The Trouble with Demons (16 page)

I didn’t really want to touch anything Rudra Muralin had touched, but if I didn’t take it, I couldn’t read it. At least it was actual paper and ink. A couple of weeks ago, Sarad Nukpana had sent his demands on paper made from human or elf skin and had used fresh blood for ink. Apparently opening a Hellgate didn’t give Rudra Muralin any spare time for sadistic craft projects.

“His Khrynsani shamans didn’t survive,” Tam was saying. “Without his shamans, he would need powerful help to open a Hellgate.” Tam’s laugh was dark and humorless. “I imagine Rudra found all the new friends he needed when he told them that he planned to hold the island hostage for the Saghred. I know mages on this island who’d give their souls just for the chance.”

And if Rudra Muralin ever got the Saghred, his mage allies would be his first sacrifices. Bet he hadn’t included that in his offer.

I read the letter.

“He didn’t sign it,” I said when I could find my voice again. “How uncharacteristically modest.” I tried for sarcasm; the tremor in my hand holding the letter lessened the effect. I took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. Let go of the fear, Raine. It’s not going to do you any good. Anger, now that’s the way to go. Cold, hard, steel anger. You know what to do with anger.

“And this makes the third time he’s called me your whore.” The first time was under the elven embassy. I never did get full payback on that one. That crazy goblin wasn’t going to get away with it this time. He wasn’t going to get away with anything ever again.

“He says it to taunt you,” Tam said. “And me. He knows it angers us.”

“He’s doing a fine job. I hope he enjoyed it. In my family, revenge may not be immediate, but we
will
get it; and when we do, it is sweet.” I nodded my head toward Tam’s bar in the corner of the room. “I could use a drink right about now.”

“The usual?” Tam asked.

“And make it a double.” I folded the letter. “What I want to know is why isn’t he in the dark somewhere holding open a Hellgate?”

“What do you mean?”

“He said ‘my associates will fully open the Hellgate.’ Would Rudra Muralin need to stay at the Hellgate? Or once the door’s cracked, so to speak, is he free to roam about the island?”

“That would depend on the strength of his allies.”

I let my raised eyebrow ask my question for me.

“It is possible. Many of the most powerful mages in existence make their home here.”

“That was everything I expected but didn’t want to hear.” I knew Rudra Muralin wasn’t about to send one of his cronies to collect the Saghred and me. He’d want that satisfaction and pleasure for himself. “So in theory, he could be anywhere on the island.”

Tam handed me a glass of liqueur so deeply red it was almost black. “A highly probable theory,” he said.

I gave him back the letter. “So that’s why you’re standing in your own apartment armed for ogre.”

Tam pocketed the letter and took a sip of his own drink. “I thought it a prudent precaution.”

I snorted. “He’s opening the Hellgate and we’re taking the blame for his handiwork. That must make him one happy psycho.” I paused. “Another thing I don’t understand is that he wants me dead and the Saghred in his hands, not an island full of demons. Isn’t opening a Hellgate like using a boulder to kill a fly?”

“He’s a goblin, Raine—as much as it pains me, we are of the same race. You know how we are. A direct assault is not our way. The most successful plan isn’t always the most direct.”

“Great. He’s nuts
and
a strategic thinker.”

“And exceptionally good at being both. Chances are he’s promised those like-minded dark mages a cut of any power he manages to grab. He would want allies magically talented enough to be useful to him, but whose greed blinds them into thinking he would share his power with them. And if he indeed has chosen to ally himself with the people I’m thinking of, even he—a master manipulator—will have his hands full. These people are far from stupid, but they are arrogant. They’re waiting for Muralin to do all the work getting the Saghred, then they plan on taking it for themselves.”

“Dangle the rock in front of their noses and they’d make friends with Death himself.” I had to agree that it made perfect sense. “Rudra Muralin’s been after the Saghred for hundreds of years. What’s a couple more days? Though it is kind of an elaborate plan to throw together on the fly.”

Tam was shaking his head. “Not on the fly, Raine. Carefully planned in advance. That’s one thing you can always count on with Rudra—he has a plan and it’s almost foolproof.”

Tam and I had seriously screwed up Muralin’s last evil master plan. I wondered what steps he’d taken to keep us from staging a repeat performance. One of those steps was named Carnades Silvanus; of that much I was sure. Carnades was a goblin pawn, if only indirectly. Rudra had to be thrilled that Carnades was gunning for Tam and me. It’d almost be worth getting in the same room with the over-bred elf just to tell him he was doing exactly what a goblin shaman wanted him to do and then watch his face.

But business before pleasure. Rudra Muralin in a Guardian containment cell first, then tell Carnades he’d been a goblin patsy.

“So, you got any ideas on how to flush out the bastard before this gets completely out of hand?”

Tam sipped meditatively on his drink. “We don’t have to find Rudra; he will find us—before his next communication.”

“If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather not wait around for that to happen. Considering that he has
two
desires—the Saghred and my slit throat—I’d rather that first move be mine.”

Rudra Muralin didn’t just want me dead; he
needed
me dead.

About a thousand years ago, the goblin royal family had the Saghred in their arsenal, and Rudra Muralin at their right hand to wield it for them. Nothing could stop the goblin armies. They smote, conquered, and enslaved their way across the seven kingdoms—and most of those slaves were elves. On a challenge from the goblin king, Rudra Muralin used the Saghred to create the Great Rift in northern Rheskilia. The Great Rift was a mile-wide, nearly fifty-mile-long tear in the mountains of the Northern Reach. In one of the aftershocks that followed, Rudra Muralin fell off the highest edge into his newly created gorge, bringing an abrupt end to a notorious shamanic career. A couple of his more devoted disciples followed him like lemmings.

Rudra Muralin died in that ravine; but unfortunately, he didn’t stay that way. Prolonged contact with the Saghred had extended my father’s life. Prolonged use of the rock brought Rudra Muralin back from the dead. But in the instant of his death, Muralin ceased to be the Saghred’s bond servant. My father led an elite team of Guardians charged with getting the Saghred out of goblin hands. My father was a mage, so when he took the Saghred, he unknowingly became the bond servant. Hundreds of years later, when the Saghred absorbed him, the stone considered him dead. So when I found the Saghred for the Guardians a couple of weeks ago, guess who got the job? For Muralin to get his old job back—and regain control of the Saghred—I had to die. He wanted to do the job himself, but any old death would do just as long as he was the first mage to reach the rock after my untimely demise.

Right now Rudra Muralin was somewhere on the island opening a Hellgate and playing political footsie with some of the local dark mages. Tam was right; he had his hands full. So if I’d gotten myself gummed to death by that giant yellow demon, his evil master plan might have gone right down the crap-per. The Saghred was in the citadel, a fortress crammed full of Guardians and Conclave mages. The rock would probably bond itself to the first mage who got close enough. Rudra Muralin knew that little fact only too well. He had to control when I died. He’d love for Carnades to lock me up; the goblin bastard would know exactly where to find me when he was good and ready.

I didn’t think I could be more motivated to remain a free woman. I was wrong. I took a not-so-healthy swig of my drink. The tang of Caesolian port burned with a cool fire.

“Well, neither one of us should go parading in front of local law enforcement—with the exception of Mychael—until we know how much trouble we’re really in. That goes double for me. When Carnades said ‘lock her up,’ he wasn’t talking to himself.”

“Raine, prison guards can be bribed or killed,” Tam warned.

“You’re as good as dead behind bars.”

“Thanks, but I’ve come to that conclusion all by my lonesome. I’m a Benares, remember? We’re allergic to iron bars. But Mychael needs to know about Rudra Muralin, and he definitely needs to see that letter.” I paused. “And he needs to know about our . . . problem.”

Tam scowled.

“Yeah, I know you don’t like it, but after what just happened, you know we need help. But if you have a better idea, I’d love to hear it.”

Tam’s silence said he didn’t.

“I’ve already told you that you’re not on Mychael’s list of suspects—and even though Rudra Muralin didn’t sign it, that letter’s just as good as a confession.”

Tam laughed softly. “One letter’s not going to change Carnades’s mind. Mychael is probably about the only one who doesn’t have me at the
top
of their suspect list. Part of Mychael’s job is to know the names of the dark mages on Mid.” Tam grinned in a baring of fangs and teeth. “Most lawmen would stop at knowing names; Mychael makes the extra effort to personally inform these mages that he knows what they’re up to, and if they break the law, they will pay the price.”

“Bet that makes him popular with the black magic crowd.”

“Over the years, several have gotten annoyed enough to try to do something about it. As a result of acting on their annoyance, Mid now has four less dark mages.”

“Mychael killed them?’

“One got obliterated by his own spell. Mychael simply deflected it back at him.”

I gave a low whistle. “Payback is hell.” And deflecting something that big took even bigger magical mojo.

“The other three joined forces against him.” His tone turned admiring. “Mychael took all three of them down. At the same time.”

“Deflected spells?”

Tam shook his head. “No, just Mychael. There wasn’t enough left for the watch to clean up.”

I blinked.

“Those three had killed four students and injured nearly a dozen others. Mychael doesn’t tolerate black magic anywhere near the students.”

Students. Piaras. And Talon.

Damn.

Sarad Nukpana had done it, so had Rudra Muralin, and now Carnades Silvanus. They had used people we loved, threatened them with death and worse to get us to do what they wanted. It had happened to both Piaras and Talon. My lips narrowed into a thin, angry line. The demons wiggling through that Hellgate would be serving flavored ices back home before I let that happen again.

“Did you hear what Carnades said about Piaras and Talon in the watcher station?”

Tam’s voice was dangerously soft. “No, I didn’t.”

I told him.

His long fingers clenched the glass in his hand. I expected it to shatter. “Carnades’s prejudice will spread like a disease.” His words were equally soft, and just as scary.

“Where’s Talon now?” I asked.

Tam tilted his head, indicating a long hallway on the other side of the room. “In his room where he will stay until I can secure escorts that he cannot lose.”

“Did he tell you what happened in the Quad?”

“I saw most of it through your eyes; so I had a good idea as to the rest. Talon doesn’t know that, nor will he. Having four Guardians escort him home gave me the perfect excuse to get his side of the story, directly from him.” Tam sighed wearily. “My son is, shall we say, creative in his evasion of blame.”

I couldn’t help but smile. “Like father, like son.”

“In Talon’s version, he played but a minor role. You and Piaras ended up with the credit for the demon’s defeat.”

“That was no minor role.”

“I know.”

“Your son has some major pipes.” I hesitated. I didn’t want to bring up painful memories, but if anything like the Quad happened again, I needed to know what Talon had in his vocal arsenal. “Talon’s mother. What was her spellsinging specialty?”

“She was a nightclub singer. If she was anything more, she hid it well.”

Just like Talon.

“Do you know anything about her family?” I asked.

“Nothing.”

His answer was abrupt—and I knew Tam well enough to recognize it for the lie it was. Tam knew but he wasn’t telling. I wasn’t going to push him on it, at least not now. It was probably just painful memories of the woman he once loved, now dead. Probably.

“Does your family know about Talon?” No one other than Tam knew until last week. I didn’t know if Rudra Muralin or any of the Khrynsani got a chance to send word back home of the new addition to the Mal’Salin family, but if they did, it could be trouble of the worst kind—for Talon and for Tam. Tam’s only connection to the Mal’Salin family had been through his late wife. He’d told me that they hadn’t had any children, so you’d think the Mal’Salins wouldn’t care what Tam did—or who he did it with. Apparently once in the family, always in the family; especially when you’d been the goblin queen’s chief shaman for five years. The Mal’Salins didn’t let go of that kind of talent. I couldn’t throw rocks; my family was the same way.