The first mage timed it so that when my knees hit the floor, his staff hit the back of my wrist. My hand went completely numb. I saw, but couldn’t feel, the sword fall from my useless fingers.

Two Khrynsani prison mages, both armed with staffs, and the spells carved in those staffs were now glowing. I was on the floor and I was unarmed. This was very bad.

I blinked to clear my swirly vision. In that one blink, the jail mage population went from two to one. A fleshy smack against the far wall told me where one of them had landed, and an enraged bellow from the direction he’d been launched from told me I wasn’t the only one not using their inside voice. My mystery helper then used the staff he’d yanked from the now unmoving mage to club the remaining mage into unconsciousness.

I turned my head to look, wincing at the pain that lanced through my skull.

Chigaru was the launcher. Piaras was the clubber.

I tried to smile. Damn, even smiling hurt. “Nice,” I managed.

As fast as it started, it was over. No one had any obvious injuries that I could see, but Tam’s armor was sporting a couple of new dints. Once Piaras helped me to my feet, the two of everything that I’d been seeing lessened to one and a half; and as an added bonus, I could now make something that vaguely resembled a fist. I took both as positive signs.

Mychael rushed over and gently put a hand on either side of my face. He had his healer’s frown on as he examined my eyes and felt the base of my skull.

I tried to swat his hands away. “I only see one of you now. I’m fine.”

“Paladin,” Chigaru called. He’d grabbed a fallen Khrynsani by the back of the neck and had hauled him up for view. The prince grinned. “He looks to be about your size.”

“So he does. Are you sure you’re all right?” Mychael asked me.

“Yes, now go get dressed before you catch a cold—or a bolt.”

Tam had run down the corridor to the first cell door. He stopped about three feet away, hands out, palms facing iron-banded wood. If there were wards in and around those bars, I wouldn’t know about it. Tam would, and from the confused look on his face, what he’d expected wasn’t there.

No wards.

I’d seen Tam splinter wooden doors or snap cell bars and bend them back like they were hollow. He didn’t do that here. He didn’t need to.

The door was unlocked.

I looked over Tam’s shoulder.

The cell was empty.

Chapter 16

Imala snatched a ring of keys off the desk and threw them to Tam. Then she shoved a dead guard draped over the desk out of her way, and started scanning a book lying open there. Meanwhile Mychael and Tam ran down the corridor, looking in the rest of the cells, which had bars for doors, not wood. The cells appeared to be lit from inside, but Mychael and Tam hadn’t stopped at any of them. That meant only one thing.

Empty. All of them were empty.

I looked over Imala’s shoulder. She never looked up from the page, her finger running down the writing there, then flipped the page. “This says what cells are taken and by who. Knowing that also tells us what cells are still available.”

“I take it there are supposed to be prisoners up here?” I asked.

Imala furiously flipped the pages. “Yes,” she snarled. “And Tam’s father is supposed to be in that first cell. The Khrynsani keep meticulous records.”

Unless they’d been ordered to quickly move the prisoners and not keep meticulous records. I didn’t need an announcement complete with trumpets to tell me that we’d stepped in something we should’ve steered clear of. It was too late now; we were knee-deep in it.

“But Nukpana doesn’t start sacrificing until tomorrow night,” Piaras said. “There’s another level, right? The prisoners must be down there.”

I nodded, not taking my eyes from the stairs leading down to that level. The same stairs Khrynsani guards and those two prison mages had come charging up. Stairs that were now empty, leading to a level that was completely silent. With all the hell we’d raised up here, the prisoners should be shouting. If their guards had been in a knock-down, drag-out fight, chances were good that the people they’d fought were here to free them. The prisoners would be calling out to us, letting us know where they were.

No shouts. Silence. Crickets.

I had a really bad feeling about this, bordering on panic. By coming here, we might have doomed the mission—and ourselves. Though we’d all agreed to take the risk. The unspoken question that no one had asked but had to be thinking—what if those prisoners were no longer in the dungeon at all? It was looking like we were the only living people in the dungeon, new prisoners for the taking. This was feeling more like a trap every second.

Kesyn ran halfway down the stairs leading up to the temple. The sleeve of his robe was pushed back to his elbow, his arm extended, fingers spread, palm out toward the door at the top of the stair. The old goblin was out of breath, apparently from holding his spells in place. “Tam, can you track your father? Tell if he’s even here?”

“The distortion—”

“Just calm yourself down and do it.” Kesyn’s firm voice and steady words were those of a veteran teacher of hotheaded young mages-in-training.

Tam’s breathing slowed in response, and his eyes grew distant, his magic working feverishly to locate his father.

I didn’t know how long it would take, but it was time I could put to good use. I ran back to where I’d thrown my crossbow pistols and quickly reloaded both of them, looking down the stairs leading to the second level what felt like every split second, expecting more guards to come charging up at us swinging swords, spikes, axes, and anything else that’d introduce us to our insides with one slice. Not that I wanted that to happen, but at least it’d be normal, and a hell of a lot less creepy than a dungeon that was quiet as a crypt.

“Mychael,” I barely whispered, trying not to disturb Tam’s work. “This isn’t right. This isn’t good.”

He was scowling down the stairs, unblinking. “No, it’s not.”

“Somebody had to have hit the alarm down there. We couldn’t have taken out all of them.”

Mychael gave me a tight nod, still staring down the stairs into the near darkness.

I’d have preferred if he’d have disagreed with me, but I needed the truth.

I tried for a smile; it came off more like a grimace. “Truth hurts, doesn’t it? Though somehow I don’t think this truth is going to set us free.”

Mychael, bless him, gave me a wink.

I think my heart started beating again. I rotated my bandoleers so I had plenty of bolts within quick reach.

“Got him,” Tam whispered, not moving, his eyes staring at an empty place on the wall. “Father’s still here,” he told Imala.

“Where?”

Tam nodded toward the stairs. “Down there. He’s with others.”

Down in the silent dark.

Kesyn silently appeared from around the corner. “You’re sure of your tracking?”

“Yes, sir.” Tam resisted the urge to snap.

“Well, then, go get him,” Kesyn said. “We made this trip; let’s not waste it. I’ll keep the escape route open here.”

“Your Majesty, you should stay here,” Tam told Chigaru.

“No. These men and women need to see me. I have to prove myself worthy to be their king. I’m going with you.”

Tam could have argued with that. He didn’t. One, we were way past being out of time. And two, Chigaru was right. Having the Mal’Salin name wasn’t enough, not anymore. The name needed to be attached to a man whom these prisoners would see as worthy of it. I was glad no one had to tell Chigaru that; he knew it for himself. At least one thing boded well for the future of the goblin people. That is, if Chigaru and this particular group of goblin people made it out of here alive.

Kesyn had gone back up the stairs to the temple door, and turned his back to us, focusing on guarding that door and maintaining his spell. I’d known Kesyn Badru for only a few hours, but I had no doubt the old goblin could make anyone who thought about keeping us from leaving the dungeon permanently regret that decision.

“If someone gets curious and decides to come down here,” Kesyn said over his shoulder, “what I’ll do won’t be pretty and it sure as hell won’t be quiet—so move your asses.”

We didn’t need to be told twice. In fact, like Chigaru, we didn’t need to be told at all; we were already halfway down the stairs to the second level. When we got there, we found something almost as panic inducing as a couple dozen guards running at you.

No guards at all.

My nose told me there were plenty of prisoners down here—at least there had been. Problem was there were no guards or wards down here making sure they stayed.

No one said it. We all knew it.

This had trap written all over it.

Just because armed-to-the-teeth guards weren’t there to meet us didn’t mean something worse wasn’t about to jump us if we so much as twitched. I shot a glance at Mychael. There had to be defenses and they had to be magic ones. It had to be magic, the bad kind. I couldn’t sense it, but I knew he’d be able to.

He shook his head once. Slowly.

Crap.

I looked to Tam. His lips were pulled back from his fangs in a snarl. That was answer enough. He knew there was something here, but he couldn’t see, sense, or smell it.

No sounds from any potential occupants of the cells. A dozen doors stretched down the corridor on either side of us. No hands were between the bars; no shouting came from inside the cells. It wasn’t like any dungeon I’d ever been in. Then again, Sarad Nukpana wasn’t just any jailer. Silence meant surprises awaited anyone who came down here with the intent of breaking anyone out.

I’d been in a warded cell recently. It had been blocked with Level Twelve wards, which were the strongest that could be conjured. The soldier who had been standing guard outside didn’t dare get closer than arm’s length from the red wards that crackled only an inch beyond the bars. Anyone could see Level Twelve wards, mage or mundane. There’d be a lot of fried mundane guards otherwise. If there were wards in front of those dozen cells, I couldn’t see them. And if neither Mychael or nor Tam could tell what was out there, then Sarad Nukpana had planned it that way.