Oh yeah, I had warm and fuzzy feelings about that arrangement.
“I don’t like it,” Piaras said.
I didn’t have to ask what it was. I wasn’t the only one Carnades Silvanus had been gunning for since we’d arrived on Mid.
“Carandes is the best mirror mage there is,” I told him. “Plus, he’s the man with the mirror in Regor. If we had another choice, we’d take it, but we don’t.”
Piaras scowled. “You have to trust him.”
“Trust has nothing to do with it. This is about necessity, pure and simple.”
“Necessity might be pure, but Carnades sure isn’t.”
Truer words had never been spoken. “That’s why we’ll be keeping magic-sapping manacles on him as much as possible.”
“He’s not wearing them now.”
“Yeah, gives me the creeps, too.” I kept my voice level, which was a nifty contrast to my galloping heart rate. That was the first thing I’d noticed when we’d walked through the door. Normally, a sight like that wouldn’t freeze me in my tracks like a mouse in a room with a sadistic cat, but being without magic was not my normal. If Carnades found out and managed to get me alone, all that would be left after the spell he’d sling at me would be a greasy spot on the floor. Piaras didn’t know, and I wasn’t about to tell him. If he knew, he’d worry. A lot. Staying on the island in the face of a goblin invasion was enough; Piaras needed to focus on saving his own hide, not worrying about mine any more than he already was.
Carnades’s elegantly long-fingered hands were extended toward the mirror before him, his posture one of extreme concentration on his work. I muffled a snort. Carnades was looking at the mirror, but his concentration was more than likely aimed at how to screw us over, either before, during, or after we stepped through his mirror into a cave outside of Regor.
“Carnades can’t tap his magic while wearing those manacles, and he needs his magic to get us through the mirror,” I told Piaras. I shrugged. “Or obliterate us all, jump through the mirror, and run like hell.” My tone was joking, but I wouldn’t be surprised if the bastard tried it.
“I think those gentlemen will have something to say about that,” said an amused voice from behind us. “As will I.”
As Guardian commander and paladin, Mychael Eiliesor was as ready as he could be to step through that mirror and into Regor. His usual armor was sleek, formfitting dark steel. What he wore now was still sleek, but matte black, and definitely not Guardian-issue. The two of us were going to stand out enough by being elves; Mychael didn’t want to announce that he was a Guardian, too. Of course, our goal was not to be seen at all. I didn’t let my mind dwell on how unlikely that was to go as planned.
Instead I let my mind dwell on, and my eyes enjoy, the scenery that was Mychael.
He must have felt me watching him.
Mychael looked down at me, his eyes darkening, his smile holding a hint of danger—the fun kind. “We don’t have time for that,” he teased.
“Time for what?” I asked, all innocence.
“Everything you’re thinking.”
Piaras cleared his throat. We were keeping our voices down, and he wasn’t standing right next to us, but there was nothing wrong with the kid’s ears. After all, he was an elf.
“Sir, do you want me to see what’s keeping Maestro Cayle?” he asked.
Mychael smiled. “Ronan knows where we are, Cadet Rivalin. As you were.”
The tips of Piaras’s ears flushed pink. “Yes, sir.”
Four Guardians were standing around Carnades—hands glowing with magic at the ready, weapons doing the same—just waiting for the elf mage to so much as breathe wrong.
I shifted uneasily. “They do look rather eager to cut loose on Carnades, don’t they?”
“Ready and all too willing,” Mychael assured me, the sparkle in his sea blue eyes saying he’d like to get to Carnades first.
A big part of Carnades’s evil-master-plan-gone-wrong had been to either disband the Guardians, or use them as his personal enforcers once he’d seized the archmagus’s throne. Mychael had been the man standing in his way. Carnades’s plan had Mychael standing before an executioner.
“They’re not the only ones,” boomed a voice from the doorway.
Archmage Justinius Valerian entered the room and crossed over to us in a sweep of formal robes that had to weigh as much as the old man’s lean and grizzled body.
I looked him up and down. “Aren’t you a little overdressed for an invasion?”
“I need to stand out, girl. There’s hundreds of panicked old coots running around this island in mage robes. I don’t want any of them to doubt who I am and how far I will kick the asses of any of them if they don’t do as I say. Immediately. I’ve told the lot of them to leave their egos at home, not to give me any lip, and we all just might live through this.”
Justinius had called an emergency meeting of the Conclave of Sorcerers early this morning to warn them of our situation and to tell them that Vegard would be acting paladin until he said otherwise. The Conclave was the governing body for every magic user in the seven kingdoms. In my opinion the only thing worse than a bunch of arrogant mages was a bunch of arrogant bureaucratic mages.
“How’d they take the announcement about Vegard?” Mychael asked.
“Exactly the way I expected them to. Started asking a bunch of questions that had nothing to do with the security of this island and the safety of our students, and everything to do with politics.”
“And they wanted to know where I was going,” Mychael said.
“And why. The less people who know about this mission, the better chance of success.”
“And survival,” I added.
“That, too. I didn’t take questions; just gave them all something to do. Any who have the strength and skill to take out a goblin black mage or a major-class demon and aren’t squeamish about doing it are now under Vegard’s command. The rest of them would just be in the way, so I ordered them home to pack a bag, same size as the students. They’ll be evacuated only after the last student is gone.”
“You’re Archmage Popularity right now.”
Justinius shrugged. “It’ll keep them off the streets and out of my hair.” He glanced at Carnades and lowered his voice. “Is he giving you any trouble?”
“He’s not an eager member of this team,” Mychael told him, “but he’s doing his job.”
Carnades’s job was to get us through the mirror to Regor—and safely back again. The last part was the carrot Justinius was dangling in front of the elf mage. If we all made it back safely, he wouldn’t be executed for his crimes, regardless of the result of his trial. The length of his prison term would be up to the Conclave or elven justice systems. Both were still arguing over who would get to try him first. But Justinius could, and did, offer Carnades a deal—if we lived, so would he. He might be behind bars for the rest of his life, but unless he had an “unfortunate accident” while in prison, at least he’d have a life.
“I trust Carnades about as far as one of my spindly legs could drop-kick him,” Justinius was saying under his breath.
The old man’s rangy frame might not be able to wrinkle Carnades’s robes, but Justinius Valerian was the strongest mage in the seven kingdoms. Period. Using his magic, he could kick Carnades to the far side of the farthest continent. I was grateful that he’d come to see us off. Even better, the old guy wasn’t alone. Being the archmage meant he didn’t go anywhere without his six huge Guardian bodyguards.
Carnades lowered his hands and took a deep breath that shook as he exhaled. Whatever he’d just done, it’d taken a bit out of him. Just as long as he had enough juice left over to get us to Regor. Mychael walked over and took Carnades’s magic-sapping manacles from one of his Guardians, but made no move to put them back on the elf mage. The other Guardians closed ranks around Carnades. I assumed it was too close to the time to leave to put them on again, so they were just going to go with close-quarters guarding.
“Is the crate through?” Mychael asked Carnades.
“It will be in the cave waiting for us when we arrive.” The air coming off a glacier was warmer than Carnades’s voice. Nope, we definitely weren’t turning our backs on him.
“Crate?” I quietly asked Mychael.
“With food, water, blankets, medical supplies.”
If we got ambushed by half the goblin army, there wouldn’t be enough of us left to bandage.
“In case one of us gets a bad hangnail?”
Mychael managed a grim smile. “Something like that—”
Sirens wailed, lightglobes set into the walls flashed blue, and Piaras and I damned near jumped out of our skins.
Oh hell.
Sounded like Sarad Nukpana got tired of waiting.
Chapter 2
The thing about all hell breaking loose is that unless it breaks loose right in front of you, you have no idea what to do.
While my brain dashed between run, fight, dive to the floor, or just stand there and shake, my hands took the more practical approach and got hold of some pointy steel. Other than Carnades, there were no bad guys to stab at the moment, but that could change. No sense being unprepared.
Meantime, the alarms continued to shriek like freaking banshees.
And the rest of our team wasn’t here.
Dammit to hell.
“What is that?” I shouted over the din.
“Call to arms.” Mychael ran to the door. “Allek?” he shouted down the hall.
“Attacks in the city, sir!” came the response. “We’re on it!”
Mychael spat something under his breath and extended his hand, palm up. A clear globe instantly appeared above his hand with an image of Vegard, from the shoulders up, visible inside.
“Report,” Mychael ordered.
“Breaches in the city.” Vegard had to shout to be heard over some din of his own. “The four outer districts. I’ve dispatched response teams.”
