I gave Tam and Imala a quickie rendition of why Balmorlan was having the hotel destroyed.
“Two birds with one stone,” Imala noted dryly. “Kill the prince and every goblin who supports him. Then a war with Sathrik will merely be a matter of who fires first.”
Tam looked at something over my shoulder. “Your Highness, we need to leave immediately.”
Prince Chigaru Mal’Salin was on his feet. Barely. A pair of guards stood just behind him, far enough for protocol, close enough to catch the prince before he hit the floor if he happened to pass out.
The prince was actually smiling. “I must run for my life, and Raine Benares is involved. How shocking.”
“And once again, it’s you they’re trying to kill,” I retorted. “Shocking.”
At least Chigaru was wearing trousers and boots this time, and he was almost wearing a shirt. It was completely open down the front, exposing his bandaged shoulder. His right arm was in a sling.
One of his guards turned, went back into Chigaru’s suite, and quickly returned with a cloak, which he draped over his prince’s shoulders and fastened with the clasp at his throat.
Tam nodded. “Let’s move.”
The main staircase was full of panicked guests and staff from the lower floors.
“This way,” Tam said.
“Service stairs?” I asked.
Tam flashed a quick grin full of fang. “Rule one in the goblin court is always know the nearest exit.”
I was standing still, but the skin on the back of my neck wasn’t. Tam looked perfectly calm, relaxed even. Many of the goblins I could see were the same.
“Either being exiled has made running for your lives old hat, or you all risk your lives for fun.”
Imala smiled. “Yes.”
“I’ll never understand how goblins—” The tiny hairs on my arms joined the skin on my neck in trying to run away. A scent—no, a sensation—drifted through the air. It held the slightest hint of foulness, corruption . . .
. . . of brimstone.
Black magic.
“Mago, stay close,” I said quietly. “Mychael, how many men do you have outside?”
He stopped, and I felt the magic he instantly held in readiness. He sensed it, too. We all did.
I swallowed. “We need them inside.”
The lights went out and the screams began.
Chapter 9
Screams came from the main stairs and the floor below us. For the first few seconds, those screams were because of the dark, the base fear we all have of the unknown. But panic in a pitch-dark building—where getting out meant going down flights of stairs—could be bad, worse than bad. I’d seen the aftermath before.
I couldn’t see my hand in front of my face. How far was it to the service stairs door? Twenty steps? Thirty? The goblins around me went completely silent, and no one drew a weapon. Good. Blades in the dark and in close quarters meant accidents of the fatal kind. Goblins wouldn’t be scared of the dark because they could see in it. I couldn’t see, and I was scared. I also wanted to see where I was going and what might be coming after me almost as badly as I wanted to get out.
I wanted out, but this was only the beginning of what Balmorlan had set in motion because I was in here. And I was in here because he knew I could handle it.
But only with the Saghred.
I backhanded that thought out of my mind.
Light, Raine. One thing at a time; get yourself some light.
I held my hand at what I thought to be level with my face, palm up, and summoned my magic. Normally, a bright lightglobe would instantly spin itself into existence. All I got now was sputtering sparks, their light going only a foot or two in front of me, but it was enough for me to see that the lightglobe set into the wall nearest me hadn’t gone out.
It’d been smothered.
Just like the next one and the one after that.
A black fog covered everything, sliding against my skin like an oily darkness. The air quickly grew cold and thick; trying to lift my arm was like being under water.
Muffled magic, smothered lightglobes, greasy air. Only one thing could do that.
Magic of the blackest kind.
Who or whatever was behind this spell didn’t want us getting out of the hotel.
Who or whatever could bite me. I gritted my teeth and pushed my way through the murk toward Mychael.
I could barely see Imala at the edge of my light. She spat out a low curse. “What the hell is this? It doesn’t smell like smoke.”
“It isn’t,” Tam said, his voice tight. A red lightglobe struggled to life above his outstretched hand. More red orbs of light bloomed as the goblin mages followed suit. None of them did much to cut through the oily murk.
“Where’s it coming from?” Mago’s breath came on a plume of frost.
Only then did I realize that I was shivering. I thought I was just scared. I was, but I was also freezing. “It’s cold enough to hang meat in here.”
That earned me a dark chuckle from the goblin guard closest to me.
“We’re out of here,” Mychael told us. “Now.”
A goblin was pushing his armored shoulder against the stairwell door. “Sir, it won’t open.”
A second guard joined him. They were big, but that door wasn’t budging.
With a visible effort, Mychael waded through the magicthickened air and the goblins made way for him. “It shouldn’t have a lock.” He laid his hand flat against the door’s wood and the iron bands that wrapped them and I could literally see the surge of Mychael’s power go into the door, power that should have blown the thing off its hinges.
It didn’t budge.
It should have done a lot more than budge. I’d seen Mychael disintegrate doors sealed shut with Level Twelve wards.
The door began to glow and hum, getting brighter and louder.
Oh hell.
“Down!” Mychael shouted.
He shoved the guards away from the door and flung himself down the corridor and against the wall. I covered Mago and me with the best shield I could manage on short notice.
The door exploded outward in a scream of tortured iron hinges, its splintered wood now deadly stakes flying down the hallway.
Doors couldn’t absorb magic and spit it back. That was impossible. Though the smoking black hole where the door had been clearly said otherwise.
I scrambled to my feet, pulling Mago with me.
Whether the door had been blown out, blown in, or blown up didn’t matter. It was gone and we could run through the hole that was—
Filled with a monster. Not just filled, packed.
Even in the dim light, there was no mistaking what that thing was.
A buka.
The nine-foot-tall, hairy, long-fanged, and longer-armed mountain monster out of goblin legend.
The creature had to duck and twist to get its thick body through the door opening. Its roar was deafening in the confined hallway, drowning out any shouts or commands. For the first time ever, I heard a goblin scream.
The buka was fast, faster than any living creature had a right to be. Goblins were quick, but for the ones closest to the door, the only thing they did quickly was die. With two swipes of one of the buka’s long arms with its claw-hooked hands, screams became feral shrieks as dark goblin blood spattered against the walls and ceiling.
The buka had appeared, attacked, and killed in less than five seconds.
The goblins instantly went from forced calm to near hysteria, but they didn’t stampede. The cries and shouts from the lower floors redoubled, probably at the sight of their own bukas—or things even worse.
A panicked scream came from the main stairs. A man was scrambling up them, his face a terrified mask. An enormous gnarled hand reached up from the gloom below and grabbed the man by both legs at once, jerked him off his feet, and snatched him down the stairs. There was a quick, wet snap of bone in the dark, and the man’s screams rose to an inhuman shriek. Two more snaps and the shrieks stopped.