I clenched my fists. “If I still had what the Saghred had given me, I’d do something about it. But I can’t, and Tam knows it.”
Kesyn nodded. “Cursed rocks aren’t the only way to get power. There are demons who would gladly give Tam what he needs to fight Sarad. Right now. Calling them is quick and easy. The vermin make it easy to call, hard to say no—and impossible to pay them back. Tam wants this; he wants to kill Sarad Nukpana. He will kill and he will enjoy it. Black magic is intoxicating. Demons make it even more so. And they like keeping their mortals alive and owing them plenty.”
“Their souls?”
“Worse. Favors. Favors are demon currency. And if you don’t play, you pay. Tam can call a demon and make a deal, but if he backs out on it or even tries to back out, the demon will drag Tam to Hell for his personal amusement—for eternity.”
“Tam doesn’t have to fight Sarad Nukpana.”
“What do you think the chances are that he’ll even try to avoid that confrontation?”
I took a deep breath and blew it out. “Icicles in Hell kind of chances.”
“Exactly. The sacrifices begin tomorrow night; the time for subtlety is gone.” Kesyn slid down the wall to sit on the debris-covered floor, pulled out that chunk of stinky cheese again, and took a bite. “I’ve never questioned Tam’s strength or his skill. He has both in spades; more than any student I’ve ever taught. With Cyran imprisoned, and the rest of his family missing, Tam’s rage and desperation will only add fuel to the fire. Black magic feeds off of equally dark emotions. The goblin court is a natural and fertile breeding ground.”
“If you start playing the game to survive, soon the game is playing you.”
Kesyn nodded. “And you don’t mind it, either. Being adept at the game keeps you alive. The better you are at the game, the more political power you gain. For the magically gifted ones, the growth in that area is exponential. Unfortunately in our royal court, it’s also unavoidable. Once in the court, it is nearly impossible to leave.”
“So I heard. But Tam left for two years.”
“And now he’s back again.” Kesyn wearily rolled his neck, the bones cracking. I felt the sudden urge to do the same.
“Power is seductive, Raine. But I imagine you know all about that now.”
I’d used the Saghred to kill nine firemages just a few weeks ago. Yes, I was killing people who had been hired to and were bent on slaughtering every living being in that hotel. I’d killed those firemages, using the Saghred’s power to consume them in their own fire. I’d told myself that they deserved to die. If I hadn’t killed them, they would have killed hundreds. Mychael had tried to reassure me, comparing what I had done to what he did in battle. I agreed with him; it had to be done.
But Mychael hadn’t killed enemies on a battlefield with near-giddy joy.
I had.
It was the Saghred. The rock was behind that sick joy. I would never enjoy causing death.
Or would I?
That question was what had kept me from falling asleep easily at night since then. That was what woke me up in the still, quiet hours, lying in my bed, heart racing. Mychael had been sleeping by my side, but that hadn’t helped. I felt tainted, wondering what I would be like if I never rid myself of the Saghred. How long would it take until I became like those firemages? I’d seen their faces; they had reveled in their destructive power.
So had I.
Those firemages had been elves; their targets had been goblins, Chigaru’s court-in-exile. Many elves—too many elves—would have seen those firemages as patriots, loyal to their kingdom and race, cutting the head off the Mal’Salin serpent before it could grow. I was seen as a traitor by those same people for stopping and killing those they saw as fighting to preserve the elven race.
No doubt many of the goblins who had heard Sathrik’s speech agreed with his recognition of Sarad Nukpana and his Khrynsani as heroes. They had fought, killed, and died to bring the Saghred back to the goblin people. They were merely good soldiers serving their king and people.
Over nine hundred years ago, the Saghred had been theirs. My father taking the stone and putting it in Guardian custody had made him, in the eyes of those same goblin people, a common thief. The goblins who backed Sarad Nukpana could just as easily find themselves chained to the temple altar; but for now, he was a hero. And now he was also their king.
It was all about perception.
For everyone, whether elf or goblin, it was all in the perception, pure and simple. Though my actions hadn’t been pure, and my reasoning was far from simple.
I had killed.
And I would do it again.
It had been the right thing to do, for what I believed to be the right reasons. That I’d enjoyed the act of killing was the Saghred’s doing. I wasn’t like that.
I would never be like that.
Tam would never be like that.
Kesyn Badru had been closely watching my face the entire time. “Almost any action can be justified,” he said quietly.
“We all do it.”
The old goblin nodded once. “Every last one of us—good or evil.”
I didn’t have to worry about using the Saghred again. I didn’t have a choice; the rock had taken that away from me, too.
Maybe that was a good thing. The best thing.
Or the thing that was going to get us all killed.
I raised my eyes to the top of the staircase. Tam was still upstairs.
“I still feel like myself,” I said in a small voice. “I don’t feel like the Saghred ripped a hole inside of me and dragged my magic out kicking and screaming. Yeah, the Saghred consumed that elven mage through me. I felt it when he died, his soul pulled out of his body, through mine, and into the rock. But I didn’t feel any part of me leave. I’d had a decent amount of magic to begin with, and over the past few months, the Saghred had been giving me more power nearly every day. Something that big doesn’t vanish without a trace.” I glanced down at the goblin mage. “Does it?”
“Have you asked yourself why the Saghred took your magic?”
“Just constantly. I assumed it was being a spiteful rock.”
“The Saghred is a simple thing. When it hungers, it feeds. But critical to you right now—it protects itself. You didn’t feed the Saghred, so it took that elven mage. And from what you’ve told me, your magic vanished about the same time that shape-shifting goblin thief stole the Saghred for Sarad Nukpana.” Kesyn stretched his legs out in front of him with a sigh. “It’s simple—the rock got a better offer. And to prevent you from interfering, the rock bound your magic. The Saghred didn’t take your magic and leave you with just a spark. It bound and gagged your magic, and a spark was all that could get out.”
“But Nukpana put sensors around the city. Magic sets them off. I didn’t.”
Kesyn shrugged. “The rock did a good job.”
I was thankful and pissed at the same time. I possibly still had my magic; it also couldn’t do me or anyone I cared about a damned bit of good right now.
“So I destroy the rock and chances are I get my magic back,” I said.
“That would be logical. However, this is the Saghred we’re talking about.” Kesyn flashed his broken-fanged grin. “That thing makes its own rules.”
Movement out of the corner of my eye drew my attention to the top of the curved staircase.
Tam Nathrach was armed and armored for the end of the world.
His armor was black, but in no way, shape, or form was it plain. Engraved, inlaid, and embossed with silver—this was armor for a battle you intended to win.
Or armor you intended to be buried in.
Tam’s long hair was pulled back in an intricate goblin battle braid with the silver circlet resting low on his forehead and set with a single ruby. I’d seen him wear it before. That, and his silver chain of office, now set over his broad, armored shoulders, identified him as a duke of the royal court, chancellor to the prince, and the chief mage of the Mal’Salin family—a family Sarad Nukpana was bent on destroying, along with anything or anyone else he deemed a threat to his new rule.