Lisa Shearin - Raine Benares 01 (33 page)

“Raine.”
Tam’s voice was low and warning. “Even Sarad Nukpana would be challenged to
extract information from a corpse.”

I
unclenched my fists and my jaw. “That’s fascinating, Ocnus. And I can put all
that information to good use, but it still doesn’t tell me where the Saghred
is.”

“I
can’t tell you!” he wailed. “He’ll kill me!”

“Who?”

Ocnus’s
lips quivered with muffled sobs. I found it increasingly difficult to keep my
rage at a respectable level. It would be a lot easier if Ocnus weren’t so
pathetic.

“Nukpana,”
he snuffled. “The king, the prince. It doesn’t matter, I’m just as dead.”

Even
if I could put my decency on a shelf, I didn’t have the stomach for torture, or
the patience for a long interrogation. Good thing I didn’t have to make a
living as an inquisitor. I’d starve. Tam sensed my frustration and stepped in,
bless him.

“Very
well, if you refuse to be useful to my elven friend, you can still be useful to
me. You are from Mipor, are you not?”

Ocnus
paused, then nodded cautiously, seeing no harm in the question.

“Good.
I don’t know if you are aware, but Miporian flesh is a delicacy in our family.”
Tam popped the button off of Ocnus’s shirt cuff with a sharp snap, and slid the
dirty linen above his elbow. He glanced distastefully at the grime. “Naturally,
you’ll have to be washed first,” he muttered under his breath.

Ocnus
looked to me in wide-eyed panic.

I
made no move to stop Tam. “Where’s the Saghred?”

When
Ocnus didn’t answer, Tam lifted one of the little sorcerer’s arms
speculatively. “Probably a bit stringy beneath the fat, but an overnight
marinade should take care of that.” His dark eyes became dreamy as he ran a
fingertip smoothly down the pasty underside of Ocnus’s arm. “Grandmother had
the most delectable recipe,” he breathed. “The meat all but fell off the bone.”

“The
goblin embassy,” Ocnus squeaked. “The mausoleum.”

“How
do you know this?” Tam half pulled Ocnus from his chair, the sorcerer’s arm
clutched tightly in his fist.

“A
year ago there was an elf who wanted to get onto the embassy grounds.”

“Describe
him,” came Mychael’s steady voice from the now open doorway.

Ocnus
swallowed and looked from me to Tam.

“Do
it,” I growled.

The
goblin sorcerer licked his lips. “Gray eyes, gray hair, but he wasn’t old. He
had more than enough gold, so I didn’t ask questions.”

Ocnus
was panting. Just my luck he’d hyperventilate and pass out.

He
took a deep, shuddering breath. “I brought him onto the grounds through The
Ruins. He went into the mausoleum. He never came back out. I went in to look.
He wasn’t there. There’s only one way in and I was watching it the whole time.”

I
looked at Tam. “Mausoleum?”

“There’s
a mausoleum on the property from the previous owners.”

“How
do you know he carried the Saghred?” Mychael asked.

I
felt the pull of a spellsinger in his words, compelling Ocnus to tell the
truth. He need not have bothered. Ocnus was telling the truth, or at least what
he thought was the truth. I think the beacon was helping things along. Once
again, I was grateful.

“He
had a small box made of white stone,” Ocnus said. “Like the box Nukpana had me
hire Quentin to steal. Only this one was larger and square.” He held his hands
about four inches apart, no easy task considering Tam still had one of those
hands.

“How
do you know there was anything inside?”

“Something
was glowing, like a big firefly. Red, flickering.”

Mychael
put a box of translucent white stone on the table in front of Ocnus. “Anything
like this?”

Ocnus
licked his lips again. “Exactly.”

“And
Nukpana doesn’t know?”

Ocnus
swallowed and shook his head.

Tam
released Ocnus, but didn’t move away, instead looming ominously over the goblin
snitch.

“I
find it difficult to believe that you found a way to get even more gold out of
Sarad Nukpana and yet you passed up the opportunity.”

Ocnus
seemed to shrink in his chair. “Not at first. I overheard why he needed the
beacon. You know, what he hoped to find with it. That’s when I remembered the
elf and the stone box.” A twitching had taken up residence in Ocnus’s left
eyelid. “So I set up another meeting with him. To make him an offer. That’s
when I heard he knew about my deals with the prince. I didn’t go to the
meeting.”

“Smart
move,” I muttered.

“I
was leaving town.”

“Even
smarter.”

“My
ship wasn’t leaving until the morning tide, so I went to the Sleeping Giant.”
Ocnus tried his trademark oily grin on for size, but it just came off looking
sick. “I’ve told you what you wanted to know. How about just letting me go? My
ship leaves within the hour. I’ll be on it, I swear.” He looked from me to Tam,
then to Mychael in growing desperation. “If I stay here, he’ll kill me.”

“If
you’re lucky,” Tam told him.

Mychael
looked into Ocnus’s eyes. The goblin snitch couldn’t look away. Mychael held
the gaze for nearly a minute, until beads of sweat formed on Ocnus’s forehead.
“I think he tells the truth. Raine?”

The
beacon vibrated beneath my shirt, if I hadn’t known better I’d say someone was
excited. I nodded and put my hand over the beacon. “It seems we agree.”

“You
could go to the mausoleum now,” Ocnus told me eagerly. “Nukpana’s not in the
embassy tonight.”

“Where
is he?”

Ocnus’s
eagerness changed to confusion. “I heard he was going nightingale hunting.”

I
couldn’t get back home fast enough.

Patience
wasn’t my strong point even when I didn’t have reason to hurry. Time wasn’t on
our side. We had to use the canals; Sarad Nukpana just had to order another
sorcerer tortured and killed to make another Gate. My legs wanted to run all
the way home, even though my head knew that cutting through the center of the
city on the Grand Duke’s Canal would be faster; not to mention if I ran, I’d be
out of breath and useless to Piaras once I got there.

What
seemed like an eternity later we arrived at the Mintha Row dock. I didn’t wait
for the crew of Guardians to tie us off, and neither did Mychael, nor Tam in
the boat behind us.

My
legs finally got to do what they wanted. It was two blocks to Tarsilia’s and I
ran the whole way. I rounded the corner and saw her shop. No Khrynsani shamans
lounging by the door. That was a good sign. The lights were on. Not normal for
nearly two in the morning, but when Garadin was protecting something, he always
liked to see where it was.

I
reached out to push open the door, and ran smack into the one-two punch of
Garadin’s shields and Tarsilia’s wards. I might as well have hit a wall with my
face. Through the pain, I remembered they did good work. I staggered and lights
flickered before my eyes. I dimly heard the musical sound of metal clanging,
and wondered if I’d hit my head that hard.

I
looked up.

Garadin
stood in the now open doorway. The metal sound was the chimes Tarsilia had
hanging from the beam just inside the door. I shook my head to clear it. Pain
immediately followed. Not the best idea.

“You
ever think of knocking, girl? Hurts a lot less.” He motioned and the shield
parted for me.

Tarsilia
was standing behind the counter, hands braced on the polished wood, eyes
leveled on the doorway. I turned and saw Mychael and Tam still standing just
beyond the threshold.

“You’re
home,” she said to me, but her gaze had settled on my two escorts. Perhaps
settled was too mild a term. A slab of granite landing on something doesn’t
exactly settle. No doubt Garadin had told her who Mychael was and what he
wanted—and Tarsilia was already all too familiar with Tam. And from the gorgon
stare both of them were on the receiving end of, Tarsilia held Mychael and Tam
personally responsible for everything that had happened to Piaras and me over
the past two days. It was overdone and completely overprotective—and I loved
her for it.

“It’s
all right,” I assured her. “They’re with us.”

She
didn’t look entirely convinced, and unless she gave her permission, there was
no way, short of using a magical battering ram, that Mychael and Tam were
getting inside. Tarsilia had to invite them to cross her threshold. Her scowl
told me she’d do it, but she wasn’t happy about it.

“Mychael
Eiliesor, Paladin of the Order and Brotherhood of Conclave Guardians, and
Sacred Protector of the Seat of Twelve,” she pronounced formally. Then she
stopped and looked at me.

“Tarsilia,
they need to get inside. Now.”

She
sensed my urgency. “You and your guests may now enter my home,” she finished
quickly.

There
was an audible pop, and the shield parted and Mychael and four of his Guardians
came inside, Tam bringing up the rear guard. The rest remained outside. The
shield and wards resealed themselves seamlessly and without sound.

“What
happened?” she asked me.

“Where’s
Piaras?”

“He
couldn’t sleep; he’s in the workroom.”

I
brushed past her, and headed for the back of the shop.

Tarsilia
was right at my heels. “What’s wrong?”

Suddenly,
everything was. The air grew heavy with power, and it felt like the atmosphere
before a lightning strike, prickling my skin like a thousand hot needles. Sarad
Nukpana wasn’t looking for a way around Tarsilia and Garadin’s wards—he was
punching his way through them.

Tarsilia
and I were closest to the workroom door. We were the only ones who made it
inside the room. As soon as we crossed the threshold, the force of the opening
Gate sealed the room like a trap door slamming over our heads. Piaras looked up
from where he had been grinding dried herbs, his eyes wide, like a deer caught
in a hunter’s sights. I swore and reached for every shield I had. The Gate and
the dark magic that fed it ate them like a late night snack. There was no way
Mychael or Tam or anyone else could get in. And we weren’t getting out.

Sarad
Nukpana’s Gate opened simply, no mouth of hell, no brimstone stench, just a
parting curtain of silvery fog. I tried to draw my blades; I wanted to push
Tarsilia behind me. Neither one was going to happen. The same dark sorcery that
sealed the room held the three of us immobile. A sickly sweet smell came from
the Gate and the sibilant chanting of combined goblin voices came from beyond
it. I knew the chanting and what was feeding its power was worse, much worse. I
heard the screams in the background to prove it.

Tarsilia
was next to the Gate when it opened. She was the first to be taken.

“No!”
Piaras’s anguished scream was in my ears and my mind.

A
trio of black-robed goblin shamans crossed through the Gate into the room. A
fully formed Magh’Sceadu drifted silently behind them. I couldn’t do a thing to
stop any of them—and neither could Piaras. They grabbed him and pinned him to
the floor, the Magh’Sceadu floating eagerly within touching distance. Piaras’s
wide eyes tracked the creature’s every move. He knew what to be most afraid of.

Sarad
Nukpana stood just on the other side of the portal. He made no move to come
through. He didn’t need to. His shamans and Magh’Sceadu were doing a fine job
all by themselves. And if he had created the Gate himself, he’d have to stay on
the other side to keep it stable and open. It had taken an obscene amount of
strength to punch a hole through the shields and wards surrounding Tarsilia’s
shop. Nukpana had the strength, and from the sudden silence behind him, he had
taken the lives.

“Welcome,
Mistress Benares. This is a pleasant surprise. Just when I thought you were
going to be elusive again, you’ve become most accommodating.”

His
voice was just as I remembered: crisp, cultured, and skin-crawling creepy. I
could see his eyes and I didn’t want to. Reflected in those dark eyes was
something quiet, something ageless and malignant. If eyes were the windows to
the soul, Sarad Nukpana’s soul had never seen the light of day.

Here
was a goblin who enjoyed his work way too much.

To
him, Piaras was little more than a boy, and what magic I had of my own would be
hard pressed to mess up his hair, and he knew it. The Saghred was capable of
more—much more. He knew that, too. He smiled slowly.

Then
he extended his hand through the Gate to me. Dark blood was smeared on his palm.
I knew it wasn’t his. As his hand passed over the Gate’s threshold, the
pressure holding us immobile lifted. I treated myself to a deep breath. Piaras
drew a ragged gasp. I guess if a hunter wanted his prey, he had to open the
trap.

“Come,
Mistress Benares. We have much work to do, and time is short.”

A
reasonable request, in a reasonable tone. No maniacal laughter, no gleeful
wringing of hands. None of the usual hallmarks of evil. Then why did I want to
scream and run, and not in that order?