“Nothing makes sense to me, least of all why it picked me to attach itself to,” I told him. “Guardians guard the Saghred. I’m not a Guardian. I’m only a passable sorceress.”

Apparently I was also my father’s daughter, and while I wanted to talk to Garadin about it, I thought I’d wait until we were alone.

“The beacon doesn’t seem to mind,” Phaelan noted.

“Well, I do.”

“It doesn’t seem to care what you think, either.”

I let that one pass. He was right.

“I have an idea of what you did.” Garadin’s blue eyes were solemn as he looked back at me. “But I have no idea how you were able to do it.”

It was only as much as I knew, and didn’t know, myself.

“How much do you know about the Saghred?” I asked him.

“Enough to know that you don’t want anything to do with it.”

“Too late for that.” Now for the question of the night. “What can contact with it do to me?”

Garadin didn’t want to answer that one. That much was obvious.

“Legend has it the Saghred can level armies or kingdoms,” he said. “Though there’s no historical record of the Saghred linked with any destroyed army or no-longer-existing kingdom. So it’s probably safe to say those are false claims.”

“Probably safe?”

“More than likely.”

“But not definitely.”

“No.”

I sighed and took a sip of coffee. Phaelan served it laced with whiskey, and it burned its way down my throat.

“Though the Great Rift in Rheskilia was said to have been caused by the Saghred in a Khrynsani experiment gone wrong,” Garadin added.

The Great Rift was a mile-wide, nearly fifty-mile-long tear in the mountains of the Northern Reach. That was some experiment.

“But what would it do to me?” My voice sounded rather small.

“I’ve only read about Khrynsani shamans using the Saghred,” Garadin said. “And they weren’t too sane to begin with, so I don’t think they’re your best point of reference.”

“For what?”

“The Saghred affecting mental stability.”

My coffee stuck in my throat. I managed to swallow. “I’ve heard that one, too.”

“Just another claim, probably false,” Garadin hurried to assure me. “I’m sure what you experienced tonight was the beacon, or the shielding spells protecting the Saghred.”

That was easy for him to say. He wasn’t the one possibly on the verge of going off the deep end.

“Mychael Eiliesor would be the one to ask,” Garadin added. “The Guardians play anything to do with the Saghred close to the vest. You’ve decided to meet with him?”

I nodded. “As soon as I’ve had some sleep. I have a feeling I’m going to need it.”

“Do you know where to find him?”

I smiled, though it probably looked more like a grimace. “That’s the only easy part of this whole mess. I don’t have to do a thing. He’ll find me. He’s been popping into my head on a regular basis lately, so the next time he does it, I’ll just make a date. I was going to find him first, but I’d rather have a few hours of sleep.”

“Do you want some company when you meet with him?” Phaelan asked.

I took another swig of whiskey coffee. It didn’t burn now, but then I couldn’t feel my tongue anymore, either.

“All I can get,” I told him. “I don’t want any misunderstandings. When I tell him he can have the beacon, he needs to know that I’m not part of the deal.”

Phaelan drained his own mug. “I think we can help him understand that.”

“Tell me more about the creatures that attacked you and Piaras,” Garadin said.

“What Sarad Nukpana cooked up?”

“Those are the ones.”

“More like shadows than anything,” I told him. “That is, if shadows were solid, and if ink could eat people.” I fought a shiver and failed. “Nukpana called them Magh’Sceadu. I know goblin, but I’ve never heard that term before. Do you know what they are?”

Garadin nodded. “They’re a Khrynsani creation, supposedly made out of goblin elemental magics. They function much like a sponge. They absorb magic in those who have it, and the life force of those who don’t. The shaman who created them can then use the harvested power for other purposes.”

If Sarad Nukpana was their creator, I wasn’t anxious to hear about those other purposes, or think about how close Piaras and I came to finding out firsthand. The first order of business when I met with Mychael Eiliesor should probably be a thank you.

“They can take any form their creator chooses,” Garadin continued. “But as with most conjurings, you can make them as elaborate or simple as needed. Elaborate takes time and effort. From your description, what you encountered were Magh’Sceadu at their most basic. A quick and dirty version. Apparently the Khrynsani are more concerned with getting a specific job done rather than making them look pretty.”

I didn’t need to ask what that job was. Or more to the point, who that job was.

I looked over at Piaras. He was still asleep. Good. I didn’t want him to hear what I was going to ask. I didn’t want to know the answer, but I needed to. I had seen what they had done to Siseal Peli and the goblin shamans who had tried to rein them in, but I didn’t know what had actually happened to them. If I ran into Nukpana’s beasties again, I wanted to be better prepared, though I really didn’t think it would help. The shamans thought they were prepared, and look what it got them. But I’d take a little knowledge over a lot of ignorance any day. At the very least, I’d die knowing what killed me.

“I don’t think Sarad Nukpana intended the Magh’Sceadu for you or Piaras,” Garadin said, not completely misreading my thoughts. “Considering what they were made to do, sending them after you would have been heavy-handed, not to mention wasteful in Nukpana’s opinion. You have the beacon, he wants the Saghred, so he wants you alive.”

Garadin didn’t need to tell me that. I had figured out that sickening fact all by myself.

“Nukpana probably turned them loose in The Ruins to feed on the magical creatures there,” Garadin continued. “Less chance of attracting the city watch that way.”

Made sense to me. “The shamans lost control of them and paid the price. If I hadn’t been able to do whatever it was I did, we probably would have ended up the same way.”

“Possibly.”

I fought down a wave of nausea. No, probably.

“I’d say that you and Piaras together attracted their attention. You certainly got mine. One whiff of your magic and they probably snapped their leashes, so to speak, to get at you. Once they were on your trail, all the shamans could do was chase them down and try to regain control.”

“So the shamans were eaten?” Phaelan asked.

I didn’t like the sound of that last word at all. But from the horror that I had witnessed, that was the most apt description.

“Absorbed would be more accurate,” Garadin said. “Once a Magh’Sceadu has had its fill, a Khrynsani shaman uses what was taken to power their own sorceries. Then they turn it loose to fill its belly, or whatever, again. As to what a shaman does with that power boost, it’s generally big, nasty, and something even a group of the most talented shamans couldn’t, or wouldn’t want to, do alone.”

That sounded too close to the Saghred’s idea of fun for my taste. I suddenly wanted more whiskey in my whiskey coffee.

“That ‘big and nasty’ wouldn’t extend to opening Gates by any chance?” I asked.

Garadin nodded. “That and a whole bevy of other nice, wholesome activities. I haven’t exactly gone out of my way to get direct knowledge. Like Gate creation, the rituals said to be used to make a Magh’Sceadu are repugnant to say the least. Blood, torture, and living sacrifices—it’s unclear whether any of these are actually required, but it gives the Khrynsani an excuse.”

A kidnapping could leave a trail. Absorbing didn’t leave anything. It went a long way toward explaining the sorcerers who had vanished recently without a trace. Magh’Sceadu didn’t leave leftovers.