Nightseer

Flashes of odd light, like broken lighting, writhed through the cloud. The lights flashed across the rock, chasing the darkness back in bursts. The sickness of the chains tried to numb her mind, but there had to be a way. "Eroar, can you bite through the chains?"

"They are a powerful enchantment and would explode if damaged."

"Yes, yes, I know that"

Poth looked up at Keleios and meowed, one long plaintive note.

"I know, Poth, the storm is coming." There had to be a way. "Eroar, could you break them between your claws?"

"The problem remains. If I touch the runes of binding they will explode."

She nodded. "But if you touch between the runes, on the bare chain, the runes will be intact. They won't explode."

"I can no longer see magic. I cannot see where the runes are."

"Nor I." Keleios looked at the others. "Does anyone have a better idea?"

There was silence. The wind grew stronger, bringing the scent of old death.

She turned to Eroar. "I remember two runes per bracelet." She closed her eyes and said, "Here and here." She touched the metal above and below her wrist.

"Are you sure?" he asked.

"No, but I'm willing to take the risk, if you are."

The dragon nodded. He bent over her hands. His black claws, like ebony knives, hovered delicately over her manacles. Poth struck at his claws. She hissed, tail bushed, eyes wild.

Lothor said, "What is wrong with that cat?"

Keleios stared at the cat. She had never realized that her ability to communicate with animals was magic, but now Keleios was deaf and dumb, looking into the cat's yellow eyes. She didn't know what the cat was trying to say. "Tobin, hold her out of the way."

Tobin, still crouched on the ground, moved toward the cat. Poth reacted violently, striking at him.

"Poth . . . " Keleios couldn't understand this, and there wasn't time to puzzle it out.

The dragon bent over the manacles once more. The cat attacked.

"Poth!"

Lothor dived for the cat and caught her snarling and spitting.

The cat continued to yowl as Eroar started to work on the chains.

Keleios said, "Stop."

The dragon hesitated. "What is it?"

"Let her go, Lothor."

"There isn't time for this, Keleios."

"Don't you see, Poth can see the runes. Her magic sight is still working."

Eroar said, "If she could see magic before this, the cat should still be able to see the runes."

Lothor released the cat, "Our last chance is a cat's magic sight. We are doomed."

Tobin said, "Shut up, Lothor."

Poth hissed at Lothor and then walked daintily over to Keleios. Eroar touched the chains. Poth struck at him. He moved claws slightly to the right. The cat sat watching, wary but satisfied.

There was a sharp crack, and the manacle fell away. The runes were paired magic. With one bracelet off, the spell was released. The chains fell to the ground.

She stared into the cat's yellow eyes and said, "Thank you, Poth."

The leg irons were not enchanted. Keleios reached down and spelled open the lock.

Eroar nearly bugled his relief at being free again, but kept silent and began to work on Tobin's chains. Keleios freed Lothor at almost the same time, and without discussion they began to jog toward the stunted forest.

Eroar shapeshifted into his young human form and ran after them. The cloud seemed to hesitate over the land then began a laborious climb upward upon the rock itself.

The wind chased them with hungry chilling hands, telling them that the moreacstrom was still coming.

Something moved at the edge of Keleios' vision. She did not turn her head to follow the movement but whispered to the others that they were being trailed.

At least a dozen things moved like ghosts through the trees, too silent even for elves. Flashes of pale light began to wink through on either side, red, blue, and green. The colors seemed watered down, as if barely able to be seen.

Lothor said, "They are demon lights. No real harm in and of themselves, but they will report our movements and we cannot outrun them."

"I know what they are, black healer. I've been here before."

She doubled her pace and they moved to keep up, Lothor having an easier time than Tobin.

She gasped, trying not to lose too much air in talking. "There is a clearing near here where we can protect ourselves from the storm and whatever follows the lights." As if conjured by her words, they broke through to a large clearing. It was bare of all vegetation and irregular in shape, but time was short. They wouldn't find better. It looked as if it had been blasted clean. In the center of it lay a skeleton in elven chain mail with a sword still sheathed at its side. The bones were a bad omen, but there was no time to go else where. The wind felt like a real storm except for the stench; bits of bark and leaves filled the air.

The sickly lights hovered round the clearing, and Keleios fought an urge to strike at one. "Sorcery is quick but draining, and easily broken by the more powerful."

Eroar spoke. "Yes, herb-witchery is best, I think, if we have the tools for it."

The first howl floated long and lonely on the storm wind. An eerie chorus joined it until the night rang with baying.

"The hounds."

Tobin asked, "What are you whispering, Lothor?"

"The howling, it is not dogs; it is the hounds of Verm."

Keleios paled, "There is no time to finish an herb-witch circle. Master Eroar, if you will erect a sorcerous circle at the limit of the clearing, I will try to back it with an herb-witch one, but you'll need to buy me time."

Eroar stood, and with a sweep of both arms, a shield slipped over them.

She stared round the clearing; only bare rock showed -- no ash, no anything. "Tobin, do you have a dagger?"

"Yes." He unsheathed it and gave it to her. It was six inches of slim blade showing the Meltaanian urge to overdecorate on the carved hilt.

"What are you going to do with the dagger?"

"I will use blood for the symbols; you always have blood."

He gripped her wrist. "But there is nothing to make the circle with. You would pass out long before you had enough blood for it."

Lothor called, "Keleios."

He was kneeling by the skeleton, the unsheathed long sword in his hands. He threw it to her, and she caught it hilt first. Tobin's dagger clattered to the stone, and she gasped. The thing was powerful. Sheathed, she would never have seen it, but naked, it shone with a powerful enchantment. The runes on its hilt and blade were Vallerian. Keleios traced the runes, demon, pain, death, silver, elf, and suddenly she knew what sword she held. Ache silvestri, Aching Silver, a name half-elven and half-demon, and very appropriate. It could bring true death to higher demons. The thing pulsed in her hands, alive. Though it remained quiet, she knew it was almost too powerful to be used. It was hiding now, waiting for a moment of weakness so it could control. Keleios knew better. There would be no moment of weakness, if she were careful.

Lothor said, "I have my ax. I thought you could use it."

She stared at the thing, transfixed. "Oh, yes, I can use it."

"I will not need your dagger, Tobin, or blood for the circle."

He bent and retrieved his weapon, but hesitated to ask about the sword. His own magic sense saw it for the power it was.

The baying came, and the wind rose, racing to see who would get to them first.

She gathered the sword belt and sheath and fitted them on her hips. She held the long sword, silver death, and spoke to it. "I am sorry to ill-use such a fine blade as yourself, but I need magic tonight, strong magic. Will you aid me?" It pulsed once in her hands, a dim throb, but it concurred.

She held it two-handed above her head and prayed to Urle to give strength to these two things of his art, enchanter and enchantment. The colors of the approaching storm played along the blade, and they seemed brighter in the reflected surface. Keleios plunged the blade downward to bite into the rock. With a metal scream and a shower of blue sparks, she and the sword Aching Silver began to carve a circle in the rock. Her chanting rose above the sounds of sword and rock. The circle closed, and it looked as if a thin line of fire had cut the ground. She stood uncertain, holding the blade just inches from her face. Steam rose from the blade into the cool wind. She sat in the center of the new circle, cross-legged, and drove the sword into the ground in front of her. The chant changed but remained constant. She was deep into magic and did not register the howling that came in over the twisted trees. She bent forward and sliced her arm cleanly on the sword. With blood she began the symbols. Two symbols were done when the howling erupted into the clearing. She forced memories down and continued. The spell was all important.

The first hound broke cover, pale as death. It had a naked human body covered with dirt and leaf mold. His mouth gapped open to howl skyward, exposing a horde of needlelike teeth. Fingernails like white razors clawed at the edge of the shielding. A dozen of them came sniffling and clawing around the clearing, howling in frustration. Parts of human bodies were tacked onto the hound form like grotesque jigsaw puzzles of flesh.

Lothor spoke quietly to Tobin. "Notice their claws and mouths have a yellowish cast to them, very faint over the white. It is a deadly poison to most."

"To most?"

"Yes," He seemed unwilling to elaborate, and Tobin let it go.

As Keleios traced the stick man in the dirt, she felt the pull of the sword like an invisible rope of power, a strengthening, a joining. Each mark of her finger traced a blue power, and the glow remained. She felt the sword's eagerness to join its magic to hers. She knew the sword longed for union with an enchanter as all enchanters long for a great enchantment with which to share themselves.

The hounds had quieted and lay or sat around the clearing, waiting. The winds had died down, and the stench of death was vanishing with each breath of fresh wind.

From the trees stepped the Hound Master.

He stood over eight feet tall, covered in red scales, barrel-chested, with black talons on feet and hands. A necklace of gold links draped around his thick neck. Three stones were set in it -- two red that shone like new blood and one black that reflected nothing. His face broke into a toothy grin, batlike ears curling ever so slightly. The demon bent and petted one of the hounds with a floppy red and white hound ear on one side and on the other a young boy's face. "I apologize for being late. I had to reason with that mindless stinking cloud. This is too fine a catch for the storm to have." He chuckled. "Prince Lothor, are you in favor or out of favor this season?"

"Well, Alharzor, my status is one of great debate this year."

"Ahhh, someone has become ambitious, and I'll wager it is Velen the Black."

Lothor acknowledged it with a nod of his head.

"How do I know this, trapped on the godforsaken isle tending to the whims of a madwoman? Because he came here. He is very high in Verm's eyes. Velen gives orders, and I listen."

"What were his orders, Alharzor?"

"To kill you and anyone with you."

"You may find that task far from easy."

"I know, so I debate." He sat down, and two hounds crowded close to lie near him.

"Does Harque rate a minion of Verm?"

"No, but your brother does. He wanted to make sure you died, one way or another. He leaves little to chance. Fear him, prince, for he means to have you dead."

"Since you plan to kill me soon, I will not worry over Velen's ambitions."

The demon laughed. "True, true, the way I ramble on you would think that there was a chance of escape. If you defeat me, there are many others waiting for their turns."

The red demon narrowed yellow eyes and motioned to one of the hounds. The hound struggled and whined but at last flung himself on the shield. He was thrown back, stunned and burnt, but not by fire. "Ahhh," said the demon.

He stood and paused just short of the shield's glow. He closed his eyes. The concentration on his face was intent, his breathing slow and regular, as he bent hands to the shield. He was bathed in sparks of orange, blue, and white. He did not release the shield but poured more power into it.

Eroar sat calmly, unmoving, face placid, but his human shoulders shivered, and his skin began to sweat.

With a roar like close thunder, the shield tore. Eroar and the demon shrieked. Alharzor paused, shaking, then grinned.

Keleios finished the last symbol, and the witch shield pulsed in place.

The demon paused and shook his head, "Verm's wounds, this is going to be a long night."

The witch shielding had gone into place with a surge of magic. Keleios moved to take the sword from the earth, but it met her hand, leaping to her. Its life force tingled up her arm and sent power vibrating through her. The sword had had years of disuse and was wallowing in the glory of being active. She turned her face upward, and Alharzor looked full upon her for the first time.

"Ahhh, Nightseer, sister, this will not be an easy task." He peered closely, squinting. "What manner of weapon do you have there?"

"Ache silvestri, Aching Silver, painful death, the demons named it long ago."

"It cannot be."

"The great weapons protect themselves, Alharzor. It lay in this clearing for years untouched."

"It is a worthless piece of metal, nothing more."

"Look upon it. Look upon it and see it for what it is."

He pressed close to the shield. "I'll be fried, it is one of those cursed elven weapons."

The sword pulsed. The feeling was mutual.

"You are coming to us, Nightseer. You use a demon-aided sword; you endanger your soul by its use."

"Your concern for my mortal being is most touching, but you fear this weapon. You fear it in my hands."

"Perhaps, but Harque will be very pleased to find you in our net. She hates you, with a pure burning, like the sun through glass. It has burned away what was left of her senses, because your survival put her ambitions in a dilemma, to risk death for great power, or not. She is still debating whether to follow you into the pit. She hates you for offering her such power and blames you for her own cowardice in not taking it."

"She was always one to blame others for her own shortcomings."

The black jewel on his necklace glimmered. He grimaced as if in pain. "Ahhh, woe is me, she wants you all prisoners. It is hard enough to kill such magic, but prisoners. Ahhh, she is mad."

"Will you disobey Velen to obey Harque?" Lothor asked.

"You see my problem, prince. I have been given a direct order by a high priest of Verm, my master, but the witch controls me through this." He pawed at the necklace.

"A necklace of obedience."

"Yes, Nightseer, and I cannot disobey her wishes."

"They are illegal in Astrantha now, for nothing can break their power once ensorcelled. Wicked evil things."

He looked ready to cry. "Can nothing break its spell?"

"There is a way. It is dangerous and may not work, but there is a way."

Hope flashed through his eyes, then died, replaced by a glittering anger. "You seek to trick me; there is no way out."

"I swear by Urle's holy flame that I speak truly. I know of one way to free you from ensorcellment."

Lothor spoke, "She follows Mother Blessen and would not lie in an oath."

"She may follow Blessen, but she holds a demon-powered sword."

Lothor shrugged.

Keleios nodded. "But you know how I come by the taint. You know that it was not choice that led me to hold this sword." She stepped close to the shielding's edge, "I was her slave then as much as you are now."

"I remember," An evil grin curled his red scaled face. "I arranged some of your entertainment on your last stay."

"But you had no choice, just as you have no choice now. You are reduced to being an errand boy, Alharzor."

Anger flared in his eyes, "I am reduced in nothing." As he spoke, he seemed to grow taller, stretching up into the sky. "I am Alharzor the red demon."

Lothor spoke, "Alharzor, no one here doubts your power, for you are a great red demon. Let us speak and come to an understanding. Let us bargain."

He shrank immediately, and it was as if the other had been illusion, which perhaps it was, "A bargain, now that is something to talk of." His eyes narrowed, and he rubbed his hands together briskly. "What have you in mind, prince?"

"We will free you from your enscorcellment, and you will free us. Is it not a fair bargain?"

"Yes, and because it is fair, you know I cannot take it."

Keleios began to protest, but Lothor waved her to silence. "Yes, I realize you will need to come off a little better than us, it is the demon way."

"So nice to deal with humans who understand from the start, saves so much time. Now do you want to go traditional? Your firstborn, a pound of flesh, a pint of blood, or a quest." He snapped his fingers and chuckled a most unpleasant sound. "I have it -- you will kill Harque; that will be your quest."

"I thought ensorcellment meant that you could not even think to harm your master."

"No, Nightseer, I must obey, and I personally cannot harm or bring about harm, but I set you a near-impossible task. I truly believe you will fail, and thus no harm will come to Harque."

Lothor spoke dryly. "Bending the rules just a bit, aren't you, demon?"

He shrugged massive shoulders. "I will leave you alone to discuss your options; my pets will of course remain on guard."

He vanished.

Tobin spoke first. "Terribly cheerful for a demon, isn't he?"

"Yes," Keleios answered, "He would pull out your tongue while telling the most amusing joke about a flock of geese, a lesser demon, and a goose girl."

"You must tell me that one sometime when we have time to spare," Lothor said.

She frowned at him.

He smiled back. "Behind his back the other demons call him Smiling Aaah. But never to his face."

"Can we kill Harque, Keleios? You know her better than the rest of us," Tobin asked.

"We might, but it would be very hard, and Alharzor would be forced to fight against us."

"Is he the most powerful demon in her service?"

"He was six years ago, but things could have changed." She shook her head. "I don't trust him. To get us close enough to kill the witch, he will want to pretend to take us prisoner. He will be forced to take our weapons temporarily. Weapons gone, pretending to be prisoners and being prisoners is too close for comfort."

"Are you sure you can free the demon of his ensorcellment?"

"I don't know for sure until I explore the necklace's spell, but I believe so."

"You could simply kill him. That would free him of the spell."

"But it would break the bargain. If anyone plays traitor, let it be the demon, not me."

He shrugged. "As you like, but playing fair with demons is a narrow edge to walk."

"Agreed, but I stand firm."

Lothor sighed, but let it go.

They debated long and hard but finally came to an agreement. By the time the demon returned they had their plan. "Well, my friends, have you decided?"

"Yes," Lothor said. "We come with you."

"Splendid!"

"If we can keep our weapons."

His face fell. "Oh, my friends, that is not to be; you cannot be prisoners and retain your weapons."

Keleios said, "How fares Harque's true sight?"

He narrowed his eyes. "Why?"

"If her vision has decreased at the same rate it was decreasing six years ago, she should be almost blind by now. A small illusion should hide our weapons from her befuddled eyes, and you can supply that."

He growled low in his throat. He remained silent for a time, then said, "Agreed. Break circle and come with us. I will ready an illusion."

They stood, hands near the weapons, and Keleios swept the locking sign away with the sword point. The magic faded, and they stepped warily from the carven circle.

Alharzor spoke. "Now see of this thing round my neck, so I will not have to fight against you."

"I will look at it and see what manner of enchantment binds you." Keleios stepped forward, unsheathed sword in one hand. The others formed a semicircle around her and the demon. The hounds snuffled at their feet, perplexed. One growled at Tobin's feet.

Lothor called, "Keep them back."

The demon motioned, and the creatures fell back, whining.

There seemed to be heat coming from the demon's body, his scales glistening even in the dark with the rise and fall of his chest. Keleios fought herself to calmness, but remembered terror pushed forward. As she reached for the necklace, every muscle hummed with the need to fight or run. The gold links were cold like winter ice; that was part of the entrapment right there. The red jewels seemed just decoration. "I believe it will not be as difficult to break as I thought." Her fingertips found the black jewel. Yes, there was something here of power. She caressed it with her fingertips, eyes distant, concentrating on her inner sight.

She was not so deep into power, that she did not notice when the demon teleported with her. There was a spinning sensation as if the world had shifted ever so slightly and Keleios realized she could not feel the wind. Fear trickled through her, an undercurrent to the spell she was seeking. Alharzor had betrayed her. How very demon of him.

She continued to rub the stone, seeking its secret as another part of her sought her location. Stone walls surrounded her. Guttering torches were the only light. She whispered as if still deep in trance, "I think I almost have it." The demon bent close to hear. She gripped the black jewel and links tightly. "Yes, yes." She tensed to drive the sword upward. He saw the trick but could not break free of the necklace. The silver blade took him through the groin with a shower of blue sparks.

The hot acrid stink of demon blood filled the hallway. She drove the sword into his chest as he clawed at her. Their blood mingled on the floor, and she released him and stepped back. The leather armor hung in ribbons from her back and left side. Every claw mark began to sting and ache. If the demon had not been under a compulsion not to kill her, she would have had much worse. Blood flowed in thin streams from the claw marks.

He fell to the floor, orange-red blood pumping from his wounds. There were whispers in the corridor, "Demon slayer, demon slayer."

But Keleios saw nothing. Alharzor began to shriek, "Welcome home, welcome home."

His cries would bring others.

The sword whispered in her mind. It wanted to quench the life from the demon. It wanted death. She saw no other way to silence the demon. "Are you sure we can slay the demon? I thought you needed an evil wielder to perform that duty." It was sure. She came up behind the writhing demon out of the way of claws or sudden grabs. She and the sword lined up for a neck slice. The sword rushed eagerly, pulling her hand with it. The blade chopped cleanly, the head rolling gently to the side. Blood shot forth, and the body continued to writhe and call out. Keleios stepped aside from the blood flow. She was angry. "You said you could kill it."

It assured her that it could but not by simple methods. It whispered its needs. "That is dangerous."

"But the only way," it whispered through her head.

She stepped round the straining body and straddled the slender waist; the chest was too wide to stand across. The sword rose up in a two-handed grip, and Keleios brought it down in the demon's chest.

The demon screamed as if to bring down the very stones. The sword ate the pain, the fear, the life force of the demon. She tried to withdraw, but the sword glowed blue. The glow crept up her arms until she was bathed in it. She fought, but the power flowed through her, alien and sweet and painful. All that had been Alharzor came to her and the sword. The glow faded, and she fell, jerking the sword with her. She sat in a puddle of cooling demon blood and tried to breathe, tried to control the power rushing through her. She asked the sword, "What have you done to me?"

"Helped you kill a demon."

The sword was talking out loud. It had gained power, too. She sat and tried to understand, but a sound came from farther down the hallway. The hall curved to the left. Something was coming round that curve; something thick and wet and heavy was being dragged. She had never heard a sound like it. "What is that?"

"I think it is another demon." It warmed to the thought. "We can take another."

"No! I cannot take another so soon. You controlled me for a time, and I will not have that."

"If you do not use me, you will die."

"No." She moved to clean the sword but the blood seemed to have burned away. It continued to warn her until she sheathed it and locked it in place. The demon entered her sight, and she backed away from it. It was black and had no real shape, for it moved like thick watery mud. A trail of slime shone behind it. A single eye stayed near the middle of its head, and that eye took in the carnage, then saw her.

The black jelly split to expose a mouth that was empty except for a great red tongue. The tongue was spiked like a weapon. It dragged itself toward Keleios.

She had no intention of staying long enough for it to reach her. Keleios grabbed the bloody necklace of obedience and sought outward with her mind. She had performed dozens of teleport spells in the classroom. Each time she had come out alive, not half-buried in a wall, but four times a teacher had to help her, save her. There was no one to help this time, but if she took another demon so soon the sword might possess her. Death was better than that. She whispered to herself, "You can do this spell." She knew only one room well enough to teleport to. A slight dizziness and she stood in Harque's study. The teleport had worked, she was here, alive. The witch looked up with a smile. "I have been waiting for you, Keleios Incantare."