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.
“Protect the king! Protect the king!” Khrynsani guards surrounded Sarad Nukpana, lifted him from the ground, shielding his body with their own.
Deidre’s bolt was sticking out of his shoulder.
He wasn’t dead. The bastard was still alive.
“That monster has more lives than a cat!” Imala snarled.
Tam turned and started to run toward the last turn we’d taken to get under the square, the place where he could get to the street—and his mother. Mychael grabbed his arm and almost got his own ripped off in the process. There was some deadly serious wrestling, but Mychael got Tam pinned, their faces inches apart.
“Not now!” Mychael growled. “Everything your parents did will have been for nothing! Is that what you want?”
Tam’s fangs were bared and his eyes were blazing. One sharp twist of his head and he could rip out Mychael’s throat. They both knew it. Mychael could have moved out of range without releasing his grip on Tam. He didn’t. Instead he relaxed his hold.
“Tam, we strike when we can win.” Mychael’s voice was low and intense. “We will win; we will get them back. I swear it.”
Though until that time, Sarad Nukpana was the goblin king. He’d always been the one pulling Sathrik’s strings. Now it was official.
The king is dead. Long live the king.
Like hell.
Chapter 11
Sarad Nukpana was the goblin king.
Sathrik Mal’Salin’s assassination had reduced our archvillain population by one. Sarad Nukpana had taken a crossbow bolt in the shoulder. That would slow a normal person down for a couple of days. Unfortunately for the population of the seven kingdoms, Nukpana wasn’t normal. I wasn’t even sure if he even qualified as a person anymore. Regardless, he had to slow down long enough to get that bolt dug out of his shoulder. Then maybe he might even spend an additional hour going through the motions of mourning his king.
We had no way of knowing for sure if the mortekal everyone was screaming about was Deidre. But Cyran’s scream told us that he’d seen his wife—and probably had seen her either captured or killed. As to why Deidre went for Sathrik first… it might have been as simple as take the target you know you can hit. Sarad Nukpana had made it easy for her. That didn’t explain how she’d been able to stick a bolt in Nukpana, or how he knew of her plans. All of that didn’t matter, at least not now.
Sathrik Mal’Salin hadn’t needed to tell us his evil master plan. By setting him up for an assassin’s bolt, Sarad Nukpana had told the world his intentions. He not only wanted to wipe out the Resistance, but the entire Mal’Salin dynasty. My mind reeled at the implications. With Sathrik dead, Nukpana would step in and take the king’s place with his mother, Sandrina Ghalfari, ruling and terrorizing at his side, ousting the Mal’Salins and creating a new ruling family dynasty. The Resistance would take the blame for the assassination. Sarad Nukpana would claim it was their fault the kingdom was in chaos on the eve of their triumph that was a thousand years in the making. The Resistance would be hunted down to the last man, woman, and child.
Execution Square was chaos, but right now, chaos was good.
The assassination had caused a virtual stampede, and no one paid any attention to anyone or anything other than themselves and getting the hell away from the square. We were going away from it as fast as our legs and need for concealment allowed. Tam knew ways through the city where we could pass unseen or at least the risk would be less.
We had to get to the temple, and we had to get there fast. Unfortunately, with Sathrik’s Resistance roundup being carried out in the city, Tam’s house was no longer safe. There might still be a chance that the Khrynsani hadn’t raided it yet. We had to warn them—and get Piaras, Talon, and Chigaru out of there. We would take them with us as far as the tunnels immediately beneath the temple. We’d go after the Saghred, and they would be safe until we returned.
If we returned.
We smelled the smoke from two blocks away.
The Resistance had worked to make Tam’s house look deserted.
It was definitely empty now.
Deidre may or may not have escaped after assassinating Sathrik; no one could have escaped this. Windows were knocked out, smoke as if from a recently extinguished or burnt-out fire was still smoldering.
The air stank of smoke—and magic.
Even without mine, I could sense that people had been fighting for their lives here and using every spell and blade in their arsenals. Fought and lost.
Tam and I lunged forward; Mychael and Kesyn Badru each grabbed an arm.
“You going off half-cocked isn’t going to help you or your boy get to the end of this night alive,” Badru told Tam. The old goblin took a flask out of a hidden pocket in his robes. “Let a professional stagger in there first.”