Con & Conjure (18 page)

All I could manage was a head shake, which was what the rest of me was doing. I forced myself to breathe slowly. In. Out. Just keep the air moving. All I got was a lot of rasp and too little air.

“You!” She shouted to someone, sounding closer now. “Help me.”

Strong hands locked around my upper arms, pulling me to my feet; another arm went around my waist, supporting me. Mago’s arm.

“Are you all right?” he asked, even though he knew I wasn’t.

I couldn’t answer. I hissed air in and out between my teeth to keep control. The rock wasn’t taking me, not now. Another punch to the chest made me stagger, but the pain was milder. The surging, swirling power was taking its place. The pressure on my chest suddenly lifted, and I sucked the cold air into my burning lungs, cooling, calming. “I’ll be fine . . . when we get out.”

Imala’s small hands gripped my upper arm; Mago took over where one of Chigaru’s guards had hauled me to my feet.

“I’m here, Raine,” Imala said. “We’re getting out; just keep moving.”

I managed a nod, my vision starting to clear. My steps were like lead; I didn’t know if it was the spell-thick air or the Saghred’s desperation to feed. It coiled tightly inside of me, its rage building. I knew what it was about to do, but I couldn’t speak, couldn’t warn Imala.

The Saghred struck her. Its power surged down my arm and into Imala.

She screamed, but she didn’t let go of me. Exactly the opposite—she tightened her grip. The rock had bitten Justinius Valerian before; he’d held on to me, and like Imala, he didn’t let me go until he was ready to. The old man was the most powerful mage in the world. Imala wasn’t. But latching on harder when the Saghred struck sure as hell qualified her as one of the most gutsy.

The rock could have killed her—could have done worse than kill her—but it didn’t.

“Sorry,” I managed.

The goblin flashed a pained smile. “That rock’s not going to tell either one of us what to do.”

What felt like an eternity later, we reached the third floor.

We weren’t going to get anywhere near Mago’s room.

It was on fire.

That entire end of the third floor corridor was engulfed in flames, flames moving so quickly even the smoke couldn’t keep up.

There was nowhere to go except down.

The fire rolled its way across the ceiling beams, tongues of blue and gold flame licking their way around the wooden columns, the gilt paint melting in the heat, running in golden rivulets down the scorched wood.

“That’s not just fire,” Imala said.

“No, it’s not.” It was magic, magic of the most exotic and deadly kind.

A wall of flame parted, revealing a man standing in front of the mirror on the third-floor landing. His robes were on fire, spirals of flame licking his face, his hair . . .

And not consuming, not burning any of him.

Oh hell.

A firemage. An elven firemage.

The demons and monsters were just to trap us in the hotel while a firemage burned it down around us.

Some mages could use fire, but firemages could morph themselves
into
fire, into living torches. They could burn a building from the inside out, walking through flames of their own making, spreading the fire, the death.

Shouts and screams—and heat—swirled up from the lobby below. The entire hotel was on fire.

“Run!” Imala shouted.

Downstairs, the lobby was a hysterical mob scene. Those who had lived long enough to get downstairs were surging for the front doors, crushing, trampling in a blind panic. Flames covered the carved banisters, blackened the edge of the pale marble staircase, but the center was still clear. We ran for it.

Imala turned toward me and shouted something.

Her words were lost in a roar of fire from overhead. A support beam cracked and broke, showering us with sparks. Mago yanked me toward him; Imala dove in the other direction as the beam and a chunk of the ceiling crashed to the floor.

We couldn’t get to Imala and Chigaru, and they couldn’t reach us.

Dammit.

Mago pulled on my arm. “This way!”

A shriek came from the front doors as a javelin of fire struck a goblin in the chest, burning a hole completely through him. A second fire spear sent the goblin behind him up in flames.

There was another firemage outside, probably on the roof of an adjacent building, and the bastard knew what he was doing—if killing everyone inside the hotel was what he wanted.

If you tried to escape, he just killed you faster.

There weren’t but a handful of true firemages in the entire world, and Balmorlan had brought at least two of them here.

I couldn’t stop the fire. The Saghred probably could, but I had no idea how.

I could stop those firemages. Under their flames, they were just as killable as the rest of us.

Mago and I ran toward the back of the hotel, to the door we’d used to get in. He got there first and pushed against the door, flinging it—

“No!” I screamed.

A fire javelin missed him by no more than an inch, slamming into the wall behind us. The fire instantly caught and spread. We couldn’t go back. This door, covered by another firemage sniper, was our only way out.

I knew what I had to do.

People were dead. They were being murdered, slaughtered by nightmares made real. Unless I killed the killers, it wouldn’t end until they ran out of victims. I had no choice. I didn’t know what would happen to me, what the Saghred would do to me.

Taltek Balmorlan was about to get his show.

The Saghred’s power pulsed eagerly inside of me. Eager to kill, to destroy.

Mago met my eyes and he froze. I didn’t know what he saw, and I probably didn’t want to know. He probably saw power, raw and primal. And deadly.

“Raine, no. Don’t do th—”

“Stay behind me.” My voice was tight. It was all I could do to hold the rock back.

Then I stopped trying, stopped fighting. I didn’t struggle against its power.

I embraced it.

Smoke poured out of the hotel. Out on the street, people ran through the smoke, blinded, choking.

I did neither.

I could see through the smoke as if it weren’t there. I knew where each firemage was, the paths of their magic a glowing, pulsing line from their targets right back to them. There were four firemages in sniper positions in buildings in front of the hotel. I didn’t have to see them; I knew where they were. Three were on either side of the building, and one had just tried to kill Mago.

Eight outside, at least one inside—and all of them were elves.

If I didn’t stop them, hundreds of innocent people, including Mychael, Tam, and Imala, would be burned alive inside the hotel.

That had been Taltek Balmorlan’s plan all along.

If I stopped the firemages, Balmorlan got his show. If I failed, every goblin who threatened his war with Sathrik died. The bastard won either way.

No.

It stopped and it stopped now.

I stepped through the door and right into the sights of the firemage sniper on the roof. I felt her gathering power, gathering fire to incinerate me and Mago where we stood. She took her best shot.

It was her last.

The Saghred’s magic surged through my body and out of the fist I punched skyward at her killing perch. I didn’t know how to take down a firemage, but the magic inside of me did.

The bitch had it coming.

My body blazed red with the Saghred’s power, its magic and mine slamming into the mage, turning her body into a screaming ball of fire arching out over the roof’s edge and down five stories to the street below.

When I’d used the power the Saghred had given me before, it felt like the power was using me. Not this time. We worked in perfect partnership; I visualized what I wanted to do and it happened. Immediately. No thought, no hesitation.

No mercy.

I heard screaming. It was me. I knew it was me, but I couldn’t stop. I wasn’t screaming in fear at what was happening or horror at what I was doing.

I was screaming in pure exultant triumph, the joy of battle, of power unfettered.

“Raine!”

I felt the heat coming before Mago screamed my name. My magic met the flaming javelin sent down from the roof of the next building, met it and rode the firemage’s power back to the mage who’d launched it, engulfing him in his own fire and mine. His body fell like a flaming comet to the street.

Time was a blur, so were the screaming people in the streets. There were other firemages. I couldn’t see them, but my Saghred-fired senses knew they were near, that they still lived.

I hunted them down.

A firemage was in a building directly across from the hotel’s entrance. I couldn’t see him, but I didn’t have to. His magic heated the air, leaving behind a wavy trail, leading from the hotel doors to the window on the fourth floor. I used his magic’s trail like a fuse to a bomb. The firemage was gathering his power for another strike. I didn’t know if he realized Death was coming for him.

I didn’t care.

I lost track of the next few minutes.

The other firemages tried to escape.

I couldn’t stop if I had wanted to.

And I didn’t want to.

I only stopped when the last firemage was dead. By my hand, my magic.

People in the hotel streamed out of the front door, out of the door Mago and I had come through, and from around the far corner. No firemages had them pinned inside.

They were all dead. Burned. Destroyed.

And I’d done it all.

I took two steps back from the curb and threw up. The smoke started choking me, strangling me. Strong arms scooped me up.

Mago.

People were drawn to the fire, the chaos; their curiosity drew them in, shouting, jostling. Mago went around and through them. They took one look at the two of us and got out of our way.

I started shaking, tears running in hot trails down my face.

“Easy, cousin,” Mago said against my hair. “We’re getting out of here.”

“Mychael.” I coughed. “Tam . . . Ima—”

“I’m sure they got out.” The only person Mago was worried about was me. He was scared for me.

I was terrified of me.

I’d used the Saghred—and the Saghred had used me.

I hadn’t just used the power the stone had gradually given me over the past three months. I had used the stone itself, chosen to use it, and reveled in the death I’d caused. In front of hundreds of witnesses.

Exactly as Taltek Balmorlan said I would—and just as Carnades had predicted.

I’d just signed my own death warrant with firemage blood.

It didn’t matter that I killed those who were killing innocents. I’d let the Saghred take me so that I could take lives.

We were in the center city, so there was only one place I could go. Mago didn’t know about it, but considering the circumstances, Mychael would have no problem with me taking my cousin to his hideout.

With our bond, I would have known if Mychael were hurt. I wasn’t going to say dead; I wasn’t even going to think it. I would know if he was . . . I would know it. He wasn’t. He was fine, and he had his hands full right now being paladin in a disaster zone. He’d probably heard by now what I’d done. Torching nine firemages with their own fire would kind of indicate that I was on my feet and healthy. Oh yeah, I was healthy all right, a fine specimen of a Saghred bond servant. I’d given the rock something it’d wanted from the moment it latched on to me—complete control.

I was back on my feet. I was leading; Mago was my shadow. We didn’t run like we were guilty, but we sure as hell didn’t dawdle. There were a lot of city watchmen headed for the Greyhound Hotel, and we ducked out of sight every time we spotted one. Fortunately, most Guardians would be coming from the citadel. If Balmorlan and Carnades were having wanted posters printed right now with my picture on them, I wasn’t taking any chances on an overzealous Guardian determined to do his duty, regardless of who I was—or what I was to his commander.

I stopped at an intersection, amazingly empty at this time of day. People were either rushing toward the hotel or running away from it. Mago laid his hand firmly on my shoulder. There was no one anywhere near us; I knew that and so did he. That hand on my shoulder wasn’t a warning, it was a question, and he wanted an answer. He was worried about me and no doubt was wondering if I was in my right mind right now. He wanted to know where we were going.

“Almost there,” I murmured.

Mago gave my shoulder a quick squeeze and released it.

I stopped at a boarded-up building. Its best days had come and gone long ago. But it had never been more useful than it was now. I ran down a short flight of stairs that went below the street level to a door without a knob. Mychael had told me the spell to get in. I laid my hand flat against the wood and murmured the incantation. The door opened on silent, well-oiled, and maintained hinges.

I shut the door behind us, and with a word, wove a lightglobe into existence that floated above my open palm. This time it worked flawlessly. The Saghred was probably responsible for that, too.

Mago’s dark eyes instantly took in everything in the room.

The basement room looked like some of the more comfortable hideouts Uncle Ryn had in every major port city. It had the basics: table, a couple of chairs, and weapons. Lots and lots of weapons.

And a bed in the far corner.

I felt a flush creep up my neck until my ears were burning. Oh yes, I definitely remembered that bed.

“What is this place?” Mago asked.

“Mychael’s home away from home.”

That didn’t clear things up for Mago; if anything, he went from confused to concerned.