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.”

“And if I refuse?”

As expected, he cast the barest glance at Piaras. I needed no further elaboration, and I hoped the prince didn’t see the need to give it.

“Sathrik murdered our mother with his own hands, Mistress Benares. He killed or exiled her most trusted counselors, and he has tried to kill me on numerous occasions. Now he has brought that shaman from the lower hells to rule beside him.” He paused, and I could see the muscles working in his jaw. “Even more that his diseased mind desires will be his once he has the Thief of Souls. Sarad Nukpana only needs spilled lifeblood to open it, and a soul sacrifice to tap its power.” His voice dropped to the barest whisper. “My brother has everything, with even more to gain. I have nothing left to lose.”

His eyes were jet orbs. Not only was he determined, he was desperate—and probably willing to do things a normal person would find just a little bit insane. Unfortunately his brother wasn’t here for him to take it out on. After being brought up in the same house as Sathrik Mal’Salin, I could almost understand the mentally unstable part. And on a certain level, I could understand and almost sympathize with his motivation, but not with what he was trying to do.

“Your decision is quite simple in my eyes,” he continued. “You are either for my brother, or you are against him.”

“I don’t see myself ever being for Sathrik Mal’Salin.”

“Then you will find the Saghred for me.”

I hesitated. Not the best move, but I didn’t want to get what I was about to say wrong. Such things have a way of blowing up in your face. Especially when I say them.

“From what I have heard of your brother and Sarad Nukpana, and from what I have been told of the Saghred, getting the three of them together in the same room is the last thing anyone wants to happen.”

“Then we are in agreement.”

“Understand my dilemma, Your Highness. I’ve heard what your brother and Sarad Nukpana are capable of. I do not know you, or your plans.”

“My plans are no concern of yours. Regardless, you are hardly in a position to bargain.”

“True. But you say that my friend and I will not be harmed, that we will be released once you have what you want. You’re asking for my complete trust on your word alone. I’ve never dealt with you, so don’t take this personally, but the elven people have had bitter experience with the word of a Mal’Salin. It’s often been open to interpretation, usually by the Mal’Salin who has just given their word.”

There was an angry hiss behind me, and the sound of a blade clearing its scabbard. The prince didn’t move. The guard next to Piaras didn’t move. I certainly wasn’t going to move. I also wasn’t going to get too excited about my chances for long-term survival. I didn’t hear the blade go back where it came from, and I really didn’t want to turn around and find out where it was.

The prince had been resting one of his hands on an intricately carved armrest. It snapped off under the pressure of his grip. I hoped it was wood rot, though I knew better. I tended to have that effect on people.

When the prince spoke, his voice was calm. “Unlike most of my family, my word is my sacred bond. You can believe that or not. But I had you brought here at great risk to my people and to myself because my brother gets close to his goal, and the Guardians grow increasingly desperate, as do I. So you see, Mistress Benares, neither one of us has any choice.”

I didn’t consider getting cozy with an object nicknamed Soul Thief much of a choice.

Prince Chigaru’s dark eyes drifted down to where the amulet rested against my chest beneath my doublet.

“Remove it.”

I made no move to comply. “I can’t take it off.”

“I am not interested in what you want, Mistress Benares. I have given you every opportunity to end this without any actions we would both find distasteful.”

“She can’t take it off. It won’t let her.” Piaras’s voice was strong and quavered only slightly.

Like a spark beneath cold embers, I felt the power flare to life under the young spellsinger’s words. The danger was there, and it was real, palatable in the room’s chilled air. I didn’t know if Piaras realized what was happening, but the prince knew something was different. He had been schooled in the magical arts too well not to know. But I don’t think he recognized Piaras as the threat he was. Yet. The last thing I wanted was for Chigaru Mal’Salin to see Piaras as anything other than harmless. I needed a distraction.

I pulled the amulet from beneath my shirt.

Piaras’s response was immediate and impassioned. “No!” He lunged for me, but was restrained by the two guards.

I forced myself to ignore him. Fortunately, Prince Chigaru didn’t have that problem. His attention was instantly riveted to the amulet gleaming in the firelight. I took a deep breath. Mission accomplished. It brought up a whole new problem, but I was prepared to deal with that any way I had to. I had a feeling it wasn’t going to be pleasant for anyone in that room, including myself. I didn’t care. My hands were untied, there was a window in the room, and I was more than ready to leave. I could feel the amulet stir, its warmth spreading through my body. I think it had had enough, too.