Lisa Shearin - Raine Benares 02 (35 page)

Maybe
the Saghred would refuse to bite the hand that had fed it—and would turn on the
one holding its leash. That would be me.

I
hadn’t considered that.

My
intuition had never lied to me. Right now it was in my face, in a panic,
telling me that I was in way over my head, I was going to die, and it was
really going to hurt. But I knew if I screwed this up, I wouldn’t be the only
one dying. Rudra Muralin was nearly a thousand years old. He’d been patiently
searching for the Saghred all this time. His search was over, his work almost
done. The Saghred was awake, its containment wards probably now a joke, and an
arrogant and deluded elf mirror mage was in charge of the entire freaking
island. Rudra Muralin was probably damned near giddy.

He’d
probably make the Isle of Mid his first playground.

The
air shifted.

That
was all the warning I got.

“No
songs, spells, or movement,” Rudra Muralin said quietly from behind us. “And
the half-breed gets to keep breathing.”

A
pair of Khrynsani stepped out of the darkness ahead of us with a tied, gagged,
and blindfolded Talon Tandu between them. One of the guards yanked off the
blindfold. Talon’s aqua eyes blinked in the sudden light.

A
sound started low in Piaras’s throat.

“Khali!”
Muralin snapped.

Instantly,
one of Talon’s guards put a curved blade to his throat.

“Your
voice is splendid, Piaras,” Muralin said smoothly.

“I’ve
heard it once this evening.” The goblin’s voice was quiet, but the menace was
clear. “I do not want to hear it again. If you make one sound, or so much as
clear your throat, he dies—and it will be as much your doing as if you had slit
his throat yourself. Do you understand?”

Piaras
hesitated and nodded mutely. There was no fear in his dark eyes, just rage. I
was going to do everything possible to give him a chance to use it.

“Gentlemen,
would you relieve our guests of their weapons?”

His
Khrynsani did as told, and unfortunately, they did a thorough job. I didn’t
have any steel left on me, and I doubted Piaras did, either.

“Turn
around,” Muralin ordered. “Slowly.”

The
goblins had lightglobes of their own, and they increased their glow slightly.
The goblins didn’t need light to see us, but they knew we needed light to see
them. After all, what’s the fun of having a pair of elves at your mercy when
the elves couldn’t see well enough to appreciate how helpless they were?

Rudra
Muralin wasn’t alone. Mere psychopaths traveled alone; evil maniacs came
complete with an entourage of minions.

And I
hadn’t heard, seen, sensed, or smelled them coming until they were on top of
us.

We
weren’t in a tunnel. We were in a room, and it wasn’t empty. Darkened openings
in the walls indicated more tunnels. The decor included a pair of chains
hanging from the ceiling, each with a sturdy iron hook at the end. Iron rings
were bolted to the walls, and there were a couple of other implements I
couldn’t identify and didn’t want to. This wasn’t anybody’s happy place, except
perhaps for sadistic maniacs like the one standing in front of me.

Rudra
Muralin’s onyx eyes were on mine. “Both of you put your hands behind your heads
and keep them there.”

When
a crazy person tells you to put your hands up, you should at least think about
it. When a crazy person with a dozen or so heavily armed friends says the same
thing, you don’t think; you just do it.

I
hesitated and then slowly put my hands behind my head. Piaras did likewise. I
hesitated because I didn’t want Muralin to get the impression that I was a
pushover.

“Bind
them,” Muralin said.

Like
hell.

Strong
hands grabbed me from behind. I slammed the heel of my boot down on the
goblin’s instep. He swore and hissed, but never loosened his grip.

I
called up my power. All of it. If Muralin wanted the Saghred, I’d shove it down
his throat.

A
manacle clicked on my right wrist and icy numbness raced up my arm and kept
going, paralyzing my body with burning cold. Stopping my breath. Freezing my
magic. Another manacle clicked on my left wrist as a pair of hands swept my
feet out from under me and pinned my legs.

“Hang
her,” Muralin said.

My
mind screamed fight. My body couldn’t respond— neither could my magic.

Two
goblins lifted me and hooked the chain linking the manacles over one of the
iron hooks. They released me, but not before the goblin pinning my legs ran his
free hand up my body from hip to breast.

When
he stepped aside, I saw Piaras sprawled unmoving on the ground.

“Best
way to silence a songbird,” Rudra Muralin said mildly.

“If
you killed—” I snarled.

“Killing
Piaras would be wasteful. I never carelessly discard a potential power source.”

The
balls of my feet touched the floor. Barely. It might be enough for leverage or
it might not. The cold was gone, but the numbness stayed, though not in my
body. I could feel every last bruise I had, and I’d collected plenty lately.

I
couldn’t feel my magic. I still had it—it was there, my magic and the Saghred’s
power—but I couldn’t reach either one if my life depended on it. And it was
going to.

I
never thought using the rock was a good idea, but now it was the last thing I
could do. My soul appreciated the reprieve; my brain didn’t appreciate the pressure.

You
don’t need the Saghred; you can get out of this. Think, Raine. Use your head.
Yeah, a hacksaw would be great. Even better if the goblins closed their eyes
and counted to a hundred. Neither one’s gonna happen. So
think.

Rudra
Muralin’s smile was full of fang. He was still just as perfect, just as
beautiful. He also didn’t look old enough to buy himself a drink in a bar.
Since I was chained, surrounded, and didn’t have enough magic to strike a
match, I thought I’d keep that observation to myself.

“You’ve
got me,” I said. “Congratulations. Now what do you want?”

The
goblin’s black eyes glittered. “I thought that would be obvious, even to an
elf. You’re the Saghred’s bond servant.”

“Let
me guess—you need me to use the Saghred for you. That’s going to be some trick
with these manacles.”

Muralin’s
smile broadened as if he’d been waiting centuries for this moment. “No, Raine,
I need you to
feed
the Saghred for me.”

I
hung there and tried to wrap my head around that one.

“You
are confused,” Muralin murmured sympathetically. “It must be too much for you
to comprehend. I’ll explain, and I’ll use small words. I died when I fell into
that ravine. Or to be more exact, my heart stopped. It was only for a few
moments, but it was long enough. In that instant, I ceased to be the Saghred’s
bond servant. Your father was a mage, so when he took the Saghred, the mantle
of bond servant passed to him. When the Saghred absorbed him, the stone
considered him dead and the honor of bond servant remained unclaimed—until you
unwittingly stumbled upon it. Then the honor passed to you by blood
relation—and by what scant magical ability you possess. Unfortunately, the
stone will only accept one bond servant at a time.” He smiled. “I understand you
attempted to read my works?”

“Yeah,
I read them, cover to cover, and I even did it without moving my lips. You
needed a good editor; you couldn’t say anything in less than ten pages. They
put me to sleep in the tub, and if it hadn’t been for Sarad Nukpana, I probably
would have drowned. By the way, he sends his regards.”

Muralin’s
smile vanished. “I’m certain he does—and he can keep sending his regards from
precisely where he is. When you sacrificed Nukpana to the Saghred, your methods
were not only primitive, but inefficient. There is a more direct and personal
way for the bond servant to feed the stone.”

The
last piece of the puzzle clicked into place. I couldn’t tell if the twisting in
my chest was the manacles’ doing or my own growing panic.

I
knew what he meant. I had read it myself.

Rudra
Muralin hadn’t always taken the Saghred with him on his king’s
destroy-and-enslave excursions. Sometimes the rock had stayed at home—and it
had stayed at full power. As bond servant, Muralin would accept “gifts” on behalf
of the Saghred.

Those
gifts were sacrifices.

Magic
user sacrifices. Spellsinger souls. No wonder Rudra Muralin was a raving loony.

My
body was meant to contain one soul. Mine.

Rudra
Muralin was watching me closely. “Now you understand. Just as the Saghred’s
power flows through you, the sacrifices will flow through you to the Saghred.
They merely have to be killed so that their blood falls on you. I’ve found that
slit throats work best. Once the stone has fed, I will kill you and the honor
of bond servant will return to me where it belongs.”

“You
still won’t have the Saghred,” I heard myself say. But I’d be dead—and so would
Piaras and every spellsinger in that cell.

“I’ve
used the Saghred to level cities.” Muralin’s tone was flat. He was finished
playing. “I will gladly destroy one citadel. I can feed the Saghred from any
distance, and use it the same way.”

The
citadel destroyed. Hundreds of Guardians dead in an instant.

Mychael.

Muralin
nodded. “Only the Saghred will remain. I’ll have to wait until the crater
cools, but then I can reclaim what is mine. This time I’ll be the one giving
the orders; no king will command me.” His lips smiled, but his eyes were the
flat black of a shark. “I may even offer my unique services on the open
market—for the right price, of course.”

“Megalomaniac
and entrepreneur,” I managed past the tightness in my throat. Unlimited death
and destruction to the highest bidder.

“Merely
trying to adapt to modern times.”

“I
won’t take sacrifices,” I told him. I tried to sound defiant. I don’t think it
worked.

“The
Saghred is willing. What you want is irrelevant. Those manacles will keep you
from causing me any more trouble, but they won’t keep the Saghred from
feeding.” He drew a thin, curved dagger. “You’re the bond servant; so in theory,
this should work. But since you’re an elf . . . Well, I wouldn’t want to waste
any of my
valuable
spellsingers. Tamnais’s half-breed bastard will make
a perfect test subject.”

Talon’s
aqua eyes widened in disbelief, and he screamed in muffled rage from behind his
gag.

“Your
father didn’t tell you?” Muralin asked mildly. “Or should I say your father
refused to claim you. Hardly surprising. Taking pleasure from elves is
permissible; procreating is not. His shame is understandable.”

I
should probably have kept my mouth shut, but I didn’t want to.

“My
father kept the Saghred away from you for eight— or was it
nine?
—hundred
years. Not too shabby for an elf.” I lowered my voice in commiseration. “Must
have embarrassed the hell out of you. Your shame is understandable.”

Rudra
Muralin’s hand went white-knuckled around the dagger’s grip. “Since you’re an
elf and female, the feeding process will probably shatter your sanity. You
should be grateful that I’m merciful and willing to kill you quickly.” His eyes
glittered with something nasty. “And if the Saghred rejects Tamnais’s spawn,
all I’ve lost is something that should have been drowned at birth.”

I
pushed down my rage. “What a sweetheart. If you unhook me, I’ll give you a
hug.”

Rudra
Muralin turned to Talon’s guards. “Bring him.”

Talon
fought like a wildcat despite being tied up, and his guards had to virtually
drag him across the floor to me.

“You
need do nothing,” Muralin told me. He came closer, circling me to stand just
behind my right shoulder. My legs weren’t chained and he wasn’t taking any
chances. “If my test is successful, I’ll have the other spellsingers brought in
one at a time.” His voice turned soft and coaxing next to my ear. “Just relax,
Raine. The Saghred has done this many times. It knows what to do.”

I
felt myself begin to respond to his voice, to do what he said. I fought the
urge to thrash and struggle. I was still desperately trying to come up with a
way to get out of this while trying not to look desperate.

One
of the guards grabbed a handful of Talon’s long hair and jerked his head back,
exposing his throat. Rudra Muralin moved into position behind him.

I
felt the Saghred. I couldn’t use its power, but it was there, quivering in
anticipation, waiting, eager.

But
not for Talon’s blood.

It
was ignoring Talon completely. Its attention was elsewhere—and so was mine.

Muralin
sensed something was wrong.

I met
his black eyes. “It’s not Talon’s fault.” I let one corner of my mouth curve
into a crooked grin. “It’s yours.”