Lisa Shearin - Raine Benares 02 (5 page)

So
this was Piaras’s future teacher.

Piaras
Rivalin was an elf, my Mermeian landlady’s grandson, and the little brother I’d
always wanted. He’d also attracted unwanted attention last week as a result of
the Saghred. Piaras had fought off that attention with a level of spellsinging
talent unheard of for a seventeen-year-old. His singing voice was magnificent,
but it was also an incredibly powerful weapon that he needed to learn to
control. My godfather, Garadin Wyne, had been Piaras’s first voice teacher. He
knew Ronan Cayle from his Conclave days and had sent the maestro a letter of
recommendation. Mychael added his recommendation to Garadin’s, effectively
securing an audition for Piaras.

Tarsilia
Rivalin and Garadin had come with us to Mid, but at my insistence had returned
to Mermeia. Piaras and I were surrounded by hundreds of Guardians; we were as
safe as we were going to get, so there was no reason for them to stay. Plus
Piaras would be going to school; I would be looking for a way out of my Saghred
predicament. Neither were short-term activities. I snorted to myself. The way
my luck was running, Piaras would graduate before I was out of this mess.

Piaras
was practicing downstairs in the citadel’s music room for his audition tomorrow
with the maestro. The poor kid was already scared to death. Hopefully he hadn’t
heard the maestro was in the citadel.

“We
need your help,” Mychael was saying. He didn’t sound too happy about it.

I
didn’t move. “With what?”

“The
Saghred. Since spellbinding isn’t containing it, I asked Ronan if he knew a
spellsong that would work. He does. You can sense that the Saghred is awake.”
His expression darkened. “Unfortunately, we cannot. It would be helpful to know
whether the spellsong is working.” He paused uncomfortably. “We need you to go
down into the containment rooms with us.”

That
was the part he really didn’t like.

I
hadn’t been down to the Guardians’ containment rooms, and I didn’t want to go
now. But I also didn’t want the Saghred awake and in my head.

“I’ll
go,” I told him. “What kind of spellsong are you going to use?” I asked the
maestro.

“A
sleepsong,” Cayle told me. “Since binding the Saghred itself was ineffective,
Mychael and I thought that the souls inside would be a better target.”

I
bristled. I didn’t like hearing my father described as a target.

“The
song I’ll be using is for the binding of wayward souls,” he continued.

“Binding?”
My voice was tight with restraint. My father was not a wayward soul. Being
trapped in the Saghred was torture enough; I did not want him bound and unable
to move.

Ronan
Cayle sensed my growing anger. So did Mychael.

“Raine,
it’s like sleep,” Mychael explained.

“I
would think you would want Sarad Nukpana bound,” Cayle said, clearly puzzled at
my reaction.

“I’m
not talking about Sarad Nukpana,” I said, my voice low and quiet.

“Ronan
knows about your father,” Mychael told me.

“Ah,
then I understand your concern,” Cayle said. “I can guarantee that your father
will not be harmed.”

“Have
you ever been hit with this sleepsong?”

“No,
but—”

“Then
you can’t guarantee me a damned thing.”

Mychael
stepped between us. “Raine.”

“This
is my father we’re talking about!”

“And
Sarad Nukpana,” he reminded me sternly. “And who knows how many others just
like him. Raine, your father gave over eight hundred years of his life to keep
the Saghred out of the hands of people like Sarad Nukpana.” Mychael’s intense
blue gaze never wavered. “It can’t remain active. Your father is a Guardian; he
knows his duty. He would want us to do this.” Mychael’s voice lost some of its
edge. “He’s trapped inside the Saghred. You’ve been in there; you know what
it’s like. Sleep would be a mercy.”

I
remembered what I had seen. Those who had been in the Saghred the longest had
been reduced to filmy, faceless wraiths. Other prisoners seemed to be more
solid, but their bodies looked ravaged and wasted as if from disease. I had
seen my father. Elegantly pointed ears, a beautiful, pure-blooded high elf. His
hair was silver, and his eyes were the gray of gathering storm clouds. Eyes
identical to my own. He had only been inside the Saghred for a year, and he had
already begun to fade.

I had
been able to see through him.

I
gritted my teeth and stifled a sniff. I would not tear up in front of Mychael,
and I sure as hell wouldn’t in front of a stranger.

Mychael
looked at me. I stared at him. I didn’t say anything because I knew he was
right. My father had been taken by the Saghred while trying to hide it from the
Khrynsani and Sarad Nukpana. He would want us to do this.

“Is
it really like sleep?” I asked Mychael quietly.

He
gave me a sad smile. “Yes, it’s like sleep.”

I
looked from Mychael to Ronan Cayle. “Tell me what you need me to do.”

The
Guardians’ containment rooms were beneath the basements of
the citadel. They were rooms that could be locked
down tight enough to hold something as powerful as the Saghred. The corridors
were cold stone; the doors to various rooms were thick wood and banded with
some serious iron. There was nothing supernatural beasties liked less than
iron. I wondered if those supernatural occupants had included the two-legged
variety from time to time. Considering that Mid was an island full of
sorcerers, I would be willing to bet these rooms had also been used as prison
cells.

The
farther into the depths of the citadel we went, the thicker the air got. Chilled
and constricting. Breathing became an effort. It wasn’t the closeness and
thickness of the walls that gave me that impression; it was something else.

“What
kind of containments do you have on this place?” I asked Mychael, using more
breath than I could actually spare.

“Level
ten here, level twelve on the next two floors down.”

Containment
spells only went up to twelve. Mychael had arranged housing for the Guardians’
newest guest on the bottom floor of the citadel. Bottom floor, subterranean,
level-twelve containments, plenty of experienced Guardian chaperones—and
someone was trying to break curfew. I bet I knew who the bad boy was. I didn’t
need any proof to know that Sarad Nukpana would have turned ringleader the
moment he was inside the Saghred.

“Level
twelve should be reassuring,” I said.

Mychael’s
expression was grim. “It usually is.”

I
prided myself on being in good shape. Most times being a seeker just demanded
that you be in better shape than what was chasing you. I had always aspired to
go beyond that. Yet here I was, going
down
flights of stairs, and I was
out of breath. That was just plain wrong.

I
took a ragged gasp of air. “Is this normal?”

To my
satisfaction, Mychael did look a tad flushed himself, and so did Ronan Cayle.
Being paladin meant he had to be in better shape than everyone, and Ronan
Cayle’s lung capacity was as well-known as his voice.

“To a
degree.” Mychael took a deep breath. “We layer our shields. When they’ve just
been replenished, it can thicken the air somewhat.”

“Somewhat
like this?”

“Nothing
like this.”

Not
only was the air thick, it was cloying in my mouth, my throat, my lungs,
threatening to choke me, and it didn’t smell too great, either. Though the
smell was the least of my problems. Sliding up from below along the chilled
stone walls came a sibilant whisper. I knew that voice. I didn’t know if I
heard it with my ears or in my head, but I knew who it was and where it was
coming from. The language was Goblin, as was the speaker.

“Good
morning, my little seeker,”
Sarad
Nukpana murmured.

Those
five silky little words were all it took to start my skin crawling on the soles
of my feet and keep going until it reached my scalp. The voice sounded husky
from sleep, carried the warmth of the bed, and was way too intimate under any
circumstances, especially since Sarad Nukpana was the last person I wanted to
open my eyes and find sharing my pillow.

I
took a slow and careful breath, not daring to move. “Do you hear that?” I asked
Mychael.

From
my expression he knew I had heard something bad. “Hear what?”

“He
cannot hear my words or thoughts, little seeker. Only you.”

Mychael
scowled. “Nukpana?”

I
nodded in the smallest motion possible.

“Give
your paladin my regards.”

The
goblin’s voice felt like a cat rubbing up against my face—not a sensation I
used to mind. Until now.

I
swallowed. “He says hello.”

We
picked up the pace. Nukpana’s warm laughter bubbled up around us.

“Our
power grows.”
I could almost feel the
goblin’s languid stretch.
“Tell your paladin and his maestro that they
cannot stop us.”

“Mychael,
unless Sarad Nukpana’s taken to referring to himself in the royal ‘we,’ he’s
found some like-minded friends in there.”

“I’m
not surprised.”

“I
am. He never struck me as the friend-making type.”

“Allies,
little seeker. Allies. All of a like mind; all with the same goal.”

If
Sarad Nukpana could talk to me in my head, the least I could do was return the
favor. I knew how.

“So,
what kind of club are you and your new friends starting?”
I asked.

“We
merely wish to ensure our survival—and our prosperity. You will help us
accomplish both.”

“Fat
chance.”

“You
cannot refuse us any more than you can refuse to breathe. You are a bond
servant to the Saghred, like your fatherbefore you.”
There was a knowing smile in his voice.
“Even now
you do its will.”

That
was unwelcome news. I tried to find breathable air and go down the stairs,
while my mind raced to find what I could have done to make the Saghred happy.
I’d lifted the stage this morning with the power the Saghred had already given
me. I didn’t tap the stone. And when it tempted me in that courtyard, I didn’t
give in. I couldn’t see how either was doing the Saghred’s will.

“Soon
its desires will become your own, and you will have an eternity to fulfill
them. You are strong enough to serve, but too weak to resist.”

The
sense of Sarad Nukpana abruptly vanished. “So much for him ignoring me,” I said
out loud.

Concern
flashed in Mychael’s blue eyes. “What did he say?”

“Oh,
nothing much, just promised me eternal servitude.” I made a little dismissive
waving motion with my hand. I saw that it was shaking. “He’s just trying to
scare me.”

“Scared
is the smartest thing you could be right now.”

“That
must make me the smartest person on the island.”

“Are
you all right?”

“If I
said yes, I’d be lying. Having an evil madman popping into my head isn’t
something I want as a permanent arrangement.”

“And
it won’t be,” Mychael promised, his intense expression telling me he’d never
broken a promise and wasn’t about to start with me.

“It’s
my new life’s goal, too. By the way, he’s found some new friends to play with,
and they have plans.”

That
earned me a couple of words I didn’t expect to hear from a paladin.

Sarad
Nukpana’s low laughter bubbled up again in my head. I told myself it was only
the memory, not the real thing. It didn’t lessen the creepies. And I didn’t
share with Mychael that Nukpana considered me his new helpmate. One
catastrophic problem at a time.

We
arrived at the citadel’s lowest level. The Saghred’s containment room’s door
was just a door. It didn’t look like a portal to the bowels of hell or the
entrance to the unspeakable. It was just a thick wooden door, banded with iron,
and flanked by a pair of burly Guardians who didn’t look happy to be there. I
didn’t blame them.

Sarad
Nukpana wasn’t going to go to sleep without a fight. I thought the comparison
to an obnoxious child was oddly appropriate. I’d threaten to spank him, but
unlike a child, Sarad Nukpana would probably enjoy it. In fact, I was sure of
it.

“Once
we’re inside, let us know if the subject begins to misbehave,” Cayle reminded
me.

It
looked like I wasn’t the only one using a naughty schoolboy analogy.

“Trust
me—when the Saghred misbehaves, you’ll know about it whether I tell you or not.
But I’ll be glad to mention the obvious when it happens.”

“You
mean
if
it happens.”

“Well,
we can all hope for that.”

Mychael
had been speaking in low tones with the Guardians on duty at the door. He
crossed the corridor to where we waited. “Are we ready?”