Magic Lost, Trouble Found

“I didn’t steal anything, Paladin Eiliesor. And I resent being treated as if I did. I deemed you the most likely to help me solve my problem, and the least likely to try and kill me afterward. That’s why I’m here. It’s not how I normally choose sides, but it’ll have to do.”

He just looked at me. “Then how did you get the beacon?”

I told him. However, I completely neglected to mention Quentin by name at all, or Phaelan or Piaras or anyone else I cared about. Amazing how little details can get glossed over in relaying the bigger picture. I’m certain Eiliesor wanted to know the details, but I didn’t think they were necessary. If he felt otherwise, he didn’t show any sign. Apparently only one thing was important to him, and it was hanging around my neck.

When I had finished, he just sat there, watching me, no doubt weighing my words against his own version of the truth. My tone had betrayed no emotion, nor doubt as to my sincerity. And I knew he didn’t believe me for a minute. His problem, not mine. Yet.

He finally spoke. “So you know what you have.”

It wasn’t a question.

“More or less. Chigaru Mal’Salin told me last night. Though I think he told me because he didn’t expect I’d be going anywhere.”

“Probably. How much do you know about the Saghred, Mistress Benares?”

“More than I did yesterday, which is a hell of a lot more than I ever wanted to know. I know what it is, some of what it supposedly does, and that a lot of people want to get their hands on it, yourself included.”

“Let me tell you what I know, Mistress Benares. Your partner”—he paused and smiled slightly—“who apparently has no name, discovered the beacon the night before last in the home of a prominent Mermeian necromancer. The moment he opened the containment box was obvious to me, as it was to many in this city. I know the beacon passed into your possession at Simon Stocken’s warehouse. I sensed it again, a few hours later on the edge of the Sorcerers District. The signal was subtle. I sensed it only because I knew what I was listening for.”

He stood, and holding the sheet loosely around his waist, reached for a long dressing robe draped across the foot of the bed. “What I heard last night in The Ruins was not subtle, nor was it the small magics innate to a beacon. I followed it and found you and a spellsinger far too young to be that powerful. You had just destroyed six fully formed Magh’Sceadu. A casual observer would say you had accomplished this feat all by yourself.” He paused. “I’m not a casual observer.”

He turned away from me, put on the robe, and let the sheet drop to the floor.

I swallowed.

He tied the sash, and turned to face me. “Forgive me, Mistress Benares, but your natural gifts are marginal at best—at least they used to be. What you accomplished last night is a level of craft you should not be capable of. You reached through the beacon and used the Saghred. How, I do not know. I’ve never agreed with Sarad Nukpana on anything, but in this instance he is correct. You’re playing a dangerous game.”

I didn’t know whether to be insulted at his less-than-glowing assessment of my former abilities, or concerned by his accuracy. But it was his last opinion that struck the nerve.

“No one ever asked me if I wanted to play, Paladin Eiliesor. I’m a seeker. A good one. Aside from that, I can defend myself, and I have a couple of parlor tricks up my sleeves. That’s all I knew until two days ago. Many in this town wouldn’t mind having what I have now. I’d like nothing better than to pitch this piece of metal in the nearest canal, but I can’t.”

The Guardian looked puzzled. “Can’t?”

“Can’t. Remember an hour after I left Stocken’s warehouse? You said you sensed the beacon again?”

“Yes.”

“That’s when I tried to take it off. It was like having a lightning bolt strapped to my neck. It almost killed me. I’ve had to wear it ever since.”

Eiliesor searched my face for signs of something only he knew. He took his time doing it, and the intense scrutiny of a gorgeous, silk-robed Conclave Guardian made me want to squirm. I resisted that impulse, as well as some hands-on urges that were trying to get my attention. I really hoped Eiliesor wasn’t a mind reader, too. I’d had enough embarrassment tonight.

“That’s impossible,” he said after what seemed an eternity. “Eamaliel keyed it to himself. No one else should be able to use it.”

“I’m not trying to use it. And I don’t know this Eamaliel person or care about his taste in jewelry. I just want to know how to get this thing off without it killing me.”

“And you can’t?”

For some reason, that single, simple fact just wasn’t getting through to him.

“I think we’ve established that,” I said, rapidly losing what little patience I came with. “Why shouldn’t I be able to take it off?”

“From what I’ve learned, your partner, whose name is Quentin Rand, since you seem to have forgotten, is a gifted thief, but not the best. Sarad Nukpana could have done better. A goblin loyal to the Khrynsani cause would have been a more logical choice. I don’t think Nukpana chose your partner, Mistress Benares. And neither do you. He called you by name in that warehouse for a reason.” He took a step toward me. “I want to know what that reason is.”

I didn’t move, but I was more than ready to. “So do I. I have no idea how Sarad Nukpana knows me. I don’t want to know him. That’s the truth.”

“Your involvement in this goes much further than you believe.” Eiliesor’s voice had lost some of its edge. Maybe he had some sympathy that my world had been kicked upside down and that a couple of those kicks had been his. “Sarad Nukpana knows the full extent of that involvement. I don’t. I don’t believe you do either, but I will find out.”

I had no doubt that he would.

His eyes were on mine. “Tell me about your father.”

Sarad Nukpana’s words from just hours before came back to me. I didn’t want them to.

“I never knew him, and my mother died when I was less than a year old. What does that have to do with anything?”

“It has much to do with everything. If you’re linked by blood to Eamaliel Anguis, it’s possible that the beacon would respond to you. It would also be possible for you to have direct contact with the Saghred without any of the usual side effects.”

“Side effects?”

“Contact with the Saghred causes delusions, insanity, then death. But during that time, the wielder is capable of channeling the stone’s full power. You’ve used the Saghred, yet you’re completely unaffected. That tells me only one thing.”

“Only one?” I heard myself ask. Then again, maybe I didn’t hear it. Maybe I was being delusional.

“That you are somehow related to Eamaliel Anguis. It would have to be a close link, within at least two generations, closer would be more effective. Did Prince Chigaru tell you anything about him?”

“Only that he’s been dead for about nine hundred years. That’s a little old to be related to me by less than two generations.”

“Eamaliel’s missing, not dead,” Eiliesor corrected. “In addition to being a link to the Saghred, the beacon is a lifemarker. Eamaliel had the beacon keyed only to him. If he died, the link to the beacon would be severed, as would the beacon’s link to the Saghred. Events of the past two days have shown that link remains. If the link remains, so does Eamaliel.”

That remark had implications I wasn’t prepared to deal with anytime soon. I knew who my mother was; and according to Garadin, she wasn’t a nine-hundred-year-old elven mage turned Conclave Guardian. She was a talented sorceress, but she hadn’t been that good. If she’d been better, she would still be alive. That left the possibility that Eamaliel Angius was my father. That possibility was disturbing, but the other was too horrible to contemplate. Unfortunately, I contemplated it before I could stop myself.

“Nine hundred years old?” I whispered.

“It’s not unheard of for links with objects of power to lengthen life. The Saghred is known for it.”

Not unheard of in his world maybe. It was a good thing I was sitting down. Thoughts and questions darted in panicked circles in my head, running into each other. One question managed to stay on its feet. I wondered how my blood could run cold if I hadn’t brought my blood with me.

I heard Mychael Eiliesor’s voice as if from another room. “Mistress Benares?”

“Raine,” I finally heard myself say. “Call me Raine. You might as well.”

Eiliesor knelt in front of my chair. “Are you all right?”

“Sure.” I spoke from a daze. I was everything but all right, and I didn’t think I’d ever be all right again. I forced myself to take a deep breath. I didn’t ask for any of this, I certainly didn’t want any of this, but I had it, and there was nothing to be done but to deal with it. My screaming fit would have to wait a little longer.

“Tell me,” I said, forcing my voice to be steady. I wished I felt the same.

“Excuse me?”

“Tell me everything you know about the Saghred and Eamaliel Anguis.” My fear was giving way to anger. I welcomed it with open arms. I knew what to do with anger. “You know, Nukpana knows, the Mal’Salins know. I even think one of my goblin friends knows. I don’t like the dark and I’m tired of being kept there. So tell me.”

Eiliesor considered me for a moment. I patiently waited, and looked back at him. His sea blue eyes were just as beautiful, but no longer as intimidating. I wasn’t surprised by my sudden calm. It’s easy to be patient when you’re about to get what you want.

He stood and went to sit on the corner of the bed closest to me, his back against the bedpost. “You know the events that led up to the Guardians taking the Saghred from King Omari Mal’Salin.” It was a confirmation, not a question. ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">