Lisa Shearin - Raine Benares 02 (38 page)

“Can
you open that ward?” I quietly asked Tam.

“Only
the shaman who made it can open it.”

Damn.
Tam’s boys were doing too good a job. Half the shamans lay dead or dying. With
the way our luck was running, the ward builder was either dead or inside a
Magh’Sceadu.

“But
I can rip it,” he said with a fierce smile.

The
cell block was huge; there was at least thirty feet of shaman/mage
battle-infested floor between us and the spellsinger cell. Fists and steel were
flying right along with spells and death curses. The Khrynsani started it;
Tam’s boys were determined to finish it.

We
were shielded, but I’d found out last week that Magh’Sceadu ate shields for
appetizers. Control or destroy were our only options.

“Get
that ward open,” I told Tam, never taking my eyes from the carnivorous inkblot
in front of me. “I’ll worry about him.”

Piaras’s
song abruptly changed. His warm, rich baritone turned dark and discordant, the
notes booming and harsh. He was singing in Old Goblin, the language of black
magic, the language of the dark spells used to create Magh’Sceadu. He wasn’t
trying to repel them.

He
was trying to unmake them.

Oh
no.

Tam
spat the exact word I was thinking.

Katelyn
Valerian wrapped her arms tightly around Piaras’s waist, pressing her head
against his chest. I actually saw Piaras’s shields strengthen. The girl was
sharing her power. Piaras hesitated, then wrapped his arms tightly around
Katelyn, and his song became a little stronger. The pair of Magh’Sceadu
stalking them hesitated, wavering— and became slightly less substantial than
before.

Tam
said the same word again, this time in admiration.

I saw
a flash of scarlet out of the corner of my eye. Ronan Cayle was gesturing and
yelling. The wards kept any sound from getting out.

There
was a Magh’Sceadu in the cell with them.

Crap.

The
thing had come straight through the rock wall of the adjacent cell. A second
Magh’Sceadu oozed through the same way. Ronan Cayle stood protectively in front
of his students, pushing them back against the far wall. That was all he was
doing. Why wasn’t he fighting, singing, whatever? I realized with dawning
horror that those wards did more than keep sound in.

Ronan
couldn’t use his magic.

We
only had seconds before those Magh’Sceadu started feasting on
Ronan and those kids.

Tam
and I sliced, blasted, and beat our way across the cell block. I didn’t know if
the Magh’Sceadu that had been in front of us was now behind me, and I didn’t
have time to look or worry about it.

The
boy spellsinger, Gustin Sorenson, held a sobbing Megan. He gently turned her
head into his shoulder so she wouldn’t see what was about to happen to them.

The
Magh’Sceadu drifted almost within touching distance, as if feeding on those
kids’ fear. I never thought I’d be grateful for sadistic behavior, but it
bought us a few critical seconds.

Tam
took one look at the ward close up and snarled a string of guttural goblin
curses.

I
looked where he was looking. “What? You can’t do it?”

“The
wards are rooted in bedrock,” Tam told me. “If I rip into it, the ceiling comes
down.”

“Any
other way?”

“None.”

We
were at least a hundred feet underground, with an embassy on top of that. If
Tam tore into those wards, all of that was going to be on top of us.

If we
did nothing, those spellsingers were worse than dead.

I’d
held up a stage full of mages two days ago. No Saghred, just me. But that stage
was wood, not untold tons of rock. Dammit. I didn’t want to die squashed like a
bug, but if I screwed this up, a lot of other people would be dying along with
me.

I
snarled my favorite about-to-meet-Death four-letter word.

“Do
it!” I snapped.

“The
ceiling—”

“Is
my
problem.”

Tam
knew what I was saying. He stared at me, his expression unreadable. “I need you
to support the ceiling above the tear I’m going to make.”

“Yeah,
yeah. I got it. You pull; I push. Let’s go!”

“I
need control and delicacy, Raine.”

I
snorted. “Too bad you’re stuck with me.”

He
held out his hand to me. “And we have to work in unison.”

So
there it was. I knew it wouldn’t be just Tam and me. The Saghred was going to
want a piece of the action—and a piece of us. The Saghred had given me power
when I’d used it. Would it do the same for Tam? I didn’t want that power. Did
the dark mage in Tam not only want it, but crave it?

Triumph
was the only way I could describe what I felt coming off the Saghred. The rock
was about to get what it wanted. If we all got out of this alive, I’d have what
I wanted.

A
win-win for everybody. Yeah, right.

Tam
called his power and I felt it: dark, potent, rushing up from the deep, primal
core of him. My own magic coiled and flared through my body, serpentine,
seeking the source of Tam’s dark power. I found it and touched it: the dark
well, its source unknown, its depths unexplored. The Saghred wanted to know
those depths. I just wanted to explore.

“I
knew I couldn’t leave you two alone.”

Rudra
Muralin stood smiling at a tunnel opening next to the Magh’Sceadu’s cell,
manacles dangling negligently from one finger.

“Always
have a backup plan,” he told us. “And an extra set of keys. I hope you didn’t
pay your two lackeys in advance, Tamnais. Gold is wasted on dead men.”

Muralin
laid his hand on the ward of the Magh’Sceadu’s cell. It opened seamlessly and
Magh’Sceadu poured out, flowing around him like a black tide. They wanted nothing
to do with him. I guess evil repels evil.

“Impressive
work, Piaras,” Muralin called. “You have even more potential than I thought.
Too bad you’re about to be overrun.”

“Rip
it now!” I snarled at Tam. I turned my head toward Piaras, Talon, and Katelyn.
“Run!” I screamed.

I
grabbed Tam’s hand, and his power exploded through my body; my own surged
upward to meet it.

A
roar tore itself from Tam’s throat. His eyes were solid black orbs, his lips
pulled back from his fangs in a bestial snarl as he sank his fingers like claws
into the wards and tore them open. The wards screamed as if Tam was ripping
into living flesh, not magic.

I
gathered my will and my arm extended toward the rock above where Tam had
shredded the ward. My fingers flared out to focus my magic and I pushed with
everything I had. My arm shook with the effort and my shoulder was on fire.

A
spiderweb of tiny cracks appeared on the ceiling where wards met rock.

Oh
hell.

Tam
had flung open the door to the cell and was pulling the spellsingers out and
all but throwing them toward the door to the tunnel beyond. Ronan and two of
Tam’s mages were herding the kids, including Piaras, Talon, and Katelyn, into
the tunnel.

Rudra
Muralin was gone.

All
that power came at a price. I was panting and tasting blood. Either I’d bitten
my tongue or ruptured something. Black blooms danced on the edges of my vision.
If I didn’t stop soon, I was going to pass out.

Silence
hung in the air, followed by a low rumbling. A crack appeared in the ceiling at
our end of the cell block and started to spread.

I was
all that was holding up that ceiling and if I let go . . .

I
couldn’t speak. I frantically motioned for Tam to go.

His
black eyes blazed. “Like hell!”

A
tremor shook the room. The crack in the ceiling was as wide as my hand and
expanding fast. Chunks of ceiling began to crumble and fall. Tam tightened his
grip on my hand.

“Drop
it!” he screamed over the din. “Now!”

I
dropped it.

Tam
and I ran.

The
tremors turned into a thunderous roar, and the ceiling simply
crumbled. Dust and debris chased us in a billowing
cloud.

We
didn’t have to run faster than the Magh’Sceadu behind us. We just had to run
faster than the Khrynsani shamans in front of them.

Tam
and I had a head start, and survival was a strong motivator. In fact, my
motivation knew no bounds. I didn’t think I could run any faster, but a
panicked shriek in the tunnel behind us proved me wrong.

There
had yet to be a time when I couldn’t outrun a magic user wearing robes. Robes
were just a pretty way to an early grave—stylish death traps in your choice of
silk, brocade, or velvet. Flowing sleeves got in your way during a fight, and
flowing hems tripped you when running away. Behind us, a shaman tripped over
his hem and went down screaming. A Magh’Sceadu caught up to him and the
screaming stopped. I quit looking back at that point. What was behind us didn’t
matter unless it caught up to us.

The
rumbling faded and the tunnel ahead sloped up and presumably led out, and best
of all, whatever was behind us wasn’t going to catch up with us—or anybody
else.

I
smelled the salt air from the harbor. We were almost out. Problem was, I didn’t
know if out there was any safer than in here.

Piaras,
Ronan, and the spellsingers were waiting at the exit. Tam’s mages were guarding
them. Ronan didn’t look particularly comfortable with that arrangement, but he
hadn’t spellsung any of Tam’s men to death yet, either.

Piaras
spotted me and swept me off my feet in a rib-crushing hug. I wrapped my arms
around his neck and just hung there happily. Piaras was warm and alive, just
the way I liked the people I love.

I
felt him smile against my cheek. “We still have all of our pieces and parts
intact,” he said.

“See,
I told you my plan would work.”

“I
still require an explanation, Master Rivalin.” It was Ronan and he didn’t sound
amused.

I
felt Piaras sigh; then he put me down. “Sir, I read the spell in a songbook in
the citadel’s music room. Since I’m not very good at repelling songs, I thought—”

Ronan’s
expression was both appalled and disapproving. “You thought you’d just teach
yourself something stronger.”

Piaras
met his eyes. “I didn’t teach myself, sir. I just read it once. I didn’t see
the harm—and there was a need.”

Ronan
was incredulous. “You read an unmaking spellsong in Old Goblin
once
and
you could use it down there in that hellhole?”

“Yes,
sir. I memorize quickly.”

“So
it would appear,” Ronan muttered. The maestro searched Piaras’s face for
something only he knew. “I understand you want to be a Guardian,” he said
quietly.

Piaras
shot a quick glance at me. “I did, sir. Perhaps I still do.”

“What
the hell do you mean, ‘perhaps’?”

I
stepped up to the maestro. “Uh, Ronan, a lot happened since you got snatched
through that mirror at Sirens.”

“So
tell me.”

I
pulled him aside and told him. I included what had happened to Piaras this
evening, who was responsible, and what they had wanted. I finished with how
Mychael might not be in charge anymore—and who probably was. I motioned Katelyn
over and as delicately as I could, told her that Rudra Muralin had used a
spellsong to attack her grandfather. I left Piaras’s accused involvement
completely out of it. He was innocent, so as far as I was concerned, it didn’t
enter into the equation. To Katelyn’s credit, she controlled herself better
than I thought she would; apparently she wasn’t Justinius Valerian’s
granddaughter for nothing.

To
Ronan’s professional credit, he didn’t vocalize the choice words he was
thinking.

“Mychael
Eiliesor is still in charge,” Ronan insisted. He insisted, but he didn’t sound
completely confident. He’d been on the Isle of Mid long enough to know the kind
of political, backstabbing crap that passed for civilized behavior around here.

We’d
find out soon enough if Mychael was truly in command, or in command in name
only. I knew he wanted to protect me, but with Carnades Silvanus in charge, he
might have to lock me up in the citadel, and Piaras along with me. He’d see it
as continuing to protect us while still obeying orders. To keep the Guardians
from being reduced to ceremonial guards or disbanded all together, Mychael had
to remain paladin, even if it was an empty title for now. Like Justinius,
Mychael had to pick his battles carefully. I didn’t like it, but I understood
it.

Sometimes
the only way to keep what you had was to do something you didn’t want to do.

I
wanted to keep my freedom. I also wanted be rid of the Saghred. Staying on the
island was my best chance to get rid of my bond with the rock, but Mid was also
full of mages and bureaucrats who would want me and Piaras kept securely under
lock and key. Protect us from others, protect others from us, study us, use
us—the reasons were different, but they all meant the same thing.