Magic Lost, Trouble Found

Chapter 4

Phaelan would take care of Quentin. My job was to take care of myself. It had yet to be more than I could handle, but there was always a first time.

As an official representative of the elven crown, Markus Sevelien was more than qualified to give me the diplomatic help I might need before long, considering I was wearing the makings of an interkingdom incident around my neck. But my godfather’s assistance was a lot more valuable to me right now. Markus could keep me out of trouble. Garadin could keep me alive.

The people I had annoyed tonight wouldn’t go through diplomatic channels to retrieve what they all saw as their property. They would proceed straight to bolts through my back. As a former Conclave mage, Garadin might be able to tell me what I was wearing around my neck. And being a spellsinger of respectable abilities, he might be able to tell me more about the elven Guardian. I was beginning to think that both were key to my continued well-being—if not my existence.

I’d save my worries about Sarad Nukpana for the next stop on my list. One crisis at a time.

Garadin Wyne’s rooms were above a parchment and ink shop on Locke Street, which ran parallel to a nameless back canal in the Sorcerers District. While he could have afforded Nigel’s level of accommodations, he had the good taste and lack of pretension not to. Locke Street had everything my godfather wanted in his semiretirement: paper, ink, tobacco, a tavern that didn’t water down the drinks, and neighbors who minded their own business.

A good many mages ended up in Mermeia after retirement. It was close to the Isle of Mid, but without the bureaucracy and political backbiting that Mid was notorious for. Garadin’s landlord was one of the most recent to make the move. His shop did a booming business with other mage retirees. Most were scholars and needed paper and ink for recording research or for correspondence. He attracted even more business by offering bindery services for completed works.

If someone wanted to hire a mage (and had money in hand) Mermeia was the place to come, though it was buyer beware. Believe it or not, some magic users were less than honest about their abilities. I had encountered everything from complete fakes who put on a convincing show, to full-blown mages—like Garadin—who didn’t want to be hired by anyone and played down their abilities to ensure they were left alone. Even if you convinced them to listen to your sales pitch, chances were you didn’t have enough gold to back it up. Garadin jacked his prices up to obscene levels just so he wouldn’t have to be bothered.

A narrow street between two shops on the edge of the Sorcerers District opened onto the Grand Duke’s Canal—and the Goblin District on the far bank. The buildings there were stone and gleaming marble, both dark and neither encouraging to visitors. The streetlamps glowed a dim blue. The color was flattering to goblins, but it gave any other race the unhealthy skintones of a three-day-old corpse. Around the next bend in the canal was the Mal’Salin family compound, and next to that, the goblin embassy. I didn’t need to see them; I knew they were there. And I certainly didn’t want to get any closer to the canal. Water and I have an agreement—I don’t get too close to it, and it won’t drown me.

I could just make out the banner flying over the goblin embassy. I didn’t need to get a good look at that, either. The House of Mal’Salin crest was a pair of entwined and battling serpents, both surmounted by a crown. They couldn’t have made a better choice. Its appearance on the banner meant King Sathrik Mal’Salin was in residence—and Sarad Nukpana along with him.

I stood in the shadows, looking out over the canal, suddenly very tired. Too much had happened tonight, and I understood too little of it. I watched the reflection of the blue lamps on the rippling surface, then looked back at the Mal’Salin banner, curling and turning in the night breeze coming off the lagoon, its movement oddly soothing. I stepped out of the shadows to the water’s edge, still watching. I came back to myself with a start and jumped back. What the hell was I doing?

I hurried back through the alley to Locke Street and Garadin’s rooms. Garadin should be home, but if he wasn’t, I’d wait and try to find something to eat. Like many bachelors, Garadin didn’t stock a good larder, but I could probably scrape together enough to keep myself from starving. Potions, he could brew. Cooking was an art best left to others. My godfather accepted his lack of talent in that area, and took most of his meals out.

I wasn’t quite a year old when my mother was killed. As her closest friend, Garadin took me in and found himself faced with the not so small task of raising a little girl. My mother’s brother, his wife, and his family lived in Laerin. It didn’t take Garadin too long to decide they were better suited for the job. Uncle Ryn was in shipping, was a respected businessman, and had done very well for himself. By the time Garadin found out that much of what Uncle Ryn called shipping was called piracy by all seven kingdoms, I was old enough to call Laerin home, and refused to budge. Uncle Ryn may be a pirate, but he ran a surprisingly moral and normal household—or at least my Aunt Dera did. It took Garadin longer to reach that same conclusion.

All things considered, I don’t think I turned out half bad.

A narrow wooden stair by the parchment shop’s back entrance led up to Garadin’s door. I stepped over the first two stairs and onto the third. The first two creaked. Anyone Garadin didn’t mind coming to visit knew that. Those that he did mind didn’t know. It served as an early warning system for undesirables. I knocked and waited. No answer. Garadin was a light sleeper, so he must not be at home. I had the keys—both metal and magical—so I could let myself in. Garadin’s wards surpassed anything Nigel could have ever come up with. My godfather didn’t keep anything of value except his privacy, but that he held dear above all else.

Garadin had a pair of rooms—the smaller one for sleeping, the larger for everything else. Everything else consisted mainly of oddities he had collected over the years. Dried things, dead and stuffed things, things in jars, things in glass-topped cases. Then there were the books and papers. Any flat surface in Garadin’s rooms was fair game. To anyone else, it looked like the place had been ransacked, but Garadin knew where everything was, and there was hell to pay if anything was moved.

The big leather chairs were overstuffed and had seen better days, but they were comfortable. To Garadin, comfort was all that mattered. I had always loved Garadin’s rooms. When I had spent summers here as a child, I had never lacked for anything interesting to get into. Now all I wanted was to find something to eat and a clear place to sit down. Either was easier said than found.

After some rummaging, I found some hard cheese and a partial loaf of bread that, like the leather on the chairs, had seen better days. Nothing was growing on any of it, so I deemed it edible. Garadin didn’t keep water around, but I knew where he kept the ale. It wasn’t exactly a meal, but at least it was food.

A chair and footstool in a corner by the bookshelves gave me an unobstructed view of the door. I carefully moved the papers from the chair to the floor, took off my rapier and leaned it against the chair within reach. The chair creaked as I settled in. Nice to sit down, even better if no one tried to break down the door in the next five minutes.

I tore off a piece of bread and stuck it in a mug of ale to soak. While I waited for it to soften enough not to break my teeth, I took the amulet out of my shirt and looked at it again. Being a seeker gave me certain advantages when it came to finding out what an object was. What I held was a silver disk, but what it did was another matter. I knew the quickest way to find out, but the quickest way wasn’t often the best or safest. The runes engraved in the silver gleamed in the firelight. It had magic; that much I was sure of. But considering who had last owned it—and who wanted it—it was probably the kind of magic I could do without. Opening my mind to Nigel’s former amulet would be like sticking my arm in a hole in a swamp just to feel around. Not something sane people made a habit of doing. At least not more than once.

I considered myself sane. I dropped the amulet back inside my shirt. If no one else could tell me what it did—or if I got desperate enough—I could always go poking around later.

I ate, then located a blanket and tried to relax. Sleep would be better, but I wasn’t counting on it happening. After less than a minute, I couldn’t keep my eyes open.

A voice spoke my name. Softer and more soothing than a whisper, it nestled into the place between sleep and wake. I saw Garadin’s room from beneath my closed lashes in half-light and shadow. For the first time tonight I felt safe. The voice slipped through the walls and windows, up through the floor and down through the ceiling, enfolding me in warmth and calming my fears. It was a low, velvety voice, a voice of intimate whispers in the secret hours of night. I made a small sound and snuggled deeper into the blanket. My heart slowed to beat in time with the wordless song. My chest grew warm.

I sat straight up, my heart pounding. I reached for the amulet. It was warm, even through my shirt. I listened. No voice, no song, only the sound of my ragged breathing—and boots on the stairs. They stopped outside the door. The door-knob turned as my blade cleared its scabbard and my feet hit the floor. I stood, but stayed in the shadows.

Someone pushed the door open, but didn’t step inside. That someone was being cautious. Since Garadin taught me all there was to know about caution, I was hoping it was him at the door.

“Raine?” The voice was rich and melodious. My godfather’s voice. It wasn’t the voice I had just heard in my waking dream. I recognized that voice—a certain Guardian spellsinger was staying up late on account of me. I didn’t think I should be flattered.

I let out the breath I didn’t realize I was holding, and sheathed my blade. “I let myself in. Hope you don’t mind.”

“I never have before.” Garadin came in and tossed his cloak over a chair. “The city’s a busy place tonight. To which catastrophe do I owe this pleasure?”

“Can’t I just want to visit?”

My godfather was tall and distinguished looking, his eyes intense blue, his short hair ginger, and his beard and mustache immaculately trimmed. That was where immaculate ended. His dark homespun robes swept in virtual tatters behind him. Garadin dressed for himself and comfort, and that was all.

“You could, but not at this hour,” he said. “If you’re out this late, the reason’s usually armed and annoyed with you.” He paused. “Are they?”

I chose not to answer that.

An equally tall and lanky figure came in behind Garadin, and pushed the hood of his cloak back to reveal a familiar mop of dark curls framing a boyishly handsome face that’d be turning female heads in a few years, if it wasn’t already. Piaras. Now that was unsettling. It wasn’t odd that my landlady’s grandson was with Garadin. Piaras Rivalin was also Garadin’s student. But the young elf had just turned seventeen, and Tarsilia had set a strict midnight curfew for him. I didn’t think pub-crawling with my godfather into the wee hours qualified as an approved field trip.

Piaras was a spellsinger-in-training, so puberty had been interesting at our house. I say ours because when you live in the upstairs apartment, you tend to hear and experience everything that goes on in the house anyway. As a boy, Piaras had shown signs of talent, but once adolescence set in, big feet weren’t the only things tripping him up. And all hell broke loose, magically speaking, when his voice changed. Garadin stepped in at that point and promptly earned the unending gratitude of the entire neighborhood.

For me, he was just the little brother I’d always wanted.

“Speaking of someone up past their bedtime,” I said. I looked from Garadin to Piaras. “Is there something I should know?”

Piaras looked to Garadin, and Garadin didn’t answer immediately. He looked at the empty plate on the table. There were a few crumbs left. “Sorry I didn’t have anything better to offer, though you seem to have done well enough for yourself. Considering the kind of night you must have had, I’d imagine you were hungry.”

Nigel’s house crawling with goblins and Simon Stocken’s warehouse burning to the ground must have been public knowledge by now, but not the fact that I was involved. Or maybe Garadin just assumed I was involved. Neither assumption was good or very flattering.

“Bad news must travel fast,” was all I said.

“Tarsilia sent Piaras over to the Mad Piper to tell me you might be in trouble.”

I stepped a little farther into the light. Garadin and Piaras took in my blood-spattered clothes.

“I see she was right,” my godfather said. “Any of that yours?”

“No. Why did she think I was in trouble?”

Piaras spoke. “Ocnus Rancil and two other goblins tried to break into your rooms. Then more goblins showed up. That’s when Grandma sent me to find Garadin.”

Damn.

“And considering the hour and circumstances, I didn’t want to send Piaras home once he found me,” Garadin added.

Piaras took off his cloak and gave me a halfhearted smile. “He and Grandma are plotting to protect me again.”

“There’s nothing wrong with having someone watch your back,” I told him. “Phaelan was there tonight to watch mine. Who’s watching Tarsilia’s?” I asked Garadin.

“Parry and Alix were with me over at the Piper. They went to Tarsilia’s, and I came back here with Piaras. If you had stepped in anything deep, I knew you’d come here first.”

Sometimes it’s nice to be predictable. I relaxed a little. Alixine Toril was my best friend, a sorceress, and one of the finest robe designers in the Sorcerers District. Parry Arne was her sometime lover, a Conclave emissary, and when it came to creative magical retaliation, he had pretty much written the book. If a fight got nasty, the big Myloran mage was good to have by your side. Tarsilia was in good hands. Ocnus and the other goblins were not.

“Going directly home didn’t seem like the best idea,” I told him, “though I never meant to put goblins on Tarsilia’s doorstep. Were Ocnus’s friends shamans or warriors?”

“Shamans,” Garadin said. “Khrynsani.”

Damn again.

He made himself comfortable in his favorite chair in the far corner, which oddly enough was always paper free, and lit a pipe. “And they seemed determined to get into your rooms. Apparently it was all over rather quickly. Alix just met us down the block to let us know Tarsilia had the situation well in hand by the time they arrived. Tarsilia discouraged the goblins from trying to get in your rooms, and Alix and Parry will see to it they don’t feel welcome in the neighborhood. Alix said she and Parry will stay the night to make sure the shamans don’t stage a repeat performance.”

“What about Ocnus?” I asked.

Ocnus Rancil was a goblin sorcerer of marginal ability and maximum aggravation. He hadn’t crossed my path for several weeks now. Any illegal, immoral, or just plain repugnant act committed in Mermeia usually had Ocnus’s fingerprints on it somewhere. As a result, business had brought us together over the years. The results had yet to be fatal, though I had been sorely tempted on more than one occasion. I wondered if Ocnus knew about the gathering at Stocken’s this evening and just hadn’t managed to make the party. Considering his presence at my door this evening, that was a possibility I’d have to look into.

The smile that spread across Piaras’s face reached his large, brown eyes. It was open, welcoming, and like Piaras himself, completely without guile. “Ocnus wasn’t all that much trouble. Grandma let me practice on him before she sent me after Garadin.”

I answered with a grin of my own. Like myself, Tarsilia believed in the importance of practice. And if Piaras had needed help, she was more than able to back him up. “What did you use?” I asked.

The tips of Piaras’s pointed ears were visible through his curls. They blushed pink. “An illusion song Garadin taught me last week. I thought it’d be fun to make Ocnus think there were a pair of werehounds guarding your door.”

“And?”

Piaras’s smile broadened into a boyish grin. “Ocnus thought they were so real he conjured a swamp cat to lure them away. You could see through his cat, but other than that, it wasn’t half-bad.”

“What did you have the hounds do?”

“What comes naturally. They ate the cat. That’s when Ocnus ran.”

“I hate that I missed it.”

Garadin nodded in satisfaction. “You just can’t beat the classics.”

My godfather sported a tiny smile for my benefit. I knew what it meant. The spellsong Piaras had used was one of the most advanced, and summoning realistic images of something as complex as werehounds took a level of talent that only came from years of hard work and training. Piaras could do it now. Easily. His singing voice was surprisingly deep, vibrant, filled with quiet power and impossible to ignore. He had a prodigious, natural gift. And after years of hard work and training with the right voice master, who knew what he could accomplish. The image of the Conclave Guardian instantly sprang to mind. I pushed my thoughts away from that path. That wasn’t the kind of power I ever wanted to see Piaras wield.

“After Grandma sensed the goblins hiding behind Maira’s bakery, she sent me after Garadin,” Piaras was saying. “I wanted to stay and help, but she insisted.”

“Tarsilia doesn’t doubt your abilities,” Garadin said, “and neither do I, but she needed to warn Raine. And Khrynsani shamans are a whole different beast than Ocnus.” He looked at me, and his bright blue eyes narrowed. “Care to tell me the reason for your sudden surge in popularity?”

“I have no idea what Ocnus was doing there, but I know what the goblins were after. Have you heard what happened at Nigel Nicabar’s place?”

Garadin slowly drew on his pipe, blue puffs rising toward the beamed ceiling. “We heard. Watchers coming off duty stopped at the Piper for a pint. Sounded like quite a fight.”

“It was.”

“You were there.” He didn’t ask it as a question, and I didn’t take it as one.

“Phaelan and I dropped by.”

A corner of his lips quirked upward. “And there stands the source of the trouble?”

“No, that would be Quentin.” I hesitated before continuing. I felt more than a little uncomfortable talking about Quentin’s sideline employment around Piaras. He had met Quentin, so I’m sure it wouldn’t come as any great shock, but I couldn’t help feeling like I was somehow tainting the innocent. “He was hired to acquire something from Nigel.”

“You mean steal,” Piaras said point blank.

Garadin likewise ignored my effort to tiptoe around the subject. “I take it he was successful?”

“Unfortunately, yes. Equally unfortunate is that a few people are disappointed they didn’t get to it first.”

I paused before continuing. I came to see Garadin to get his advice. That was going to be next to impossible with Piaras in the room. Quentin’s daily struggle with morality might not be the best topic of discussion around an impressionable elven teenager, but given the proper disclaimers, it was acceptable. But Khrynsani shamans and Conclave Guardians, along with the death, dismemberment and general mayhem that had made up my evening was another matter. I didn’t want Piaras hearing any of it. Knowing what had happened tonight could endanger him, not to mention I’d rather he didn’t know the finer details of what I did for a living. To someone of Piaras’s age and gender, my job could be perceived as glamorous. It was anything but. Though considering what had just happened a few blocks away at Tarsilia’s, having Piaras wait outside while I talked to Garadin wasn’t a viable option. My breath came out in a sigh.

“I don’t suppose you’d be willing to stand in the corner with your fingers in your ears?” I was only half joking.

Piaras’s expression spoke volumes on his feelings about that idea. “Not really.”

“He’s already heard most of it at the Mad Piper,” Garadin said, making it clear he knew my dilemma and just wanted me to get on with it.

“No, he hasn’t.”

Garadin stopped midpuff. “That bad?”

“Let’s just say the fewer people who know about it, the better.”

Piaras was slouching against the door jam, well on his way to a good sulk. To his credit, he didn’t do it often. I couldn’t really blame him. I did ask him to stand in a corner. He knew I didn’t mean it literally, but my meaning was clear enough. I didn’t think he was old enough to hear what had happened tonight. And he wasn’t. Truth be told, I wasn’t old enough. The safest thing for Piaras was complete and blissful ignorance. If protecting Piaras meant he had to suffer the indignity of actually standing in a corner, so be it.

“I’m sorry, Piaras. But it’s not safe for you to hear any more of this.” Or be anywhere near me right now, my maternal instinct chimed in.

“I wouldn’t tell anyone,” he said.

“I know you wouldn’t. I trust you. But trust isn’t the issue here. Your safety is. You can’t tell what you don’t know.”

A confused look passed over his face. “I don’t understand.”

I hesitated. Tact was called for here, and I didn’t have any. “I’m not worried about you talking to your friends. I’m worried about those involved in this. They would want to know what was said here. If they knew you were here, they would ask you.” I paused. “They wouldn’t ask nicely.”

The young elf’s expression didn’t change, but his dark eyes widened slightly. I think he got the idea.

“How long do you want me to stay in the corner?” he asked.

I smiled slightly. “Not long.”

“You don’t have to stand in the corner,” Garadin told him. “And I can fix it so you don’t have to stick your fingers in your ears.” He took one last puff, then set his pipe aside. “Fingers don’t work, anyway. You don’t even have to face the wall, just don’t try to read our lips.”

“I promise.”

Garadin nodded. “Good enough.”

I pulled a chair over to where Garadin was sitting, and he muttered a brief shielding spell, confining our voices to that small area. It meant neither one of us could get up and move around, but I had done more than enough moving for one night. Piaras found a book and settled himself cross-legged by the fire, his profile to us. Occasionally, he would steal a quick glance. The curiosity of youth is a powerful thing.

I told Garadin the whole story, in as short a form as possible without omitting anything that might be important—which meant I told him everything. Fortunately, it didn’t take as long as I thought. I had lived it once, and that was quite enough. When I’d finished, Garadin sat quietly for a few moments. He was absorbing and sorting, as I liked to think of it. I wasn’t about to disturb him. He’d talk when he was ready.

“From your description, the elven Guardian and spellsinger would be Mychael Eiliesor.”

I knew I’d come to the right place. “You know him?”

“I know of him. He was appointed paladin of the Guardians after I left.”

I sat in stunned silence. I had just kicked the commander of the Conclave Guardians in the balls.

“What is it?” Garadin asked.

I told him.

Garadin laughed until tears were streaming down his face and he couldn’t breathe. Piaras couldn’t hear a thing, but the shield couldn’t keep him from knowing that his teacher found something hysterical—at my expense. He grinned.

I didn’t share their opinion. “It’s not funny!” I said it out loud for Garadin, and towards Piaras so he could read my lips. It just made it worse.

“I’m sorry,” Garadin sputtered.

I crossed my arms and sat ramrod straight against the back of the chair. “You don’t sound sorry.”

“I am.” He snorted one last time, and wiped his eyes. “Really.”

I sat up even straighter, gathering what little shreds of dignity I had left. “Well, what do you know about him?”

“Nothing bad. He was personally appointed by the Archmagus. Justinius Valerian has a knack for hiring good people, plus he’s always wanted to clean house. Putting Mychael Eiliesor in as paladin sounded like a good start. He’s one of the best spellsingers on Mid, and a top-notch healer. Some say the best of both.”

I could have guessed the spellsinger part. “What else?”

“Paladin Eiliesor takes his job very seriously. He’s honest and he doesn’t play favorites.” Garadin chuckled as he relit his pipe. “And don’t even think about offering a bribe. Rumor has it a couple of Caesolian mages tried when he first took office. Eiliesor didn’t take the offer, but he did take the mages on an extended tour of the Conclave dungeons. You thinking about setting up a meeting?”

“That’s the last thing on my mind. For now I just want to find out who the good guys are. If there are any.”

Garadin’s expression darkened. “I can guarantee you one of them isn’t named Sarad Nukpana.”

“I know. I’ll be seeing someone in the morning who might be able to shed some light on how Sarad Nukpana knows me.”

“Nathrach?” Garadin’s distaste was evident.

“Yes, I’m going to see Tam.” My tone was weary in my own ears.

Garadin and I had trampled this ground before. I didn’t blame him. As my godfather, Garadin felt he had certain duties. One of those duties was protecting me from inappropriate men. A couple of fond and fun memories reminded me in no uncertain terms that Tamnais Nathrach certainly qualified. But sometimes a girl likes a little inappropriate in her life. I know I do.

“Mind if I look at the amulet?” Garadin set his pipe aside, along with his animosity towards Tam. For now. Garadin picked his battles carefully with me. This was one he knew he couldn’t win.

“That’s what I’m here for.” I reached down the front of my shirt and pulled out the chain. The silvery disk felt smooth and surprisingly cool after spending the past two hours next to my skin. I lifted the chain and the amulet over my head.

I almost didn’t live to regret it.

I knew there was air in the room, but my lungs didn’t believe me. Gasping didn’t help. Garadin lowered me to the floor before I fell there on my own. My fist convulsed on the amulet, and pain shot up my arm as the metal bit into my palm. Garadin tried to pry my fingers open. I wanted to help him, but my body—and the amulet—had other ideas.

The air was hot, the room too small. Through half-open eyes, I saw Garadin and Piaras above me. There were others that I couldn’t see. They pressed close, taking what little air remained. I couldn’t see them, but I knew who they were. A Khrynsani shaman, Mychael Eiliesor, and from farther away, Sarad Nukpana. They knew who I was—and soon they would know where I was.

I felt Garadin wrench the amulet from my fingers and push the chain back over my head.

The air cleared. The presences vanished. I took a shuddering breath and tried to open my eyes more than a squint. The room was too bright. I was draped across Garadin’s lap. He had one arm around my shoulders, the other clutched to his chest. He had a burn where he had grabbed the amulet. Piaras was at my side. The air was cooler now. My lungs still burned, but at least I could breathe.

Garadin was in pain. Piaras was scared. I was both.

Garadin nodded towards the shelf by his worktable. “Second shelf, fifth jar,” he said between pain-clenched teeth.

Piaras hurried to comply. I decided to lie there and breathe. Not that I had any choice. My body still had a mind of its own, and I wasn’t entirely convinced it belonged to me. Garadin’s injury was worse, so Piaras treated him first. He applied the salve to Garadin’s burn and bandaged it with a strip of linen. Then he did the same to my hand.

My godfather drew a ragged breath, and blew it out. “I don’t think it likes me.”

“I don’t like it either, so we’re all even.”

Once I could sit up on my own, I held the amulet so Garadin could study it. He wasn’t going to try to touch it, and I certainly wasn’t about to take it off again. Piaras may not have heard the previous part of our conversation, but he saw the results. When the amulet burned him, Garadin had dropped the shield blocking our voices. Pain can make you do that. He didn’t bother putting the shield up again, and I didn’t bother reminding him. It’d be like shutting the stable door after the horses were gone. A little too much, a little too late.

The silver disk glittered in the firelight. To me, it looked like it was proud of itself. I swear I felt it vibrate, almost like it was purring. Glad one of us was happy. I leaned back against the side of the chair. The floor seemed relatively stable. I thought I’d stay there for a while.

“What do you think it is?” I asked Garadin.

“I don’t know,” he admitted without the least embarrassment. “I’d say it’s quite old, and judging from the style and quality of workmanship, it is of elven make.”

“Maybe that’s why it likes me so much.”

“Unlikely.”

“One could hope.”

“Objects like this don’t usually ally themselves along racial lines. From its reactions to you, and the identities of those who want it, I think we can assume that it is a magical talisman of some sort.”

“You think?”

“Sarcasm won’t help.”

“It won’t hurt. And it’s about all I can muster right now. I can’t take it off, I don’t want to keep it, but I can hardly hand it over to anybody who’d take my life to have it. And who only knows what it’s doing to me.”

“Do you feel different?”

“A little.”

“How?”

“Twitchy, for one thing. And when Quentin was ambushed, I didn’t know who had set him up, just that it was magic and it was trouble. That’s a new talent for me.”

“Interesting.”

Everyone was entirely too fond of using that word to describe my predicament. “No, it’s not interesting,” I told him. “But then I’m the one the thing has grafted itself to. I just want to know what it does, and why the Khrynsani and Guardians want to get their hands on it.”

“Conclave Guardians? Here?” Piaras asked, looking entirely too eager for my taste.

Great.

“Sorry. I didn’t hear that,” Piaras said quickly. “I didn’t hear a thing.” He tried getting to his feet, his long legs tangling in the process. “I’ll just go stand in the corner. Better yet, I’ll step outside.”

“Sit,” Garadin and I said in unison.

Piaras sat.

Garadin sighed. “If you hear anything you consider fascinating, just forget it immediately.”

“Yes, sir.”

Exhausted, I slouched back against the chair leg. “Garadin, you were once a Conclave mage. You must have some idea what that Guardian”—I shot a glance at Piaras—“who shall remain nameless, meant by ‘that box and its contents are our only concern.’”

Garadin leaned back against the other side of the chair. “The Conclave has many interests, and it’s been a while since I was on Mid. I still have contacts there, some I can trust. Let me ask around. In the meantime, you need to keep that trinket out of sight, and you need to be careful.”

“I’m always careful.”

Garadin gave me the look. You know the one.

“Whenever I can,” I added.

“You’re going to have to do better than that. Have you talked to your best client?”

I knew he meant Markus. No need to share that name with Piaras either.

“I sent him a note a few hours ago asking if I could use one of his safehouses as a base for the next couple of days. And after what you told me about Tarsilia’s visitors, I think it’s an even better idea.”

Garadin shook his head. “You may want to consider arranging for more protection than that. I don’t like you wandering around the city alone.”

“I don’t ‘wander’ anywhere,” I told him. “I know the under-belly of this city better than anyone, and you know how I feel about someone playing shadow. I work alone.”

“As long as you’re wearing that, you won’t be lacking for company.”

“No one can sense it when I’m wearing it.” I paused uncomfortably, remembering Mychael Eiliesor—and feeling his presence all too clearly in the past hour. I didn’t doubt for a moment that it was his seductive lullaby Garadin and Piaras’s arrival had interrupted. If he had managed to put me to sleep, then traced me here, who knows where I’d have woken up. “With the exception of my Guardian acquaintance.”

I remembered another reason why I wanted to talk to Garadin. I didn’t want to ask in front of Piaras, but I had no choice. “How much do you know about Gates?”

My godfather was silent before answering. “I have knowledge, but not firsthand experience, though I know some who have both.” His distaste for the subject was apparent. “I don’t count any of them as friends.”

“I think that’s how the Khrynsani got into Nigel’s house tonight,” I told him.

Garadin didn’t say anything, but I could see his jaw tighten. Piaras had gone a shade paler, if that was possible. I didn’t know how much he knew about Gates, but I was pretty sure it wasn’t as much as Garadin or I knew, and I wasn’t going to be the one to expand his education. This was one topic I would tiptoe around. I’m sure Garadin would agree with me.

A Gate is a tear in the fabric of reality. It’s not naturally occurring. Nothing about a Gate is natural—or legal or moral. Stepping through a Gate is like stepping through a doorway, except that doorway can cover miles instead of inches. In theory, I guess any distance is possible. Gates are a convenient way to get around, if you don’t mind what it takes to make one. Magic of the blackest kind, fueled by terror, torture, despair, and death—the more the merrier. It takes a twisted sorcerer to open a Gate. Luckily I hadn’t had the pleasure of meeting anyone quite that sick—at least not until tonight. It sounded like something that’d be right up Sarad Nukpana’s dark alley.

“I had a tracking stone on Quentin, so I saw everything he did. There were no goblins in that house before he opened that box. Quentin swears they just stepped out of thin air. I didn’t want to scare him with my opinion of how that happened. He’s had a bad enough night.”

“Your average goblin shaman wouldn’t get within a mile of an open Gate,” Garadin said, “let alone create and open one.”

I snorted. “I wouldn’t call any of the goblins running around Nigel’s place tonight average. Sarad Nukpana’s certainly qualified to create and open a Gate, and considering the other goblins who took on his temple guards in Nigel’s garden, Nukpana probably felt the need to be onsite to protect his investment.”

Garadin raised an eyebrow. “Other goblins?”

“Expensively armored other goblins. I’m thinking they were all at Nigel’s for the same reason, and I’m wearing it around my neck.”

“Any theories on who they were?”

I shrugged. “Sarad Nukpana works for the new king. The new king has a brother—a brother he just recently exiled. Rumor has it little brother isn’t happy with his new living arrangements and is looking to make as much trouble for big brother as possible. The prince could certainly afford to outfit his allies that well. As to why they all want what I have, I have no idea. Sibling rivalry? Revenge? Who knows?”

“You need to know.”

I sat back and blew my breath out. “Tell me about it. That’s one of the reasons I’m going to see Tam in the morning. He’s had plenty of firsthand experience with goblin court politics.”

Garadin was wearing his concerned look. I didn’t know if the look was because of Tam, goblin court politics, or the mess goblin court politics had gotten me into.

He leaned forward. “I don’t suppose you’d consider staying here?”

I shook my head. “Markus’s safehouses are shielded well enough to resist a Gate. And if the Khrynsani do come knocking, I’ll at least have enough time to get out.”

“I don’t like this.”

“That makes two of us.”