All Spell Breaks Loose

Chapter 1

I was going to Hell and had no clue what to pack.

Regor was the goblin capital, home to my friend Tam and thousands of other goblins. Their home. My Hell.

I’m Raine Benares. An elven seeker whose job used to be finding lost things and missing people, usually in nice, safe places like prisons and war zones. Now, thanks to a run-in with a soul-sucking rock looking for someone to call home, the entire world was about to turn into a war zone, and yours truly was the epicenter.

Yesterday the world-ending stone known as the Saghred had been stolen. I called it several other names not repeatable in public. The thing had attached itself to me and magnified my magic; and even now that it was thousands of miles away, we were still bonded. The goblin who had ordered it stolen needed me dead to break that bond and transfer control of the rock and all of its power to himself. To stand a snowball’s chance in Hell (excuse me, Tam’s home) of destroying the rock, I needed to stay very much alive.

Hence my dilemma—save the world or die a slow and painful death. Though I couldn’t exactly call my situation a dilemma. A dilemma implied you had a choice. If it was up to me, somebody else could save the world; I’d just rather keep breathing. However, if I managed by some major miracle to do both, I wanted to be properly dressed for it. Head-to-toe steel surrounded by a platoon of Conclave Guardians should do the trick. Some people would call that paranoid; I called it barely adequate accessorizing.

But I wouldn’t have a platoon, and head-to-toe steel would make running away more of a challenge than I was up for. I was armored, both leather and steel, enough for protection, but without impeding any sudden need to retreat. Less than a dozen of us would be sneaking into Regor, stealing the Saghred, destroying it in a way that would hopefully not do the same to me, and getting back to Mid with the same pieces and parts that we left with.

A handful of us against the might of the goblin king, the goblin army, and probably some absurdly huge demons who owed them all favors. Oh yeah, and one soul-hungry rock.

And how could I forget an all-powerful, fledgling goblin demigod by the name of Sarad Nukpana?

Survival would take a miracle.

Especially since I didn’t have a lick of magic to my name.

The Saghred had stolen my magic, then the goblins had stolen the stone.

It sucked to be me right now.

I was going to where my worst enemy was and I had no magic. Well, that wasn’t exactly true. I had a spark, and if I held it against a wick long enough, I might just be able to light a candle. Sarad Nukpana was constructing, and about to open, a Gate big enough for an army to go through, a hundred goblins at a time—and doing every last bit of it with magic. He could teleport an army, and right now I’d work up a sweat lighting a candle. We’d love to be able to destroy the Saghred and the Gate, but our first priority was the rock.

The plan was simple—or simply suicide. Nukpana had the Saghred, but we still had the Scythe of Nen. Literally eons ago, the demon king had it forged so he could cut into the Saghred like an oyster and slurp up the souls inside. In theory, the Saghred could be destroyed if it was first emptied of souls. It was a logical solution, but this was a soul-snatching rock that had kept itself intact through the ages by making its own logic and luck. And it wasn’t exactly a solution, or even a good idea, to let the souls out. Most of them hadn’t been nice people to begin with; in fact, a lot of them could give Sarad Nukpana competition in the evil megalomaniac department.

While some would want nothing more than to float off to their great reward, others—powerful and evil others—would infest and possess the first bodies they could take. That presented two problems. One, they could possess us; the problem there being obvious. Two, they could possess any Khrynsani in the immediate vicinity of the high altar. That would be Sarad Nukpana and his craziest and most powerful black mage allies. Evil plus evil equals extremely undesirable.

The world had enough problems without that happening.

Unfortunately, even if Sarad Nukpana gave us a clear path to the Saghred, we still needed the help of one goblin in Regor to keep those souls from infesting and possessing—Kesyn Badru, Tam’s first magic teacher, the man who tried to prevent Tam from running down magic’s dark path to do the things an entirely-too-powerful young mage had no business doing. Tam had been more like his teenage son, Talon, than he’d care to admit, and had successfully destroyed anything resembling a relationship with his teacher. For all we knew, when we found him, Kesyn Badru might try to turn Tam into something squishy on sight or simply kill him. From what I’d heard about Tam’s youthful indiscretions, I really wouldn’t blame Kesyn Badru in the least.

The way things were stacking up, Sarad Nukpana might be easier to deal with.

Kesyn Badru was an expert on Reapers. Reapers basically worked for Death, gathering wayward souls and taking them to where they needed to go next. When we opened the Saghred, we needed plenty of Reapers standing by for the cleanup of any souls who refused to move along nicely.

Bottom line: slicing into the Saghred with the Scythe of Nen and letting the souls inside go free could make it possible for us to destroy the stone.

Or not.

And since I was bound to the Saghred, the Reapers we needed to collect the souls might collect me, too.

Or not.

Yesterday Sarad Nukpana’s thief had forced our hand. We had no choice but to try to do all of the above. And if it let me—or Mychael, if I wasn’t alive to do it myself—smash the thing into a million pieces, it would be worth it. Simply stealing the Saghred back was no longer an option. Sarad Nukpana had to be stopped, and whatever I had to do would be worth it.

If I died, I would have died to save millions from torment, slavery, or death at Sarad Nukpana’s hands. I’d been telling myself all night that it’d be a good and noble death.

I’d never been more terrified in my life. I was almost sick with it.

There were easier and certainly less painful ways to commit suicide. The only upside to this whole thing was that we’d be leaving for Regor within the hour. That didn’t leave much time for me to imagine all the ways Sarad Nukpana, the Saghred, or the Reapers could kill me. The less time I had to ponder any of those, the better.

Leaving here within the hour, and arriving in Regor seconds after that.

I despised mirror magic, but I had to admit that it was a damned efficient way to get from one place to another.

To tell you the truth, I was scared to death of it. Partly because I didn’t understand how the finer points of the art worked. Stepping into one mirror and instantly walking out of another one hundreds or even thousands of miles away sure as hell wasn’t a parlor trick—and mirror mages knew it. Superior to everyone else was how the best of them saw themselves; though most felt that simple worship would suffice. I’d never met a humble mirror mage.

I did a last check of the pack I was taking with me. More weapons than anything else, small and easily concealed. What couldn’t be hidden was already strapped to me. I wasn’t taking much by way of clothes—one change of everything in case what I was wearing picked up a couple of unsightly bloodstains or sword slashes. It’d been my experience that running for your life was best done while carrying as little extraneous weight as possible.

I slung my small pack over my shoulder and opened the door.

Standing there, hand raised to knock, was one of the last people I expected.

Piaras Rivalin.

He was a tall young elf, with big brown eyes and dark brown curls that would have made him look perfectly at home painted on the ceiling of some fancy chapel. To the pair of Guardians posted outside my door, Piaras was an eighteen-year-old cadet in their order. To me he was the little brother I’d never had, but always wanted.

I’d known Piaras since he was twelve. The self-possessed young man standing in front of me had grown up fast over too short a period of time. No one had given him a choice, either. For the two of us, the past three months had been one deal-with-it-or-die moment right after another. Piaras had faced and fought things that would have sent most kids his age scrambling under their beds. To make it even worse, he was in nearly as much danger from Sarad Nukpana as I was. The bastard knew how much I loved Piaras; knew it and wouldn’t hesitate to use him to get to me.

Piaras’s dream had been to become a Guardian, and here he was in the uniform and armor of a cadet. In my opinion, he should have been on one of the ships trying to evacuate the other students from the island before the goblins invaded.

I stared up at him. “Come to see me off before you get your butt on an evac ship?”

“Yes and no.”

“‘Yes’ you’re getting on that ship, and ‘no’ you’re not here to see me off, right?”

“Reverse them.”

“Dammit, Piaras. I—”

“Paladin Eiliesor gave us all the choice. I chose to stay.”

“You should be on a ship.”

“I’m needed here.”

From most kids his age, those words would come off sounding stubborn. From Piaras, it was steadfast and decisive. I knew I wouldn’t be able to change his mind, but if he wasn’t going to be stubborn, I would.

I lowered my voice. “And I need you alive. While I’m in Regor I need to know you’re safe.”

“Raine, I’ve already reported for duty—”

“Then un-report.” The vehemence in my voice surprised even me.

“You’re not un-reporting.” There was no accusation in his voice; he was simply stating a fact.

“Regor is the last place I want to go, but I don’t have a choice. You do.”

“You have a choice,” Piaras said. “You’re going because you couldn’t live with yourself if you didn’t go. You know you can help, so that’s what you’re going to do. Same with me. What I’d really like is to hide under my bed in the barracks, close my eyes, and have every last bit of this crap go away. But that’s not going to happen, so here I am.”

I glared at him. “You know you’re too young to be this smart, don’t you?”

Piaras flashed a smile that was probably making the coeds swoon. “It’s a burden I bear.”

“I’m sure I don’t want to know, but where are they sending you?”

“Here.”

I blinked. “What?”

“Sir Vegard ordered me to take his place as your bodyguard—”

As my bodyguard, Vegard Rolfgar had been shot, tortured, and attacked by demons; damned near dying from all of the above. He’d wanted to go with us to Regor, but Mychael had made him acting paladin instead and put him in charge of the evacuation.

With a life of their own, my fists went to my hips. “You are not going to Regor. I don’t care who—”

Piaras grinned and held up a hand. “Vegard wants me to see you safely to the mirror room and then report back to him.” He stopped and half winced, the sudden embarrassment in his big eyes making him look like that awkward twelve-year-old again. “He ordered me to do one other thing.”

I narrowed my eyes. “And what is that?” Vegard was about to get more trouble from me than he’d have from any invading goblin army.

Piaras stepped forward. “Uh… he told me to give you this.”

Piaras hugged me. Hard. My feet left the floor somewhere in the process. I should’ve been grateful that Vegard had Piaras stand in for him; a hug like that from Vegard probably would’ve cracked a couple of my ribs. When Piaras showed no signs of letting go, I suddenly realized that hug wasn’t just from Vegard. I wrapped my arms around Piaras’s neck; my face buried against his shoulder and fiercely returned his hug. If I didn’t make it back, this could be the last time I’d ever see him. My eyes swam with sudden tears.

Piaras started to put me down.

“No, no. Wait.” I sniffed and tried for a smile. “I have something for… Vegard, too. Give him this.” I grabbed both sides of Piaras’s head and planted a big kiss on his forehead, and then hugged him again. That wasn’t just for Vegard, either.

The Guardians behind us snickered.

Piaras blushed to the tips of his pointed ears. “I’ll just tell him about it, if you don’t mind.” He picked up my pack where I’d dropped it to hug him. “I’ll get this.”

“Thank you.” I’d be carrying it myself soon enough, and who knew for how long, so I’d take help now while I could get it.

Every Guardian we passed on our way to the mirror room had somewhere to go and was moving fast. Either that or they were already there and standing guard. To a man, they had one thing in common—the same grim and determined expression. I didn’t know what was behind some of the doors being guarded, but I almost felt sorry for anyone who tried to find out.

I had to move just as fast to keep up with Piaras’s long strides. “After seeing me to the mirror room, what next?”

“Pardon?”

“Your orders. What are they?”

“Once you’re all safely through, I guard that mirror until you come back.”

“Guard?”

“If anyone tries to get into the mirror room who doesn’t belong, they’ll be taking a long nap and waking up in a small cell.”

Piaras could do it; I had no doubt—and neither did any of the hundred or so Guardians he’d accidently put to sleep after he’d been here only a few days. Piaras was a spellsinger, probably the best of his generation. His voice was a deep, rich baritone—and a weapon. As far as magical skills went, spellsinging wasn’t all that rare, but Piaras’s level of skill was. Rare, powerful, and deadly.

I had a thought I didn’t like, but it was a possibility, a very unpleasant one.

“What if someone comes back through our mirror besides us?”

Piaras gave me a grim smile that he should have been too young to have. “We’re equal opportunity sleep-inducers.”

“We?”

“Maestro Cayle will be standing guard with me.”

I experienced a short, but oh-so-welcome, moment of relief. I hadn’t had many of those lately so I enjoyed it while I could. Maestro Ronan Cayle was the best spellsinger there was. If anyone’s ass needed kicking—mage, mundane, or demon—Ronan was the man to serve it up. He was also Piaras’s spellsinging teacher. If Piaras wouldn’t leave the island on an evac ship, knowing that Ronan would be with him was a comfort I’d gladly take.

“Is Talon staying, too?”

Piaras blew out his breath. “Oh yeah.”

“I understand he and Tam had quite the throwdown about that.”

“Heard by half the citadel.”

Talon Nathrach was Tam’s son. As former chief mage and magical enforcer to the goblin royal House of Mal’Salin, Tam was part of the team going to Regor. Talon’s mother had been an elf, which made Talon a half-breed, an abomination to both old-blood elves and goblins. The goblin court in Regor was packed to the walls with old-blood goblin aristocrats. From what I’d heard, they’d kill Talon on sight.

Talon becoming a Guardian cadet was Tam’s effort to teach his impulsive son responsibility, respect, and, above all, control. I told Tam he shouldn’t hold his breath.

“You can’t exactly blame Talon,” I said. “He just found his father, and now that father is leaving.” I left the “and maybe never coming back” unsaid. Piaras knew it as well as I did.

“Paladin Eiliesor ordered Talon to report to Sir Vegard for duty.”

I winced. “Bet that didn’t go over well.”

“No, it didn’t.” Piaras grinned. “Though walking back to the barracks last night with Talon tripled my knowledge of Goblin profanity.”

Just before the stairs that led down to the citadel’s lower levels, we passed several openings in the outer walls that looked over the harbor. I stopped, and Piaras and our two Guardian escorts did the same. It was a long way down to the harbor, but I knew crowds of people when I saw them. Students and townspeople—there had to be hundreds of them—being put on any ship in Mid’s harbor that could raise canvas, and get them off of the island. Hopefully to safety. There were merchant ships, Guardian warships, and five pirate ships belonging to my cousin and uncle—Phaelan and Ryn Benares. Father and son, who, between the two of them, were responsible for the vast majority of the high-seas crime in the seven kingdoms. Phaelan had brought me and Piaras to the Isle of Mid on the Fortune. Uncle Ryn had arrived later with his flagship the Red Hawk and three of his best fighting vessels to do what a father and uncle did best—protect the people he loved. Commodore Ryn Benares, the most feared pirate in the seven kingdoms, was a big softie. No one outside the family knew that, and to preserve the cooperation and resulting profitability that the Benares name instilled in every ship to cross our path, we kept that information to ourselves.

Uncle Ryn had originally come to Mid to protect me and Phaelan. But now the students of the Conclave college were in the worst kind of danger. Sarad Nukpana needed sacrifices to keep his transport Gate stable and working—magically talented sacrifices. The kids attending the Conclave college were the best of the best; they’d be the top mages of the next generation. Nukpana saw them as fuel for his invasions.

Uncle Ryn wasn’t concerned that heading up the student evacuation would damage his fearsome reputation. He’d told me that he didn’t give a shit what anyone thought; though he could always claim that the Conclave paid him to do it, which they hadn’t. Uncle Ryn was helping out from the good of his own big heart.

The students were being evacuated youngest to oldest. Getting every student off the island would take time, time that the Isle of Mid may or may not have. The students least able to defend themselves—magically or otherwise—were being shipped out first. Due to the need to transport as many students as quickly as possible, each student was being limited to only one small bag, large enough for a change of clothes and a few personal items. Everything else would be left behind. The hope was that they would be able to return soon.

That depended on us, whether we succeeded in destroying the Saghred.

Or even lived long enough to try.

For a place that was the center of the survival chances for the known world, the mirror room was amazingly non-chaotic. I wasn’t complaining. Considering that we were headed into the goblin capital, which was essentially under siege from within, massing an army for invasion, and in possession of a stone of cataclysmic power bonded to yours truly—I’d take all the peace and quiet I could get.

The mirror room itself was plain, but not the contents. I counted twenty mirrors, each taller than a tall man and at least twice as wide. They were mounted on massive wooden frames. Some were simple; others were ornate. All had runes or spells carved into the frames. At least a half dozen of the mirrors were mounted to the stone walls and were as wide as they were tall. The only reason I could see for having something that big would be to get as many fighting men from here to there as quickly as possible. And the room was big enough to do it. A hundred paces long and half that wide.

As much as I disliked and distrusted mirrors, I had that feeling multiplied by a hundred for the elven mage standing in front of one of the smaller mirrors, hands extended toward the swirling surface, consumed with concentration.

Carnades Silvanus. Formerly second in command of the Conclave after the archmage himself. The former golden boy of the Conclave and the Seat of Twelve. Now the most famous jailbird on the island. He’d been caught with his fingers in the treason pie, and his signature on the documents funding the traitors’ and terrorists’ fun and games. Then there was also the small matter of the attempted assassination of a goblin prince. Carnades had been stripped of his title and position in the Conclave and on the Seat of Twelve. The elven government had frozen all of his assets. I’d been directly responsible for Carnades getting caught doing all of the above; as a result, he hated me with a passion bordering on obsession. He was also the one man who could get us to Regor in time to stop Sarad Nukpana’s rampage of world domination—and back again after we got the job done.

Oh yeah, I had warm and fuzzy feelings about that arrangement.

“I don’t like it,” Piaras said.

I didn’t have to ask what it was. I wasn’t the only one Carnades Silvanus had been gunning for since we’d arrived on Mid.

“Carandes is the best mirror mage there is,” I told him. “Plus, he’s the man with the mirror in Regor. If we had another choice, we’d take it, but we don’t.”

Piaras scowled. “You have to trust him.”

“Trust has nothing to do with it. This is about necessity, pure and simple.”

“Necessity might be pure, but Carnades sure isn’t.”

Truer words had never been spoken. “That’s why we’ll be keeping magic-sapping manacles on him as much as possible.”

“He’s not wearing them now.”

“Yeah, gives me the creeps, too.” I kept my voice level, which was a nifty contrast to my galloping heart rate. That was the first thing I’d noticed when we’d walked through the door. Normally, a sight like that wouldn’t freeze me in my tracks like a mouse in a room with a sadistic cat, but being without magic was not my normal. If Carnades found out and managed to get me alone, all that would be left after the spell he’d sling at me would be a greasy spot on the floor. Piaras didn’t know, and I wasn’t about to tell him. If he knew, he’d worry. A lot. Staying on the island in the face of a goblin invasion was enough; Piaras needed to focus on saving his own hide, not worrying about mine any more than he already was.

Carnades’s elegantly long-fingered hands were extended toward the mirror before him, his posture one of extreme concentration on his work. I muffled a snort. Carnades was looking at the mirror, but his concentration was more than likely aimed at how to screw us over, either before, during, or after we stepped through his mirror into a cave outside of Regor.

“Carnades can’t tap his magic while wearing those manacles, and he needs his magic to get us through the mirror,” I told Piaras. I shrugged. “Or obliterate us all, jump through the mirror, and run like hell.” My tone was joking, but I wouldn’t be surprised if the bastard tried it.

“I think those gentlemen will have something to say about that,” said an amused voice from behind us. “As will I.”

As Guardian commander and paladin, Mychael Eiliesor was as ready as he could be to step through that mirror and into Regor. His usual armor was sleek, formfitting dark steel. What he wore now was still sleek, but matte black, and definitely not Guardian-issue. The two of us were going to stand out enough by being elves; Mychael didn’t want to announce that he was a Guardian, too. Of course, our goal was not to be seen at all. I didn’t let my mind dwell on how unlikely that was to go as planned.

Instead I let my mind dwell on, and my eyes enjoy, the scenery that was Mychael.

He must have felt me watching him.

Mychael looked down at me, his eyes darkening, his smile holding a hint of danger—the fun kind. “We don’t have time for that,” he teased.

“Time for what?” I asked, all innocence.

“Everything you’re thinking.”

Piaras cleared his throat. We were keeping our voices down, and he wasn’t standing right next to us, but there was nothing wrong with the kid’s ears. After all, he was an elf.

“Sir, do you want me to see what’s keeping Maestro Cayle?” he asked.

Mychael smiled. “Ronan knows where we are, Cadet Rivalin. As you were.”

The tips of Piaras’s ears flushed pink. “Yes, sir.”

Four Guardians were standing around Carnades—hands glowing with magic at the ready, weapons doing the same—just waiting for the elf mage to so much as breathe wrong.

I shifted uneasily. “They do look rather eager to cut loose on Carnades, don’t they?”

“Ready and all too willing,” Mychael assured me, the sparkle in his sea blue eyes saying he’d like to get to Carnades first.

A big part of Carnades’s evil-master-plan-gone-wrong had been to either disband the Guardians, or use them as his personal enforcers once he’d seized the archmagus’s throne. Mychael had been the man standing in his way. Carnades’s plan had Mychael standing before an executioner.

“They’re not the only ones,” boomed a voice from the doorway.

Archmage Justinius Valerian entered the room and crossed over to us in a sweep of formal robes that had to weigh as much as the old man’s lean and grizzled body.

I looked him up and down. “Aren’t you a little overdressed for an invasion?”

“I need to stand out, girl. There’s hundreds of panicked old coots running around this island in mage robes. I don’t want any of them to doubt who I am and how far I will kick the asses of any of them if they don’t do as I say. Immediately. I’ve told the lot of them to leave their egos at home, not to give me any lip, and we all just might live through this.”

Justinius had called an emergency meeting of the Conclave of Sorcerers early this morning to warn them of our situation and to tell them that Vegard would be acting paladin until he said otherwise. The Conclave was the governing body for every magic user in the seven kingdoms. In my opinion the only thing worse than a bunch of arrogant mages was a bunch of arrogant bureaucratic mages.

“How’d they take the announcement about Vegard?” Mychael asked.

“Exactly the way I expected them to. Started asking a bunch of questions that had nothing to do with the security of this island and the safety of our students, and everything to do with politics.”

“And they wanted to know where I was going,” Mychael said.

“And why. The less people who know about this mission, the better chance of success.”

“And survival,” I added.

“That, too. I didn’t take questions; just gave them all something to do. Any who have the strength and skill to take out a goblin black mage or a major-class demon and aren’t squeamish about doing it are now under Vegard’s command. The rest of them would just be in the way, so I ordered them home to pack a bag, same size as the students. They’ll be evacuated only after the last student is gone.”

“You’re Archmage Popularity right now.”

Justinius shrugged. “It’ll keep them off the streets and out of my hair.” He glanced at Carnades and lowered his voice. “Is he giving you any trouble?”

“He’s not an eager member of this team,” Mychael told him, “but he’s doing his job.”

Carnades’s job was to get us through the mirror to Regor—and safely back again. The last part was the carrot Justinius was dangling in front of the elf mage. If we all made it back safely, he wouldn’t be executed for his crimes, regardless of the result of his trial. The length of his prison term would be up to the Conclave or elven justice systems. Both were still arguing over who would get to try him first. But Justinius could, and did, offer Carnades a deal—if we lived, so would he. He might be behind bars for the rest of his life, but unless he had an “unfortunate accident” while in prison, at least he’d have a life.

“I trust Carnades about as far as one of my spindly legs could drop-kick him,” Justinius was saying under his breath.

The old man’s rangy frame might not be able to wrinkle Carnades’s robes, but Justinius Valerian was the strongest mage in the seven kingdoms. Period. Using his magic, he could kick Carnades to the far side of the farthest continent. I was grateful that he’d come to see us off. Even better, the old guy wasn’t alone. Being the archmage meant he didn’t go anywhere without his six huge Guardian bodyguards.

Carnades lowered his hands and took a deep breath that shook as he exhaled. Whatever he’d just done, it’d taken a bit out of him. Just as long as he had enough juice left over to get us to Regor. Mychael walked over and took Carnades’s magic-sapping manacles from one of his Guardians, but made no move to put them back on the elf mage. The other Guardians closed ranks around Carnades. I assumed it was too close to the time to leave to put them on again, so they were just going to go with close-quarters guarding.

“Is the crate through?” Mychael asked Carnades.

“It will be in the cave waiting for us when we arrive.” The air coming off a glacier was warmer than Carnades’s voice. Nope, we definitely weren’t turning our backs on him.

“Crate?” I quietly asked Mychael.

“With food, water, blankets, medical supplies.”

If we got ambushed by half the goblin army, there wouldn’t be enough of us left to bandage.

“In case one of us gets a bad hangnail?”

Mychael managed a grim smile. “Something like that—”

Sirens wailed, lightglobes set into the walls flashed blue, and Piaras and I damned near jumped out of our skins.

Oh hell.

Sounded like Sarad Nukpana got tired of waiting.