“Herrick, Arman, Drud, and Jarvis.”

Justinius whistled and shook his head. “You’re not taking any chances, are you, son?”

“No, sir, I’m not.”

Piaras paled. “Who are they?”

“They’re the men who will prevent you from doing anything Sarad Nukpana tells you to do.” The old man’s eyes gleamed. “They’ve done this before—and they’re good at it.”

“Good at it, sir?”

“Exceptional.”

“What about spellsongs?”

“What about them?”

Piaras winced apologetically. “I’m kind of fast—”

The old man chuckled. “You’re not that fast, boy.”

Piaras gulped audibly. “This sounds painful.”

“Not if you stop when they tell you to.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “He can’t use any magic? Just how the hell is he supposed to defend himself?”

“Those four Guardians will defend him,” Justinius told me.

“And should they require any assistance—and that is highly unlikely—they’ll know the difference between Master Rivalin’s magic and Nukpana’s. They’ll stop the goblin, not Master Rivalin. They’re four of Mychael’s best.”

Mychael spoke. “I have the same hopes for Cadet Rivalin.”

The archmagus smiled in genuine pleasure. “Cadet? So you want to be a Guardian?”

“More than anything, sir.”

“Ronan told me as much.” He looked to Mychael. “That means an induction ceremony.” He grinned slowly. “Considering present circumstances, it would need to be public, wouldn’t it?” His grin broadened. “And it would need to be soon.” It was obvious that the old man was hatching something.

“And it would be best if you did the induction yourself,” Mychael said. “My men need to see that—and so do the Seat of Twelve.”

“To let everyone know that I didn’t try to kill you?” Piaras said.

“That, too. I’d hardly induct my own assassin, now would I? This way I kill two birds with one stone, so to speak.”

“You’ll be using Piaras to show you’re back in power,” I said quietly.

“You see anything wrong with that?”

“Not a thing. The sooner you get out of that bed, the better.”

“Everyone who needs to know that I’m back in command will be there. Do it once, and do it right—prevents any rumor or doubt as to my condition.”

“I’ll have the papers brought for your signature,” Mychael told Justinius. “That will make it official in case our hand is forced before the ceremony; and I’ll tell Herrick and the others. Since they’ll be guarding Piaras, they need to know that he’s one of ours.”

I held up a hand. “Hold on a minute. If Piaras is a Guardian cadet, he answers to Carnades until Justinius is back on his feet. I don’t want Piaras under Carnades’s control for one second.”

“Which is why we’ll be keeping his new status quiet until the ceremony,” Mychael said.

“When I will be back in charge.” The old man sounded like he couldn’t wait to clean house once he was.

“Raine, I consider Taltek Balmorlan the greater evil right now,” Mychael told me. “He—and the people above him—are the ones pulling Carnades’s strings whether Carnades is aware of it or not. Piaras being a Guardian cadet protects him against arrest, prosecution, or extradition.” Mychael looked at Piaras. “Once you become a Guardian cadet, you will no longer be a subject of the elven crown. You’ll be subject to Guardian law and under our protection.”

“I really like the sound of that, sir.”

Yeah, it sounded good, but the agency wasn’t known for giving a damn about anyone’s laws. Like certain members of my family, if they saw something or someone they wanted, they just took it or them. Mychael glanced at me. He knew it, too. But right now, getting Piaras into the Guardians was the best he could do. I had to agree; anything was better than nothing at all. Besides, it was what Piaras had always wanted.

“We’ll go ahead and have you fitted for your uniform,” Mychael was telling Piaras, “but you’ll wear civilian clothes until then.”

“How long, sir?”

“Two days at the most, and I’ll be on my feet and back in charge,” Justinius said.

“At least three,” Mychael countered.

“Two, with no arguments.” The old man’s bright blue eyes narrowed in challenge.

“We’ll see.”

“Mychael, you can prop me up with a stick if you have to, but come hell or high water, in two days I will be robed and in the Great Hall tapping Cadet Rivalin on the shoulders with a sword.”

“Sir, I—”

“Son, you know as well as I do that I needed to be on my feet yesterday. That’s not possible, but in two days, I will be making a speech and lifting a sword. I will show myself to be completely in command of this island. I have no choice. We have no choice, and you know it.”

Mychael’s silence said the old man was right; the scowl said that he didn’t like it one bit. I didn’t want Justinius to hurt himself, either, but the quicker Carnades got booted out of the big office, the better off we’d all be.

“Good. Since that’s settled, how about I plant a little surprise for Sarad Nukpana.” Justinius crooked a bony finger at Piaras and indicated the chair next to his bed. “Contact is necessary for this, Cadet Rivalin.”

Piaras looked as if getting within touching distance of the archmagus was the last thing he wanted to do. Though with the alternative being Sarad Nukpana roaming around in his head, the kid quickly got over his squeamishness.

It just looked like the old man had his hands on either side of Piaras’s head. From the sweat starting to bead on Justinius’s forehead, there was a lot of hard work going on. After at least five minutes, the old man released Piaras, leaned back on his pillows, and took a couple of deep breaths. Warding Piaras had taken more than he could really spare. He glared at Mychael like he defied him to say one word about it.

“There,” the old man said when he had his wind back. “That’ll take care of it. And I left a little something extra for the goblin. The worse the impulse he tries to plant in Cadet Rivalin’s head, the worse the shock that goblin’s going to get.” He winked at Piaras. “A little negative reinforcement.”

“Will I get shocked?”

“Nope, though you might feel a twinge.”

“Oh boy,” Piaras muttered.

Justinius’s eyes narrowed. “What was that?”

“Thank you, sir.”

“That’s what I thought you said.” He leveled his gaze on Mychael. “So, are you any closer to finding the Hellgate-opening son of a bitch who tried to spellsing me to death?”

“Not yet, sir.”

“Most of the best mages alive are on this island,” Justinius snapped. “Make them earn their keep and go slam that Hellgate shut; the work will do them good.”

“Unfortunately, sir, we suspect some of our most qualified mages are helping Rudra Muralin open it. At least six of them. And I’m certain he has more allies among the Conclave and/or our faculty.”

“Do you have names?”

Mychael nodded. “They’re all on your list.”

“Would those be the same enemies he’s watching slither out of hiding?” I asked.

“The very same.” Mychael handed Justinius a familiar folded parchment. “This was delivered to Tamnais Nathrach this morning. It’s Rudra Muralin’s demands.”

The old man took it. “Why Nathrach?”

I thought I’d answer that one. “He hates Tam more than anyone else on this island—besides me.”

Piaras gave me a questioning look.

“Rudra Muralin wants the Saghred,” I told him. “He’s made a deal with the demons; they get the Saghred for him, and in return, they get all of the students and mages on the island.”

Piaras stood straighter. “Sir, where’s Katelyn?”

“She’s safe,” Justinius told him, never taking his eyes off of the letter. He finished it, carefully folded it, and calmly handed it back to Mychael. “This Rudra Muralin. Exterminate him.”

I liked the old man’s choice of words.

“Now, what are you doing to find and close that Hellgate?” he asked.

Mychael told him the same thing he’d told me. Guardians, watchers, demonology faculty, and some grad students taking the ultimate final exam.

“That’s one problem and hopefully a solution,” I said, “but we have another one. A bigger one. Rudra Muralin wants the Saghred, and he’s opening a Hellgate to scare us into giving it to him. But the demon queen wants to release what’s inside the Saghred. I don’t know if Rudra Muralin knows about the Scythe of Nen and the queen’s plans. The cocky bastard might know and just not give a damn. But those demons do. The only thing we need less than Rudra Muralin and rampaging demons is a demon king freed for the first time in a couple of millennia—along with anyone or anything else that can squeeze out of the Saghred with him. There are no containments on that rock in your basement. If the demons get their claws on that Scythe of Nen, reach the Saghred, and open it—”

Mychael interrupted me. “Potentially thousands of souls looking for bodies to possess, and my Guardians will be first ones they find. Yes, I know. My men are aware of the danger and are taking measures to defend themselves.”

“I need to find out what this Scythe of Nen is and get it,” I told him. “Quickly.”

Mychael frowned. “You?”

“Yes, me. You know anyone else better qualified than a seeker and a Benares to find and make off with something valuable?” I turned to Justinius. “You wouldn’t happen to know what the Scythe of Nen is, would you?”