Nightseer

There was nothing alive between the gardens and the dragon stables, neither enemy nor friend. Keleios stared back at the keep, for the flames had claimed it. Great roaring sheets of fire blazed from the collapsed roof. The library was being consumed. Jodda knelt by Belor, laying hands on him once more.

He stirred and moaned under her touch.

Tobin said, "Keleios, one of the black healers called Velen is bargaining with the devil. The devil is listening."

She turned to Lothor. "What could your brother offer to a free devil?"

"He is an intimate of Verm. Even devils like to stay on the good side of a god."

"An intimate -- what does that mean."

Lothor stared at the twin glows in the night sky. The keep blazed brightest, but the devil's glow rivaled it. "Some say his father was Verm."

"So you and Velen don't share either mother or father?"

"If Verm is truly his father, no."

"You don't really believe a god fathered Velen, do you?"

Lothar shrugged. "I don't know."

Keleios shook her head, feeling an argument coming on. "We have little time. Can you make a protective circle with the dagger?"

"I said I could."

"Will it be too dangerous to include all of us in the power circle?"

"It might be too dangerous not to."

Jodda said, "I will not be party to raising a devil for any reason."

Lothor bowed to her. "White healer, you and the young ones will be inside the power circle, protected, but not drawn upon. All the power needed or used will be within a star."

He held out his hand, bare now, and Keleios gave him the white dagger handle first. It seemed to blend with his skin, to belong in his grasp. His helmet had been set on the ground, leaving his white hair and face free. His hair was tied back in a long knot, leaving his elf-pointed ears bare. He began to pace a circle, the white dagger out before him balanced on his outstretched palms.

Belor sat up slowly and Tobin moved to help him. He waved the boy back. "How did we get here?"

Keleios went to him. "We carried you."

He massaged the back of his head. "I remember falling rock. Something exploded my illusions."

"It was a devil."

"What . . . "

"Belor, we need your help to conjure up another devil to turn or fight this one, or we will all die."

He stared at her, mouth slightly agape. "Have you lost your senses? You do not conjure devils without preparation and a sacrifice, and then you still don't do it."

Lothor began his third circuit, the blade pointed downward. When Keleios concentrated, she could see a line of power flowing downward from the blade.

"Belor, I felt the same way, but this thing must be destroyed, or we will die; everyone will die."

His eyes reflected the flames. "Keleios, everyone is dead. They couldn't survive the fire, the explosion."

"Very few are in the keep now."

They turned to Jodda. "The invaders came to the place where the children were kept and took them. They knew where we would hide the children, they knew."

Keleios asked quietly, "Has anyone seen Fidelis since this began?"

Feltan said, "I have."

"Where?"

"By the main gate. She opened the gates to them."

Keleios gripped his arm, too tightly. "You saw her do this?" She released him, but he seemed unsure in the face of her anger. It was as if he read someone's death in her eyes.

"I took Piker out for his last run before bedtime. I saw her standing and letting them pass. She wasn't afraid, and they didn't try to harm her."

"Where were the guards on the outer wall?"

"I don't know. No one tried to stop them. I ran as fast I could to spread the warning." His blue eyes suddenly looked tired beyond their years. "But it was too late."

Keleios hugged him to her. "No, Feltan, know that you saved lives by the early warning."

He looked up at her. "Truly?"

"Truly."

Lothor stepped inside the circle, a faint glow to his skin. Power washed over her when he stood close.

Belor asked, "Where did they take the children?"

Jodda shook her head. "Unknown, but they are slavers. They tried to capture rather than harm the children. I suppose they thought the rest would be less trouble dead."

Eroar used sorcery to trace outward. There should have been a trail of fear and pain, but all he could gather was a continuous buzz like the crackling of a great fire. "It is the devil. Its power clouds subtle magic."

Keleios turned to Belor. "They are alive, your apprentices, students, our friends. We can go after them, trace them if the devil's influence is cleansed from this area."

Belor said, "We can slip away and trail them, physically. Surely a group of children under armed guard will leave a wide enough trail."

"Look at the walls, Belor."

The orange glow was still visible, pulsing against the darkness. "A warding of some kind," he said.

"The devil put it there. We saw him do it."

It was Feltan who pointed and said, "What is that?"

They stared where he pointed and saw a flicker of green. It wavered like flame in the wind, but it moved over the stones of the unburnt corner. Where it moved, the stones crumbled.

Lothor hissed, "It is a minion of Verm. Velen's token. He brought it to impress the devil, and it will impress him." He stared at Belor. "We are running out of time."

Belor's face clouded, struggling within himself. "I don't want to do this. But I will help, if I must. How do we do it?"

Keleios explained briefly about Ice and the book. Belor refused to touch either unless absolutely necessary.

Lothor said, "We will all need to read from the book, touch it, and the dagger will need to taste our blood."

"How much blood?"

"Enough to seal a blood oath."

Eroar stood near the edge of the circle. Jodda, Tobin, Feltan with his arms round Piker's neck, all knelt or sat beside Eroar. Poth started to join the three who would conjure, but Lothor said no. He snapped at Keleios, "Get that animal out of here."

Keleios held down the answering anger and told Poth to leave the star. The cat had to be carried out.

Jodda had to hold Poth the cat, for she was determined to join her mistress. After a time she settled to sulk in the healer's arms.

Lothor traced the pentagram with the white metal, the black book gripped in his other hand. Belor and Keleios stood waiting, watching. The green flame had left a trail of rubble in its wake and was now entering the flames unharmed, devouring them as it had everything else.

The pentagram closed with a spark, and magic played over their skin. It seemed to pull the hair from the scalp and force shivers down the spine. Lothor opened the book and placed the dagger across it using its blade as a reading line. He began the ritual and passed book and dagger to Belor. The illusionist read in his clear voice that served him so well at holy days, making toasts. Keleios held the dark relics. The dark singing began again, and a chill crept into her soul. The book's power song grew with each word. The chill became a deep cold as they passed them back and forth. Power threatened like a coming storm, heavy and close and suffocating.

Each word was forced out through half-frozen lips. The words they spoke were distant to the book's dark singing. The song reached a crescendo of dark promises. The air was so cold it hurt to breathe, each intake like needles in throat and lungs. Movements seemed slowed as if they were freezing in place. The book seemed heavy in her hands, her fingers freezing to the blade of the knife. She spoke the last word, and the cold crackled in their ears, silence.

Into that aching silence a voice came. It whispered and hissed like a winter wind. "Who dares summon me?"

She could not move, or speak.

Lothor answered, "We summon you."

Their vision was a wall of light snow like mist; a tendril of vapor as if a giant had taken a breath came from its center. "Who is we?"

"Prince Lothor Gorewielder of Lolth."

"Belor the Dreammaker."

Keleios found her voice at last. "Princess Keleios Incantare of Calthu and Wyrthe."

"So, two members of royalty, what do you want?"

Lothor said, "For you to battle another devil."

"And what sacrifice do you offer for such a service?"

"We offer you token blood and command you by book, steel, and name, Fraizur."

The wind ruffled their hair and tugged at them. "I have felt the pull of Ice and the book. And you name me rightly. Let me see the color of your blood, and if the blade doesn't kill you, I am yours to command -- once."

Keleios passed the book, still open, to Belor. She sliced her right palm, forming an X with the earlier blood oath. Lothor held the book and Belor used the blade. He gasped, teeth chattering, and swayed. Keleios touched him, keeping him to his feet as Lothor took the knife. Lothor's blood was a bright red wash against his hand. He laid the book carefully in front of them and clasped bloody hand to bloody hand with Belor. They formed a linked chain, a chain of flesh, blood, cold. Slowly, a faint warmth spread through them. It began in the demonmarks and flowed upward, outward from the old wounds until it chased the cold back. They stood linked in warmth. The frigid wind hissed and beat around them, growing in strength. The snow flew at them in icy sheets trying to steal breath, warmth, and hope, but they held firm. At the blizzard's raging height the devil stepped out of it, materializing before them.

Fully formed, he stood twenty feet, cloven hooves of ivory, eyes pupiless and white, skin like new-fallen snow, and an evil grin twisting his face. His four clawed hands gleamed in the moonlight as the blizzard faded.

With the dark song still ringing in her head, Keleios found all that white gleaming power beautiful.

The fire devil stood like a mirror image, all red and orange, with eyes of burning flame. The two devils faced each other, both held outside the protective circle.

The ice devil hissed, "Command me."

"Slay or banish this fire devil."

He grinned, "With pleasure."

They stalked toward each other, the ground shuddering under their steps.

The fire devil snarled, "We don't have to fight for these humans. Let us turn and devastate them."

"I am commanded, fire thing, and I will enjoy beating you."

"Come and try it, slush ball. We'll see who gets beaten."

The giants circled each other, baiting. The ice devil threw first a cloud of ice. Fire met it, turning it to water. The water drenched the fire devil and was frozen on him by a blast of freezing air. Water running down his red skin, the fire devil blasted fire and caught the white giant. It screamed, and the scream reverberated through the three still locked. Steam hissed, and the devil leapt forward. Combat was joined in earnest. The red devil's claws racked fire from the other, and the red flesh froze at the white devil's touch. They rolled along the courtyard, flattening the dragon building. A blizzard began to rage; a fire, to consume the building. The two forces blazed bright and brighter, until through the fog of melting ice and the glow of fire, the devils vanished from sight.

The white cloud raised the red off the ground and threw it to the stones. The ragged courtyard groaned and began to crack. The white leapt upon the red and a great fissure began to open up, sending smaller seams along the stone.

One of those cracks came through the magic circle and stole the rocks beneath their feet. Keleios leapt to one side, losing Belor's hand. She rolled and drew sword, for what good it could do, but the devils were too far gone in battle to heed the broken bond. Jodda and the rest were on her side of the fissure; Belor and Lothor, with book and knife, trapped away from them. The cracks kept spreading. Eroar was isolated from them on an island of rocking stone. The ground shifted underfoot until Keleios crouched close to the betraying stones and waited.

A fan of cracks opened up underneath the huddled group. As Jodda tried to get them to safety and Keleios tried to reach them, the cracks widened. Feltan teetered on the edge, then tumbled backward. Piker leapt in after his master. Jodda hesitated; Keleios screamed for her to get back.

Keleios sheathed her sword and began crawling over the heaving ground. Rocks forced upward as other sections buckled under the weight of the fighting giants. She hung, settling her weight as evenly as possible on knees and hands, and peered into the hole. Feltan stood trying to climb the dark earthen walls; Piker whined, nuzzling his leg. A man half-covered in dirt was near them. He looked to be a slaver who had gotten left behind somehow. He moved, and there was the dull gleam of steel. It was too close quarters for a sword. Keleios unstrung her garrote from its hidden pocket and leapt. The man was too close. His sword took the dog between the ribs. He grunted his satisfaction an eyeblink before Keleios landed on him.

The length of steel-braided cord looped round his neck. She allowed her weight to bow him over backward as the cord dug into his neck. The garrote had not landed perfectly, and he was half-turned to her. There was no room to maneuver for a better hold. He did not waste time clawing at the cord but dropped sword and went for a knife. If she let go, she was weaponless. Luckweaver would never be drawn in such a small space. Any sorcery this close to the devils would have to be major, and Feltan was on the other side of the man. She pulled harder, straining; her wounded arm protested, bleeding afresh. She tried to hide behind his own body, but he was a man who knew death and was determined to take his killer with him. Even as his breathing hissed and he began to die, the knife struck backward, cutting through leather armor like it wasn't there.

"An enchanted knife, too many damned enchanted items tonight," she thought. The blade took her. She gasped and gave one last tug. Whether the force of the pull, or the wound, the world spun for a second. The man slumped backward. She let him fall brushing past.

The knife stuck halfway into her side just above the leg joint. She gripped the hilt, trying to control her breathing, to control her own fear, to slow the heart rate, and the blood flow. Sometimes it worked; sometimes it didn't. The blade pulled free, and she gasped for air like a stranded fish. Blood poured in a red wash. Keleios moved the short distance to the dead man's neck. She tried to laugh and ended up coughing. She hoped it was the dust. The last heave had nearly decapitated him. His throat was a gaping wound. She was forced to dig for the garrote in the torn flesh. The garrote didn't want to come and she pulled and caused more bleeding at her side. She laughed and choked again. It didn't really matter if someone found the garrote or not.

There was a small sound. Keleios placed pressure against her side and crawled to Piker. The dog was dead, eyes glazed. Black heart blood pumped from his wound. She stood and stepped over his body to kneel beside the boy. Her hand pressed to her own side was becoming slick with blood. The boy lay on his side. She turned him over gently. His blue eyes stared at the distant sky without blinking. Blood dribbled from his nose and mouth. The death of his familiar had been too much for him to sustain. She checked for his heart, knowing it was useless.

She screamed her helplessness to the night. "Nooo!" The sound was lost in the fighting.

If she could not save Feltan and Piker, there were others up there whom she could save, had to help. "Oh, Urle, god of the forge, help me to help them." With the whispered prayer she began to climb upward.

The black earth, so fertile where it wasn't stone capped, gave deceptive handholds, crumbling under her hands. Her enchanted strength gave her the ability to force her hands inside the earth, but the earth wasn't accustomed to such treatment and crumbled at her disturbance. She hung halfway up, panting, her side and arm on fire, tiredness like an ocean wave threatening to engulf her. A cloth rope snaked past her, and, not caring who held the end, she took it and began to climb. Tobin helped her the last bit. She tumbled and lay still beside him. The rope was strips of white dress tied off on a rock that was stuck on its side. She prayed again, this time to Shendra, goddess of victims. "Oh, Shendra, give me strength to help them." She rose to her knees, then stood. Tobin gasped at the blood at her side. She gripped his shoulder, and they began to cross to the others still huddled on the quaking ground. Lothor and Belor had not been able to bridge the largest crevice. It was a great rift as wide as three horses long. The fiends still battled. Eroar, who was closest to the devils, was forced to place a sorcerous shield around himself.

As Tobin and Keleios moved over the broken courtyard, it shook. The boy was thrown to the ground. Keleios crouched low, trying to ride it out. A cleft widened between them, moving Tobin to a rock island out of reach.

Fire flamed round the red devil. He stood atop the white blizzard until all was orange and the white devil lay still. The flaming beast stood over the still form and screamed its victory. Then it turned blazing eyes to the people. Jodda screamed, but there was nothing she could do. It extended a flame-engulfed hand toward the tiny huddled group.

Keleios screamed at it, "No!"

With a flame-writhed hand, he turned to her and let fly a bolt of orange power.

Keleios dived and came up with Luckweaver between her and it, but a second bolt was already on its way. The orange power hit the blade and flamed along it, turning the metal cherry red with heat. Keleios heard her own screams as her hand burned. She dropped the blade and cradled her right hand against her body. The sword continued to burn brighter and brighter.

Over a sound of roaring fire she heard Lothor screaming, "Keleios, get away from . . . " The sword exploded.

The fire took her on the right side and sent her tumbling backward. She lay, face pressed against crumbling darkness. She whispered, "It doesn't hurt yet." Through the wondrous numbness she saw the white devil grapple the red, and the fight began again. Then darkness flowed around her.