All Spell Breaks Loose

sleep after he’d been here only a few days. Piaras was a spellsinger, probably the best of his generation. His voice was a deep, rich baritone—and a weapon. As far as magical skills went, spellsinging wasn’t all that rare, but Piaras’s level of skill was. Rare, powerful, and deadly.

I had a thought I didn’t like, but it was a possibility, a very unpleasant one.

“What if someone comes back through our mirror besides us?”

Piaras gave me a grim smile that he should have been too young to have. “We’re equal opportunity sleep- inducers.”

“We?”

“Maestro Cayle will be standing guard with me.”

I experienced a short, but oh-so-welcome, moment of relief. I hadn’t had many of those lately so I enjoyed it while I could. Maestro Ronan Cayle was the best spellsinger there was. If anyone’s ass needed kicking—mage, mundane, or demon—Ronan was the man to serve it up. He was also Piaras’s spellsinging teacher. If Piaras wouldn’t leave the island on an evac ship, knowing that Ronan would be with him was a comfort I’d gladly take.

“Is Talon staying, too?”

Piaras blew out his breath. “Oh yeah.”

“I understand he and Tam had quite the throwdown about that.”

“Heard by half the citadel.”

Talon Nathrach was Tam’s son. As former chief mage and magical enforcer to the goblin royal House of Mal’Salin, Tam was part of the team going to Regor. Talon’s mother had been an elf, which made Talon a half- breed, an abomination to both old-blood elves and goblins. The goblin court in Regor was packed to the walls with old-blood goblin aristocrats. From what I’d heard, they’d kill Talon on sight.

Talon becoming a Guardian cadet was Tam’s effort to teach his impulsive son responsibility, respect, and, above all, control. I told Tam he shouldn’t hold his breath.

“You can’t exactly blame Talon,” I said. “He just found his father, and now that father is leaving.” I left the “and maybe never coming back” unsaid. Piaras knew it as well as I did.

“Paladin Eiliesor ordered Talon to report to Sir Vegard for duty.”

I winced. “Bet that didn’t go over well.”

“No, it didn’t.” Piaras grinned. “Though walking back to the barracks last night with Talon tripled my knowledge of Goblin profanity.”

Just before the stairs that led down to the citadel’s lower levels, we passed several openings in the outer walls that looked over the harbor. I stopped, and Piaras and our two Guardian escorts did the same. It was a long way down to the harbor, but I knew crowds of people when I saw them. Students and townspeople—there had to be hundreds of them—being put on any ship in Mid’s harbor that could raise canvas, and get them off of the island. Hopefully to safety. There were merchant ships, Guardian warships, and five pirate ships belonging to my cousin and uncle—Phaelan and Ryn Benares. Father and son, who, between the two of them, were responsible for the vast majority of the high-seas crime in the seven kingdoms. Phaelan had brought me and Piaras to the Isle of Mid on the Fortune. Uncle Ryn had arrived later with his flagship the Red Hawk and three of his best fighting vessels to do what a father and uncle did best—protect the people he loved. Commodore Ryn Benares, the most feared pirate in the seven kingdoms, was a big softie. No one outside the family knew that, and to preserve the cooperation and resulting profitability that the Benares name instilled in every ship to cross our path, we kept that information to ourselves.

Uncle Ryn had originally come to Mid to protect me and Phaelan. But now the students of the Conclave college were in the worst kind of danger. Sarad Nukpana needed sacrifices to keep his transport Gate stable and working—magically talented sacrifices. The kids attending the Conclave college were the best of the best; they’d be the top mages of the next generation. Nukpana saw them as fuel for his invasions.

Uncle Ryn wasn’t concerned that heading up the student evacuation would damage his fearsome reputation. He’d told me that he didn’t give a shit what anyone thought; though he could always claim that the Conclave paid him to do it, which they hadn’t. Uncle Ryn was helping out from the good of his own big heart.

The students were being evacuated youngest to oldest. Getting every student off the island would take time, time that the Isle of Mid may or may not have. The students least able to defend themselves—magically or otherwise—were being shipped out first. Due to the need to transport as many students as quickly as possible, each student was being limited to only one small bag, large enough for a change of clothes and a few personal items. Everything else would be left behind. The hope was that they would be able to return soon.

That depended on us, whether we succeeded in destroying the Saghred.

Or even lived long enough to try.

For a place that was the center of the survival chances for the known world, the mirror room was amazingly non-chaotic. I wasn’t complaining. Considering that we were headed into the goblin capital, which was essentially under siege from within, massing an army for invasion, and in possession of a stone of cataclysmic power bonded to yours truly—I’d take all the peace and quiet I could get.

The mirror room itself was plain, but not the contents. I counted twenty mirrors, each taller than a tall man and at least twice as wide. They were mounted on massive wooden frames. Some were simple; others were ornate. All had runes or spells carved into the frames. At least a half dozen of the mirrors were mounted to the stone walls and were as wide as they were tall. The only reason I could see for having something that big would be to get as many fighting men from here to there as quickly as possible. And the room was big enough to do it. A hundred paces long and half that wide.

As much as I disliked and distrusted mirrors, I had that feeling multiplied by a hundred for the elven mage standing in front of one of the smaller mirrors, hands extended toward the swirling surface, consumed with concentration.

Carnades Silvanus. Formerly second in command of the Conclave after the archmage himself. The former golden boy of the Conclave and the Seat of Twelve. Now the most famous jailbird on the island. He’d been caught with his fingers in the treason pie, and his signature on the documents funding the traitors’ and terrorists’ fun and games. Then there was also the small matter of the attempted assassination of a goblin prince. Carnades had been stripped of his title and position in the Conclave and on the Seat of Twelve. The elven government had frozen all of his assets. I’d been directly responsible for Carnades getting caught doing all of the above; as a result, he hated me with a passion bordering on obsession. He was also the one man who could get us to Regor in time to stop Sarad Nukpana’s rampage of world domination—and back again after we got the job done.

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