to do with finding those missing souls. I bit down on my growing impatience. “He’s good people, who right now is trying to save the lives of eight innocent children.”
“And because I served as Queen Glicara Mal’Salin’s chief mage, you thought I’d know all about stealing souls.”
This was going downhill fast, and gaining speed with every word. I sure as heck wasn’t going to try calling him “Tam” now.
“I’m not saying that you’ve ever stolen a soul, or ever would. You’re a dark mage; you’ve made no secret of that. . .” I groped for words that wouldn’t make the hole I’d done a fine job of digging for myself any deeper, but those words had vanished quicker than Tamnais Nathrach’s goodwill.
If he hadn’t had anything to do with his wife’s death, I could hardly blame him for getting defensive. He’d lost his wife, his job, and his home. That had to have left a wound, and now here I was in his office throwing salt at it.
“I merely thought you might know something that could help us find those children’s souls. I’m not implying or accusing you of anything. You’ve left your past behind. All I want to know is, do you know who would do this, how, and why. Knowing the answer to any of those could help us find those kids.”
Nathrach’s black eyes were on mine. He didn’t move. He didn’t speak. His expression didn’t change. I resisted the urge to say anything else. I’d stated my case, then pulled my foot out of my mouth. I’d done all I could do. So I gave back what he was giving me—a silent stare—though I hoped mine looked less antagonistic than his did.
“The witnesses saw a dark-robed man,” Nathrach said at last. From the flatness of his voice, I wasn’t sure if it was a question, a rhetorical statement, or what.
“Yes, but no one saw his face.”
The goblin mage waved his hand dismissively as if that were unimportant. “The creature with him was knee-height.”
“Correct.”
“A volak,” he said.
“A what?”
“A volak. A minor demon. Challenging to call, but once here, easily lured into service with the right bait.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“Fermented human, elven, or goblin entrails is a favorite, but merely pickled will suffice for some.”
I felt my lip curl. Kells hadn’t made it in yet with tea and refreshments, and as of right now, I’d rather do without.
“Volak are especially talented in acquisitions,” Nathrach added.
“Meaning stealing.”
“Souls, to be precise. Though the mage controlling it must offer continuous rewards.”
“More pickled entrails?”
“No.” I got another flat look. “Do you truly want to know?”
“Probably not. Just curious.”
“Curiosity is an admirable trait—when it is not ill-advised.” He sat back in his chair. “The volak did the stealing. The mage, the collecting.”
“For what reason?”
The goblin paused.
“Oh, come on,” I blurted. “You can’t stop—”
“I can, and for the safety—and continued survival—of you and your watcher friend, it would be best if I did not say more.”
“They’re children,” I said quietly.
I didn't need my ears to know what word the goblin spat to himself. Tamnais Nathrach might be wicked, but he wasn't completely without morals. I could work with that.
He exhaled in exasperation. “It’s a game, Mistress Benares.”
“A game ?”
Nathrach held up a hand. I shut up. Yes, it’s possible.
“A game that began in Regor entirely too many years ago,” he continued. “When it was outlawed there, and in any other kingdom where it had spread like a sickness, it went underground, sometimes literally. Now it is held once a year, with a maximum of ten players, in a highly secret location, and always in a different kingdom than the year before to avoid detection.”
“What kind of game involves stolen—”
“The game itself is quite common. Your cousin and Lord Mortsani were playing it upstairs last night. The difference is what
“And because I served as Queen Glicara Mal’Salin’s chief mage, you thought I’d know all about stealing souls.”
This was going downhill fast, and gaining speed with every word. I sure as heck wasn’t going to try calling him “Tam” now.
“I’m not saying that you’ve ever stolen a soul, or ever would. You’re a dark mage; you’ve made no secret of that. . .” I groped for words that wouldn’t make the hole I’d done a fine job of digging for myself any deeper, but those words had vanished quicker than Tamnais Nathrach’s goodwill.
If he hadn’t had anything to do with his wife’s death, I could hardly blame him for getting defensive. He’d lost his wife, his job, and his home. That had to have left a wound, and now here I was in his office throwing salt at it.
“I merely thought you might know something that could help us find those children’s souls. I’m not implying or accusing you of anything. You’ve left your past behind. All I want to know is, do you know who would do this, how, and why. Knowing the answer to any of those could help us find those kids.”
Nathrach’s black eyes were on mine. He didn’t move. He didn’t speak. His expression didn’t change. I resisted the urge to say anything else. I’d stated my case, then pulled my foot out of my mouth. I’d done all I could do. So I gave back what he was giving me—a silent stare—though I hoped mine looked less antagonistic than his did.
“The witnesses saw a dark-robed man,” Nathrach said at last. From the flatness of his voice, I wasn’t sure if it was a question, a rhetorical statement, or what.
“Yes, but no one saw his face.”
The goblin mage waved his hand dismissively as if that were unimportant. “The creature with him was knee-height.”
“Correct.”
“A volak,” he said.
“A what?”
“A volak. A minor demon. Challenging to call, but once here, easily lured into service with the right bait.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“Fermented human, elven, or goblin entrails is a favorite, but merely pickled will suffice for some.”
I felt my lip curl. Kells hadn’t made it in yet with tea and refreshments, and as of right now, I’d rather do without.
“Volak are especially talented in acquisitions,” Nathrach added.
“Meaning stealing.”
“Souls, to be precise. Though the mage controlling it must offer continuous rewards.”
“More pickled entrails?”
“No.” I got another flat look. “Do you truly want to know?”
“Probably not. Just curious.”
“Curiosity is an admirable trait—when it is not ill-advised.” He sat back in his chair. “The volak did the stealing. The mage, the collecting.”
“For what reason?”
The goblin paused.
“Oh, come on,” I blurted. “You can’t stop—”
“I can, and for the safety—and continued survival—of you and your watcher friend, it would be best if I did not say more.”
“They’re children,” I said quietly.
I didn't need my ears to know what word the goblin spat to himself. Tamnais Nathrach might be wicked, but he wasn't completely without morals. I could work with that.
He exhaled in exasperation. “It’s a game, Mistress Benares.”
“A game ?”
Nathrach held up a hand. I shut up. Yes, it’s possible.
“A game that began in Regor entirely too many years ago,” he continued. “When it was outlawed there, and in any other kingdom where it had spread like a sickness, it went underground, sometimes literally. Now it is held once a year, with a maximum of ten players, in a highly secret location, and always in a different kingdom than the year before to avoid detection.”
“What kind of game involves stolen—”
“The game itself is quite common. Your cousin and Lord Mortsani were playing it upstairs last night. The difference is what
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