Armed & Magical

“A sleepsong,” Cayle told me. “Since binding the Saghred itself was ineffective, Mychael and I thought that the souls inside would be a better target.”



I bristled. I didn’t like hearing my father described as a target.



“The song I’ll be using is for the binding of wayward souls,” he continued.



“Binding?” My voice was tight with restraint. My father was not a wayward soul. Being trapped in the Saghred was torture enough; I did not want him bound and unable to move.



Ronan Cayle sensed my growing anger. So did Mychael.



“Raine, it’s like sleep,” Mychael explained.



“I would think you would want Sarad Nukpana bound,” Cayle said, clearly puzzled at my reaction.



“I’m not talking about Sarad Nukpana,” I said, my voice low and quiet.



“Ronan knows about your father,” Mychael told me.



“Ah, then I understand your concern,” Cayle said. “I can guarantee that your father will not be harmed.”



“Have you ever been hit with this sleepsong?”



“No, but—”



“Then you can’t guarantee me a damned thing.”



Mychael stepped between us. “Raine.”



“This is my father we’re talking about!”



“And Sarad Nukpana,” he reminded me sternly. “And who knows how many others just like him. Raine, your father gave over eight hundred years of his life to keep the Saghred out of the hands of people like Sarad Nukpana.” Mychael’s intense blue gaze never wavered. “It can’t remain active. Your father is a Guardian; he knows his duty. He would want us to do this.” Mychael’s voice lost some of its edge. “He’s trapped inside the Saghred. You’ve been in there; you know what it’s like. Sleep would be a mercy.”



I remembered what I had seen. Those who had been in the Saghred the longest had been reduced to filmy, faceless wraiths. Other prisoners seemed to be more solid, but their bodies looked ravaged and wasted as if from disease. I had seen my father. Elegantly pointed ears, a beautiful, pure-blooded high elf. His hair was silver, and his eyes were the gray of gathering storm clouds. Eyes identical to my own. He had only been inside the Saghred for a year, and he had already begun to fade.



I had been able to see through him.



I gritted my teeth and stifled a sniff. I would not tear up in front of Mychael, and I sure as hell wouldn’t in front of a stranger.



Mychael looked at me. I stared at him. I didn’t say anything because I knew he was right. My father had been taken by the Saghred while trying to hide it from the Khrynsani and Sarad Nukpana. He would want us to do this.



“Is it really like sleep?” I asked Mychael quietly.



He gave me a sad smile. “Yes, it’s like sleep.”



I looked from Mychael to Ronan Cayle. “Tell me what you need me to do.”



The Guardians’ containment rooms were beneath the basements of the citadel. They were rooms that could be locked down tight enough to hold something as powerful as the Saghred. The corridors were cold stone; the doors to various rooms were thick wood and banded with some serious iron. There was nothing supernatural beasties liked less than iron. I wondered if those supernatural occupants had included the two-legged variety from time to time. Considering that Mid was an island full of sorcerers, I would be willing to bet these rooms had also been used as prison cells.



The farther into the depths of the citadel we went, the thicker the air got. Chilled and constricting. Breathing became an effort. It wasn’t the closeness and thickness of the walls that gave me that impression; it was something else.



“What kind of containments do you have on this place?” I asked Mychael, using more breath than I could actually spare.



“Level ten here, level twelve on the next two floors down.”



Containment spells only went up to twelve. Mychael had arranged housing for the Guardians’ newest guest on the bottom floor of the citadel. Bottom floor, subterranean, level-twelve containments, plenty of experienced Guardian chaperones—and someone was trying to break curfew. I bet I knew who the bad boy was. I didn’t need any proof to know that Sarad Nukpana would have turned ringleader the moment he was inside the Saghred.



“Level twelve should be reassuring,” I said.



Mychael’s expression was grim. “It usually is.”



I prided myself on being in good shape. Most times being a seeker just demanded that you be in better shape than what was chasing you. I had always aspired to go beyond that. Yet here I was, going down flights of stairs, and I was out of breath. That was just plain wrong.



I took a ragged gasp of air. “Is this normal?”



To my satisfaction, Mychael did look a tad flushed himself, and so did Ronan Cayle. Being paladin meant he had to be in better shape than everyone, and Ronan Cayle’s lung capacity was as well-known as his voice.



“To a degree.” Mychael took a deep breath. “We layer our shields. When they’ve just been replenished, it can thicken the air somewhat.”



“Somewhat like this?”



“Nothing like this.”



Not only was the air thick, it was cloying in my mouth, my throat, my lungs, threatening to choke me, and it didn’t smell too great, either. Though the smell was the least of my problems. Sliding up from below along the chilled stone walls came a sibilant whisper. I knew that voice. I didn’t know if I heard it with my ears or in my head, but I knew who it was and where it was coming from. The language was Goblin, as was the speaker.



“Good morning, my little seeker,” Sarad Nukpana murmured.



Those five silky little words were all it took to start my skin crawling on the soles of my feet and keep going until it reached my scalp. The voice sounded husky from sleep, carried the warmth of the bed, and was way too intimate under any circumstances, especially since Sarad Nukpana was the last person I wanted to open my eyes and find sharing my pillow.



I took a slow and careful breath, not daring to move. “Do you hear that?” I asked Mychael.



From my expression he knew I had heard something bad. “Hear what?”



“He cannot hear my words or thoughts, little seeker. Only you.”



Mychael scowled. “Nukpana?”



I nodded in the smallest motion possible.



“Give your paladin my regards.”



The goblin’s voice felt like a cat rubbing up against my face—not a sensation I used to mind. Until now.



I swallowed. “He says hello.”



We picked up the pace. Nukpana’s warm laughter bubbled up around us.



“Our power grows.” I could almost feel the goblin’s languid stretch. “Tell your paladin and his maestro that they cannot stop us.”



“Mychael, unless Sarad Nukpana’s taken to referring to himself in the royal ‘we,’ he’s found some like-minded friends in there.”



“I’m not surprised.”



“I am. He never struck me as the friend-making type.”



“Allies, little seeker. Allies. All of a like mind; all with the same goal.”



If Sarad Nukpana could talk to me in my head, the least I could do was return the favor. I knew how.



“So, what kind of club are you and your new friends starting?” I asked.



“We merely wish to ensure our survival—and our prosperity. You will help us accomplish both.”



“Fat chance.”



“You cannot refuse us any more than you can refuse to breathe. You are a bond servant to the Saghred, like your fatherbefore you.” There was a knowing smile in his voice. “Even now you do its will.”



That was unwelcome news. I tried to find breathable air and go down the stairs, while my mind raced to find what I could have done to make the Saghred happy. I’d lifted the stage this morning with the power the Saghred had already given me. I didn’t tap the stone. And when it tempted me in that courtyard, I didn’t give in. I couldn’t see how either was doing the Saghred’s will.



“Soon its desires will become your own, and you will have an eternity to fulfill them. You are strong enough to serve, but too weak to resist.”



The sense of Sarad Nukpana abruptly vanished. “So much for him ignoring me,” I said out loud.



Concern flashed in Mychael’s blue eyes. “What did he say?”



“Oh, nothing much, just promised me eternal servitude.” I made a little dismissive waving motion with my hand. I saw that it was shaking. “He’s just trying to scare me.”



“Scared is the smartest thing you could be right now.”



“That must make me the smartest person on the island.”



“Are you all right?”



“If I said yes, I’d be lying. Having an evil madman popping into my head isn’t something I want as a permanent arrangement.”



“And it won’t be,” Mychael promised, his intense expression telling me he’d never broken a promise and wasn’t about to start with me.



“It’s my new life’s goal, too. By the way, he’s found some new friends to play with, and they have plans.”



That earned me a couple of words I didn’t expect to hear from a paladin.



Sarad Nukpana’s low laughter bubbled up again in my head. I told myself it was only the memory, not the real thing. It didn’t lessen the creepies. And I didn’t share with Mychael that Nukpana considered me his new helpmate. One catastrophic problem at a time.



We arrived at the citadel’s lowest level. The Saghred’s containment room’s door was just a door. It didn’t look like a portal to the bowels of hell or the entrance to the unspeakable. It was just a thick wooden door, banded with iron, and flanked by a pair of burly Guardians who didn’t look happy to be there. I didn’t blame them.



Sarad Nukpana wasn’t going to go to sleep without a fight. I thought the comparison to an obnoxious child was oddly appropriate. I’d threaten to spank him, but unlike a child, Sarad Nukpana would probably enjoy it. In fact, I was sure of it.