Armed & Magical

Chapter 4

My world turned gray and silent.

More of a twilight fog actually, the kind you see on a waterfront pier—just before you step off the edge. Last time I had been inside the Saghred, it had been a gray void filled with filmy figures. This almost looked the same, but with the notable and welcome absence of the figures. I wasn’t going to complain; some of the figures had wanted me dead. Besides, there was no one to complain to. Then I saw movement through the shimmering silver light, movement that resolved itself into a tall figure. I looked around. There was no cover, no place to hide; I was half tempted to close my eyes. If I couldn’t see it, maybe it couldn’t see me.

“It doesn’t work that way,” the figure murmured.

I knew that voice. The speaker emerged from the shifting mist. Sarad Nukpana. I wasn’t surprised, but I sure was disappointed. Of all the Saghred’s residents, he was the one I least wanted to run into.

With a negligent wave of Sarad Nukpana’s elegant fingers, the fog retreated.

No mere featureless wasteland would do for Sarad Nukpana.

We stood in a space filled with sensual comforts. A low bed covered with pillows. A plush chaise upholstered with fabric that looked too soft to be real, a low table with two chairs, the table set with glasses and a heavy, cut-crystal decanter of dark, ruby liquid. My feet sank into a fur rug so soft and decadent, I had to resist the urge to drop and roll. Not the sort of surroundings you’d expect of someone plotting world domination.

Sarad Nukpana himself didn’t look any worse for wear, and he also looked amazingly solid. Going from corporeal to disembodied soul hadn’t diminished his dark beauty one bit. His long black hair was shot through with silver and fell loosely around his strongly sculpted face; the tips of his upswept ears were barely visible through the midnight mass of his hair. Nukpana’s pearl gray skin set off what was any goblin’s most distinguishing feature—a pair of fangs that weren’t for decorative use only. The danger didn’t detract from the race’s appeal; some would say it fueled it. I guess all that sinuous grace and exotic beauty can make you overlook a lot, and Sarad Nukpana was certainly devastating. He was also insane—that I couldn’t overlook.

“You redecorated,” I remarked, my mouth dry. “Not my taste.”

His eyes were bottomless black pools. “It suits my taste—and my needs—perfectly.”

I didn’t move. “So the newest inmate gets to choose the color scheme?”

He laughed, a dark, rich sound. “In a way of speaking. I am the newest here—and the strongest.”

I couldn’t help but notice that the plushness extended only so far. I wondered if the same was true of his influence. Where the room’s walls should be, the void with its shimmering waves of mist resumed.

“Did someone else not agree with your taste?”

The goblin’s flawless face remained expressionless. “The most intimate surroundings are small. I have all that I need here.”

“Or are you using all the strength you can spare?”

The goblin’s dark eyes narrowed. “Still playing dangerous games, little seeker?”

“They seem to be the only kind available.” I helped myself to the plush chaise. “You wanted me here, and you went to a lot of trouble to make it happen.” I leaned back and crossed my legs. It really was very comfortable. “What do you want?”

“To make you an offer.”

“No.”

He smiled. “ ’No,’ I can’t make you an offer, or ‘no,’ you refuse?”

“Oh, you can make me an offer; I just won’t have any part of it.”

“Just like that.” His smile broadened, his fangs peeking into view. “No hearing me out and then casting my offer back in my face?”

“That’s right. Regardless of what you say, I already know I’m going to turn you down. And since you’ve turned my mind into your personal bedroom, I’m sure you know what I know. So it seems counterproductive to prolong this conversation any more than it has to be.”

“I do know your thoughts. See what you see.” He paused suggestively. “And feel what you feel. Shall I hazard a guess as to why you fear what I can offer you—what the Saghred can give us both?”

“Insanity and prolonged death? Just because you’re merrily skipping down that path doesn’t mean I want to join you.”

“I merely want to give you what you truly desire.”

“You and the rock are going to go away?”

“That is not what you really want.”

This promised to be good. I crossed my arms. “And just what is my heart’s desire?”

“Power.”

“No, power is what you want. I want you to vanish.”

Sarad Nukpana made himself at home on the bed, and took his time doing it. “There are many kinds of power— with many uses. So we can both desire power, but have different uses for it. That does not change the fact that we essentially want the same thing.”

I’d heard enough and sat up. “I’ve seen what your idea of power does. There isn’t anything I could want less.”

“Even if you had the power to protect?” His smile was slow and confident. “The power to defend those in danger, the ones you love? The power you scorned this morning. If you had accepted what the Saghred offered, that girl wouldn’t be in Banan Ryce’s hands.” The smile reached his black eyes. “That means whatever is happening to her this very moment is entirely your fault. You could have prevented it with one word.”

I didn’t move. “The Saghred doesn’t offer that kind of power.” I said it, but I wasn’t sure of it.

“Oh, but it does.” His voice rubbed over me like the soft fabric beneath my fingertips. “The power is the same; the only difference is how it is used. You could choose how you use your gift. That is what the archmagus fears; it is the fear your paladin won’t admit. The strength the Saghred gives you also gives you the strength to choose.”

“Whether to become a disembodied soul now or later? I don’t consider that much of a choice.”

“Your choices are the Saghred’s choices. Do you think you and your paladin chose to bring the Saghred to Mid? Hardly, little seeker. The Saghred chose where it would go, and who would take it there. We are all instruments of its will; I have merely found a way to make that will work to my advantage.”

“So you want to live like an evil genie in a bottle?”

“It will not be forever.”

“I’m sure your buddies in here felt the same way—for the first hundred years or so.” I looked out into surrounding grayness. There were slender forms all around us. They weren’t the screaming wraiths I’d encountered last time I was inside the Saghred; these were standing perfectly still, patiently waiting for something. Creepy. I could feel the power coming off of them, though the force from Sarad Nukpana was stronger. He was definitely the big dog in the pack. For now. I wondered which one out there was second in the pack order. Disturbingly, my father was nowhere to be seen.

I’d had enough, and stood. Sarad Nukpana rose and came toward me with predatory grace, quicker than any mortal creature had a right to move. He caught my wrist in his hand. I had to remind myself that the goblin wasn’t mortal anymore. However, his hand was strong and all too solid around my wrist. I felt his will meld with the Saghred, stretching outward, beyond the room, beyond the void.

I dimly heard an agonized scream. The Guardian.

Two could play at that game. With my free hand, I grabbed the front of his shirt and twisted my fingers until the silken fabric was firmly knotted in my fist. “Release him. Now.”

There was a flicker of surprise in the goblin’s dark eyes. He expected me to be afraid. I was. But I was a hell of a lot more angry. In my family, rage wins out over fear anytime.

“Such a small request,” he murmured. “You are certain you do not wish anything more?”

“Let’s see… You gone, the rock gone, your lawyers gone. That would pretty much cover it for me.”

“Those are not within my power, or yours.” He moved his body slowly against mine, and it was all too obvious he liked being this close. “But the Guardian is within your power to free,” he whispered against my ear. “The Saghred is yours to command. Tell it to release him, and it shall be done. Immediately. You only need to will it.” He drew back just enough to gaze down at me, his dark eyes shining. A slow smile formed, fangs visible. The goblin’s smile told me that he would love to see me do it. Probably because the moment I asked the Saghred for one favor, it could demand one right back. I had a feeling that the rock’s idea of a small favor would be something along the lines of my eternal soul on a platter, like a bunch of grapes to be plucked one at a time. I wasn’t about to be served up to anything or anyone.

If I did nothing, the Guardian would die. And I had a feeling he would be the first of many until the Saghred, or Sarad Nukpana, got what they wanted.

I had another feeling. Actually it was more like a realization. Sarad Nukpana couldn’t have decorated all by himself. Nor could he be attacking that Guardian all by his lonesome. He and the Saghred were connected in some way and feeding off of each other.

If I hurt one of them, the other should at least blink. I was counting on Mychael acting when the rock blinked. Nukpana was standing close enough; his breath was warm against my cheek. I’d wonder later about how disembodied souls could breathe, let alone be warm. Wonder later; act now. His hand on my wrist had felt solid enough. Let’s see how solid the rest of him was.

My knee was ready to find out when the floor buckled beneath our feet and the silvery void rippled with an unseen impact. Nukpana and I landed hard on the floor, and I rolled clear and came to my feet before the goblin could get his hands on me again.

The void beyond Nukpana’s bedroom was lighter now, like the sun trying to force its way through heavy fog. The light faded and then flared again with increased intensity.

Nukpana looked up into the void and laughed. “Your paladin is trying to rescue you. An impressive effort. He must fear for your safety.”

That made two of us.

I was standing on the edge of Nukpana’s bedroom, and my hand brushed against the void.

It was solid, not mist.

It was also cold and brittle beneath my fingers, like a sheet of translucent ice. Fog could be penetrated, and ice could be broken. Breaking it could also let the wraiths in— or let me out. There was only one way to know for sure.

I grabbed one of the chairs and swung it with everything I had.

Nukpana’s world shattered. The void engulfed Sarad Nukpana, the room, everything. I felt myself being pulled backward. The goblin’s wordless scream came to me through the racing mist, dim from distance, but raw with undiminished fury.

In an instant, my feet went from plush fur to stone floor. Mychael was holding me pressed tightly against him, his hands on either side of my head.

“She’s back,” I heard him say to someone. He sounded out of breath. I didn’t know who he was talking to; my eyes wouldn’t exactly focus.

The room got lighter and the blurred images sharpened into Ronan Cayle and the Guardians. I shuddered, a full head-to-toe event. Then the shuddering turned into shaking and some shallow breathing. I couldn’t stop the shaking, and I didn’t even try. Breathing, I made an effort to do. Mychael’s hands went from my head to around my waist. They were strong and warm, and they were all that was between me and a quick and unpleasant trip to the floor.

The Guardian who the Saghred had attacked was on the floor, half-conscious, and trying to sit up. He was determined and his brother Guardians had their hands full trying to stop him. His first words blistered the air blue. I’d found if a man could swear that expressively, the insides of his head couldn’t have been too rattled. With only a little help from his brothers, he got to his feet.

I steadied myself with my hands against Mychael’s chest. He was standing close enough to kiss. I could feel his heart pounding beneath my palm.

I took a panting breath, then tried a smile. “You tried to break into the Saghred.”

“I did.” His eyes reflected concern, relief, and rage all at the same time. “He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

I shook my head. “You breaking in gave me the idea to break out. It worked.”

Mychael’s hands tightened briefly around my waist; then with a quick glance at his men, he loosened his hold and stepped back, much to my disappointment.

To my surprise, I stayed on my feet. “Did I vanish or something?”

“You were here the whole time,” Ronan Cayle said. “All five seconds of it.”

I blinked. “Seconds? That’s it?”

“It felt like longer?” he asked.

“About a half hour’s worth. I guess time’s different on the inside.” I’d heard that from some of my formerly incarcerated family members. I never thought I’d have my own experience to draw from. “What happened out here?”

Mychael’s expression darkened, and I think it was aimed at me. “You went for the box’s lid before I could stop you. Then you closed the lid and took a step back.” He paused uncomfortably. “You stopped breathing; that was how I knew he’d taken you inside.”

I stared at him. “I stopped breathing?”

“It’s the first sign of an out-of-body experience,” he told me. “And considering what you’d just touched, I knew where you’d gone.”

I felt the residual tingle of his hands pressed to the sides of my head. “You used your hands to—”

A muscle twitched in Mychael’s jaw. “Attempt to retrieve your soul.”

“My soul was gone?” My voice sounded very small.

“It was.”

I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t say anything. Though there was a good chance that I’d scream later.

“What happened in there?” Mychael asked quietly.

I swallowed. “Nukpana tried to tell me that being bonded to the Saghred was a gift, not a curse. It wasn’t a very convincing argument. It’s also a discussion I’d rather not have with him again—in my body or out.” I looked from Mychael to Ronan. “Are you two ready to do what we came for and get the hell out of here?”

“More than ready,” Mychael said. He looked at Ronan. “Sir?”

In response, the maestro tossed aside his outer, merely flamboyant robe, exposing the inner, if at all possible, more outrageous robe. I guess it was the sort of thing a legendary spellsinger wore to a legendary stone of power figurative ass kicking. I didn’t know if Ronan Cayle was getting comfortable to sing, or getting unburdened by all that silk should running become necessary. Either one sounded like a good idea. But I didn’t want to be the one to tell the maestro that if the Saghred decided to fight back, his little brocade-booted feet weren’t going to do him any good.

“The melody is more effective in a lower range,” Ronan told Mychael. “You start. I’ll come in with the countermelody.”

“Is everyone able to shield themselves?” Mychael addressed the question to his Guardians and me.

I nodded. The Guardians responded by speaking their personal shields into place. I followed suit. We weren’t shielding ourselves against the Saghred; we were protecting ourselves against what Mychael and Ronan were about to do. I had no doubt that their sleepsong would be one of the most potent. We weren’t wayward souls, but it was still a sleepsong sung by a pair of masters. If we didn’t shield ourselves, we’d be on the floor snoring. With shields, we would still be able to hear the song, but the spell wouldn’t affect us.

Mychael began to hum, the softest, most soothing sound I’d ever heard. Even standing across from him, I could feel the sound resonating from deep in his chest. I could only imagine what it would feel like to be held there, listening to that sound, feeling that music. The humming resolved into whispered words, the syllables melding one into the next, the pitch low and constant and warm.

He had a deep, molten, luscious baritone that made me think of melted chocolate. Decadent and delicious, not to mention hypnotic. If that voice had been persuading me to go to sleep—or do anything else—I don’t think I’d have been able to resist. Hell, I don’t think I would have even tried.

I’d only heard Mychael’s singing in snippets. But I knew enough about spellsinging to know that his voice was doing some very intricate and impressive work. I couldn’t tell yet if the Saghred was impressed enough to be sleepy, but it made a fan for life out of me. The tune was simple and heartbreakingly beautiful, but it was the words of the spellsong that would have tripped up a lesser spellsinger.

Ronan’s tenor seamlessly merged with Mychael’s baritone, flowing underneath in a strong countermelody. Not surprisingly, I didn’t feel the same way about Ronan’s voice, but I knew enough about spellsinging to tell that his pipes more than matched his reputation.

Their spellduet was essentially a lullaby for one, soft and soothing. Volume wasn’t needed, just intensity.

I just wanted to stand there and bask in the rolling waves of scrumptious sound, but I had work to do. It was my job to see if Sarad Nukpana had stopped listening because he couldn’t keep his eyes open. I felt the Saghred begin to waver. The soft light illuminating the stone never changed, but what I sensed from it definitely did. It was working.

Then it wasn’t. Something or, more to the point, someone, was fighting back.

I’d give Mychael and Ronan three guesses and the first two didn’t count.

I saw Sarad Nukpana with others I had only seen through silver mist—his new friends, his allies. Only now they were just as solid as Nukpana himself. There were goblins and elves and humans, with a couple of creatures whose race or species I didn’t recognize. The evil inside the Saghred didn’t restrict itself to Sarad Nukpana. They were down, but they weren’t going out. I heard laughter, muffled but still mocking.

I didn’t want my voice to possibly disrupt what Mychael and Ronan were doing, but I made sure my expression spoke volumes. They knew as well as I did what was happening—and what was not happening. They were getting the message without my help. Professionals that they were, their spellduet never faltered.

Suddenly, a disembodied voice floated in the air around us, a voice of staggering strength and power, a baritone like Mychael. It was deep, vibrant, and impossible to ignore.

It was Piaras.

Maintaining one particularly glorious low note while Cayle’s tenor danced above it, Mychael indicated a small square opening, almost hidden in shadow near the ceiling. Of course, an air vent. I thought the containment rooms were sealed, but that was ridiculous. If they’d been sealed, we wouldn’t have been able to breathe. I assumed that like in most large buildings, the vent led to a network of tiny tunnels running throughout the citadel. Piaras was practicing on the citadel’s main floor in the music room. I recognized it as one of his sleepsongs. But unlike Mychael and Ronan, Piaras wasn’t singing a lullaby for one. The kid was trying to knock out a platoon. It was a sleepsong for use on a battlefield—and if we could hear it down here, so could the rest of the citadel.

Oh shit.

Magnified by the ducts, his voice was as hypnotic as Mychael’s—and as sleep inducing. I heard what sounded like a sigh of smug, sensual contentment from Sarad Nukpana. If the Saghred had been a cat, it would have been purring. I didn’t want the rock belligerent, but I didn’t want it happy, either. Piaras’s singing made it just a little too happy.

Then the Saghred simply drifted off to sleep. I felt like a lead weight had been lifted from the center of my chest. All sense of the Saghred was gone. I hadn’t felt this good in a long time.

Piaras’s voice went silent with the end of the spellsong. I didn’t know how he’d done it, but I couldn’t deny what he had done.

An untrained teenage spellsinger had just put the Saghred to sleep.