“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.
Everything Tam wore and the way he wore it was meant to be exactly what it looked like—a direct challenge, an affront, and a figurative knee to the nuts. Tam wanted everyone who saw or fought him to have no doubt who he was.
No one said anything. Tam was dressed for Sarad Nukpana’s funeral—or his own.
“Sarad’s men didn’t find my private armory,” Tam said. “I usually have Barrett to help me with the back plate buckles. Mychael, would you—”
Mychael had already started up the stairs. “I’d be honored, Tam.”
“I keep a second suit. We’re of a size, so it should fit you.”
Mychael froze and looked up at Tam. “I’d be even more honored, my friend,” he said in formal Goblin.
Imala’s eyes were glistening with unshed tears.
Kesyn wiped his nose on his sleeve. “Come on, boy,” he said to Piaras. “Help me scare up some food to take with us. You could probably gnaw the leg off a table right about now—if we had one. Navinem makes you hungry.”
Piaras started to follow without a word.
“Cadet Rivalin,” Mychael called down.
Piaras stopped, instinctively at attention. “Sir?”
“Gear up in your Guardian armor.”
Piaras’s smile was like a sunrise. “It’ll be an honor, sir.”
Now it was my turn to tear up.
Tam had brought me a present from his bedroom.
I looked at it and then at him. “Tell me you’re kidding.”
“It’s a crossbow pistol,” he said flatly.
A really small one. The bolts were no longer than my hand. I made a face. “Again, you’re joking, right?”
“I never joke about weapons.”
I held up a bolt and studied it. “This itty-bitty thing doesn’t look like it could hurt a melon.”
“At close range, it’ll do just as much damage as what Mother’s shot did to Sathrik.”
That was worth a whistle. “To be honest, I’d rather not get that close to—”
Tam’s lips creased in a crooked smile. “With proper aim, it’s lethal to a range of twenty yards.”
“Are you insinuating that my aim is less than proper?”
“I’m saying that a little target practice wouldn’t hurt before I let you out of here with it.”
I examined the bolt mechanism. “Looks like it loads the same as the grown-up version.”
“And since the bolts are small, it loads three times faster.”
“Then it’s better than the grown-up version.”
Another advantage to the mini-bolts was that they probably wouldn’t leave anything sticking out for a healer to get hold of. It’d hurt like hell to get one carved out of you; that is, if you were still alive enough to make retrieving it worth a healer’s while.
I loaded a bolt and kept the point down until I was ready to shoot, then looked around for a target. Since Sarad Nukpana’s house-raiding goons hadn’t been careful when they ripped things off the walls, I didn’t feel bad about adding another couple of holes.
I nodded my head toward the far wall of the next room. “Mind if I…”
“Be my guest.”
On the far wall was the outline of where a painting had hung. Now it was probably hanging on Sarad Nukpana’s wall, but the blank space made a nice target. To make it even nicer, I imagined it was a portrait of everyone’s favorite psycho goblin, and aimed the pistol right between his eyes.
I fired.
The little bolt punched through the wall up to the fletching right where the bastard’s throat would have been, with an added bonus of hardly any recoil. It wasn’t exactly where I’d been aiming, but it still would’ve killed him. Dead was dead. Or in Nukpana’s case, dead again was dead for good. I hoped. Either one worked for me. I was way beyond being picky about how I got the job done.
“Nice,” I said. “I like.”
“I thought you might.” Tam handed me a bandoleer that had to have been loaded with at least fifty bolts.
I took it and draped it across my chest. “You got another one?”
Tam arched a brow. “Ambitious, aren’t we?”
“Realistic. That and paranoid. While you’re at it, got a backup pistol in case this one jams?”
Tam just looked at me. “It won’t jam.”
I looked back. “See previous statement regarding paranoid.”
Tam handed me another full bandoleer and pistol from the pile of weapons he and Mychael had brought downstairs from his armory. Though if I did manage to take out one Khrynsani per bolt, that’d be a hundred dead Khrynsani courtesy of yours truly. Plus, the loaded bandoleers provided even more steel between me and what any one of those Khrynsani might want to dish out. That is, if they were dishing out steel and not magic. Steel couldn’t do a thing to stop a well-slung spell, and neither could I.
I was just as well armored as Tam and Mychael. Some of Imala’s agents had left behind enough armor for the two of us to supplement what we came to Regor wearing. Though no one would be seeing anything since we’d be cloaked and hooded, at least until we got into the temple. While Imala and I didn’t look as flashy as Tam and Mychael, everything was as protected as it could be, but most important, I could still run. To me, running was just as important as fighting. Running wasn’t cowardly; running would let me get to a better place to fight again and actually survive. Though I preferred to think of it as a tactical retreat.
A loud thump rattled the ceiling above our heads. I had a second bolt loaded and almost shot myself in the foot. Another thump came from a different direction, from the far corner of the ceiling. Then another. A low rumbling rolled across the ceiling, almost like thunder. I couldn’t see it, but that didn’t keep me from smelling it.
Fire.
Normal fire didn’t burn this fast or this hot. This was magic, the dark kind, and I knew exactly what was behind it. A firemage, probably more than one. To torch Tam’s roof, they would have to be on the roofs of an adjacent house, and the bastards knew what they were doing—if killing everyone inside this house was what they’d been ordered to do.
Without warning, Piaras faced the front doors, and I swear the kid growled. So much for wondering if he still had navinem-addled senses.
A boom shook the massive doors and the floor beneath our feet.
“Bastards brought a battering ram,” Mychael said.
Glass shattered and wood splintered somewhere at the back of the house.
“To the wine cellar,” Tam ordered.
We knew the way and ran for the door leading down to the cellar, the tunnels, and hopefully freedom—or at least temporary escape.
Great. More tunnels.
Tam headed to the front, but Kesyn ran to intercept him. The old goblin might look deceptively ancient, but he could move.
“This one’s on me,” he told Tam. “Save that fury of yours for when someone worth killing is on the receiving end.”
Surprisingly, Tam didn’t argue.
If anyone was waiting in the cellar, they’d better have brought a shitload of backup. We were getting out of here and anyone who had the piss-poor luck to have been ordered to block our way wouldn’t know what hit them.
The cellar was dark, but Tam, Kesyn, and Imala ran straight through the darkness to where the door to the tunnels was. Mychael, Piaras, and I stumbled along behind in the pale glow of the one miniscule lightglobe Mychael had summoned to try to keep us from falling flat on our faces.
Kesyn had his hand on the latch as Tam and Mychael took up positions on either side of the door. Tam nodded to his teacher, and the old man’s hands glowed redder than I’d ever seen Tam’s. If anyone was on the other side, this was going to be both their worst day and their last.
Kesyn flung open the door and ran through, closely followed by Tam and Mychael.
The old goblin didn’t cut loose, meaning there was no lethal welcoming committee.
When Mychael gave the all clear, the rest of us joined them in the tunnel. Kesyn closed and sealed the door with a spell.
We knew we weren’t coming back.
Chapter 13
We surfaced a few blocks away. No one said a word, but every last one of us looked back in the direction of Tam’s house. Other houses and buildings kept us from having a direct line of sight, but we didn’t need it. It was the middle of the night, and the glow from Tam’s burning house lit the sky.
Tam’s expression was unreadable. “Let’s go.”
The six of us moved fast. Tam’s front doors wouldn’t have held up for long against a battering ram. Though hopefully, setting fire to the house would keep whoever had been sent to flush us out from knowing that we’d escaped through the basement. We opted not to take any chances on the speed of any pursuit, and ran like Death himself was on our collective tail.
To get where we needed to be, we had to get past a place we didn’t want to go—at least not again.
Execution Square.
We’d only be skirting the edge of it, but anywhere near it was too close for me. From the looks of things, I wasn’t the only one who felt that way. What goblins were out and about near the square were wearing cloaks and hoods. The unofficial uniform of oppressed societies everywhere.
