Lisa Shearin - Raine Benares 01 (10 page)

Garadin’s
expression darkened. “I can guarantee you one of them isn’t named Sarad
Nukpana.”

“I
know. I’ll be seeing someone in the morning who might be able to shed some
light on how Sarad Nukpana knows me.”

“Nathrach?”
Garadin’s distaste was evident.

“Yes,
I’m going to see Tam.” My tone was weary in my own ears.

Garadin
and I had trampled this ground before. I didn’t blame him. As my godfather,
Garadin felt he had certain duties. One of those duties was protecting me from
inappropriate men. A couple of fond and fun memories reminded me in no
uncertain terms that Tamnais Nathrach certainly qualified. But sometimes a girl
likes a little inappropriate in her life. I know I do.

“Mind
if I look at the amulet?” Garadin set his pipe aside, along with his animosity
towards Tam. For now. Garadin picked his battles carefully with me. This was
one he knew he couldn’t win.

“That’s
what I’m here for.” I reached down the front of my shirt and pulled out the
chain. The silvery disk felt smooth and surprisingly cool after spending the
past two hours next to my skin. I lifted the chain and the amulet over my head.

I
almost didn’t live to regret it.

I
knew there was air in the room, but my lungs didn’t believe me. Gasping didn’t
help. Garadin lowered me to the floor before I fell there on my own. My fist
convulsed on the amulet, and pain shot up my arm as the metal bit into my palm.
Garadin tried to pry my fingers open. I wanted to help him, but my body—and the
amulet—had other ideas.

The
air was hot, the room too small. Through half-open eyes, I saw Garadin and
Piaras above me. There were others that I couldn’t see. They pressed close,
taking what little air remained. I couldn’t see them, but I knew who they were.
A Khrynsani shaman, Mychael Eiliesor, and from farther away, Sarad Nukpana.
They knew who I was—and soon they would know where I was.

I
felt Garadin wrench the amulet from my fingers and push the chain back over my
head.

The
air cleared. The presences vanished. I took a shuddering breath and tried to
open my eyes more than a squint. The room was too bright. I was draped across
Garadin’s lap. He had one arm around my shoulders, the other clutched to his
chest. He had a burn where he had grabbed the amulet. Piaras was at my side.
The air was cooler now. My lungs still burned, but at least I could breathe.

Garadin
was in pain. Piaras was scared. I was both.

Garadin
nodded towards the shelf by his worktable. “Second shelf, fifth jar,” he said
between pain-clenched teeth.

Piaras
hurried to comply. I decided to lie there and breathe. Not that I had any
choice. My body still had a mind of its own, and I wasn’t entirely convinced it
belonged to me. Garadin’s injury was worse, so Piaras treated him first. He
applied the salve to Garadin’s burn and bandaged it with a strip of linen. Then
he did the same to my hand.

My
godfather drew a ragged breath, and blew it out. “I don’t think it likes me.”

“I
don’t like it either, so we’re all even.”

Once
I could sit up on my own, I held the amulet so Garadin could study it. He
wasn’t going to try to touch it, and I certainly wasn’t about to take it off
again. Piaras may not have heard the previous part of our conversation, but he
saw the results. When the amulet burned him, Garadin had dropped the shield
blocking our voices. Pain can make you do that. He didn’t bother putting the
shield up again, and I didn’t bother reminding him. It’d be like shutting the
stable door after the horses were gone. A little too much, a little too late.

The
silver disk glittered in the firelight. To me, it looked like it was proud of
itself. I swear I felt it vibrate, almost like it was purring. Glad one of us
was happy. I leaned back against the side of the chair. The floor seemed
relatively stable. I thought I’d stay there for a while.

“What
do you think it is?” I asked Garadin.

“I
don’t know,” he admitted without the least embarrassment. “I’d say it’s quite
old, and judging from the style and quality of workmanship, it is of elven
make.”

“Maybe
that’s why it likes me so much.”

“Unlikely.”

“One
could hope.”

“Objects
like this don’t usually ally themselves along racial lines. From its reactions
to you, and the identities of those who want it, I think we can assume that it
is a magical talisman of some sort.”

“You
think?”

“Sarcasm
won’t help.”

“It
won’t hurt. And it’s about all I can muster right now. I can’t take it off, I
don’t want to keep it, but I can hardly hand it over to anybody who’d take my
life to have it. And who only knows what it’s doing to me.”

“Do
you feel different?”

“A
little.”

“How?”

“Twitchy,
for one thing. And when Quentin was ambushed, I didn’t know who had set him up,
just that it was magic and it was trouble. That’s a new talent for me.”

“Interesting.”

Everyone
was entirely too fond of using that word to describe my predicament. “No, it’s
not interesting,” I told him. “But then I’m the one the thing has grafted
itself to. I just want to know what it does, and why the Khrynsani and
Guardians want to get their hands on it.”

“Conclave
Guardians? Here?” Piaras asked, looking entirely too eager for my taste.

Great.

“Sorry.
I didn’t hear that,” Piaras said quickly. “I didn’t hear a thing.” He tried
getting to his feet, his long legs tangling in the process. “I’ll just go stand
in the corner. Better yet, I’ll step outside.”

“Sit,”
Garadin and I said in unison.

Piaras
sat.

Garadin
sighed. “If you hear anything you consider fascinating, just forget it
immediately.”

“Yes,
sir.”

Exhausted,
I slouched back against the chair leg. “Garadin, you were once a Conclave mage.
You must have some idea what that Guardian”—I shot a glance at Piaras—“who
shall remain nameless, meant by ‘that box and its contents are our only
concern.’”

Garadin
leaned back against the other side of the chair. “The Conclave has many
interests, and it’s been a while since I was on Mid. I still have contacts
there, some I can trust. Let me ask around. In the meantime, you need to keep
that trinket out of sight, and you need to be careful.”

“I’m
always careful.”

Garadin
gave me the look. You know the one.

“Whenever
I can,” I added.

“You’re
going to have to do better than that. Have you talked to your best client?”

I
knew he meant Markus. No need to share that name with Piaras either.

“I
sent him a note a few hours ago asking if I could use one of his safehouses as
a base for the next couple of days. And after what you told me about Tarsilia’s
visitors, I think it’s an even better idea.”

Garadin
shook his head. “You may want to consider arranging for more protection than
that. I don’t like you wandering around the city alone.”

“I
don’t ‘wander’ anywhere,” I told him. “I know the under-belly of this city
better than anyone, and you know how I feel about someone playing shadow. I
work alone.”

“As
long as you’re wearing that, you won’t be lacking for company.”

“No
one can sense it when I’m wearing it.” I paused uncomfortably, remembering
Mychael Eiliesor—and feeling his presence all too clearly in the past hour. I
didn’t doubt for a moment that it was his seductive lullaby Garadin and
Piaras’s arrival had interrupted. If he had managed to put me to sleep, then
traced me here, who knows where I’d have woken up. “With the exception of my
Guardian acquaintance.”

I
remembered another reason why I wanted to talk to Garadin. I didn’t want to ask
in front of Piaras, but I had no choice. “How much do you know about Gates?”

My
godfather was silent before answering. “I have knowledge, but not firsthand
experience, though I know some who have both.” His distaste for the subject was
apparent. “I don’t count any of them as friends.”

“I
think that’s how the Khrynsani got into Nigel’s house tonight,” I told him.

Garadin
didn’t say anything, but I could see his jaw tighten. Piaras had gone a shade
paler, if that was possible. I didn’t know how much he knew about Gates, but I
was pretty sure it wasn’t as much as Garadin or I knew, and I wasn’t going to
be the one to expand his education. This was one topic I would tiptoe around.
I’m sure Garadin would agree with me.

A
Gate is a tear in the fabric of reality. It’s not naturally occurring. Nothing
about a Gate is natural—or legal or moral. Stepping through a Gate is like
stepping through a doorway, except that doorway can cover miles instead of
inches. In theory, I guess any distance is possible. Gates are a convenient way
to get around, if you don’t mind what it takes to make one. Magic of the
blackest kind, fueled by terror, torture, despair, and death—the more the
merrier. It takes a twisted sorcerer to open a Gate. Luckily I hadn’t had the
pleasure of meeting anyone quite that sick—at least not until tonight. It
sounded like something that’d be right up Sarad Nukpana’s dark alley.

“I
had a tracking stone on Quentin, so I saw everything he did. There were no
goblins in that house before he opened that box. Quentin swears they just
stepped out of thin air. I didn’t want to scare him with my opinion of how that
happened. He’s had a bad enough night.”

“Your
average goblin shaman wouldn’t get within a mile of an open Gate,” Garadin
said, “let alone create and open one.”

I
snorted. “I wouldn’t call any of the goblins running around Nigel’s place
tonight average. Sarad Nukpana’s certainly qualified to create and open a Gate,
and considering the other goblins who took on his temple guards in Nigel’s
garden, Nukpana probably felt the need to be onsite to protect his investment.”

Garadin
raised an eyebrow. “Other goblins?”

“Expensively
armored other goblins. I’m thinking they were all at Nigel’s for the same
reason, and I’m wearing it around my neck.”

“Any
theories on who they were?”

I
shrugged. “Sarad Nukpana works for the new king. The new king has a brother—a
brother he just recently exiled. Rumor has it little brother isn’t happy with
his new living arrangements and is looking to make as much trouble for big
brother as possible. The prince could certainly afford to outfit his allies
that well. As to why they all want what I have, I have no idea. Sibling
rivalry? Revenge? Who knows?”

“You
need to know.”

I sat
back and blew my breath out. “Tell me about it. That’s one of the reasons I’m
going to see Tam in the morning. He’s had plenty of firsthand experience with
goblin court politics.”

Garadin
was wearing his concerned look. I didn’t know if the look was because of Tam,
goblin court politics, or the mess goblin court politics had gotten me into.

He
leaned forward. “I don’t suppose you’d consider staying here?”

I
shook my head. “Markus’s safehouses are shielded well enough to resist a Gate.
And if the Khrynsani do come knocking, I’ll at least have enough time to get
out.”

“I
don’t like this.”

“That
makes two of us.”

Going
home sounded good in theory, but so did a lot of things that
ended up getting you killed.

Just
because I was going home didn’t mean I was staying there. Quite the opposite. I
wanted anyone and everyone who might be following me to see me arrive home and
then leave home—with luggage. There were things in my rooms that I needed. Once
I had those things, I wouldn’t be going back home until I knew I wouldn’t be
bringing trouble with me.

Garadin
insisted on walking me and Piaras home. Normally, I would have turned down his
offer. This morning I had no problem with the extra company. I had Piaras’s
safety to consider, and if anyone with less than honorable intentions decided
to follow us, it would be nice to know that I didn’t have to fight off whatever
came at me and protect Piaras by myself.

I
also had no problem wearing one of Garadin’s old cloaks. It smelled of tobacco
smoke, but it covered up the goblin blood on my clothes. For the most part,
Mermeian locals are a jaded lot. But dried goblin blood tends to attract
attention—especially when worn by an elf. When fresh, it’s the same color as
the elven variety. But as it dries it gets brighter, and unless you have a
tendency to wear scarlet, there’s no hiding it. I was definitely overdue for a
bath. A long soak would be wonderful, but it would have to wait. I didn’t have
the time. Not to mention, if the Khrynsani or Guardians caught up with me, I’d
rather not be in the tub when they did.

The
three of us crossed the Arbor Bridge into the mainly commercial section of the
Sorcerers District. The sun was just rising over the lagoon, and the streets
were still hidden in shadow. Those who were up and about were either too sleepy
or too intent on their own business to notice us.