The Trouble with Demons (25 page)

Piaras looked at me in surprise. “You’re the reason?”

I snorted. “I’ve been the reason for everything lately.” I told him about the Scythe of Nen, and why Sarad Nukpana wanted me to find it—and then I told him what Nukpana had threatened to do to him if I refused. He needed to know; I wasn’t going to keep him in the dark.

“I can’t run from this.” Piaras didn’t ask it as a question. He knew the answer.

“Not when someone gets in your head,” I told him. “That’d be like trying to run from yourself. And believe me, I’ve been trying to figure out a way to do that. No luck yet.”

Piaras stood very still. “Is he in our heads right now?”

I felt my lips curl in a lopsided grin. “Honey, I’m too damned tired to have anything or anyone in my head right now.”

Piaras almost smiled. “It’s kind of quiet between my ears, too.” The smile vanished. “How will I know if Sarad Nukpana is trying to tell me what to do?”

“I’m going to take you to someone who can help,” Mychael said. “He can’t keep Nukpana out of your head, but he can help you know when your actions are not your own. We can begin teaching you how to defend yourself, but that will take time. Meanwhile, if Nukpana does come after you again, you will be with Guardians whom I trust to keep you out of trouble.”

“Vegard’s been ordered to sit on me,” I told him, trying to lighten things up.

Mychael grinned like a little boy, open and genuine. That one grin from the man he most admired did Piaras more good than anything.

“That’s another thing Guardians get a lot of experience doing,” Mychael told him, “keeping their brothers out of trouble.”

Piaras bit at his bottom lip. “Brothers?” To Piaras, that one word meant a dream come true, something to change the nightmare his life was turning into.

Mychael nodded once. “The Guardians are a brotherhood, Piaras. We take care of our own. You have a rare and powerful gift. Our order would be honored to accept you for training. But the final decision is yours to make.”

I saw a flicker of what may have been belief in his dark eyes. “Thank you, sir.” Belief strengthened into resolve. “I want to be a Guardian, Paladin Eiliesor. Teach me how to fight Sarad Nukpana.”

Mychael’s smile was fierce. “It would be my honor and pleasure, Cadet Rivalin.”

Mychael had his job to do, and I had mine. I knew exactly what I was going to do. There had never been any doubt in my mind. I was a seeker, one of the best. I was going to find that Scythe of Nen, whatever the hell it was, and I was going to find it before the demons got their claws on it. Finding valuables was what a Benares did best.

And double-crossing a goblin shaman who threatened someone I loved was what
I
did best.

 

 

I had a whole list of reasons not to want to be seen by the most powerful mage in the seven kingdoms. I was under the impression—as was everyone else on Mid—that the old man was flat on his back and weak as a kitten. When I’d first arrived on the island, Justinius Valerian had looked at me and seen everything I had been, was now, and might possibly become. That last item on the list had just put the twitch back in my left eyelid. If the old man took a close look at me right now, he’d get himself an eyeful, and I’d probably be escorted to the closest containment room.

Right now there was a lot more inside of me besides me. The power generated by what had happened between me, Mychael, and Tam was still surging through my veins; the Saghred was seething below the surface. I was already linked to the Saghred, now I was magically attached to two of the most powerful dark and light mages, period. I was a demon-destroying, death-defying magical cataclysm waiting to happen.

We were still in the citadel. The Saghred was also in the citadel. I didn’t want to be on the same island with that rock, let alone in the same building, but Justinius’s apartments were in the citadel, so I didn’t exactly have a choice. The archmagus’s sickbed was probably one of the last places Piaras wanted to visit seeing that he’d been framed for trying to kill the old man. From the expression on Piaras’s face, the only help he expected from Justinius Valerian was help turning into a slug.

Mychael, Piaras, and I stopped at a pair of massive doors flanked by four heavily armed and armored Guardians. Really big guys with no expressions whatsoever. Though I was sure if anyone tried to get past them without permission, those Guardians would be plenty expressive. And lethal.

If the Guardians didn’t get you, the wards flowing across those doors would probably eat you alive and spit what was left across the room. I had no intention of putting it to the test. I’d be a lady and wait for Mychael to open those doors. Civilized behavior sometimes was a struggle for me, but I wasn’t stupid—or in this case, suicidal.

Piaras ran a hand through his hair, trying to put his tousled dark curls in some semblance of order. He was determined to see this thing through, and as much as I hated the necessity of him being here, I was proud of him. I felt a little smile coming on.

Mychael nodded to the Guardians posted on either side of the massive door.

I couldn’t understand the two Guardians’ chanting, but I could feel what it was doing. The wards peeled back and the doors opened. I expected Justinius’s apartment to be on the other side. Instead there was a long, wide corridor with a pair of Guardians every dozen feet or so. And more wards.

“Damn,” I breathed.

“I’m not taking any chances,” Mychael told me.

He could say that again. Nothing or no one could get through all that. Except you and the rock, the pessimist in my head just had to say. I told my pessimist to shut up.

Once we actually got inside Justinius’s apartments, there were two Guardians, and an older woman wearing healer’s robes. She respectfully inclined her head to Mychael. She was large boned and muscled like a Myloran sea-raider. Their men weren’t the only ones who took to the seas for fun and profit. If anyone made it past all of the guards and wards, I think Justinius’s healer could take them out all by her lonesome.

On the other side of the room was a large canopied bed with the curtains pulled back.

Archmagus Justinius Valerian was the supreme head of the Conclave of Sorcerers, commander in chief of the Brotherhood of Conclave Guardians, and the craftiest spellslinger in the seven kingdoms. And he didn’t get there by being anything other than shrewd, manipulative, and brilliant, and that was just the start of his qualifications. I’d heard he was a foul-tempered, nasty old man. I’d heard right. But I liked the old guy anyway. Come to think of it, those things were probably the reason why I liked him.

Considering that he’d had a black-magic-induced heart attack only five days ago, Archmagus Justinius Valerian didn’t look half bad. In fact, he looked pretty much the same as the last time I’d seen him. What once might have been lean had turned grizzled. What might have been a luxurious head of hair was now a fringe of downy, white tufts on a liver-spotted head. Only a pair of gleaming blue eyes gave a clue to the man himself. He was awake and those bright eyes were homed in on Piaras and me.

I smelled a setup and a half. Archmagus Shrewd and Manipulative was doing quite well, and when Mychael had said that he wasn’t taking any chances, it appeared he wasn’t taking any chances that anyone would find out the old man wasn’t wheezing his last breath. A lot was going on here that I didn’t know about. There was a reason for it, and I wanted to know what it was.

Then I was the sole object of Justinius’s attention. I knew what he was going to do. With the strength I had now, I could have stopped him, but I didn’t. Yes, one word from him could have me locked up or executed within two minutes, but since the moment I’d met him, my gut told me that I could trust Justinius Valerian. My gut had never been wrong, at least not yet. I didn’t think now was going to be the first time. The old man was going to find out anyway, might as well be now.

Justinius Valerian’s eyes never left mine, but they changed focus, and I felt the barest hint of the power that’d earned him his title. He was seeing me inside and out. Again. It was the type of seeing that’d earn any other magic user the business end of my fist. But until I could get rid of the rock and my umi’atsu bond with Tam and Mychael, I was what I was. There was no changing it or escaping it.

The archmagus’s bright blue eyes were hard as agates as he looked from me to Mychael and back again.

“You’ve protected her,” Justinius said.

“Yes, sir. I did.” Mychael’s voice, like his resolve, was unwavering.

I tried to pull a little air into my lungs past the sudden lump in my throat. To anyone listening, the archmagus was merely pointing out that the paladin was doing his job—not that he’d linked himself to the Saghred’s bond servant to keep her from being consumed by an umi’atsu bond.

The old man nodded once. “And you did what you had to do.”

“I did, sir.”

Justinius paused. “You’re protecting the other one, too.”

I knew who he meant. Tam. I also knew the reason Justinius didn’t say his name out loud wasn’t due to any prejudice that Tam was a goblin, or distaste that he was a dark mage. Even though the other people in the room listening were probably trusted ears, the old man was smart; he didn’t get and keep his job by taking chances.

“I thought it necessary.” Mychael paused. “And worthwhile,” he added with quiet conviction.

Damned smoky fireplaces, making my eyes water.

Justinius kept his eyes on Mychael. The only sound was the pop and crackle of the burning wood.

“You’re going to need help, son,”
Justinius said in Mychael’s mind.
“And soon.”

Since Mychael heard it, I heard it. And Justinius knew it. He’d meant it for both of us—for all of us.

“I know, sir,”
Mychael responded.

Mychael had gone leagues beyond his job and the old man and I both knew it. No one else needed to. And Justinius Valerian wasn’t going to tell them. I had to resist the overpowering urge to hug the old man’s neck. I settled for taking my first decent breath in five minutes and giving Justinius the slightest nod of gratitude. If the old man had blinked, he’d have missed it. He didn’t miss it.

“You’re looking well, sir,” I said.

Justinius smiled slyly. “And feeling better than I look.”

I didn’t move my head, but my eyes indicated the healer and two Guardians.

“Other than Mychael here, those are the three people on this island that I trust the most,” Justinius told me. “Hugh and Farold have been my personal bodyguards since I took this miserable job, and Dalis does more than just look good. She’s my eyes and ears outside the citadel. If I need to know information, Dalis knows where to find it and who to ask.”

Piaras had been standing there the entire time in complete confusion and stunned disbelief.

I said what I knew he wanted to. “You faked an assassination attempt.” I kept my voice calm and level; it wasn’t easy, but I managed. And I didn’t ask it as a question; it was obvious to anyone with working eyes that Justinius Valerian wasn’t going to his great reward anytime soon. I was sure the old man had a perfectly good reason for his little charade, but that didn’t change the fact that Piaras had gone through a living hell thinking that he’d killed Justinius. Taltek Balmorlan had tried to trick Piaras into signing a confession. The inquisitor wanted a legal way to take Piaras off the island, and trying to kill Justinius had given him just what he needed. He’d damned near gotten away with it—and Piaras.

The old man pulled himself up on his pillows. It took more than a little effort, and I almost felt a twinge of guilt. “I faked nothing. I knew I was being attacked and I protected myself. Some of that spellsong got through; most of it didn’t. I’ve waited years for this chance.”

“For what? To lay in bed and let Carnades run amok?” My voice felt the need to snap, and I let it. The old man—or his twin Guardian behemoths—would probably make me regret it, but right now I was more angry than smart.

“To lay in bed and watch my enemies slither out of hiding,” he said smoothly. “Thanks to that goblin trying to spellsing me to death, I’m finding out who my enemies really are.” A shadow of pain that wasn’t physical flowed across his face. The old man had been betrayed and he was hurting. “It’s been an eye-opening experience.”

There had been another attempt on Justinius’s life on my and Piaras’s first day on the island. “The Nightshades at the welcoming ceremony,” I murmured.

Justinius nodded once.

Nightshades were elves—they were also assassins, kidnappers, blackmailers, or whatever they had been given enough gold to do. You pay and they’ll play. And someone had given them enough gold to try to kill the archmagus and Mychael. I had a feeling Justinius now had a couple more names on his list of enemies.

I was still mad at the old man, but I had to admire the simple beauty of his plan. “Nothing flushes out predators like wounded prey,” I said.

The old man’s eyes flashed dangerously as he brushed his finger past the tip of his nose, confirming my theory.

I looked at Mychael. “You didn’t tell me.” I glanced at Piaras. “Or us.” I know the kid had to feel betrayed; I was getting used to it.

“It was necessary that information not leave this room.” That was the paladin talking, not Mychael. “For his own safety, I can’t allow the archmagus to leave this room until he is physically and magically recovered.”

“One sign of weakness and Carnades would claim he was still incapacitated,” I said.

“Exactly.”

“What he means is that I can’t leave this room until I can kick Carnades’s lily-white, patrician ass,” Justinius said. “I’ve told Mychael here that I just have to be strong enough for one kick.” He grinned evilly. “I’ll get it right the first time.”