Bewitched & Betrayed

Chapter 13

Mychael began humming at a level so low it barely registered in my ears, but I was close enough to him to feel the rumbling deep in his chest. There were four horses harnessed to that coach. A split second later, every last one had its ears flat to its head. Then they started neighing nervously and pawing the cobblestones. When two Khrynsani guards came up on either side to calm them, the horses screamed and reared as if those goblins had stepped straight out of their worst nightmare.

Then they bolted. The coach went up on two wheels as the terrified horses tore around the corner, the friction of their horseshoes raising sparks against the cobbles. They rounded the next corner and were gone. Two of the guards took off in pursuit. Two remained.

We went from outnumbered to piece of cake in under ten seconds.

“Can you hold the veil on your own?” Mychael asked.

“Oh, yeah.”

“Get to the gate. I’ll take care of the guards.”

Mychael glided swiftly and in complete silence to the pair of goblin guards and snatched them up by the scruffs of their necks like a pair of kittens. They didn’t even have time to reach for their weapons. I felt Mychael’s surge of magic as the goblins’ eyes rolled back in their heads and they went down. It helped that they were standing close together, no doubt trying to come up with an excuse for their bosses as to why they had no way to get back home to the family lair. Mychael altered his grip from their necks to the backs of their uniform collars and quickly dragged them down the street and tossed them behind a pile of garbage.

The garden gate had probably been warded, but the goblins had deactivated it for a quick getaway. I appreciated their consideration almost as much as I appreciated that someone had kept the gate’s hinges oiled. There was a bit of a breeze, so a slowly opening garden gate could be blamed on a loose latch and the wind. I slipped through and left it open for Mychael. I didn’t see any goblins in the garden. If they were there, and I was sure they were, they were probably sticking close to the house, making sure Nukpana and Ghalfari weren’t disturbed.

The door to the garden shed was conveniently located on the side of the small building and the only thing it faced was an ancient oak in the garden’s corner. True to Mychael’s word, it was unlocked. A few seconds later, Mychael joined me inside.

“How long will those two be out?” I asked.

“At least an hour.”

Within minutes, we were through the trapdoor, down the ladder, and, with the help of a lightglobe that Mychael conjured, quickly covered the distance to the house under cover and underground. I’d never liked tunnels, and events during the past few weeks hadn’t given me any reason to change my opinion, but I was grateful for this one. When we reached the basement door, Mychael disabled the ward with a single word. But before turning the knob, he carefully reached out with a searching spell.

Mychael didn’t have to say anything, out loud or otherwise. I felt it myself. No one was on the other side of that door, or even anywhere near. I didn’t have to say I didn’t like it; from Mychael’s expression, he liked it even less than I did.

I knew what it meant. There was no one down here because everyone was upstairs. And if we were going to save Markus, that was where we had to go.

Mychael turned the knob and slowly opened the door.

Nothing. No Khrynsani welcoming committee, but I could feel them and hear sibilant goblin voices coming from the floor above us.

I hadn’t seen any horses other than the ones harnessed to the coach. That told me there couldn’t be that many goblins upstairs. Probably. Hopefully. Though considering that there were only two of us, anything more than that was too many.

An acrid smell tickled my nose, familiar and potentially helpful. I took another whiff to be sure. I felt myself smile. Oh yeah. It was dark in the far corner, but my Benares nose had never lied to me when it came to these little beauties. I tapped Mychael twice on the shoulder and jerked my head toward something that just might even the odds—or eliminate the odds entirely.

Markus Sevelien was a connoisseur of the finer things in life, most notably wines and exotic liqueurs. Even though Markus was only living here temporarily, he probably had a nicely stocked wine cellar down here somewhere, but this wasn’t it.

This was an ammunition cache that would have made Phaelan green with envy.

There were eight plain wooden crates stacked in the corner. The lids on the top two were open. Mychael increased the glow from his lightglobe and I took a peek inside. Carefully nestled in three rows were a dozen of what looked like metal kegs so small I could have easily wrapped my hands around one. Nebian grenades. Someone who didn’t know what was inside might have called them cute. Just one of those little kegs contained enough Nebian black powder to turn the ceiling above our heads into the floor beneath our feet. Regular black powder didn’t have anywhere near the punch that the Nebian variety did. It was literally powder fine, highly unstable, and obscenely expensive. The Nebians were a wealthy people, and the contents of these little kegs was one of the reasons.

The simple beauty of a Nebian grenade was that no fuses were necessary—just throw and run; the metal was thin and the impact would take care of the rest. Once the powder inside was exposed to the air, you had ten seconds to run like hell or become a permanent part of whatever was left of what you were blowing up.

Very nice.

Markus favored less obvious and more elegant means of dealing with his enemies. And until two days ago, he’d been staying at the elven embassy, which made me wonder if he even knew these were down here. Maybe, maybe not. It depended on if the Markus upstairs was the Markus I knew or the son of a bitch I suspected. If all of those crates were full of Nebian grenades, there was enough “kaboom” to turn this end of Ambassador Row into Ambassador Crater. It wasn’t that I wanted to use a grenade, but if the situation went to hell in a handbasket, I wasn’t going to turn up my nose at any viable solution.

I found myself grinning. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

Mychael took a look in the crate and shook his head. “You’re thinking extreme property damage; I’m thinking quick and messy death—for us.”

I emptied the leather pouch clipped to my belt of anything that a girl in a house full of evil goblins didn’t need and reached for the closest grenade.

Instantly Mychael’s hand locked around my wrist. “Raine.”

The look I gave him was calm and cool—and if he thought he saw an explosives-crazed Benares glint in my eyes, he was mistaken. “For use only if necessary.”

“Define ‘necessary.’”

“If Nukpana and his uncle give us Markus and let us leave, then it won’t be necessary.”

Mychael just looked at me. “When and where have you used these before?”

“If I told you, you might have to arrest me. Besides, since my arms and legs are still attached to the rest of me, it means I know what I’m doing.”

He sighed and released my wrist. “If you jostle that thing around, I’ll be picking what’s left of you out of the rafters.”

“You mean there’ll be rafters left?” I asked innocently. “How disappointing.” I tucked a grenade inside my pouch, followed by a second one. If our situation went down the crapper to the point where I needed to cause one explosion, chances were I’d need two. “Now, what’s your plan?”

He told me. I think my jaw dropped.

And he thought I was nuts.

The first part of Mychael’s plan involved getting upstairs, getting the lay of the land, and not getting caught. I thought that was an excellent start. From there, it sailed into uncharted territory, at least as far as I was concerned. Mychael’s plan was twofold: he would take care of every goblin between us and Markus, and I would stay out of sight. While I was all for Mychael eliminating goblins and I liked how he was going to do it, I wasn’t a big fan of being a wallflower.

According to Mychael, the first floor was the public reception area: sitting rooms, a small ballroom, and offices. The second floor was mainly personal quarters, and the third was servants’ quarters. The goblins were on the first floor. At least that was where Sarad Nukpana was. I was getting the same black, oily sensation crawling along my skin that I did outside with the coach. Nukpana was here and he was close. That oily trail went to where Mychael said were the front reception rooms, probably the sitting room, which was one flight up, down one corridor and take a right, cross the entry hall and we’d be there. It was right next to the front door and freedom.

Except we weren’t going there, at least not until Mychael had done his work.

He had the reputation of being the best spellsinger in the seven kingdoms. If everything went according to plan, no one would hear a single note until it was too late. Mychael would be singing a concert for one set of goblin ears at a time, taking out every guard between us and that sitting room. Once we got there, the plan was to hit Nukpana, Ghalfari, and anyone in that room with the same song. It’d have to be a lightning- quick strike. If they sensed or heard one note beforehand, the plan was shot to hell and probably us along with it. Sarad Nukpana and his uncle were that powerful; they were also within killing distance of the man we needed to rescue. It was a classic hostage situation with a sick twist: Nukpana wanted Markus’s knowledge, memories, and life force for himself, but if push came to shove, he’d slit Markus’s throat out of sheer spite. If he couldn’t have him, he’d kill him.

Mychael would be using a sound shield for his voice that extended about twenty feet in every direction. Anyone outside the shield wouldn’t hear a thing, but any goblin within twenty feet of Mychael’s pipes would be taking an hour-long nap that a cannon blast wouldn’t disturb.

Mychael and I were at the top of the stairs, still veiled, and about to go into the main house.

“I wish you’d reconsider staying here,” Mychael said.

“We don’t know what’s waiting for us up there, and you’re not walking into that alone. In case you’ve forgotten, you’re near the top of Nukpana’s lunch list. I don’t want to use the big gun, but I will if I have to.”

We both knew I meant the Saghred, and Mychael knew: where he was going I was going. This was the time to act, not argue. I didn’t think Sarad Nukpana was going to kill Markus here. According to Vidor Kalta, it took more than an hour to do a cha’nescu ritual. Nukpana would want somewhere safe where he wouldn’t be interrupted. That meant as soon as they had Markus tied up and ready to go, they’d leave. We were running out of time, if we hadn’t already.

“You need to shield your thoughts,” Mychael told me. “And once we’re through this door, no talking, not even mindspeak.”

“Won’t your sound shield cover us?”

“It will cover my sound—my voice, our footsteps—but not strong emotions. Strong emotions or thoughts will cause my shield to ripple, buckle, and possibly fail. We have to keep our minds as clear as possible.”

“You mean the Saghred, too.”

“I mean the Saghred and your temper. There can’t be a flicker of either one. If you feel the Saghred stirring, push it down and do it fast, with no emotion, no fear, no panic.”

I about said he had to be kidding, but I knew he wasn’t.

“I’m in the same house with a goblin who wants to kill me and an elf who may have sold me and mine down the river, and I’m supposed to keep me and the rock on an even keel?”

“Raine, you don’t have a choice. Anger or fear will give us away and so will the Saghred. We’ll be invisible in every sense—”

“Unless I lose control.”

“You lose control; I lose the shield.”

“We lose our lives.”

“Good reason to keep your temper under control, isn’t it?”

I nodded. “I’m motivated.”

“I hoped you would be. Let’s go.”

There weren’t any goblins in the kitchen. However, there were lots of knives. I silently helped myself to a pair of long carving knives, tucked one in my belt, and kept the other in my right hand in case it needed to make itself useful in the next few minutes. I walked two paces behind Mychael on his right side and out of his way.

We encountered the first Khrynsani temple guard leaning against a doorway. His bosses were on the other side of the house, and he was left to stand watch over a lot of empty space that, with the arrival of me and Mychael, suddenly wasn’t so empty anymore. He was confident and complacent right up until the instant Mychael’s whispered voice sent him sliding down that doorway onto the floor. He never knew what hit him.

Mychael’s spellsinging voice was softer and more soothing than a whisper, gently nestling into the place between sleep and wake. It was low, it was velvety, and if he’d been aiming at me, I’d be in a happy little puddle on the floor. Damn, he was good. I’d known that for some time; the Khrynsani guards got to find out the hard way.

Mychael flowed smoothly through the house. We had no time to lose, and Mychael wasn’t wasting a second. Nukpana and Ghalfari hadn’t brought as many Khrynsani guards with them as I would have expected. Normally this would be good news, but normally there would be someone for them to guard or kill.

There weren’t any elves, dead or otherwise.

Markus Sevelien was the newly appointed head of elven intelligence and Mychael said that he’d brought his own security with him from Mermeia. So where were they? All we saw as we worked our way through the house were Khrynsani. I didn’t see or sense a single elf. There were a lot of things wrong with that, and every last one of them smelled like a setup. Mychael took out the next four goblins we encountered in the exact same way and just as easily.

We’d reached the entry hall. There were doors leading to several rooms, but only two interested me: the one that led outside and the one directly across from us. The massive front door was guarded from the outside by a pair of Khrynsani. Mychael’s voice did its thing and I dimly heard a pair of thumps as the goblins hit the ground.

Mychael inclined his head, indicating the door directly across from us. It was stately, beautifully carved, and behind it was evil incarnate. Sarad Nukpana had gone through that door; I knew it as surely as if I’d seen him do it myself. The front door was tantalizingly close. Instant escape. All I’d have to do was not trip over the unconscious Khrynsani when I ran out.

I heard a voice. Cultured and velvety.

Sarad Nukpana.

He was talking to someone. I couldn’t hear his words and I didn’t need to. Markus Sevelien was in there with him, probably restrained, definitely conscious. Oh yes, Nukpana would want his next victim conscious. The better for him to torment and terrify and for his victim to realize his helplessness, his impending and agonizing death. Hell, Sarad Nukpana probably fed on their fear before he even laid hands on them. Perverted son of a bitch.

Mychael lightly touched my arm, and I slowly stilled my thoughts.

Just thinking about Sarad Nukpana set me off.

Shit.

“Are you going to keep us waiting all night, little seeker?” came a chilling voice from the other side of the door.

I froze, swore, and fought the urge to run—all in the same split second. Anyone watching would have probably thought I’d had some sort of spasm. It was exactly what Nukpana wanted. I was terrified, but I forced it down—actually I had to shove it down and hold it there until it stopped squirming. Then I scraped up some rage. Rage and I had always worked well together.

“I’m so sorry.” Me and my temper had just signed our death warrant.

Mychael’s lips were a grim and determined line. “Not your fault. He already knew we were here.”

No use tiptoeing now. They knew we wanted Markus, so they knew we were coming in. Mychael and I glanced at each other. Might as well do it in style.

I dropped my veil and reached down deep for every bit of power I could scrape up without kicking the Saghred into action. Focus, not fear. Nukpana wanted me terrified.

He wanted me. He could have taken Markus and been long gone, but he hadn’t. He had waited.

For us.

For me.

I didn’t kick the Saghred into action, but I did relax the hold I had over it.

Mychael’s power blazed like a burning sun as he calmly placed his outstretched hand against the wood and the door vanished, incinerated in a white-hot flash of power. And his glow didn’t diminish one bit; in fact, he grew even brighter.

Mychael and I stepped through the door together.

Duke Markus Sevelien was sitting in a chair, his feet bound, his wrists tied to the chair’s gilded arms.

And lashed firmly to his right wrist was a Nebian grenade.

My heart skipped a few much-needed beats.

There had been two open crates in the basement; I’d only looked in one of them. That one had been full. What did you want to bet a keg was missing from the other crate?

Or more.

Standing immediately behind Markus was a goblin who looked like an older version of Sarad Nukpana.

He was only slightly taller than me, slender and compact beneath his rich, silk robes, robes so black it was like he absorbed the light from the fireplace. Streaks of silver ran the length of his long hair.

Nachtmagus Janos Ghalfari.

The goblin held a sickle-like dagger to Markus’s throat; its blade flickering with light down its curved length, light not from the fireplace, but from a ward that fed the blade and shielded Ghalfari from attack and Markus from rescue. That blade could slit Markus’s throat or just as easily puncture that grenade. Ten seconds wasn’t a lot of time for Ghalfari to put much distance between him and that grenade before it blew, but I was betting he knew something I didn’t, like a quicker way out of here than the front door.

Standing near them both were two Khrynsani. I couldn’t see Sarad Nukpana, but he was here, watching me. I could feel him, sense his hunger.

So much for Plan A. I wondered if Mychael had a Plan B.

“Bravo, Paladin Eiliesor.” Janos Ghalfari’s voice was cool and urbane, just like his psycho nephew. “An impressive performance.” He took in Mychael’s shady street leathers and smiled until his fangs showed. “Though your performance for Karl Cradock was even more impressive. What would the Seat of Twelve say if they knew their noble paladin was a mercenary for hire by common criminals?”

A sick feeling rolled through me. We’d been betrayed big-time. Ghalfari had picked Markus as his nephew’s next victim as bait for us. Sarad Nukpana didn’t just want dinner; he wanted a feast.

“I’ve felt your delectable presence for the past hour, little seeker,” came Sarad Nukpana’s whisper from the shadows just beyond the firelight’s reach. I could barely make out a shape that seemed to float in the corner, darker than the shadows concealing him. His words came with an effort, but since they were for me, apparently it was an effort he was willing to make.

I wondered if he’d fed since General Aratus. That would explain why he was hiding in the corner, why his uncle and the Khrynsani were doing the dirty work. If Sarad Nukpana hadn’t fed, he’d be weakened; now was the time to end this. Markus was dead if Mychael and I so much as breathed wrong; we were all dead if Janos Ghalfari punctured that grenade. Though if Markus knew what Sarad Nukpana was going to do to him, he’d want us to act.

At least the Markus I used to know would want that.

“You can hide yourself from me, but you can’t hide my former prison,” Sarad Nukpana was saying. “The Saghred calls to those who have escaped it.” His laugh was hollow, soulless. “And now the loyal agent has come to rescue her handler.” His tone turned gleefully mocking. “I believe that is the correct term, is it not? It sounds like an animal that belongs in a kennel. But having met many elven agents over the years, I find the term to be all too accurate.”

I pretended to ignore him. Truth was, I didn’t trust myself to look at that dark shape floating in the shadows and not scream my head off. I kept my eyes on Markus and tried to keep my voice steady. “Markus, you’ve looked better.”

The elven duke’s lips twisted in a brief smile. “You, my dear, are the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen.”

“Only because I’ve come to save your ass.”

“That, too.”

Markus Sevelien was as lean as whipcord and just as tough, with dark hair swept back from a high and pale forehead. Dressed entirely in his customary black, the wiry elf sat utterly still, though it wasn’t like he had a choice with Ghalfari’s blade at his throat. Markus’s only movement was the tapping of one long, tapered finger against the arm of the chair to which he was tied—wisely the one without the grenade. Markus knew a lot of codes, but this was one I knew as well. His finger repeatedly tapped out a two- word message to me.

Kill them.

Markus was a realist; he knew he’d be dead right along with them. He didn’t care.

Kill them.

I could wipe the floor with every goblin in the room, but if I let the Saghred off its leash, I didn’t know if I could get it back under control—and considering who I’d be wiping out, I didn’t think I’d want to stop. The Saghred’s full power was terrifying, overwhelming, but it was also intoxicating. And deep down, some dark part of me wanted to do it again. It’d kill every goblin in the room, but it could just as easily do the same to me and Mychael.

I was in the same room with a pair of monsters and the scent of death was so thick in the air that it was all I could do not to gag. I was scared. More than scared, I was literally shaking in my boots. Though I didn’t know who scared me more: Sarad Nukpana, his death-loving uncle . . .

. . . or myself.

The goblin drifted out of the shadows.

My breath stopped and my heart tried to do the same thing.

Sarad Nukpana wasn’t solid, nor was he a formless specter. His feet were on the floor, but I don’t think he was using them to move. He’d retained every bit of his dark beauty. His angular face was flawlessly beautiful without sacrificing one bit of masculinity. His ethereal body drifted ever so slightly. Back and forth, back and forth, hypnotic, mesmerizing as a cobra, silent and beautiful—and just as deadly.

Nukpana smiled slowly. “Yes, my body remains the same. I have no interest in possessing others. Why would I want another body? I have always been most satisfied with my own.” He glanced at Markus. “Though it might be amusing to possess the duke’s body and pretend to be him for a day. Any longer and I’d be an elf permanently. Such a fate would almost be worse than being trapped inside the Saghred.” His eyes glittered like the black of a bottomless pool in a haunted forest. “But the feeling of my soul violating the body of another, pushing their soul aside, taking them completely.” He exhaled on a sigh that could only be described as pure bliss. “I have heard it said that the victim remains aware through all of it—the taking, the possession—and is helpless to stop anything I want their body to do.”

He wasn’t talking about Markus anymore.

My throat threatened to close up. “Then you’d be an elf and a woman,” I managed. “You couldn’t handle the pressure.”

“You’re right. The alternative would be so much more pleasurable.” Sarad Nukpana’s voice dropped to a sibilant whisper. “The cha’nescu—the soul kiss. Feeling your soul fighting me will be so much sweeter. Once I’ve taken you, I will control the Saghred as well.” He flashed a smile revealing fangs that looked all too solid. “It is as you would say, a win-win situation.”

I felt rather than saw Mychael move to step in front of me. I held out a hand to stop him, never taking my eyes from Sarad Nukpana.

“He fears for you and for good reason,” Nukpana purred. “The Saghred is even hungrier than I am. You can feel it, can’t you? I’ll take your silence as a yes. I fed earlier this evening; why shouldn’t you?”

“Who?” Mychael growled.

Nukpana dismissively waved a pale hand. “No one you knew. Don’t worry; there will be no corpses turning up in inconvenient places. My remaining two allies from inside the Saghred have finally served their purpose. I chose them specifically for their age and power.” The goblin’s smile was like the cat that ate the canary. “You might say that they gave their all for my cause.”

“You ate them.” Mychael was holding his power in check, but just barely.

“ ‘Ate’ would be an overstatement.” He laughed softly. “Considering there really wasn’t much to them to begin with. More like a refreshing drink complete with memories, skills, and power.” He stretched luxuriously and appeared to become more solid. “Yes, I’m feeling most refreshed.”

Those were the last two sorcerers, the ones we hadn’t found yet. Now we didn’t need to; they were here inside of Sarad Nukpana. Two of the most brutal and insane sorcerers in recorded history, and the goblin floating not ten feet in front of me had all that brute strength at his beck and call—at least, he would when he’d fully digested them.

And I had the Saghred at mine. My chest warmed, the power pulsing beneath the surface in time with my heart, the combined beat throbbing, a nearly deafening drum in my ears.

Sarad Nukpana knew. Whether he heard it or sensed it, he knew. “The Saghred grows tired of you.”

I forced myself to breathe around the urges the Saghred sent through my mind, images of sacrifice and blood, torture, and death. And feeding, always starving, never satisfied.

“The feeling’s mutual.” My voice was tight. It was all I could do to hold the rock back. “I’m sick and tired of it.”

“It desires someone of a like mind, someone who will use it. It desires a partner. You fear me, but most of all you fear yourself.” Sarad Nukpana’s voice was the barest whisper, coaxing, seductive. “You want to give in to me, to the Saghred’s hunger. But what you fear most is the certain knowledge that you will enjoy it. You’ve tasted its power before and your deepest desire is to taste that power again.”

Raw need swept over me, the need to take, to possess, to exult in the magic, the power. Sarad Nukpana was right, and I hated him even more for it. The rock was starving.

And so was I.

“Come to me, little seeker. Let us feed on each other.”

Sarad Nukpana was mine for the taking.

Mine. I could take him first, end this now, here in this room. Destroy the evil before it killed again.

And I would destroy myself if I killed. Once I started using the Saghred to take souls into myself, once I started killing, I would become the evil I had struggled against.

Once I crossed that line there would be no turning back.

My breath shook as I let it out, pushed down the hunger, the desire to possess. I stood there trembling with the effort.

“You can continue to defy us,” Janos Ghalfari told me. “But you cannot deny what you are—and what you are becoming.” He glanced at Mychael. “Why leave with only one meal when we could take two?” Something dark and ugly glittered in the goblin’s black eyes, and I felt the air tighten with the beginnings of black magic. “Or perhaps three.”

Mychael stalked slowly to the right, away from me, and toward Ghalfari. I agreed with him moving away from me. Hell, I wanted to get away from me, too.

“Step away from the duke,” Mychael said smoothly. “And we can discuss it.”

The goblin nachtmagus smiled. “Why should I open myself to attack when you will surrender rather than see his life-blood spilled out? Come with us now and you will preserve the duke’s life for a while longer. I’m certain you will find another opportunity to attempt to escape. Which is it, Paladin Eiliesor? Surrender and attempt a rescue and escape later, or don’t surrender and ensure the duke’s death?”

The flames in the fireplace popped and snapped at a sudden shift in the air. Cold air moved the heavy drapes on the window. I knew that paralyzing cold didn’t come from outside. A wave of goose bumps ran up my arms and down my body. Janos Ghalfari stiffened, his magic probing the air around him, then his lips pulled back from his fangs in an enraged snarl.

Oh hell.

Reapers.

Sarad Nukpana was nearly dead. His uncle played with the dead. I was linked to a rock that was filled with thousands of unclaimed souls.

Guess who the Reapers came after first?