“In your opinion,” Carnades said smoothly. “The Conclave accords say that you only have one vote in this or any other matter brought before the Seat of Twelve.” He smiled in a flash of perfect teeth. “I don’t make the rules, Paladin Eiliesor.”
Justinius’s smile looked more like a shark that’d just spotted lunch. “If any proposal you put before this council for a vote is deemed of questionable sanity or criminal intent, you will find yourself on the other side of those doors, stripped of your vote—and your position on this council.” The old man’s bright blue eyes glittered in anticipation of that moment. “So says the accords. I don’t make the rules, Carnades, but I’ll enjoy the hell out of enforcing them. Now, do you want to make that proposal of yours official?”
Carnades looked around the room. He didn’t have the votes and he knew it. Yet. The elf wouldn’t act until he was sure he had the backing to toss me outside the city walls with a bow around my neck for the goblins and slam the gate behind me—or onto the elven embassy’s front steps. We weren’t under siege yet, but the men and women in this room would get a siege mentality real quick. Survival of the strongest; or in this case, the politically strongest.
Scary thing was, in another day or two, Carnades Silvanus would have his votes. He knew that, too.
“Not at this time, Archmagus Valerian.” The elf mage was the very picture of civility. No one who just walked in would ever think that he’d just calmly suggested killing hundreds of people to save his sorry hide. “I merely ask that this council be open to all solutions to the dire situation we find ourselves in.” He inclined his head to Mychael. “Though like Paladin Eiliesor, I sincerely hope that the report is false and there is no need for alarm.” Carnades looked at me. “However, we all must be prepared to make sacrifices.”
“Son of a bitch!”
We were in Justinius’s office. I was pacing and cussing, Mychael was standing in the center of the room, and the old man was pouring liquor for all of us.
The only thing I wanted more than a stiff drink was Carnades’s face in front of my punching fist.
Repeatedly.
I was more than furious at Carnades. I was furious at myself, my situation, and that whatever I did, I was going to die and die horribly. Die knowing that an untold number of people would be following me in the war that would result, and nothing I could do would stop the killing.
I didn’t say a word between the Seat’s council room and Justinius’s office, but I was thinking plenty. There was a solution, the only solution that might not involve my immediate death.
Call a Reaper. Let it draw out all of the Saghred’s souls through me. It’d probably take mine with it, but at least the stone could be shattered once it was empty.
In theory.
I didn’t know any of this for certain. What I did know for certain was that Sarad Nukpana wouldn’t turn around and go home when he was told that “The Saghred’s been pounded to dust. No power to be had here. Nothing to see. Move along.” Nukpana would move along, all right. Getting his hands on that rock had been his lifelong obsession. Then I’d tricked Sarad Nukpana into touching the Saghred with his bloody hand and the rock slurped him up as a sacrifice, destroying his body and imprisoning his soul. The goblin fought his way free, and when he couldn’t regenerate his body by consuming the life forces of mages, he claimed the freshly killed body of his uncle for his own.
Sarad Nukpana wanted me dead. He wanted me worse than dead. And he’d destroy every elf he could hunt down, because an elf had deprived him of his ultimate prize. Out of spite, the goblin would destroy everyone I loved, but I’d already be dead. I snorted. Yeah, lucky me.
“Son of a bitch!” The phrase was getting a bit old, but nothing expressed frustration like repetitive swearing.
“We won’t use the Saghred and we won’t use you.”
Mychael said it like a solemn promise, and I knew he would do everything in his power to prevent either from happening, but this was something he wouldn’t be able to stop alone.
“And we sure as hell aren’t slaughtering our people to feed the damned rock,” Justinius said. He flashed an evil grin. “Though if Carnades is so keen on pushing that proposal of his, the smarmy bastard can be first in line. The Saghred finds magic users especially tasty.”
Normally, my sick sense of humor would like the idea of Carnades paying the price for his own evil plot. But “the front of the line” meant the first to have his soul sucked into the Saghred through me, after I’d been coated in his blood. Nothing to laugh at there. Screaming for the rest of my soon-to-be-terminated life would be more like it.
Justinius handed a drink to me, then gave one to Mychael. “My predecessor exiled . . . excuse me, assigned Carnades to be the Conclave emissary to the goblin court. I think he hoped Carnades would have what goblin courtiers call an accident, but the bastard came back to Mid just like a rash on my bony ass.”
“I saw Carnades before the meeting,” I told them.
Mychael’s eyes narrowed. “What?”
“I expected the usual threats, but he’s getting creative.” I told them what Carnades had threatened to have done to Phaelan unless I took a stroll over to the elven embassy, knocked on the door, and asked to move in. I didn’t mention the five goblin mages at the harbor this morning—and my sudden urge to stop their interference by permanently stopping them. I hadn’t killed anyone, therefore it wasn’t a problem. Yet.
Justinius set his glass on his desk. It was empty. “You need to let your cousin know that he’s a target.”
“So he can do something stupid like come on shore after Carnades?” I countered.
Mychael’s lips turned up in a slow grin. “Just tell your Uncle Ryn. He’s told me some stories, and several of them ended up with him literally sitting on Phaelan. He knows how to keep his son in line.”
I nodded. “And Uncle Ryn can keep his temper. He won’t go after Carnades—at least not directly.” I chuckled, and it sounded a little evil, even to me.
Think, Raine. Yes, you’re tired. Yes, you’re scared out of your mind. Yes, you’ve got so many people who want you dead or worse that they’re going to have to start taking numbers. And to top it off, you nearly married one of them. You want to live to see next week? Then get a grip on yourself. If you’re going down, take some of those people down with you.
“How long until you have confirmation of what Nukpana and his pet king are really up to?” I asked Mychael.
“Sky dragon flight time between here and Regor is two days. I’ve told my men not to get too close. Any closer than three miles and Nukpana will be able to sense them even with the veils they’re using. All they’re looking for are signs that a lot of magic is building up. In my opinion, that would more than prove Chigaru’s claim.”
The three of us didn’t need proof. We knew Chigaru wasn’t lying. Though the human mage was right; it’d be a great way to get an island full of mages to help take on his big brother. And one way or another Sathrik Mal’Salin and his army were coming. At least the goblin army was coming. I really couldn’t see Sathrik stepping through that Gate until he was sure that no one was left standing who could so much as ruffle his hair. And if we were in that condition, Sarad Nukpana could just stroll into the citadel and scoop up the Saghred. If I were dead, the stone would bond to him like a starving newborn.
Unless the rock was dust.
“Solutions, gentlemen?” I really wanted another one other than my soul in the stomach—or whatever—of a Reaper.
Justinius didn’t hesitate. “We fight.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Against an army.”
The old man grinned. “I never said how we would fight.”
I looked at Mychael. He was already looking at me. He also knew what I was thinking.
“Absolutely not,” he told me.
“We can’t let Nukpana get his hands on the Saghred.” I said. “You know how obscenely strong he is now. If he gets the Saghred, no one or nothing will be able to stop him.” I hesitated. “Which means we have to stop this now.”