, so it should fit you.”

Mychael froze and looked up at Tam. “I’d be even more honored, my friend,” he said in formal Goblin.

Imala’s eyes were glistening with unshed tears.

Kesyn wiped his nose on his sleeve. “Come on, boy,” he said to Piaras. “Help me scare up some food to take with us. You could probably gnaw the leg off a table right about now—if we had one. Navinem makes you hungry.”

Piaras started to follow without a word.

“Cadet Rivalin,” Mychael called down.

Piaras stopped, instinctively at attention. “Sir?”

“Gear up in your Guardian armor.”

Piaras’s smile was like a sunrise. “It’ll be an honor, sir.”

Now it was my turn to tear up.

Tam had brought me a present from his bedroom.

I looked at it and then at him. “Tell me you’re kidding.”

“It’s a crossbow pistol,” he said flatly.

A really small one. The bolts were no longer than my hand. I made a face. “Again, you’re joking, right?”

“I never joke about weapons.”

I held up a bolt and studied it. “This itty-bitty thing doesn’t look like it could hurt a melon.”

“At close range, it’ll do just as much damage as what Mother’s shot did to Sathrik.”

That was worth a whistle. “To be honest, I’d rather not get that close to—”

Tam’s lips creased in a crooked smile. “With proper aim, it’s lethal to a range of twenty yards.”

“Are you insinuating that my aim is less than proper?”

“I’m saying that a little target practice wouldn’t hurt before I let you out of here with it.”

I examined the bolt mechanism. “Looks like it loads the same as the grown-up version.”

“And since the bolts are small, it loads three times faster.”

“Then it’s better than the grown-up version.”

Another advantage to the mini-bolts was that they probably wouldn’t leave anything sticking out for a healer to get hold of. It’d hurt like hell to get one carved out of you; that is, if you were still alive enough to make retrieving it worth a healer’s while.

I loaded a bolt and kept the point down until I was ready to shoot, then looked around for a target. Since Sarad Nukpana’s house-raiding goons hadn’t been careful when they ripped things off the walls, I didn’t feel bad about adding another couple of holes.

I nodded my head toward the far wall of the next room. “Mind if I…”

“Be my guest.”

On the far wall was the outline of where a painting had hung. Now it was probably hanging on Sarad Nukpana’s wall, but the blank space made a nice target. To make it even nicer, I imagined it was a portrait of everyone’s favorite psycho goblin, and aimed the pistol right between his eyes.

I fired.

The little bolt punched through the wall up to the fletching right where the bastard’s throat would have been, with an added bonus of hardly any recoil. It wasn’t exactly where I’d been aiming, but it still would’ve killed him. Dead was dead. Or in Nukpana’s case, dead again was dead for good. I hoped. Either one worked for me. I was way beyond being picky about how I got the job done.

“Nice,” I said. “I like.”

“I thought you might.” Tam handed me a bandoleer that had to have been loaded with at least fifty bolts.

I took it and draped it across my chest. “You got another one?”

Tam arched a brow. “Ambitious, aren’t we?”

“Realistic. That and paranoid. While you’re at it, got a backup pistol in case this one jams?”

Tam just looked at me. “It won’t jam.”

I looked back. “See previous statement regarding paranoid.”

Tam handed me another full bandoleer and pistol from the pile of weapons he and Mychael had brought downstairs from his armory. Though if I did manage to take out one Khrynsani per bolt, that’d be a hundred dead Khrynsani courtesy of yours truly. Plus, the loaded bandoleers provided even more steel between me and what any one of those Khrynsani might want to dish out. That is, if they were dishing out steel and not magic. Steel couldn’t do a thing to stop a well-slung spell, and neither could I.

I was just as well armored as Tam and Mychael. Some of Imala’s agents had left behind enough armor for the two of us to supplement what we came to Regor wearing. Though no one would be seeing anything since we’d be cloaked and hooded, at least until we got into the temple. While Imala and I didn’t look as flashy as Tam and Mychael, everything was as protected as it could be, but most important, I could still run. To me, running was just as important as fighting. Running wasn’t cowardly; running would let me get to a better place to fight again and actually survive. Though I preferred to think of it as a tactical retreat.

A loud thump rattled the ceiling above our heads. I had a second bolt loaded and almost shot myself in the foot. Another thump came from a different direction, from the far corner of the ceiling. Then another. A low rumbling rolled across the ceiling, almost like thunder. I couldn’t see it, but that didn’t keep me from smelling it.

Fire.

Normal fire didn’t burn this fast or this hot. This was magic, the dark kind, and I knew exactly what was behind it. A firemage, probably more than one. To torch Tam’s roof, they would have to be on the roofs of an adjacent house, and the bastards knew what they were doing—if killing everyone inside this house was what they’d been ordered to do.

Without warning, Piaras faced the front doors, and I swear the kid growled. So much for wondering if he still had navinem-addled senses.

A boom shook the massive doors and the floor beneath our feet.

“Bastards brought a battering ram,” Mychael said.

Glass shattered and wood splintered somewhere at the back of the house.

“To the wine cellar,” Tam ordered.

We knew the way and ran for the door leading down to the cellar, the tunnels, and hopefully freedom—or at least temporary escape.

Great. More tunnels.

Tam headed to the front, but Kesyn ran to intercept him. The old goblin might look deceptively ancient, but he could move.

“This one’s on me,” he told Tam. “Save that fury of yours for when someone worth killing is on the receiving end.”

Surprisingly, Tam didn’t argue.

If anyone was waiting in the cellar, they’d better have brought a shitload of backup. We were getting out of here and anyone who had the piss-poor luck to have been ordered to block our way wouldn’t know what hit them.

The cellar was dark, but Tam, Kesyn, and Imala ran straight through the darkness to where the door to the tunnels was. Mychael, Piaras, and I stumbled along behind in the pale glow of the one miniscule lightglobe Mychael had summoned to try to keep us from falling flat on our faces.

Kesyn had his hand on the latch as Tam and Mychael took up positions on either side of the door. Tam nodded to his teacher, and the old man’s hands glowed redder than I’d ever seen Tam’s. If anyone was on the other side, this was going to be both their worst day and their last.

Kesyn flung open the door and ran through, closely followed by Tam and Mychael.

The old goblin didn’t cut loose, meaning there was no lethal welcoming committee.

When Mychael gave the all clear, the rest of us joined them in the tunnel. Kesyn closed and sealed the door with a spell.

We knew we weren’t coming back.