All Spell Breaks Loose

Chapter 19

A nice, hot bath gives a girl a better outlook on just about anything—and helped inspire a possible way to ruin Sarad Nukpana’s evening without ending my own life.

The definition of brilliant didn’t contain the word complicated. The simpler an idea was, the better the odds for success. Best of all, magic was not involved, just manipulation. And if I still ended up taking a dagger to the heart tonight, I was going to do my damnedest to scuttle an evil master plan or two before I went.

As much as I would have loved to have Mychael and my friends—and all of those enraged mages and soldiers—there with me, there was a very real possibility that this would be my show, no backup, just me and mine. Well, considering that I hadn’t exactly been flush with time to figure out a way to free my magic, it’d just be me, with possibly some invaluable assistance from Princess Mirabai. Instead of magic, I would have to make do with my wits. I’d been scared out of them during the past few days—okay, to be honest, the past three months—but I thought I had enough left to get the job done.

But before I could scuttle anyone’s plans, Sandrina came in to oversee my dressing. I assumed it was to make sure that the only thing I had under my sacrificial white gown was me, and nothing steely or pointy to use to stab or escape. By the time Sarad Nukpana’s goons came for me, I was bathed, perfumed, gowned, and determined to make this a memorable evening for everyone.

Judging from the fanciness of their robes and armor, my escort consisted of six high-level Khrynsani black mages and at least two dozen officers of the temple guard.

Things were looking up.

There was no way all of this attention was for me. My escort wasn’t because Nukpana was afraid of me magically cutting loose in his temple, or because he wanted to put on a show for his own people. My mages and guards, as well as those we passed, were moving fast and looking far too nervous for there not to be something happening in the temple that they didn’t have control over.

Like several angry, magically and militarily proficient groups hell-bent on destruction.

I couldn’t think of any other reason behind my absurdly large escort. If my friends attempted to rescue me, Sarad Nukpana wanted to be certain that it was only that—an attempt.

Imala had told me that there were miles and miles of corridors in the Khrynsani temple. And those were only the ones in use now; there were centuries of passages that ran below and even parallel to those. Corridors and rooms that only the highly initiated knew existed. In their respective positions as chief mage and director of the secret service, Tam and Imala had made it their business to know as much as the highest ranked Khrynsani priest.

Mychael and my friends hadn’t been captured, and that had Sarad Nukpana worried.

That was some of the best news I’d gotten since we dived through that mirror.

We turned down a corridor easily twice as wide as the one we’d just been in. Every ten feet or so was a temple guard in ceremonial armor standing at unblinking attention, but that didn’t mean they weren’t watching. As I passed, black eyes glittered from the depths of their burnished helmets, tracking me as I was led past, reminding me of wolves who’d gone too long between meals. In addition to the usual swords and assortment of daggers, each held a tall pike with a razor-sharp hooked blade at the top. Anyone attempting to come down this corridor uninvited would find themselves impaled and/or slashed to ribbons before they’d managed to get a quarter of the way.

A pair of temple guards opened the rather plain double doors at the end of the corridor. It was a large room, dimly lit with lightglobes, with black-and-white marble floors. A few ornate chairs sat in a semicircle around the first thing I’d seen when they opened the doors. A white marble pillar rose from the floor in the exact center of the room—a pillar with a single iron hook mounted near the top. I didn’t need two guesses to know that was where I was going. The two biggest guards grabbed my upper arms and all but carried me to the pillar, where the mage wearing the fanciest robe looped the chain linking my manacles to the hook over my head. Then he murmured a couple of words that sent chills up the back of my neck as the hook glowed red and bent in on itself, embedding its open end into the marble. So much for waiting until they were gone and then jumping up until I unhooked myself.

Then they all left, closing and locking the door behind them, leaving me alone, though I suspected not for long.

But right now I was alone. Don’t waste it, Raine. Calm yourself and keep thinking. If you panic, you can’t think; and if you can’t think, you’re dead.

I took a deep breath and let it out. I flexed my shoulders and tried to relax them as much as possible, considering my hands were chained over my head. Though it could have been all kinds of worse; at least my feet were touching the floor. I breathed in through my nose and out through my mouth. There was no way my fear was going away, but I needed to keep it from turning into mindless terror. Fear wasn’t a bad thing; it was all in how I used it, and didn’t let it use me. It was amazing how much space fear took up in your head.

Yes, I was chained and likely to remain so. There was a lot I could do in my position. I pulled on the chain linking me to the pillar. Nothing. Well, not in the position I was in now, but I wouldn’t be hanging here forever. It had to be getting close to sundown, and once the moon rose, Sarad Nukpana would want to start his show. I was sure he had it planned down to the second, and he would stay on schedule or heads would literally roll.

A door opened somewhere to my left. I twisted my head to see, but the hook and pillar did a fine job of keeping me from moving much.

“Patience, Raine,” Sarad Nukpana murmured, the click of his boots a slow and steady cadence on the marble floor, getting closer. “I waited decades to get my hands on the Saghred; surely you can wait a few seconds to see me. I promise it will be worth it.”

The goblin walked around until he was in front of me then stopped.

I’ll admit it; I stared.

“I understand that it’s tradition for a groom to look his absolute best for his blushing bride.” His dark eyes glittered. “What do you think?”

Sarad Nukpana was wearing formfitting trousers of black suede with matching boots and nothing else. His hair was still wet and glistening from a bath and fell nearly to his waist. Any breathing female with working eyes would think Sarad Nukpana was, quite frankly, perfect.

But what made me stare was that there was no sign that only a few hours before, Nukpana had taken a crossbow bolt in the shoulder. It hadn’t been from a dart-spitter like the one Tam had given me; this weapon had been powerful enough to send a bolt completely through Sathrik Mal’Salin and tack the guard behind him to a wall. Sarad Nukpana’s shoulder didn’t even have a pucker to show where the bolt had entered. It should have shattered his shoulder blade, and it probably had.

I gulped. I couldn’t help it. “The Saghred does good work.”

The goblin walked toward me until mere inches separated us. “I wanted to show you what the stone can do for someone who is willing to work in partnership with it. What you see is a wedding gift from the Saghred. The stone doesn’t bite the hand that feeds it.” He held up what should have been horribly burned and scarred hands. They were just as smooth and perfect as his shoulder. “It heals them.” His smile was slow and seductive. “Do you like what you see, Raine?”

“You’re a corpse. Reanimated, but still a corpse.”

“I am beyond life, and Death can never claim me.”

“Your new ‘allies’ are sure to line up and give it a try, and one of them is bound to get lucky eventually. I’d like to see you flipping off Death when you wake up one morning and find your head on the pillow next to you.”

He was close enough that I could smell the soap that had just been on his skin.

“If you were my bride,” he whispered, “would you be pleased?” He reached out one hand—one flawless and unburned hand—and ran the tips of his fingers down the length of my face and throat. I jumped as if shocked. His smile broadened. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

I tried to swallow, my mouth suddenly dry. “I’m just a sacrifice, a sideshow to entertain your lackeys and wedding guests, and I can assure you, I couldn’t care less how you look.”

“Oh, yes, concerning that. There is something you should probably know. I won’t be staining that lovely gown of yours quite yet with your blood. However, it will still serve a valuable purpose tonight in ensuring that all of my new subjects see you chained to the Saghred’s pedestal next to the altar.”

I stood frozen. Chained to the Saghred’s pedestal? “You’re not sacrificing me tonight?”

“Not for some time. Does that please you, too?”

“You tell me.”

“I understand that the Saghred has fed through you once before. Since it was only a few days ago, no doubt you remember the specifics.”

I had to force the words out past the rising panic knotting in my chest. “I vaguely recall.”

“I imagine there was excruciating pain, the sensation of a violated and murdered soul being pulled inside of you, and then ripped through you into the Saghred.” Nukpana wrapped his hand around my throat, stroking, caressing. “I understand that when this happened, you screamed until you could scream no longer. And that was but one soul being pulled through you.” He sighed with exaggerated disappointment. “Unfortunately, with the Saghred in its rightful place, the blood from the sacrifices will flow down to the stone’s pedestal of honor, eliminating that exquisite communion between you, the sacrifice, and the Saghred.” The goblin’s fingers lightly slid down to stop just above my breasts—exactly where the Saghred had pulled that elf mage’s soul into me. With one finger, Nukpana leisurely traced a tiny circle in that spot. “However, while it healed me last night, the stone shared with me how that communion can be reestablished and even extended to include the agonies of the souls once they’re trapped inside.”

With dawning horror, I knew what Sarad Nukpana was going to do to me. I stared at him, trying to remember to breathe. It would be worse than death, worse than being sacrificed and being taken inside the Saghred. I would rather die. Literally. After only a few sacrifices, I’d probably be begging for my own death—if I was still capable of speech.

“Other than as a symbol of my power, the Saghred is of no value to me until it is fully fed,” Nukpana was saying, though I only half heard him. “What you said is true. There will be more than a few powerful individuals who will plot my death; they want the throne and the Saghred’s strength for themselves. So you see my reasoning. I cannot take the risk of being, shall we say… distracted, by being the Saghred’s bond servant at this time. I need for my sanity to be intact.” He smiled. “You’re going to be more useful to me than I ever thought possible.”

I would be taking the Saghred’s sacrifices. Dozens, hundreds of murdered souls pulled into and through me. I would feel every death, every stab and slash of Sarad Nukpana’s sacrificial dagger. I pushed down a whimper. It would be as many deaths as it took to bring the Saghred to its full power.

I would feel each and every one of them. During their murders and afterward as they realized they were trapped forever inside of the stone, enduring years of terror and despair that lengthened into centuries, knowing that they would never be free, never truly die, slowly going mad, eventually fading into mindless wraiths.

I would experience and share their suffering, but be powerless to help.

“There’s no need for me to be in full possession and control of the stone until it has attained its full strength.” His voice became soft, an intimate whisper. “It’s no fun to completely control something—or someone—unless you can use it for your enjoyment. To restore the Saghred to its full power will require thousands of souls. Unfortunately, the process of those souls being dragged through you… Let’s just say that raving insanity won’t be very attractive on you.”

I expected one of two things to happen to me tonight: I would escape and live, or not escape and die. I was hoping for one, but prepared for the other. I was not prepared to live and linger, feeling death time and time again, but never dying myself, being released from an endless cycle of pain and insanity only when Sarad Nukpana decided that I had suffered enough.

To him, I would never suffer enough.

I could start screaming right now, which was what I really wanted to do, or I could change the topic from me dying a thousand deaths to Nukpana living forever. I wasn’t looking to reap a harvest; I just wanted to plant a few seeds of doubt and get the goblin’s hands off of me—and get my thoughts away from my impending future.

“The last goblin who shoveled souls into the rock was Rudra Muralin,” I said, desperately trying to keep my voice from shaking. “You know how bat-shit crazy he was.”

“Rudra was a boy with little training, and less discipline. His mind was easily controlled and consumed by the Saghred. The only source of surprise was that he managed to survive as long as he did.”

“And he didn’t have his mommy looking out for him. She dropped by your rooms, by the way. Charming woman. I see where you get it. Setting up and killing family and friends must run like a stampede in your family.”

Nukpana stood very still. “Mother and I are of one mind.”

“You both want to rule the world?”

Something deadly flickered in his eyes. “She knows her limitations.”

“And her place?” I met his gaze and forced one corner of my lips to curl into a smile. “She doesn’t seem the type to know either one.”

“She is content to rule at my side.”

I tried a shrug, not easy with my hands chained over my head. “If you say so. You need someone you can trust with you while you’re communing with the Saghred. You gave an all-too-accurate description of what it feels like to have souls pulled through you. I scream and eventually pass out, but then I’m just a puny, little mortal elf, and you’re on the verge of demigod-dom, so you probably won’t have any problems—especially not with Mommy Dearest there to take care of you and watch your back.”

Sarad Nukpana smiled and showed me his fangs. “I’ve always found it best—and more thorough—to deal with one problem at a time. Tonight, I’ll begin the lengthy and enjoyable process of dealing with you. I can hardly deny my new vassals the opportunity to see the elf they have heard so much about, brought before them in chains, displayed as the prized catch that you are. They need to see you in torment. It will serve the dual purpose of beginning to take my revenge on you, and showing every last man and woman in the temple that I can and will make them suffer just as much if they make the mistake of defying me. It will save me the trouble and inconvenience of proving myself to them. They will witness your punishment and then go and tell others. Word spreads and my position is more easily secured without the bother of having to put on a vulgar display.”

“So you can save your power for the more important—and even more vulgar—things like conquering, enslaving, and slaughtering.”

He smiled. “Precisely. One of my most difficult decisions tonight will be who gets the honor of being the Saghred’s first public sacrifice.”

I froze. “I thought you’d already determined that.”

“Sacrificing Deidre Nathrach would make the most effective statement. Killing the killer of my king, and all that. But would it be truly satisfying? Perhaps your paladin lover or your treasured nightingale would be a better choice.”

“You haven’t caught anyone yet.”

One side of his lips curled ever so slightly. “Do you know this for certain? Just because you haven’t seen them doesn’t mean that one of them isn’t chained to the altar at this very moment awaiting our arrival. How do you know I haven’t ordered that done so you can see him there as you walk down the aisle?”

“You have me confused with the one marrying you.”

“It is my goal to make our unique relationship last much longer than my marriage.”

A pair of Khrynsani entered bearing ornate robes draped over their arms.

“Perfect timing, gentlemen,” Nukpana said. One of the guards held Sarad Nukpana’s shirt for him. As Nukpana buttoned it, he continued to speak to me as if they weren’t there. “Since you will play such a critical role in tonight’s ceremonies, you should know the schedule of events. If we begin at moonrise, and nothing unforeseen delays the ceremony, I should be able to take care of all of your dear ones before dawn. They will go first to ensure that enough remains of your mind for you to be fully aware of every agony they will endure at my hands before they are allowed to die. Then the Saghred will pick up where I left off, to make certain that you share your loved ones’ terror and despair as they realize that their suffering is as eternal as the Saghred. It will be a long night’s work, but worth the effort in so many ways.”

The next guard held up a purple robe for Nukpana that was embroidered in silver.

“Tamnais’s family will go first, including Kesyn Badru,” he continued. “Once I have eradicated the stain of the Nathrach bloodline, I will put an appropriate end to Tamnais. Imala Kalis betrayed me and played the late King Sathrik for a fool, which in all honesty wasn’t that difficult. Traitors deserve to endure a death as long as their betrayal. Imala betrayed us for years, so she will suffer accordingly.”

Nukpana lifted his arms so a scarlet sash could be wrapped around his waist. “As a reward for all of his valuable information, I’m allowing Carnades Silvanus the honor of dispatching one of the sacrifices. He feels that it is fitting—and I agree—that he be allowed to perform a sacrifice himself. It will also show my subjects that even though he is an elf, Magus Silvanus is a valued partner. Carnades selected Paladin Eiliesor, and I’ve granted his request. He asked for the nightingale as well, but I refused him.” He turned to the guards. “Leave us.”

Sarad Nukpana approached me again. “I have an intense dislike for leaving what I believe are called loose ends. Without your cunning, Piaras Rivalin would not have escaped death that night in Mermeia; even that magnificent voice of his would not have saved him. Thanks to you, he escaped and has lived to cause me no end of trouble, nearly as much as you yourself.” The goblin leaned in to me, his lips soft against my ear. “You will have to tell me what it feels like to have your nightingale’s soul pulled through you as the last of his life’s blood washes over the Saghred. Not only to watch, but to share in his death, then to feel his soul struggle in vain, imprisoned for eternity in the stone.” His voice dropped to caress. “But what I most want you to share with me, through each torment and every death, is what it feels like to know with absolute certainty that there is nothing, nothing you can do to save them or yourself.”

He left me like that, shaking with terror and rage.

So much for keeping my fear from turning into mindless terror.