Sandrina Ghalfari followed at a stately pace in her son’s wake, similarly gowned and arrayed—and, of course, crowned. Since she was standing behind her son, she’d opted not to wear chest armor in favor of several strands of diamonds that looked like they would be just as effective in stopping an assassin’s bolt. Her position relative to her son bore a remarkable resemblance to Nukpana’s position in relation to Sathrik before he’d begun his speech. If Sandrina started moving off to the side, I was going to dive for the floor.
Tam had once told me that the scorpion was the Nukpana/Ghalfari heraldic beastie. Scorpions equated nicely with poison, an obvious choice for a family that had Sandrina Ghalfari as its matriarch.
My guards jerked me to my feet and lifted me up onto the dais, half dragging me toward the altar.
The thing was a monstrosity.
I would have thought that a sacrificial altar would be large enough to hold a body. If that was true, the Khrynsani temple altar was at least twice the size it needed to be.
Someone was compensating.
A pair of silver magic-sapping manacles lay at the head and foot of the altar, both attached to the black stone slab by chains that vanished into it. The manacles had been polished until they gleamed, then placed with care at either end. Waiting for the first victim.
The altar itself was scrubbed clean, leaving no trace of blood. Then I saw why there probably had never been much blood spilt on most of the altar to begin with. The Khrynsani weren’t wasteful. The Saghred wanted blood, so they had made certain that the victims’ blood, like the victims themselves, could not escape. The slab was pitted and grooved, though not from careless stabbing, though no doubt some of the gouges had been created that way. There was a scooped-out section like a small bowl at what would be chest height on the victim chained to the table. One side of the bowl was deeper than the other. Radiating off from the deepest part of the bowl was a pair of grooves carved with care, beginning shallow and growing deeper as they reached the front side of the altar.
I knew what it had to be. A bowl carved into the altar for catching the heart blood, and a pair of grooves for funneling it to the front of the altar to…
My eyes followed the groves forward to where they ended—to the place I’d been desperate to avoid seeing.
The Saghred.
An orb the size of a fist, the Saghred was usually black, but I had seen it turn red right before it was about to feed. It was red now, the bright red of the blood it was about to receive, and glowing in what could only be described as eager anticipation.
The grooves went on either side of the Saghred’s low, clear pedestal of carved crystal, its center hollow. The path the blood would take was obvious. It would flow around the base of the pedestal and merge, and when the altar grooves had been completely filled, the blood would flow up through the hollow pedestal beneath the Saghred where the stone rested in a shallow crystal bowl. As more blood was released from sacrifices, the pedestal would fill, then the bowl, and the Saghred would all but float in blood. Deidre and Nath’s blood would bathe the Saghred and I would be standing next to them, watching—and feeling—them die. If enough people were slaughtered on that altar, the Saghred’s bowl would eventually overflow. I looked down at my feet. A metal grate completely encircled the pedestal and altar.
A drain for the excess blood from an endless procession of victims.
Sudden dizziness and nausea made the pedestal and altar waver before my eyes. My guards grabbed my chains and, before I had my feet back underneath me, jerked me to a post in front of the altar. One of the guards roughly seized my wrist. There was a click, then my wrist was held immobile in something even tighter than my manacles had been. Before my vision could clear, Sarad Nukpana was beside me, gripping my manacled hand.
I focused my eyes. My right wrist was chained to an iron post that had been mounted directly behind the Saghred’s pedestal, between it and the front of the altar. I was manacled so that I was forced to face the head of the altar. Not only would I feel all of the deaths; I would have to watch them die. My hand and fingers were suspended above the Saghred, held in the goblin’s iron grip.
He smiled down at me. “Don’t worry, Raine. The Saghred has promised not to take you. I’m not the only one who wants you to suffer.”
Sarad Nukpana forced my hand down onto the Saghred and I screamed.
I didn’t think I could have stopped that scream tearing its way out of my throat if I’d tried. Nukpana had forced my hand down, but the Saghred had grabbed it, holding it fast against its pulsating surface. My palm and fingers were fused to the stone; even if I hadn’t been manacled, I couldn’t have pulled away. The Saghred didn’t budge from the pedestal; it was as if the rock had become a part of it. Suddenly the stone sent a charge spiking through my body, forcing me to my knees.
I saw the Saghred, truly saw it. The stone filled my vision, then my entire being. The thing I thought I could destroy, what puny and insignificant mortals had pitted themselves against down through the ages and had failed, every last one of them. Even my own father had failed; the best he could do was to keep the rock as far away from himself as possible. It wouldn’t have mattered if I’d still had my magic. The vast majority of it had been given, granted, and bestowed by the Saghred. As I had found out the hard way, what had been given could be taken away or denied.
At that moment, the Saghred allowed me to truly see it, to know the breadth of its existence, the extent of its power.
Since the beginning of time, before life walked on this world, it had existed—and it had hungered. Elves, goblins, and humans were born and multiplied, built cities, forged civilizations. As they thrived, so had the Saghred. The stone grew in power and cunning, making itself known to those who desired its power for their own, tricking them into believing such a thing was possible, that mortals could truly possess and control it. The stone granted a select few the strength they desired, gave them the power they craved—in return for their offerings.
And the Saghred had fed and increased in power and influence and worshipers.
I’d never felt so small, so vulnerable, so completely and utterly insignificant.
I thought I could destroy it, to shatter what had existed before time was measured, and would be here long after the last of us were dust. I thought I could destroy that.
I came back to myself only to discover that not only was I on my knees before the Saghred’s pedestal, but my head was bowed, my forehead resting reverently against the cool crystal of its base—and standing beside the pedestal was a smiling Sarad Nukpana.
Oh. Hell. No.
With a snarl, I staggered to my feet. It took nearly everything I had, but I would not bow my head or bend my knee to either rock or goblin.
“Bravo, Raine,” Nukpana murmured. “You can see the festivities so much better if you’re standing.” He then turned and swept to the center of the dais.
Out of the shadows at the foot of the altar came a figure in white, flanked by a pair of Khrynsani black mages, and followed by temple guards.
Kesyn Badru grinned and gave me as much of a wave as he could with chained hands. One of the mages pushed him to the altar.
“You look like hell, girl.”
I drew a ragged breath. “Feel like hell, sir.”
The old mage saw my hand locked to the Saghred, and his eyes narrowed to black pinpoints of rage. “Death is too good for him.”
“Tell me about it.”
Kesyn looked from the Khrynsani mages to the altar and back again, gave a derisive bark of a laugh, and sat right down on the floor. “You want me on that butcher’s slab, do it yourself.” Kesyn’s words carried to the last goblin ears on the last row. Ever the showman, he leisurely crossed his legs and with a contented sigh, leaned back against the altar. “I hope you bust a gut.”
A couple of snorts and a few chuckles came up from the goblins assembled in the darkness. I smiled; I couldn’t help it. Kesyn saw and gave me a roguish wink. If I had to share what was happening to the souls trapped inside the Saghred, at least I could count on Kesyn’s spirit to be there with me to make jokes about it.
If you’re going to die, first make sure the man who’ll be wielding the knife looks ridiculous. Mirabai had class, but the old man had style.
Sarad Nukpana’s imperious gaze swept over both of us. He’d heard Kesyn and he was going to ignore him. But I had a feeling that while the old man might die from a single dagger to the heart, his corpse was going to be on the receiving end of multiple stab wounds.
And I’d feel every last one of them.
It took six Khrynsani, but they managed to heave Kesyn onto the altar and chain him to make sure he stayed there. Once they moved away, Kesyn started squirming, not like he was trying to escape, but like he was trying to work the lumps out of a really bad mattress.
“Sarad said he needs the first sacrifice to be a mage of power,” he told me. “I guess you don’t qualify right now. Sorry about that. Though I suppose I shouldn’t complain, at least I finally get to lie down.”
I wasn’t believing this. I thought I’d be the first one to lose my mind. “Old man, you’ve lost it.”
“Some have said so,” he mused thoughtfully. “But here, at this moment, I can assure you I am in full command of my faculties.”
That did it. He was nuts.
The temple guards who had brought Kesyn in had left the dais and returned with Deidre and Nath Nathrach, and Tam’s elderly butler, Barrett. Deidre and Barrett were the personification of elegance and poise. Nath looked like he’d had several accidents involving falling on half a dozen temple guards’ fists. Tam’s little brother had fought back. Hard. Good for him. The guards chained them to posts spaced at equal distances from the foot of the altar. Deidre gave me an encouraging nod.
Sarad Nukpana faced his new subjects. It was speech time or, in Nukpana’s case, gloat time. The lighting on the dais dimmed slightly, leaving Nukpana in a pool of light, while casting the rest of us into shadow, ensuring that all eyes would be on the new goblin king. I had a feeling this wasn’t going to be a short speech. Since none of his guests of honor had been captured yet, the goblin would want to stall for time. Either way, it’d give me a chance to catch my breath. In the next few minutes, I was going to need it.
