All Spell Breaks Loose (15 page)

Execution Square.

It had another fancy-sounding name, but over the centuries, it’d been used to make public examples of anyone unlucky or stupid enough to piss off a Mal’Salin monarch. If we managed to get Chigaru on the throne and he started pulling that all-powerful crap, he’d be getting another visit from yours truly. Only I’d have the family fleet backing me up. Phaelan and Uncle Ryn would happily blast his butt off of that throne. If I risked my life to help put someone on a throne, they damned sure better behave when they got there.

To get to Execution Square, Badru led us through parts of the city where you hoped you were carrying more steel than the thugs waiting around the corner, in the next doorway, and down the alley you just passed. Between the five of us, we must have been packing enough, because no one jumped us. While it didn’t exactly give me the warm fuzzies, it did lessen the white-knuckled death grip I had on my dagger.

Badru stopped at a narrow stair that ran against the side of a building. The stairs went down to somewhere. The first four I could see; the rest disappeared into the dark.

He readjusted the brim of his hat. “There’s twenty steps with a door at the bottom,” he said. “We’ll make some light once we get inside. Watch your step.”

A storage room led to the sewers, which led to a cobweb-filled tunnel. Before we’d left the house, Badru had filled a small knapsack with odds and ends he said would come in
handy. He’d given us each a ball not much larger than a die, an invention of his. You shook it and the liquid inside made almost as much light as a lightglobe. Plenty of light, no heat, and, best of all, no magic. If you needed to put it out quickly, you just stuck it in your pocket.

Fire of any kind would have been bad walking through cobwebs. But the nice thing about them being here was that it meant no one else had been. I briefly wondered if Magh’Sceadu could flow through cobwebs. We moved fast and in complete silence. We had a destination and we wanted to get there as quickly as possible.

I estimated we’d been walking for nearly an hour, when Kesyn Badru stopped and we did likewise. I couldn’t see much in the dim light, but I could hear plenty. Voices, footsteps, a lot of both—and all coming from directly over our heads. Quick glances darted between Badru, Tam, and Imala. Though this time, I didn’t need anyone to tell me that something was happening in Execution Square and crowds were gathering to watch. I didn’t see any way that this could be good.

Tam and Imala extinguished their lights and ran in absolute silence down the dark tunnel toward the square. While we waited, Badru fished around inside his knapsack and pulled out a square of cheese. I’d thought the old goblin’s breath had smelled bad enough from drinking, but that stink couldn’t begin to compare with that cheese. I was more than grateful when Tam and Imala came back soon after.

“Sathrik’s about to give a speech from the palace balcony,” Tam said.

Mychael blew out his breath. “We might need to hear this, but at the same time, I don’t want to waste the opportunity of having everyone’s attention focused on the king.”

“Sathrik’s usually good at getting to the point quickly,” Imala said. “An orator he’s not.”

“Where’s the closest and safest place to listen?” Mychael asked.

Imala started back into the dark. “Follow me.”

The voices got louder and more numerous, and I tried my best not to think about hundreds, maybe thousands, of goblins standing just a few feet above our heads. Imala glided silently to a storm grate set in the roof of the tunnel. Light from torches or lightglobes in the square above flickered down to the dirt floor. She stood just beyond their glow, perfectly still, listening. Elven eyes were no match for goblin night vision, but our ears were just as good. So what she heard, we all heard.

“The outer perimeter is secure, sir,” said a voice from above.

“And the streets beyond?”

“Closely watched.”

“Good. Assume your post, Captain.”

Palace guards or Khrynsani. Either wasn’t good if we were found, but we weren’t going to be found. We were here to listen and leave. As far as I was concerned, we couldn’t get to the leaving part soon enough.

Imala turned toward Tam and flicked her index finger under her nose.

“Khrynsani,” Tam barely whispered.

I raised a questioning brow.

Tam’s grin flashed in the shadows. “Imala’s always claimed she can smell the stench. The incense they burn in the temple could choke a horse.”

I gave Imala a smile of my own as my pulse sped up at the thought of Khrynsani directly above me.

Imala motioned us forward. Another ten minutes or so passed as the sound of the crowd in the square above grew even louder. Usually in a crowd gathering to hear a speech, there were snide comments and jokes about the dignitary about to speak, laughter and idle chatter. I didn’t hear any of those things.

“How many?” I mouthed silently to Tam, pointing up.

He bent his head to my ear. “The square can hold five thousand.”

My heart suddenly tried to flip in my chest. I tried taking a deep breath, then another. There wasn’t enough air. I broke out in a cold sweat and my breath came shallow and fast.

Sarad Nukpana.

He was here.

He was up there now, on the balcony that couldn’t be more than twenty feet away. The goblin was gazing out over the crowd, looking, searching for us.

For me.

I didn’t need to see him to know. I could feel him.

I curled my nails into my palms and clenched my fists until my fingers ached. I could do this. I
would
do this. I wouldn’t be terrified into paralysis simply by the bastard’s presence. He could only do this to me if I let him.

I wasn’t going to let him.

Mychael was looking down at me, concern in his eyes.

“Nukpana’s here,” I mouthed.

We should go. Now. Sarad Nukpana wasn’t in the temple. And if he was here, out in public, he had brought enough Khrynsani mages and guards with him for protection. More protection for him meant less protection for the Saghred. We weren’t going to get a better chance at the rock.

Mychael’s jaw clenched, and I could virtually hear his thoughts—consisting almost entirely of four-letter words. He agreed with me.

The crowd above us fell silent.

I seriously doubted Sathrik was going to announce the details of his dark, evil, and insane plan to his people, but you never knew. Sometimes you got lucky and insane included stupid.

It didn’t take Sathrik long to get to the topics he really wanted to rub everyone’s collective nose in. “You all know that Princess Mirabai has granted me the honor of her hand in marriage. She wanted me to inform you, our loyal subjects, that she is eager to assume the duties and
responsibilities of being your queen. Please join us in celebrating our marriage tomorrow night in our most revered temple.”

Good thing Prince Chigaru wasn’t here to get that happy news. He’d have clawed his way through the grate above our heads in a frothing rage to get his hands around his brother’s throat. Princess Mirabai and Chigaru had been engaged; that is, before he was forced to run for his life. Looked like Sathrik was intent on taking everything Chigaru had left—beginning with his woman and ending with his life. Though the whole setup smelled like something Sarad Nukpana would have cooked up to lure Chigaru out into the open.

“The fear that has gripped our kingdom and especially our capital is all but over,” Sathrik continued. “Four nights ago, our police led a raid on a known terrorist headquarters and captured many high-level operatives. We interrogated them to discover the location of the last few terrorist cells. Our efforts have been fruitful, and tonight we will begin cleansing our city of their poisonous influence before our wedding day, so that our nuptials may truly be the celebration it should be.”

I felt sick to my stomach.

Tam’s house. The Resistance fighters. Piaras, Talon, and Chigaru.

“Adding to our joy, the Saghred, the ancient heart of our people, has been returned to us,” Sathrik continued. “Our brave Khrynsani brethren, led by my dear friend Sarad Nukpana, have risked much, and some have made the ultimate sacrifice and have given their lives so that the heartstone of our people could be returned to us. The power of the goblin people will grow, and all shall know our strength.” Sathrik paused, long enough to let the silence turn to tension. “And those who have betrayed our kingdom and its people shall pay dearly for their treason. Your new queen and I will celebrate the joy of our union with all of our loyal goblin subjects. Immediately following our union in royal
matrimony, the Saghred’s full power shall be reborn and realized with the souls of those who have betrayed us—all of us.”

Sathrik continued speaking while Tam had moved to stand farther down the tunnel, where there was another grate. He was staring up, utterly frozen, his eyes wide with fury—and fear. Imala was by his side, her hand on his arm. Kesyn Badru was two steps behind them. All were looking up at who- or whatever was just beyond that grate. Mychael quickly closed the distance between them. When he saw what they did, the word he mouthed left no doubt that we had a problem. Correction. Another problem.

I went and looked and agreed. No one had to tell me who the man was on the left side of the balcony, positioned so everyone could see him. As an example, a warning in chains.

Tam’s father.

It was as if I were looking at Tam twenty years from now.

Cyran Nathrach stood tall and proud, wearing his shackles like badges of honor. He looked straight ahead, refusing to acknowledge the presence of his captors on the balcony with him. He knew why they had brought him here, to serve as an example, a deterrent. His defiant posture said loud and clear that he served no one, bowed his head to no man.

Tam hadn’t moved a muscle, but his pulse was pounding in his throat. I knew what he wanted. Tam wanted to rip that grate off, cut his way through the Khrynsani guards ringing the balcony, and do the same to anyone who made the fatal mistake of getting between him and his father.

Sarad Nukpana was standing behind Cyran Nathrach and Sathrik Mal’Salin, but close enough to Tam’s father to be seen by most of the crowd as claiming Tam’s father as his personal captive, displaying him to the crowd. To the Resistance.

To Tam.

Sarad Nukpana had changed even in the two days since
I’d last seen him, when he’d tried to drag me along with the Saghred through that Gate he’d torn into a basement in Mid. Only weeks ago, Sarad Nukpana had been a bodiless specter, newly escaped from the Saghred. His rotten soul had ultimately ended up in the just-dead corpse of his uncle, Janos Ghalfari.

Now Sarad Nukpana looked like himself.

He’d briefly had access to the Saghred’s power, and in just those few hours of contact had absorbed enough magic to restore his face and body. His hair was again a youthful blue-black shimmer. His face unlined and beautiful. And his hands bore only white scars where the Gate’s magic had essentially cooked them inside the steel gauntlets he had worn. Hands he was obsessed with getting on me.

Sarad Nukpana had taken the Saghred, but he hadn’t taken me. If he had, there was no doubt in my mind that I’d be standing beside Cyran Nathrach, in magic-sapping manacles, on display to the goblin people. Next to the Saghred, I’d be Nukpana’s most prized trophy. He’d display me and then he would sacrifice me, exactly as he would be doing to Tam’s father.

In an instant, I saw me standing beside him, looking out at the thousands of goblins gathered in Execution Square, chained, my body unable to move, but my eyes spotting Mychael and Tam through the grate, so close, yet far enough that they couldn’t come any closer, helpless to do anything. But I knew better—they wouldn’t be helpless; they would do whatever they had to do to free us, even if it meant their capture and death.

Sarad Nukpana knew this.

Tam wouldn’t stand by and do nothing while his father was tortured and killed. He would rescue him, and as Tam’s friends, we wouldn’t let him risk his life alone.

Sarad Nukpana knew. All he had to do was wait.

That wouldn’t stop Tam. Sarad Nukpana knew that, too.

Sathrik continued speaking. “Earlier this evening I
named Lord Chancellor Sarad Nukpana as my heir until such time as my new bride and I celebrate the birth of our first child. He has been my friend and steadfast ally during this difficult time in my rule when some of my subjects, your fellow citizens, blasphemed against you, me, and the kingdom we all revere. The stability of the throne and your safety and prosperity are—”

“The king isn’t shielded,” Mychael said in the barest whisper.

Tam’s head snapped toward Sarad Nukpana. The goblin black mage’s lips were curled in a half smile and he had moved a few steps closer to Cyran—and away from the king. The people in the crowd probably thought his smile was polite attention to his king’s speech, and his movement away from Sathrik as deferring to the king’s presence.

“—our only concern,” Sathrik continued. “Like myself, Lord Chancellor Nukpana has sworn to uphold and protect the sanctity of the goblin throne and…” Sathrik gestured to where Sarad Nukpana was supposed to be standing. The king froze as annoyance, confusion, then wide-eyed realization and terror passed in a wave over his face.

Sarad Nukpana’s smile broadened, and he regally inclined his head.

For all to see, he was acknowledging his lord and king’s compliment.

He had removed Sathrik’s shields, and had just given someone a clear shot at the king.

The assassin took it.

A bolt took King Sathrik Mal’Salin square in the chest and passed completely through, exiting his back and slamming up to the fletching in a royal guard standing directly behind his king.

His dead king.

A second bolt caught Sarad Nukpana in the upper chest, spinning him to the ground.

“Mortekal!” more than one voice shouted.

Deidre?

Oh, unholy hell.

“No!” Cyran Nathrach screamed, as guards quickly surrounded and dragged him off the balcony.

Tam’s head snapped around as if he could somehow see through the crowd to his mother’s killing perch.