Armed & Magical
Page 8

I’d had enough, and stood. Sarad Nukpana rose and came toward me with predatory grace, quicker than any mortal creature had a right to move. He caught my wrist in his hand. I had to remind myself that the goblin wasn’t mortal anymore. However, his hand was strong and all too solid around my wrist. I felt his will meld with the Saghred, stretching outward, beyond the room, beyond the void.
I dimly heard an agonized scream. The Guardian.
Two could play at that game. With my free hand, I grabbed the front of his shirt and twisted my fingers until the silken fabric was firmly knotted in my fist. “Release him. Now.”
There was a flicker of surprise in the goblin’s dark eyes. He expected me to be afraid. I was. But I was a hell of a lot more angry. In my family, rage wins out over fear anytime.
“Such a small request,” he murmured. “You are certain you do not wish anything more?”
“Let’s see… You gone, the rock gone, your lawyers gone. That would pretty much cover it for me.”
“Those are not within my power, or yours.” He moved his body slowly against mine, and it was all too obvious he liked being this close. “But the Guardian is within your power to free,” he whispered against my ear. “The Saghred is yours to command. Tell it to release him, and it shall be done. Immediately. You only need to will it.” He drew back just enough to gaze down at me, his dark eyes shining. A slow smile formed, fangs visible. The goblin’s smile told me that he would love to see me do it. Probably because the moment I asked the Saghred for one favor, it could demand one right back. I had a feeling that the rock’s idea of a small favor would be something along the lines of my eternal soul on a platter, like a bunch of grapes to be plucked one at a time. I wasn’t about to be served up to anything or anyone.
If I did nothing, the Guardian would die. And I had a feeling he would be the first of many until the Saghred, or Sarad Nukpana, got what they wanted.
I had another feeling. Actually it was more like a realization. Sarad Nukpana couldn’t have decorated all by himself. Nor could he be attacking that Guardian all by his lonesome. He and the Saghred were connected in some way and feeding off of each other.
If I hurt one of them, the other should at least blink. I was counting on Mychael acting when the rock blinked. Nukpana was standing close enough; his breath was warm against my cheek. I’d wonder later about how disembodied souls could breathe, let alone be warm. Wonder later; act now. His hand on my wrist had felt solid enough. Let’s see how solid the rest of him was.
My knee was ready to find out when the floor buckled beneath our feet and the silvery void rippled with an unseen impact. Nukpana and I landed hard on the floor, and I rolled clear and came to my feet before the goblin could get his hands on me again.
The void beyond Nukpana’s bedroom was lighter now, like the sun trying to force its way through heavy fog. The light faded and then flared again with increased intensity.
Nukpana looked up into the void and laughed. “Your paladin is trying to rescue you. An impressive effort. He must fear for your safety.”
That made two of us.
I was standing on the edge of Nukpana’s bedroom, and my hand brushed against the void.
It was solid, not mist.
It was also cold and brittle beneath my fingers, like a sheet of translucent ice. Fog could be penetrated, and ice could be broken. Breaking it could also let the wraiths in— or let me out. There was only one way to know for sure.
I grabbed one of the chairs and swung it with everything I had.
Nukpana’s world shattered. The void engulfed Sarad Nukpana, the room, everything. I felt myself being pulled backward. The goblin’s wordless scream came to me through the racing mist, dim from distance, but raw with undiminished fury.
In an instant, my feet went from plush fur to stone floor. Mychael was holding me pressed tightly against him, his hands on either side of my head.
“She’s back,” I heard him say to someone. He sounded out of breath. I didn’t know who he was talking to; my eyes wouldn’t exactly focus.
The room got lighter and the blurred images sharpened into Ronan Cayle and the Guardians. I shuddered, a full head-to-toe event. Then the shuddering turned into shaking and some shallow breathing. I couldn’t stop the shaking, and I didn’t even try. Breathing, I made an effort to do. Mychael’s hands went from my head to around my waist. They were strong and warm, and they were all that was between me and a quick and unpleasant trip to the floor.
The Guardian who the Saghred had attacked was on the floor, half-conscious, and trying to sit up. He was determined and his brother Guardians had their hands full trying to stop him. His first words blistered the air blue. I’d found if a man could swear that expressively, the insides of his head couldn’t have been too rattled. With only a little help from his brothers, he got to his feet.
I steadied myself with my hands against Mychael’s chest. He was standing close enough to kiss. I could feel his heart pounding beneath my palm.
I took a panting breath, then tried a smile. “You tried to break into the Saghred.”
“I did.” His eyes reflected concern, relief, and rage all at the same time. “He didn’t hurt you, did he?”
I shook my head. “You breaking in gave me the idea to break out. It worked.”
Mychael’s hands tightened briefly around my waist; then with a quick glance at his men, he loosened his hold and stepped back, much to my disappointment.
To my surprise, I stayed on my feet. “Did I vanish or something?”
“You were here the whole time,” Ronan Cayle said. “All five seconds of it.”
I blinked. “Seconds? That’s it?”
“It felt like longer?” he asked.
“About a half hour’s worth. I guess time’s different on the inside.” I’d heard that from some of my formerly incarcerated family members. I never thought I’d have my own experience to draw from. “What happened out here?”
Mychael’s expression darkened, and I think it was aimed at me. “You went for the box’s lid before I could stop you. Then you closed the lid and took a step back.” He paused uncomfortably. “You stopped breathing; that was how I knew he’d taken you inside.”
I stared at him. “I stopped breathing?”
“It’s the first sign of an out-of-body experience,” he told me. “And considering what you’d just touched, I knew where you’d gone.”
I felt the residual tingle of his hands pressed to the sides of my head. “You used your hands to—”
A muscle twitched in Mychael’s jaw. “Attempt to retrieve your soul.”
“My soul was gone?” My voice sounded very small.
“It was.”
I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t say anything. Though there was a good chance that I’d scream later.
“What happened in there?” Mychael asked quietly.
I swallowed. “Nukpana tried to tell me that being bonded to the Saghred was a gift, not a curse. It wasn’t a very convincing argument. It’s also a discussion I’d rather not have with him again—in my body or out.” I looked from Mychael to Ronan. “Are you two ready to do what we came for and get the hell out of here?”
“More than ready,” Mychael said. He looked at Ronan. “Sir?”
In response, the maestro tossed aside his outer, merely flamboyant robe, exposing the inner, if at all possible, more outrageous robe. I guess it was the sort of thing a legendary spellsinger wore to a legendary stone of power figurative ass kicking. I didn’t know if Ronan Cayle was getting comfortable to sing, or getting unburdened by all that silk should running become necessary. Either one sounded like a good idea. But I didn’t want to be the one to tell the maestro that if the Saghred decided to fight back, his little brocade-booted feet weren’t going to do him any good.
“The melody is more effective in a lower range,” Ronan told Mychael. “You start. I’ll come in with the countermelody.”
“Is everyone able to shield themselves?” Mychael addressed the question to his Guardians and me.
I nodded. The Guardians responded by speaking their personal shields into place. I followed suit. We weren’t shielding ourselves against the Saghred; we were protecting ourselves against what Mychael and Ronan were about to do. I had no doubt that their sleepsong would be one of the most potent. We weren’t wayward souls, but it was still a sleepsong sung by a pair of masters. If we didn’t shield ourselves, we’d be on the floor snoring. With shields, we would still be able to hear the song, but the spell wouldn’t affect us.
Mychael began to hum, the softest, most soothing sound I’d ever heard. Even standing across from him, I could feel the sound resonating from deep in his chest. I could only imagine what it would feel like to be held there, listening to that sound, feeling that music. The humming resolved into whispered words, the syllables melding one into the next, the pitch low and constant and warm.
He had a deep, molten, luscious baritone that made me think of melted chocolate. Decadent and delicious, not to mention hypnotic. If that voice had been persuading me to go to sleep—or do anything else—I don’t think I’d have been able to resist. Hell, I don’t think I would have even tried.
I’d only heard Mychael’s singing in snippets. But I knew enough about spellsinging to know that his voice was doing some very intricate and impressive work. I couldn’t tell yet if the Saghred was impressed enough to be sleepy, but it made a fan for life out of me. The tune was simple and heartbreakingly beautiful, but it was the words of the spellsong that would have tripped up a lesser spellsinger.
Ronan’s tenor seamlessly merged with Mychael’s baritone, flowing underneath in a strong countermelody. Not surprisingly, I didn’t feel the same way about Ronan’s voice, but I knew enough about spellsinging to tell that his pipes more than matched his reputation.
Their spellduet was essentially a lullaby for one, soft and soothing. Volume wasn’t needed, just intensity.