“From your description, the elven Guardian and spellsinger would be Mychael Eiliesor.”
I knew I’d come to the right place. “You know him?”
“I know of him. He was appointed paladin of the Guardians after I left.”
I sat in stunned silence. I had just kicked the commander of the Conclave Guardians in the balls.
“What is it?” Garadin asked.
I told him.
Garadin laughed until tears were streaming down his face and he couldn’t breathe. Piaras couldn’t hear a thing, but the shield couldn’t keep him from knowing that his teacher found something hysterical—at my expense. He grinned.
I didn’t share their opinion. “It’s not funny!” I said it out loud for Garadin, and towards Piaras so he could read my lips. It just made it worse.
“I’m sorry,” Garadin sputtered.
I crossed my arms and sat ramrod straight against the back of the chair. “You don’t sound sorry.”
“I am.” He snorted one last time, and wiped his eyes. “Really.”
I sat up even straighter, gathering what little shreds of dignity I had left. “Well, what do you know about him?”
“Nothing bad. He was personally appointed by the Archmagus. Justinius Valerian has a knack for hiring good people, plus he’s always wanted to clean house. Putting Mychael Eiliesor in as paladin sounded like a good start. He’s one of the best spellsingers on Mid, and a top-notch healer. Some say the best of both.”
I could have guessed the spellsinger part. “What else?”
“Paladin Eiliesor takes his job very seriously. He’s honest and he doesn’t play favorites.” Garadin chuckled as he relit his pipe. “And don’t even think about offering a bribe. Rumor has it a couple of Caesolian mages tried when he first took office. Eiliesor didn’t take the offer, but he did take the mages on an extended tour of the Conclave dungeons. You thinking about setting up a meeting?”
“That’s the last thing on my mind. For now I just want to find out who the good guys are. If there are any.”
Garadin’s expression darkened. “I can guarantee you one of them isn’t named Sarad Nukpana.”
“I know. I’ll be seeing someone in the morning who might be able to shed some light on how Sarad Nukpana knows me.”
“Nathrach?” Garadin’s distaste was evident.
“Yes, I’m going to see Tam.” My tone was weary in my own ears.
Garadin and I had trampled this ground before. I didn’t blame him. As my godfather, Garadin felt he had certain duties. One of those duties was protecting me from inappropriate men. A couple of fond and fun memories reminded me in no uncertain terms that Tamnais Nathrach certainly qualified. But sometimes a girl likes a little inappropriate in her life. I know I do.
“Mind if I look at the amulet?” Garadin set his pipe aside, along with his animosity towards Tam. For now. Garadin picked his battles carefully with me. This was one he knew he couldn’t win.
“That’s what I’m here for.” I reached down the front of my shirt and pulled out the chain. The silvery disk felt smooth and surprisingly cool after spending the past two hours next to my skin. I lifted the chain and the amulet over my head.
I almost didn’t live to regret it.
I knew there was air in the room, but my lungs didn’t believe me. Gasping didn’t help. Garadin lowered me to the floor before I fell there on my own. My fist convulsed on the amulet, and pain shot up my arm as the metal bit into my palm. Garadin tried to pry my fingers open. I wanted to help him, but my body—and the amulet—had other ideas.
The air was hot, the room too small. Through half-open eyes, I saw Garadin and Piaras above me. There were others that I couldn’t see. They pressed close, taking what little air remained. I couldn’t see them, but I knew who they were. A Khrynsani shaman, Mychael Eiliesor, and from farther away, Sarad Nukpana. They knew who I was—and soon they would know where I was.
I felt Garadin wrench the amulet from my fingers and push the chain back over my head.
The air cleared. The presences vanished. I took a shuddering breath and tried to open my eyes more than a squint. The room was too bright. I was draped across Garadin’s lap. He had one arm around my shoulders, the other clutched to his chest. He had a burn where he had grabbed the amulet. Piaras was at my side. The air was cooler now. My lungs still burned, but at least I could breathe.
Garadin was in pain. Piaras was scared. I was both.
Garadin nodded towards the shelf by his worktable. “Second shelf, fifth jar,” he said between pain-clenched teeth.
Piaras hurried to comply. I decided to lie there and breathe. Not that I had any choice. My body still had a mind of its own, and I wasn’t entirely convinced it belonged to me. Garadin’s injury was worse, so Piaras treated him first. He applied the salve to Garadin’s burn and bandaged it with a strip of linen. Then he did the same to my hand.
My godfather drew a ragged breath, and blew it out. “I don’t think it likes me.”
“I don’t like it either, so we’re all even.”
Once I could sit up on my own, I held the amulet so Garadin could study it. He wasn’t going to try to touch it, and I certainly wasn’t about to take it off again. Piaras may not have heard the previous part of our conversation, but he saw the results. When the amulet burned him, Garadin had dropped the shield blocking our voices. Pain can make you do that. He didn’t bother putting the shield up again, and I didn’t bother reminding him. It’d be like shutting the stable door after the horses were gone. A little too much, a little too late.
The silver disk glittered in the firelight. To me, it looked like it was proud of itself. I swear I felt it vibrate, almost like it was purring. Glad one of us was happy. I leaned back against the side of the chair. The floor seemed relatively stable. I thought I’d stay there for a while.
“What do you think it is?” I asked Garadin.
“I don’t know,” he admitted without the least embarrassment. “I’d say it’s quite old, and judging from the style and quality of workmanship, it is of elven make.”
“Maybe that’s why it likes me so much.”
“Unlikely.”
“One could hope.”
“Objects like this don’t usually ally themselves along racial lines. From its reactions to you, and the identities of those who want it, I think we can assume that it is a magical talisman of some sort.”
“You think?”
“Sarcasm won’t help.”
“It won’t hurt. And it’s about all I can muster right now. I can’t take it off, I don’t want to keep it, but I can hardly hand it over to anybody who’d take my life to have it. And who only knows what it’s doing to me.”
“Do you feel different?”
“A little.”
“How?”
“Twitchy, for one thing. And when Quentin was ambushed, I didn’t know who had set him up, just that it was magic and it was trouble. That’s a new talent for me.”
“Interesting.”
Everyone was entirely too fond of using that word to describe my predicament. “No, it’s not interesting,” I told him. “But then I’m the one the thing has grafted itself to. I just want to know what it does, and why the Khrynsani and Guardians want to get their hands on it.”
“Conclave Guardians? Here?” Piaras asked, looking entirely too eager for my taste.
Great.
“Sorry. I didn’t hear that,” Piaras said quickly. “I didn’t hear a thing.” He tried getting to his feet, his long legs tangling in the process. “I’ll just go stand in the corner. Better yet, I’ll step outside.”
“Sit,” Garadin and I said in unison.
Piaras sat.
Garadin sighed. “If you hear anything you consider fascinating, just forget it immediately.”
“Yes, sir.”
Exhausted, I slouched back against the chair leg. “Garadin, you were once a Conclave mage. You must have some idea what that Guardian”—I shot a glance at Piaras—“who shall remain nameless, meant by ‘that box and its contents are our only concern.’”