Nightseer

Keleios appeared beside the others. She half-collapsed on a bed that was shoved too close to the wall. One hand touched the wall and the rich heaviness of the unicorn tapestry. The bulk of their coming had scooted the bed crookedly. A small girl sat huddled in the bed, staring at them with wide green eyes. Groghe tumbled off of Keleios' shoulders and somersaulted past the child. The girl let out a small scream. Poth leapt free onto the braided rug that covered the floor. The nursemaid, Magda, was defending her charge with a broom. The woman had backed the men into a corner away from the bed.

Lothor called to Keleios, "Tell this woman we are friends before I waste magic on her."

Keleios began to retch, trying to gasp in clean air. Speech was beyond her. Groghe, imp that he was, knew how to bedevil the nursemaid. He crept behind her and lifted her skirts. She screamed and swatted at him with the broom. He was too fast, and she hit empty air. The imp soon had her spinning like a top, swatting with the broom as if he were some giant green mouse.

Keleios fought the nausea, breathing in the clean, cool air. She pulled off the mailed hood, still gasping. She managed a whispery, "Magda."

But the woman was in near hysterics from the little demon's antics.

Keleios called sharply, "Groghe, leave her."

The imp gave a last swipe to the full skirts and then scuttled out of reach and sat down. He grinned at her, showing long pointed teeth.

The woman, gasping and near tears, stared at Keleios. "Are you real, or some demon-got illusion?"

"I am real, Magda."

The woman came forward hesitantly. She spoke to the wide-eyed child. "You remember your Auntie Keleios, Llewellyn."

The girl stared at the blood-coated mailed figure in front of her. The white pinched face, the matted brown hair, and the eyes -- the eyes were frightening. But she had been raised properly and managed a faint, "Hello, Auntie Keleios."

"Auntie?" Lothor said from across the room.

Keleios frowned at him. "Greetings, niece Llewellyn." And knowing something of children, Keleios added, "I'm the one who brought you the metal top that spins and sings."

The child's face brightened. "It still sings for me. That was a good enchantment."

Keleios smiled. "Thank you." The door burst inward and two guards came in dressed in the white and silver of the Guardian's livery. Short swords came from sheaths at the sight of the motley group. Magda said, "Put those away. Can't you see the Lady Keleios has come home with some friends?"

The two guards looked doubtful, but Magda shooed them out of the room. "Go wake the Guardian."

At this they looked even more uncertain. One said, "It is very early for the Guardian to be up."

"No matter, her sister is here. Now do as you are bid."

They left, and the nurse shut the door behind them. Magda looked Keleios up and down and clucked her tongue. "What a mess. I'm sure there is a fine story to go with this sudden appearance, but for now, I will see to rooms for all of you, and food and clean clothes." Before Keleios could speak, Magda continued, "I will see that some men's, or rather boy's, clothing is included with yours."

"Thank you, Magda."

The woman bundled up the child into a blanket.

"Come, pet, we'll leave the room to your aunt until other arrangements can be made."

Llewellyn waved a shy good-bye over Magda's shoulder, and they were left alone in the room.

Morning sun streamed in a warm oblong across the bed. The deep rose-pink, almost red, coverings seemed tinged with gold. Slices of golden warmth invaded through the narrow windows that ran along the eastern wall.

"Where are we?" Tobin asked.

"The Guardian's Isle."

Eroar stepped forward. "You nearly had us materialize inside that bed."

"I didn't know the bed would be so close to the tapestry."

The dragon man's eyes narrowed. "You didn't know?"

"It has been over a year since I visited. Then there was plenty of room."

"You had us teleport to a point that you hadn't seen in a year, a point as mobile as a tapestry? It could have been anywhere."

"But it wasn't just anywhere; it was right here." She didn't feel like fighting with the mage today.

Gabel said, "I said that her luck was good."

Keleios settled tiredly on the bed, ignoring what the blood was doing to the bedding. Poth had curled into a rocking chair that stood at the far left corner of the room. The cat pawed the plump cushion, sheathing and unsheathing claws in the rich fabric, and, when satisfied, lay down. She curled into a black and white ball, head hidden under bushy tail. Groghe had discovered a rocking horse. The green-clawed hands gripped the baby handles at the wooden head, and his wide-scaled feet didn't quite touch the floor. He bounced his rump up and down on the wooden horse, giving a hissing laugh.

The unicorn tapestry had always hung in the nursery. A herd of unicorn ran from an organized hunt. Hounds yapped at their heels and farther back the hunters rode. The unicorns were the large white beauties of Calthu, the flowers and plants painstakingly exact. The trees were truly the Calthuian forest. Keleios wondered, as she always had, why with all the attention to detail, they had spoiled it by having the unicorns running in a herd like horses.

Gabel rested in a cushioned chair near the windows. The sunlight made his scar almost the same gold as the rest of his face. His eyes were closed, and an odd smile touched his lips.

Keleios half-wished she had left him on the island. In the boat the demons already knew. There was nothing for him to blackmail them with. She shook her head. Even Gabel didn't deserve to die at the hands of demons. Did he?

She found Gabel watching her. They stared at each other, testing wills. He turned away with a half-laugh.

Keleios watched Lothor watching them both.

There were sounds at the door. Guards entered first. They stood on either side of the door, naked swords held close to their chests.

The one on the left was tall and well muscled, but surprisingly lean. His hair was black and still fell in a tangle over grey-blue eyes. He said uncertainly, "Princess Keleios." His eyes had gone to the demon on the hobby horse shouting, "Yippee."

"It is I, Trask, returned home albeit unexpectedly and with strange companions. It is a long story." Keleios remembered him as one of the bullies who had tormented Belor when they were young.

He opened his mouth to say more, but a figure came up behind them. The figure was dressed in a woman's green cloak that fell long, giving only brief glimpses of a pale skirt as she walked. The hood was full and drawstrung so it effectively hid her face. She brushed past the guards and told them, "Put up your weapons." They did as ordered.

Gold thread sparkled along the cloak as she stepped into the sunlight. The cloaked woman stood before Keleios. They faced each other silently for a moment and then embraced. The cloak hood was pushed back to reveal a thick mane of brown hair, a fine-boned triangular face with eyes that tilted slightly at the corners and were the same gold-green as her cloak.

Except for eye color she was a mirror of Keleios. Keleios stared at her twin sister, wondering what kind of greeting she would receive.

The voice was formal. "Welcome home, sister."

Keleios answered in kind. "It is good to be home, sister."

"And who are your companions?"

She motioned Tobin forward. "Methia Twice-royal, my sister, I present Prince Tobin of Meltaan, heir to the province of Fenian, journeyman sorcerer and visionary."

The woman extended fingertips in an Astranthian gesture of welcome. Tobin returned the touch lightly and bowed.

Methia hesitated before Lothor's black armor and pale face, one eyebrow lifting, "Sister, may I present Prince Lothor Gorewielder, sometimes heir of all Lolth, enchanter, sorcerer, and my promised consort."

The woman said quietly, "Are you, like the rest of the Loltun princes, a black healer as well?"

Lothor bowed at the neck. "I am, sister of my promised."

She seemed to wince at the last and asked, "Gore's wielder, who is Gore?"

Lothor's hand caressed the ax at his side with a cold smile.

She said simply, "I see."

Gabel was next, but Keleios said only, "He blackmailed me into rescuing him. He is the Gabel who murdered my smithy master Edan."

The harsh look that came to Methia's eyes was very like Keleios'. "Murderers are not welcome on the Guardian's Isle."

"I have been punished by the Meltaanian courts."

Keleios stepped up to him. "You still live. Edan is dead, and you still live. That has always bothered me."

He said, "And it has always bothered me that I did not have the pleasure of killing you, half-breed."

Methia motioned the guards forward. They stood to either side of Gabel.

He smiled crookedly. "I have been tried and sentenced. You cannot do it a second time; that is the law."

Methia said, "I am the law here."

He did not flinch. "But you, too, follow Cia. You will not kill me in cold blood. I have been punished, and it is not in you to harm me further."

Methia said nothing. She turned to the guards. "Take him away and guard him. I don't want him left alone at any time."

The guards bowed and led him out. Gabel had learned something of diplomacy, for he didn't protest. He stopped just short of the door. "I hope to see you later, Keleios."

"I'm sure something could be arranged."

Methia said, "No, absolutely no dueling on my island. I forbid it, Keleios."

Keleios shrugged. "You are the Guardian."

Gabel said, "Another time, perhaps."

Keleios nodded.

The guards led Gabel away.

Methia nodded at Eroar. "There is no need for introductions between us, Eroar."

"No, Methia, no introductions." They clasped hands, and Methia walked to Poth. The cat yawned, baring fangs, then stretched under the woman's expert hands. "And Gilstorpoth, I see you survived."

Methia turned to the green demon, now simply sitting on the rocking horse. "And what is this?"

Keleios motioned. The little demon jumped to the ground and scrambled apelike to squat beside her. "This is Groghe, a very lesser demon, whom I ensorcelled. He aided our escape from the Grey Isle."

Methia paled. "The Grey Isle. I heard only that you were exiled. Nesbit sent you there?"

Keleios nodded, watching her sister's face carefully. Methia chose to ignore Nesbit's treachery for something more immediate.

Methia stood very straight. "I would prefer that a demon not be in this castle."

"Understood." Keleios knelt beside the demon. "Groghe, I'm going to take the necklace back and free you." His eyes went wide with fear, and he backed away, claws clutching the gold necklace to his bony chest. "Oh, no, Master, don't free me."

"You are a demon, at least an imp. Your kind aren't supposed to like serving."

"I do not, but if you free me, I will be forced back to the bad place."

"The Grey Isle, you mean?"

He nodded vigorously.

"Why is it a bad place for a demon? Harque is dead; you are free."

"No, Master, unless ensorcelled most of us would be trapped forever." He groveled at her feet, hands encircling her knees. "Don't let me go back there, Master. I don't want to be entertainment anymore."

Keleios placed her hands on his shoulder and concentrated. "There is a geas on him, light but strong. He will be forced to return there." She pried the little demon from her. "Groghe, I will not free you for now."

"Oh, thank you, thank you, Master." He tried licking her hands, which was a sign of great abasement among demonkind.

"That isn't necessary, Groghe."

He looked like an eager puppy.

Methia said, "Well, have him stay out of sight at least."

"He will."

Methia pulled a cord by the door, and servants came almost instantly. "The servants will show you to your rooms, get you food, fresh clothes, and baths."

Methia spoke to one blond serving girl, who scurried away. Methia made it clear that she wished to be alone with Keleios, and the others were ushered out.

The door closed, and they were alone. They stood looking at each other in silence. Methia broke it. "You look awful."

Keleios looked down at the blood-stained armor. She ran a hand through her tangled hair and laughed. "Still the same Methia. Walking the corridors cloaked rather than let someone see you unprepared."

Methia smiled, but it did not quite reach her eyes, "I am the same, but you are not."

"Oh, I don't know. Isn't this usually how I came home: armored, sword in hand, bloody?"

"No."

"No." Keleios started to sit upon the bed but saw her sister wince and stood. "I am also in need of a bath and clean clothes."

"I wish to talk to you."

"I know, but we can talk later."

"Very well, I will join you in your room when you are clean and dressed. I will have food brought up to us."

Keleios nodded agreement and Methia left. She did not want to talk with Methia, not about Lothor, or demons, or anything. But when one comes home, there are always questions to answer.

She walked out the door, leaving Poth to sleep and Groghe to play with one of Llewellyn's dolls. His face was crumpled in a frown, concentrating, as he tried to undo the tiny buttons.

The bathing pools ran in precise marbled lines. It was an extravagance of magic to keep them warm and pure, but the enchantment had been set in place when the castle had first been formed. It showed no signs of giving out. Tobin was already wet, hair streaming in almost blood-red lines across his shoulders. Two serving girls helped him, and there was much giggling from all three.

Lothor sat in the hottest bath, steam rising around him. His hair had been combed and was completely unbound. It swept in a white curtain longer than Tobin's, as long as a woman's. The tips of it floated on the water. He scowled at her and said, "I thought this was the men's bath."

Keleios answered, "We hold to Astranthian customs here, as well as Meltaan. Bath houses cater to both, and there is not room or magic to separate them."

He hunched in the water, pulling away from the two serving women. He tried to hide himself with a towel. She had to laugh at his discomfort. Two more serving woman came to help her with her armor. "Besides, Lothor, the servants are women; they see you."

"But they are servants."

Keleios understood what servants meant to royalty. They were invisible until they did something wrong, "If it will make you more comfortable, I will go farther away."

He said nothing but glared at her from one silver eye lost in a mist of platinum hair. The servants followed her, and she slid into slightly colder water than she wanted. Keleios had no wish to antagonize him further. If they were to be joined, they would at least need some semblance of friendship.

The water's heat seeped through her tired body, soaking bruises and minor cuts too small for healing. A blond servant girl began to comb the tangles from Keleios' long hair.

Keleios turned her head to look at Tobin. He was busy trying to pull a laughing girl into the water with him. Keleios asked, "Tobin, where is Master Eroar?"

The boy stopped teasing the girls long enough to answer. "He said he wanted to cleanse his real form and went off to the dragon pools outside."

Keleios settled back and let another's hands soothe away the tangles and aching. The giggling and splashing began once more at Tobin's pool.

Strong firm hands lathered her hair, and she allowed it, closing her eyes and sinking back against the side.

Warm water cascaded from a pitcher to cleanse the soap from her hair.

Strong fingers began to knead the muscles at her shoulders. Only one pair of hands was soaping her arm, one pair of hands.

She sat up, pulling away from the hands, hair streaming into the water. Lothor knelt beside the pool. There was soap in one hand, and the sleeves of his clean tunic were pushed back, baring muscled forearms. The two servants knelt a short distance away, watching all with nervous eyes.

She resisted the urge to cover herself and faced him squarely, glaring.

Keleios had never seen him dressed in anything but black -- black, the color of royalty in Lolth, the color of his god. He was dressed in a silver blue with metallic thread weaving at shoulder and down arms. It softened the alien silver of his eyes, and brought a hint of color to his white skin. "What do you want, Lothor?"

"What is the matter, my beloved? Uncomfortable?"

"There are rules in the baths that must be observed. Rule one is no touching except by the servants. If that rule is not observed, we will be reduced to the days when only men were allowed in the baths."

"Ah, but I am ignorant of such customs. Forgive me."

She glared at him. "Now you know, so get out."

He set the soap in its dish and dipped his hands in the water to cleanse them.

She smashed a fist in the water, splattering him. "Get out."

He stood and the blue-grey of his knees was wet from kneeling. He began to unroll his sleeves and looked down on her, fully dressed and standing while she sat naked in the water. "There is something we must discuss."

"What?"

"I would ask we set a date for our joining."

"Then ask."

He frowned at her, puzzled, and said, "Very well, I ask that we set a date for our joining."

Keleios sighed and stared down into the water. "Must you always ask me questions when I am at a disadvantage?"

He smiled. "But my lovely princess, I enjoy it so."

She glared at him. If wishes could come true simply by thinking them, he would have evaporated on the spot. "You have a right to ask. I will talk to Methia and see how soon the feast arrangements can be made. Now, get away from me."

He fastened his sleeves and said, "I do not mean to rush you."

"Yes, you do, but I made an oath and I will keep it. I have little choice."

He hesitated a moment, then said softly, "You are very beautiful." She searched for that mocking smile, but it did not follow. There was a wistfulness to his face. He turned and walked away without waiting for her reaction.

The bath was spoiled. She shooed the servants back and finished it quickly herself. As she dried, one servant held up a dress for her to change into. Keleios had to smile. Her sister still hadn't given up on her being a proper lady. Magda would have tried to get her boy's clothing, but Methia was the Guardian. When the ruler of the land suggested something, one naturally thought it was a good idea.

She shrugged. It would probably fit, and she needed a dress for the ceremony. "I will wear this for now, but please have some men's riding clothes found for me."

They looked at each other in puzzlement. Both were too young to remember Keleios much. The older said, "As you wish, Lady Keleios."

She did refuse most of the undergarments, only taking enough so that the dress fit properly. At least the shoes had no high heel or pointed toe. They were serviceable cream-white slippers. The dress was made of cream-colored silk. The large leg-o'mutton sleeves were slit, and cloth of gold showed through. The neck plunged to a rather daring triangle. A half-cloak had been brought and was artfully draped and pinned. The cloth was a soft brown with golden threads running through it. The cloak was pinned to the dress at hip and shoulder. It added nothing to keeping out the cold but was the height of fashion. A net of gold had been sent to hold her hair from her face. It was Methia's compromise. She knew Keleios would never consent to the elaborate hairstyle that was popular. The netting was often worn by young girls too young to put their hair up. She allowed them one thick braid, complete with cream ribbon, like a half-crown across the head.

Keleios allowed them to take the armor to have it cleaned, but Aching Silver she kept with her. There was usually no way to fasten it on over the dress, so she carried it sheathed and locked in place.

The servants directed her back to the nursery. A maid said, "The room is not quite as the Guardian would wish it. If it is all right, you shall stay in the nursery until your room can be made ready."

Keleios said that would be fine. She had wondered what, by Urle's forge, Methia could be putting in her room.

Poth lay in a bar of sunlight, flat on her side. Only the bushy tip of her tail twitched a greeting. Groghe had managed to undress the doll and had all its clothes strewn across the floor. The doll was now wearing a red ball gown.

He greeted her with, "Why does the toy have so many clothes?"

"Because there is money to buy that many. Pick it all up before my sister comes."

He scrambled to obey, wadding the expensive cloth.

"Carefully."

He tried, but a demon's idea of careful left something to desire.

A knock came at the door.

"Who is it?"

Silence and then carefully neutral, "It is Methia."

Keleios set the sword and sheath under the bed and said, "Enter."

Methia entered, bearing a silver tray laden with cheese, fruit, and cold meat. A bottle of wine was also included. "It is not Astranthian wine, but it is a good local vintage." She set the tray on a small table and drew up two straight-backed chairs. Smiling brightly, she said, "And lady Gilstorpoth, your breakfast awaits you in the kitchen." She held the door for the cat.

Poth paused uncertain and meowed up at Keleios. "Go on, Poth, down the stairs, through the big dining room, and turn left." The cat rubbed against her legs and minced to the door. She stared at Methia for several moments from her yellow eyes, then went out. The door closed.

"I don't think she likes me."

"She doesn't like being gotten rid of. Most people don't think to ask a cat to leave."

"But I am not most people."

"No." Keleios sat and had trouble smoothing the full skirt down behind. She motioned for her sister to sit also.

Methia filled two glasses with wine. "Tell me of this consort-to-be," Methia's eyes stared at the far wall, and she choked on the wine. "If the cat leaves, that thing leaves as well."

Keleios turned to see Groghe putting the last of the doll clothes away. "Go into the gardens; stay out of sight and out of mischief." He nodded enthusiastically and vanished. Keleios spared a thought for what he might not consider mischief but settled down to face the inquisition.

Methia repeated her question. "About your consort-to-be?"

Keleios bit into a piece of tart cheese, weighing her words. "He is royal, he is half-elven, he is enchanter, and a healer of sorts. I thought it was an obligation that I would take care of."

"Now, with the keep destroyed, you exiled from Astrantha, and so many dead or missing from the keep." She sipped the wine and picked up a slice of apple. "It seems an odd time for a joining. What if you get with child right away? You can't tell me you don't plan to search for your missing friends. It wouldn't be like you not to be heroic."

Keleios shrugged, concentrating on the food. Methia had worn blue today, the color of cornflowers, light but rich. The dress's only decoration was a throw of rich blue-green, pinned with gold at shoulder and waist. It made her eyes look blue-green like shallow seawater over rocks.

"Do not lie to me, Keleios. We are all the family we have left."

Keleios ignored the bid for guilt. That was what motivated Methia, not herself. "All right, I gave an oath to take him as consort."

"The last time we talked, you said, 'I wouldn't lie with him if he could get me out of the seven hells.' You were very sure."

Keleios sighed and told Methia of the keep's fall, a fire-threatened corridor, and an path taken.

"An oath taken under duress is not valid."

Keleios sipped wine and tried the meat. It was good; the food was always good here. "It was taken, and it is valid."

The green eyes sparkled, turning a darker green, like good emeralds. "How can you honor an oath forced from you?"

"Because of the nature of the oath."

"I don't see . . . "

Keleios extended her right hand, exposing the palm's new scar.

"A blood oath, but even they can be broken, safely."

"Not this one."

"But . . . "

"Let me finish, Methia. We swore by the hounds of Verm and the birds of Loth."

Her face paled, her eyes glittering dangerously. "That is almost unbreakable."

"It is unbreakable except at the death of one of the oath makers." She knew her sister and cautioned, "I don't want anything to happen to Lothor while he is here, sister."

"I would never do such a thing."

"No, but these people are loyal to you, and if you happened to mention your dislike, you could get somebody killed trying."

"Is he that hard to kill?"

"Perhaps, but he will be my consort, not I his. We need never cross the Loltun border. And I raise whatever child, male or female, as I see fit."

"How did you get him to agree to that?"

"I wouldn't swear otherwise, for Tobin's life or anything else."

"There has got to be a way to break it."

"There isn't. Methia, I know the realities of this oath as well he does. I did not go in blind."

Methia stood and walked to the windows. "And I suppose your knowledge of demonlore is my fault."

"I have never blamed you for not going after Harque. We were seventeen; neither of us should have done it. You showed good sense. I almost cost Belor his life because he was loyal and went with me. Your being there would not have saved us."

Without turning around, Methia said, "I am sorry I did not go. I don't think I could go, even now, but I am sorry."

"There is nothing to be sorry for. We all have our fears, but if you need forgiveness, forgive yourself. I forgave you long ago. Come sit and don't take slight references to heart."

Methia sat with a nervous smoothing of cloth, her hands running along the rich brocade and touching the gold pins, much as Keleios touched her weapons for reassurance.

"What are you smiling at?"

"Oh, differences and likenesses."

"You can't join with him; he is a black healer."

"You joined with Councilman Nesbit. He follows the same gods that a black healer worships. And he left me chained with runes of binding on the Grey Isle, meat for anything that came along."

"No, he wouldn't do that."

"He did do that. How long has it been since he's seen Llewellyn, his own daughter?"

Methia turned away.

"It's been over two years, Methia. He isn't coming back, all because of her eyes changing from blue to elfish green, because he thinks she looks like a half-breed and no daughter of his could ever be that."

"But he's not a black healer. He can't bring pain and death with his touch. I remember that it was black healing that killed our mother, black healing that rotted her away before our eyes. What would Mother say about your joining?"

"Mother has been dead a long time. I doubt she will say anything."

"That was cruel."

"So is keeping her memory new in your heart. You've mourned long enough. Let it go."

"Who are you to tell me how long to mourn? I remember it all. I am no prophet, but it hangs on like a prophetic dream, vivid and horrible."

Keleios stood away from her sister, feeling tired and angry. "I remember, Methia, but I don't torment myself. You think I desecrate her memory by joining with a black healer?"

"Yes, don't you?"

"All right, Methia, you want to fight. Let us fight. You don't think I mourned her long enough, that my sorrow is somehow not as great as yours, because I don't still wail about it."

"Yes, may Cia forgive me, yes."

"My mourning was vengeance. I sought it and failed when I was seventeen. I asked you to come with me, but you refused. You said killing Harque would not bring Mother back. Well, neither will mourning forever."

"Should I give up my sorrow because it is useless?"

"No, because it is a waste of energy and strength."

Methia rose. "I see we will accomplish nothing here today." She turned for the door, but Keleios stopped her. Methia stood trembling but did not try to shake off the restraining hands.

"I watched the light die in Harque's eyes. I watched life flow out of her in a crimson stream. She died by my hand, and it satisfied me. It won't undo what happened, but it was enough. Lay it to rest, Methia. Harque has paid with her life, with her soul. Let it go."

Her voice, when it came, was tight and formal. "You will join with him anyway."

"Yes."

"When?"

"As soon as the preparations for feasting can be made."

Methia laughed, and it sounded bitter. "No, a feast is already prepared. It is midsummer festival tonight. Yes, we will have a torchlight procession. I will see you mated in fine style, sister. Let it be tonight; darkness will be better for it." She shook Keleios' hands off and left.

Keleios sat down to finish her breakfast, finding her appetite not what it had been.