Lisa Shearin - Raine Benares 01 (20 page)

The
goblins set a quick pace. Apparently they didn’t like leisurely nighttime
strolls through The Ruins either. I was grateful for the speed, but it didn’t
make it easy to keep my feet under me. My captors didn’t care. With a firm grip
on my upper arms, they just lifted me over whatever obstacle lay in their path.
I guess it was faster than letting me fall down on a regular basis.

Our
captors finally slowed down. From that, and the feel of flagstones beneath my
boots, I guessed we had arrived at one of the abandoned villas. I hardly
expected to find a goblin who could afford the muscle accompanying us camping
out in a fisherman’s hut, and I had to admit it was the perfect hiding place.

I
heard more goblins as we were led up a short stair and into what I assumed was
our destination. I dimly saw flickers of light beneath the cloth of my
blindfold as we were taken down a long corridor. I heard goblin voices. One
suddenly drowned out the others in a flash of anger. I couldn’t make out the
words, but the voice’s owner clearly wasn’t happy. A door grated open on
long-unused hinges, and my arms involuntarily tensed in my captors’ grip. The
voice abruptly lowered to a terse, sibilant whisper. We were pushed forward and
the voice fell silent.

A
gloved hand removed my blindfold. Once I finished blinking against the light, I
found myself in what looked to have once been a gentleman’s study. The dark
wood walls were dull with age and neglect. What furniture remained was of the
finest quality, before time and damp swamp air had taken their toll. Much of it
was covered with either sheets or equally pale and filmy cobwebs. That told me
that the goblins hadn’t been here long, and they weren’t planning to outstay
their welcome. The room was lit by candles, and the sole source of heat was a
small fire dwarfed by the massive marble fireplace that contained it.

Our
host stood before the fireplace. He was a tall goblin, his beautiful face a
carefully emotionless mask. Except for its blue black shimmer, his waist-length
hair was unadorned. His eyes were dark and intense, with hardly any white
exposed. He took a breath and a forced calm settled over him. I wasn’t fooled.
I also knew exactly who he was. Prince Chigaru Mal’Salin may be a fugitive on
the run from his brother, but he was going to do it in style, and he could
certainly afford the muscle that had brought us here and now loomed directly
behind us.

Some
of the goblins in the room with him also wore their black hair loose, while
others wore theirs in braids, elaborately entwined with silver chains and
caught at the base with jeweled clasps. They wore earrings with fine chains
linking them to cuffs attached to the ear near the pointed tip. All were
stylishly attired in dark silks and velvets; and like their prince, some wore
intricately tooled leather and blued-steel armor in addition to their finery.
All were armed.

Street
thugs they weren’t. They looked like what they probably were: a royal court in
exile.

I
inclined my head to the tall goblin by the fireplace. “Your Highness.”

“Mistress
Benares.”

Sarad
Nukpana
and
a Mal’Salin prince knew my name. That was more than a little
alarming.

“Yes,
I know who you are,” the goblin prince said. His gaze landed on Piaras. “Who is
this?”

“Bait,”
one of the guards told him.

Piaras’s
dark eyes flashed in anger. Good for him. He hadn’t panicked, and he had been
given ample opportunity. From what I’d heard about the Mal’Salins, things would
probably get worse before they got any better. If they got any better.

The
prince’s black eyes locked with mine for several long moments. “Untie them,” he
said quietly.

One
of the guards approached and sliced through my bindings. I rubbed my wrists to
restore the circulation. Piaras did the same.

“I
apologize for any inconvenience or affront to your dignity. I assure you
neither was intended. I needed to speak with you, and you have been most
persistent in avoiding me.”

Avoiding
him? I didn’t even know he was looking for me. Though I shouldn’t be surprised.
It seemed like everyone else in Mermeia was looking for me. The prince’s voice
was polite, but strained. He was under control, but only because he wouldn’t
allow himself to be otherwise, at least not yet. Something was going on here,
and I didn’t think I wanted to know what it was.

“I
regret I had to resort to such crude means to bring you here, but I am running
out of time, and you left me with no choice. It was fortunate that you happened
along when and where you did. If you had not, we would have had the regrettable
task of proving that we had your young friend. We probably would have had to do
something drastic.” He paused. “That would have been unfortunate.”

Piaras
paled. The prince took no notice. I fumed.

“Well,
we’re all lucky today, aren’t we, Your Highness?” I knew I was in enough
trouble without comments like that, but I couldn’t help myself.

The
prince ignored it. “May I offer you a drink?”

“No,
thank you.”

He
gestured with a long-fingered hand to a high-backed chair opposite the
fireplace from himself. “Then sit. If you please.”

Not
seeing the harm in it, I accepted. Better to save my strength for when I needed
it later. He took the chair opposite me. Piaras was left standing, flanked by a
pair of guards. The prince had made his status clear. I would cooperate, or
Piaras would suffer. I had known Chigaru Mal’Salin for less than three minutes
and I already disliked him. Not that I really expected to feel any other way.

The
goblin prince gestured to a figure standing on the edge of the shadows.
“Jabari?”

“Yes,
Your Highness?”

“I
want you and Sefu to stay. The rest of you may go.”

He
may have been addressing his guards and courtiers, but he never took his eyes from
mine. I made it a point not to look away. If there was any blinking to be done,
I wasn’t going to be first.

“I
understand you met Sarad Nukpana last night.”

I saw
no reason to deny it. “I wouldn’t exactly call what happened between us a
meeting. More like an avoidance.”

“Only
on your part,” he murmured. “Sarad Nukpana is most eager to make your
acquaintance.”

I
shrugged. “I seem to be having that effect on men lately.”

“Yes,
there is something about you that is oddly bewitching.”

I
tapped my heel against the floor, knocking some of the mud from my boots. “Must
be some indescribable quality I have.”

“I
can describe it quite well. A silver medallion of elven make, carved with runes
that do not seem to mean anything—except to a dead elven Guardian who had it
forged nine hundred years ago. Does that sound familiar?”

I
shook my head, which wasn’t easy to do around the lump that had taken up
residence in my throat. “Not in the least. But then it doesn’t sound like my
taste in jewelry either.”

The
goblin prince leaned forward, close enough for me to catch his scent.
Sandalwood mixed with spices. His voice was soft and low. “Sarad Nukpana knows
you have it—as do I. Your secret is out, Mistress Benares.”

I let
the silence grow for a few moments, and when I spoke, my voice was steady,
which was another surprise. I made no move to show him the amulet, and I
certainly wasn’t going to take it off, even if I could.

“I
really think you could afford better,” I told him. “Mermeia has some of the
finest silversmiths in the seven kingdoms. What’s so special about this
particular chunk of metal?”

It
was the prince’s turn to grow some silence. He did it well, and he did it for
longer than I did. As the silence expanded, so did his smile. It was genuine.
He found something amusing, and I think I was at the business end of his joke.

“You
actually do not know what you carry.” There was a note of wonder in his voice.
“How can that be?” Then he thought of something that tickled his funny bone
even more. “I could tell you,” he teased, “but your stay here would have to be
longer. I could not risk you interfering with my plans.”

I
wasn’t about to give him the amulet, so he could plan on keeping me here for as
long as he liked. I had yet to be locked up anywhere that I couldn’t get out
of.

I
settled back in the cushions, and leisurely crossed my legs at the ankles.
“Enlighten me.” Chigaru Mal’Salin wasn’t exactly the information source I had
in mind, but since no one else was willing to talk, I’d take my knowledge where
I could get it.

The
prince’s black eyes glittered in the dim firelight. “What do you know of the
Saghred?”

I
knew it was goblin. When Garadin had taught me goblin history, he had
concentrated on the crazies—which meant I had a more than adequate knowledge of
the Mal’Salin dynasty. The Saghred had been temporarily in the possession of
Omari, a Mal’Salin king who had elevated insanity to an art form.

“A
legendary talisman first heard of in your peoples’ Fifth Age,” I said, as if
reciting from Garadin’s lesson. “It was said to be a black rock that fell from
the sky. It was incredibly heavy, but it was only the size of a man’s fist.
Rumor had it King Omari wanted to use it to destroy anyone and anything he
didn’t like, which was pretty much everyone and everything. Rumor also had it
the rock was more than capable of all of the above and then some. Only shamans
of the highest order could wield it—at least for a while. Eventually they all
went insane and destroyed themselves. The Saghred was contained in a specially
made casket of white stone from the Sorce Mountains. The Guardians took it away
from King Omari. They tried to destroy it and failed, so they hid it. It was
never seen again.” I paused, mostly for air. “I couldn’t walk all that well if I
had a rock that heavy hanging around my neck, Your Highness.”

“No
doubt,” the prince agreed. “And the Saghred is not an object safely
transported. Which is why the Guardian charged with protecting it had a beacon
made to enable him to watch his charge without having to keep it with him, or
remain in the Saghred’s hiding place for the rest of his life.”

I
realized where this was going, and it wasn’t anyplace I wanted to be. “Let me
guess, you think his jewelry commission was a silver medallion.”

The
goblin prince didn’t answer. He just smiled.

“A
beacon with which to locate the Saghred,” he told me. “In my people’s language,
the word Saghred roughly translates as ‘Thief of Souls,’ something else it is
said to do. According to legend, shamans who had fallen from royal favor were
sacrificed to the stone. The shamans doing the sacrificing received enhanced
powers from the stone in exchange for their gift. Those enhanced powers came
with an extended life and insanity; being sacrificed meant your soul was trapped
for eternity inside the stone.”

The
prince leaned forward in his chair. “And if I may correct you, Mistress
Benares.” His silken voice was little more than a murmur. “While all the
shamans who used the Saghred did go insane, only a few actually destroyed themselves.
Most were taken by the stone.”

The
only sound was the crackle of the fire. “Taken?” I whispered.

“While
using the Saghred. If the stone hungered, it would feed to sustain itself.
Those shamans were absorbed, Mistress. Their powers and souls added to those
already trapped inside—trapped for eternity with the very colleagues they had
sacrificed with their own hands.”

“Not
much of a welcoming committee.”

The
prince smiled. “No doubt. Goblin armies that carried the Saghred before them
were indestructible—and their adversaries were annihilated. My brother and
Sarad Nukpana want the Soul Thief very badly. I do not want them to succeed in
acquiring it. My wants are simple, Mistress Benares. You have the beacon. You
are a seeker. You will help me find the Saghred first. Once I have it, you and
the boy will be allowed to leave here alive and whole.”

I had
the lodestone to an ancient soul-stealing rock hanging around my neck.
Wonderful. I had no intention of being caught in the middle of some twisted
sibling rivalry. And under no circumstances was I going to help a Mal’Salin,
any Mal’Salin, or anyone working for a Mal’Salin gain possession of something
with the pet name “Soul Thief.”

“My
skills in the craft are marginal at best,” was what I said. “I’m hardly
qualified to help you.”

“One
does not need to be a mage to use a beacon—or for the beacon to use you. I had
been told that this particular beacon was keyed to its maker. Yet, according to
my teacher, you have been able to tap its power quite effectively.”

So
much for wondering if Primari A’Zahra Nuru sensed me outside Tam’s nightclub
this morning.

“I am
curious to know how you can do this,” the prince continued, “but that’s not
important at the moment. Finding the beacon was one problem for my brother, finding
someone who could wield it was another matter altogether. So now I must not
only keep the beacon from my brother, but you as well. And since there is the
possibility that Sarad Nukpana will be able to locate the Saghred on his own,
we must find the Soul Thief first.”