Read Lisa Shearin - Raine Benares 02 for Free Online

wavered. “It can’t remain active. Your father is a Guardian; he
knows his duty. He would want us to do this.” Mychael’s voice lost some of its
edge. “He’s trapped inside the Saghred. You’ve been in there; you know what
it’s like. Sleep would be a mercy.”
    I
remembered what I had seen. Those who had been in the Saghred the longest had
been reduced to filmy, faceless wraiths. Other prisoners seemed to be more
solid, but their bodies looked ravaged and wasted as if from disease. I had
seen my father. Elegantly pointed ears, a beautiful, pure-blooded high elf. His
hair was silver, and his eyes were the gray of gathering storm clouds. Eyes
identical to my own. He had only been inside the Saghred for a year, and he had
already begun to fade.
    I had
been able to see through him.
    I
gritted my teeth and stifled a sniff. I would not tear up in front of Mychael,
and I sure as hell wouldn’t in front of a stranger.
    Mychael
looked at me. I stared at him. I didn’t say anything because I knew he was
right. My father had been taken by the Saghred while trying to hide it from the
Khrynsani and Sarad Nukpana. He would want us to do this.
    “Is
it really like sleep?” I asked Mychael quietly.
    He
gave me a sad smile. “Yes, it’s like sleep.”
    I
looked from Mychael to Ronan Cayle. “Tell me what you need me to do.”
    The
Guardians’ containment rooms were beneath the basements of the citadel. They were rooms that could be locked
down tight enough to hold something as powerful as the Saghred. The corridors
were cold stone; the doors to various rooms were thick wood and banded with
some serious iron. There was nothing supernatural beasties liked less than
iron. I wondered if those supernatural occupants had included the two-legged
variety from time to time. Considering that Mid was an island full of
sorcerers, I would be willing to bet these rooms had also been used as prison
cells.
    The
farther into the depths of the citadel we went, the thicker the air got. Chilled
and constricting. Breathing became an effort. It wasn’t the closeness and
thickness of the walls that gave me that impression; it was something else.
    “What
kind of containments do you have on this place?” I asked Mychael, using more
breath than I could actually spare.
    “Level
ten here, level twelve on the next two floors down.”
    Containment
spells only went up to twelve. Mychael had arranged housing for the Guardians’
newest guest on the bottom floor of the citadel. Bottom floor, subterranean,
level-twelve containments, plenty of experienced Guardian chaperones—and
someone was trying to break curfew. I bet I knew who the bad boy was. I didn’t
need any proof to know that Sarad Nukpana would have turned ringleader the
moment he was inside the Saghred.
    “Level
twelve should be reassuring,” I said.
    Mychael’s
expression was grim. “It usually is.”
    I
prided myself on being in good shape. Most times being a seeker just demanded
that you be in better shape than what was chasing you. I had always aspired to
go beyond that. Yet here I was, going down flights of stairs, and I was
out of breath. That was just plain wrong.
    I
took a ragged gasp of air. “Is this normal?”
    To my
satisfaction, Mychael did look a tad flushed himself, and so did Ronan Cayle.
Being paladin meant he had to be in better shape than everyone, and Ronan
Cayle’s lung capacity was as well-known as his voice.
    “To a
degree.” Mychael took a deep breath. “We layer our shields. When they’ve just
been replenished, it can thicken the air somewhat.”
    “Somewhat
like this?”
    “Nothing
like this.”
    Not
only was the air thick, it was cloying in my mouth, my throat, my lungs,
threatening to choke me, and it didn’t smell too great, either. Though the
smell was the least of my problems. Sliding up from below along the chilled
stone walls came a sibilant whisper. I knew that voice. I didn’t know if I
heard it with my ears or in my head, but I knew who it