Nightseer

Keleios froze, waiting, sword in hand, but nothing happened. She stood near a tripod and its pentagram carved into the floor. The rectangular room was exactly as she remembered it. Harque had been nearly blind to reality six years ago and one did not move furnishings in a blind person's study. The witch sat at her desk sidewise to Keleios. Harque smiled at a point some yards in front of her near the bookshelves that covered the entire west wall.



Harque continued to smile and talk to what only she could see. "I knew you would come back for another taste of demon-ridden power." She laughed, and it rose up and down until she hiccuped. "I knew you wanted power." She seemed to lose sight of the phantom and squinted round the room. Her eyes found the real Keleios and stared. "I wanted power. I wanted it, but you took it, you took it."



Harque had been a tall woman and still in the shadow of her youthful beauty when Keleios had come and foiled years ago. Now she was stooped and crippled with age. Surely just a few years could not have changed her so. The woman began to argue with herself, imitating Keleios' voice of years past. The two voices debated in well worn circles.



"I gave up my youth, my beauty, my health, for power. What have you given up?"



"I risked my life, my eternal soul, and I succeeded."



"No!"



"Yes, I did what you were afraid of doing, and now you have bargained away the youth and strength that would have let you follow me."



"Liar, you came for power, you wanted to go into the pit."



"The pit where even Harque the Witch fears to go. I was a child. I was afraid."



The witch buried her face in her hands but still spoke as Keleios. "You killed my mother. I came for vengeance, not power. Yet I who did not seek have found it, and you who have sought long have little to show for the search."



"No." Harque began to cry, and both voices ceased.



Six years ago Keleios could have killed her. Harque was strong, powerful, and evil. Now pity moved where Keleios thought she could feel none. She sheathed Ache silvestri and locked him in place; he did not want to go. Keleios crept forward, elven silent, and spread the lengths of the bloody necklace apart. She chanted silently the binding spell of the necklace. Leaving Harque alive was worse punishment. The necklace hovered over the grey head, but the witch moved lightning fast.



Harque scuttled from the chair and crouched only a few feet away; the face slipped. It was the same yet oddly shaped, and the arms grew longer, claws for hands.



Keleios unlocked Ache silvestri's sheath, back-stepped to get the room's two doors in view and still not lose sight of the shapeshifting demon. The far door opened, and Harque stepped through, still tall and proudly beautiful. Her eyes were covered by two leathern patches. Her dress was cream with a soft grey cloak thrown over one shoulder, and she smiled a welcome. "Keleios, how wonderful to meet again after all these years."



The second door opened, and men came through bearing weapons. They each wore the hooded cowl of the shadow worshippers. They were only six, but magic glittered off their weapons and at least one sword dripped venom in slow heavy drops.



The long-armed shapeshifter leapt at her. She swung the necklace and caught it a solid blow across the face. It fell bleeding and stunned. She slipped the gold links across his thin shoulders, whispered words of entrapment, and said, "Aid my friends in finding me, and let no harm come to them. Now go."



The men circled warily as the little one disappeared. The necklace meant that Alharzor was dead, and that was not an easy task.



The room itself had been trapped, and she could not teleport out. Witchery locked her here, and the shadow worshippers advanced.



"Take her." Harque's impatient voice cut through their waiting.



One man said, "But she has slain Alharzor."



"Nonsense. She is an enchanter and broke the binding. Alharzor has fled home, and she kept the necklace. Do you think one lone girl could kill him?"



They didn't and were reassured, and Keleios didn't want them reassured. "Alharzor died because she told him not to kill me. He could have saved himself by slaying me, but he was bound and he died. And" -- her voice changed, deepened, as she whirled the silver sword -- "he is not truly gone from you. His power exists here within me." Keleios could feel Alharzor's power like a second pulse inside the sword, and all that power was hers to call upon.



They shuffled nervously, uncertain.



Harque threw a handful of powder into them, and the ones that it touched screamed. "Get her alive. All those who survive will be given unlimited freedom with the girls. I swear by Shadow."



The hesitation was gone.



Keleios tried one last thing. "No woman is worth dying for."



The one who carried the poisoned sword said, "These are."



They rushed forward, the one with the poisoned sword closing first. Aching silver sang in her hands, cutting under the upraised blade, finding the heart and slicing through the rib cage like butter. Alharzor was there, his power strong and vital, beating with her and the sword. Blue flame flowed from the sword up to her shoulders; with each death the sword sang more sweetly. It crooned in her mind like a lover's voice, but it spoke of cutting and blood and made them beautiful. The grey-robed men fell at her feet, and she remembered little of the fight after that first kill.



When they all lay dead, she breathed as if coming from deep water. The sword sang in her head, not Alharzor's power, but the sword itself. The demon was inside the sword, and suddenly Keleios knew the sword could swallow her just as easily. In one screaming image she knew where the real danger lay. Keleios shoved every sorcerous ward she had inside her head, protection against mind-control spells. It was like crashing walls, thudding into place inside herself. She was isolated, unaware of anything but the sudden silence inside her head. She opened her eyes and her mind, cautiously.



Harque held a silver whistle to her lips. How long she had been calling, Keleios did not know, but something large was dragging itself through the near door. The demon that looked like walking mud flowed through the door. The sword sang a death song. It had never taken a demon like this one before. But Keleios didn't want to have to fight the sword again so soon.



The sword complained bitterly, but Keleios pointed her hand at the jelly mass and thought of fire. Fire that roared, gleamed, raised a sweat on her body. A fireball shot forward and splattered harmlessly. She needed more power than that. The sword promised power, but Keleios did not feel ready to trust the sword. She cleaned the blade automatically before re-sheathing it. Sheathed, the sword was quieter, and she could concentrate on her own magic. Fire didn't harm this demon, but perhaps cold would. Cold, cold that burns the lungs, cracks the skin, cold, ice. She drew that thought through her hands and into the demon. A double-fisted bolt of white hit the thing, and it opened its mouth to scream. It sat half-coated in ice, hurt and puzzled at this new pain.



Harque blew on the whistle, but it began to back out of the door. It had had enough for one day.



Keleios turned clenched fists to the witch when something hit her from behind. It sank needlelike teeth into her bare left shoulder. Keleios rolled, hand closing on a throat that was soft and warm. Black claws scratched at her face, seeking her eyes. A curtain of flame-colored hair blinded her, but she squeezed, digging her fingers in, searching. Something snapped in the throat, but still the thing fought on. She leapt away from its weakened grip. It was a succubus, a naked voluptuous female body topped with leather batlike wings, black claws for nails. Yellow eyes sought Keleios with hatred. With her throat partially crushed, the demon crawled after her.



The sword cried out to her, "There is only one way to truly slay a demon," Keleios had no wish to internalize the succubus' nature. The demon power raged through her now until she could hear squabbling, as if it needed more room. How many demons had the sword held before she picked it up? Through the clamor in her head she did not hear the footfalls behind her.



"Behind you!" the sword yelled.



She dove to one side. Harque's dagger thrust missed and sent the witch stumbling, blind eyes following Keleios. The succubus grabbed Keleios' ankle. Ache silvestri leapt to her hand. Keleios chopped the hand that held the dagger. It parted at the wrist and fell out of reach. Harque and the succubus screamed. Without thinking, Keleios allowed the sword to sink home in the demon and felt the power of the succubus creeping upward. She struggled to free herself, but it held.



She watched in a haze as Harque scrambled toward her, powder trickling from her remaining hand. An ax seemed to float into view, and the witch's head spun out of sight. The powder flew harmlessly, sparkling in the air.



Keleios' straining muscles pulled her and the sword backward as it freed them. She dropped the sword, but it made no sound through the roaring in her head. Tobin was there, kneeling, holding her, but only his lips moved. There was no sound but the surging voices in her head, the power of death, and a whisper of seduction.



The shapeshifting demon was there, all green now and small, the necklace winking in the lights. Keleios realized he wasn't a demon at all but an imp. No self-respecting demon would accept imps as kin, so small and weak were they. He was pulling at Tobin's arm. Lothor bent over her, but still they were far away.



A phrase slipped through. "It's the sword . . . "



Yes, of course it was. It was trying to take over, to steal her away from herself, the soul-sucking bastard. She tried to slam shields inside her mind and shut it out, but this time her sorcery would not come. Her head buzzed with the sword's presence, and the essence of the demon they had just killed. Her sorcery was nothing before the combined power. Keleios did what had to be done, accepted the power that flowed round her and the sword, and swallowed the evil and the memories of rituals that no mortal ever sees.



Slowly the world was heard again, and the sword fell silent, pouting, so close, but not close enough. Tobin helped her to her feet, and she stumbled, realizing that she was hurt. Blood seeped from a side wound. The blurred fight had taken its price. Lothor cleaned and resheathed her blade and snapped the locks in place.



"Where is Eroar?" she asked.



"He is conversing with the golden worm."



She looked a question at him, and Lothor said, "You came the easy way. We had to get by the watch worm."



"Didn't he," she asked, pointing to the green imp, "aid you?"



"Yes, your little friend aided us. But the worm was suspicious, so Eroar showed his true shape. They are comparing notes for the last hundred years."



"What of the demons?"



"They fled when Harque died. Can't you feel it?"



Keleios could feel a freedom, a cleanness, and yet there was something wrong with it. The place had been evil for so long; it would take time.



They swept the desk clean and laid her upon it. Poth leapt up beside her with a questioning meow, but Lothor told her to get down. She did. "No more questions until I see to that wound." Lothor's slender fingers explored the wound and his face went blank, his breathing slow and shallow. The familiar warmth flowed through her, and he bent with the pain of his new wound. He healed the deepest scratches and stopped the blood loss. He stood straight, sweat beading his face. "You will live."



"That is comforting to know, healer." She sat up, carefully feeling the healed side. "We must free the dungeon prisoners."



Lothor shook his head. "There is no time."



"Harque is dead; the demons have fled. There is time. I won't leave anyone to starve in the cells below."



He was angry but hid it fairly well and stalked off to search the study. The green imp hopped beside her. "I did well, didn't I, Master, I did well?"



"Yes, Groghe, you did well."



He swelled his thin chest out with pride. "What do you want me to do next, Master?"



"Bring me the keys to the dungeon." He turned to leave. "Wait. Can you guide us through the prison area? Do you know it well?"



He seemed ready to cry. "No, oh, Master, no, I do not."



"It's all right. Just bring me the keys and see if there is anyone left who would be a good guide. Do not bring the guide to us. Just look at the guide and tell us of him, or her. Do you understand?"



"Yes, oh, yes."



"Then go."



Keleios slid off the desk and began searching Harque's bookshelves. Tobin leaned near the door, nervously gripping his sword. Poth had curled up on Harque's thronelike chair, yellow eyes watching Keleios.



Lothor stepped up behind her, drawing an impossibly large suit of elven chain mail from his belt pouch. He held it out toward her. "Here. With this on perhaps you won't be hurt quite so fast."



She touched the lengths slowly. They sounded like rain when they fell against one another. "It is a generous offer."



"I simply want you alive for our bargain, and you need better than ruined leather armor."



She held the chain, caressing it, and went to the desk once more. As she began to take the remains of leather off, she realized just how little was left on under it. She turned to ask Lothor to look the other way, but he was already smiling. "The price for the armor. Call it a promise of things to come."



"Urle's forge, black healer, don't you ever tire of baiting me?"



"No."



Tobin stared at the door without being asked.



Keleios turned her back on them and began to change. Most chain mail would have chafed and scraped without proper padding under it, but this was Vallerian mail. It felt light as cloth, as cool and good to the skin as silk. In the way of elven armor it fit to her body as if made just for her. Keleios belted the sword into place and she felt safer.



"It becomes you, Keleios."



"Thank you, Prince Lothor."



Tobin turned. "I have never seen such delicate workmanship."



"Nor will you outside of the elven kingdoms."



Something tugged at her magic. Something alien.



The shapeshifting imp returned with the keys dangling from his wrist. Keleios complimented him on his success.



"I shaped into Harque, and the head dungeon master himself gave me the keys."



"Could you reform into Harque and maintain the shape?"



He nodded and began the change.



Again something called to her. It whispered, "Find me. Take me with you."



A perfect replica of the witch stood before them. Keleios moved around the demon and walked to a small wooden cabinet. It was locked. Keleios smashed the wood in and opened it. Inside was a squarish bundle covered in grey silk. She took it out and drew a sharp breath.



Lothor asked, "What have you found?"



"I'm not sure, but it called to me. It didn't want to be left behind."



"Keleios, only the great weapons and relics take care of themselves."



"I'm aware of that." She laid the book on the desk and unwrapped it slowly. The binding was grey. There were no runes on the cover, no warning, no instructions, no hints. She opened the front cover carefully and met a strangely yellowed page with rust-brown ink snaking across it. Keleios stepped back, rubbing her hand and shaking her head, "I'm hurt; the book struck at me." The world seemed to tilt, and she went to her knees, waiting for it to pass. When she could stand, she said, "It is The Book of Grey."



"But that is legend."



"Just as Ice was a legend, and the demon-slaying sword."



He did not reply.





"There are entirely too many relics floating about lately."

"You think someone is handing them out as rewards."



"Or as weapons."



Tobin stepped close to the book. "What is this book?"



Keleios' voice fell into the singsong pattern of the bard. "Long, long ago, before the Lady of the Shadows lost her name and her body, before Verm fell from grace by the rape of his sister, when Loth was not the god of bloodshed, the three gods came together. Loth was an enchanter; the lady, an herb-witch; and Verm, a sorcerer. They joined their powers to create a great work. Verm and the Lady poured much of their power into the making, for combined they were greater than alone. But Loth only enchanted, binding their powers to a book, to pages, pages made with the rites of Verm and Shadow. For the pages they flayed skin from their most devout followers, from victims on their altars they made an ink of blood, and they began the work.



"At last it was done, but it was too great a thing and caused envy between the gods. Verm saw how powerful the book was; the essence of evil lay in it, of corruption, his essence. The Lady lay in it her substance, her lies, her power. It had been made in a bid for greater power, but now each looked to the other with fear. For the book could bring down the ruin of the other. They had allowed too much of themselves to slip into the book.



"So one night Loth stole the book and vowed that neither should have it for fear of turning against the other. At first they feared that Loth would come against them, but it did not happen. The book was lost. Until now."



The demon Harque said, "We must hurry, Master. The dungeon master might come looking for the witch."



"He is right. Lothor, you and Tobin go and free the prisoners. I cannot leave this book. And I do not know if it will allow me to pick it up again."



"I will go if you promise not to read it while we are gone."



Keleios laughed. "I am not so eager to have my mind blasted. I will not read it, you have my word."



They left, following the false Harque. Eroar appeared in the room moments later. "The Guardian Worm was badly served by the witch. An eye is infected when a little cleaning would have prevented it. The den is filthy."



"We will see what we can do before we leave."



He smiled, his human form handsome with perfect white teeth. "I promised her we would."



"Her?"



"Yes." He dared her to make something of it. She let it drop.



Poth was sniffing Harque's headless body and gave a low hiss. The flesh had begun to slip off the bones of the hand; the bones were green.



Keleios knelt beside the figure. "Verm's curse, spelled doppelganger. Harque is alive. The demons have not fled; they are in hiding. We've got to warn the others."



Eroar reached outward but couldn't get through. The protective shield was back and the room was a trap once more.



With a surge of magic, a flight of succuba appeared in the room. Like manic butterflies they swooped down, some with weapons, others with claws and teeth.



Keleios pulled Aching Silver from his sheath. Eroar sent an umbrella of cold over the demons, and they broke, shrieking in high-pitched voices. The succuba fled. Into the silence a woman spoke. "Welcome, Keleios Incantare, Elwine's daughter. I hope you have been entertained."



Harque stood near them away from any door. She was tall, straight, and handsome. Where her eyes once had been now glittered red faceted jewels.



"As always, witch, there has been nothing dull about our stay."



Harque smiled, "I am so glad. You'll be happy to know that my winged friends have gone down to visit your companions." She walked around the room to stand in front of the smashed cabinet. "I see you have found the book."



"Yes."



"Well, little enchanter, I wish you better luck than I had. I was quite mad for several years after deciphering some of the smaller spells." Her smile was wistful. "Such a price for knowledge." She stared at Keleios, and the half-elf watched life play behind the jewel eyes. Harque was in there, the jewels reflected her moods like real eyes. "And what price would you pay for freedom for you and your friends?"



"What price do you ask?"



"My, how you've changed; you've learned caution. But six years is a long time for some." She continued to pace the room, touching objects with a light caress. "What price freedom? You to be my second when I walk the pit."



Surprise flashed across Keleios' face before she could stop it.



Harque chuckled. "Yes, be surprised. Do we bargain, Keleios Incantare, or do we fight?"



Eroar spoke softly, "Is it dangerous?"



Keleios said, "Yes, but not extremely if the person passing through is strong willed. Are you strong of will now, Harque?"



"I am ready to pass into my power."



Keleios frowned at the phrasing.



A velvet cushion lay on top of the smashed cabinet and on it lay a polished globe of crystal. Harque picked up the crystal ball. "Here, see your friends; perhaps that will help you decide."



Images like fog rolled round the sphere, but Keleios sought Tobin and found him. He was naked and lost in the embrace of two succuba. He felt no danger, and Keleios moved on quickly.



Harque laughed, shaking the globe, and then calmed. "The black healer next."



The word drew the image in the crystal. Lothor was in a cell and was backing away from a copper-haired succubus. He was fighting for control, but his ax lay across the room. Another demon touched him, and he flinched away, afraid. He turned his back and began to pound the wall, gouging holes in the stone.



"That one has seen what the succuba do. He fears greatly and is strong willed." Harque smiled a lovely smile; the jewels in her face caught the light for an instant. "The succuba can drain a man to death if not kept to moderation."



She replaced the crystal on its cushion. "There are other demons and people who desire to visit your companions, many others." She smiled radiantly at them. "But then you know that better than most, half-elf."



"Yes, Harque, I remember. Free them, and I will second you."



"No, I will free them after I have walked the pit."



Keleios faced her squarely, hand clasping hilt; the sword began a soft song. "Harque, your journey will be long. In the time it takes, great harm could come to them. I will not bargain for shattered men whose minds and bodies are broken."



"True, true, but if I free them you will not bargain fairly with me."



"Then we cannot agree."



Eroar broke in. "Perhaps, if the demons were not allowed to harm them for the time it would take Harque to transverse the pit."



"No, Eroar, a demon's idea of harm is too strange. They have not harmed any of them yet, to their way of reasoning." Keleios walked forward to stand only two steps from the witch. "What if I give an oath? Will you free them before you cross the pit?"



"It would depend on the oath."



"I will swear by Verm's hounds and Loth's birds."



"A strange oath for a follower of Cia."



"These are strange times. Is it agreed?"



Harque drew a gold whistle and touched it to her lips. A red-haired succubus appeared. "Free the men after she makes this oath."



The red-haired demon pouted. "This will not be popular. They are standing in line for the white-haired one. It has been long since we have had our way with a prince of royal blood from Lolth or Meltaan."



"Why do they stand in line for the white-haired one?"



"He is most skilled with demons."



Harque waved at the globe, and it swirled to give images of Lothor with three succuba. Keleios looked away, anger and shame flushing through her. Harque laughed. "He does not fear the loving embrace; he fears his own perversion. He seems happy enough."



The succubus said, "No, master, he does not take the mindless pleasure in us that most men do. He performs wonderfully, like a well-trained animal, but he does not truly enjoy, not as the Meltaanian prince does."



A frown passed Harque's lips. "No matter, he is no longer distressed."



"Distress is a matter of definition," the demon said.



"Will you be quiet!"



The demon hung her head and said no more. The witch remembered her audience and smiled. "They will be safe for a few days."



"No, that was not the bargain."



"I don't believe I could persuade my girls to give up such satisfactory toys so quickly."



"Then there is no bargain."



"Oh, I think there will be." The lights went out. The darkness blinded Keleios, and thus was not truly darkness at all.



Eroar called out, "Keleios!"



The lights flickered on again. Where Eroar had stood was a hole, very black, through which a warm wind blew.



The silver sword leapt to her hand.



"No, half-elf, they will die if you threaten me. Their lives hang on your actions."



Keleios trembled, fighting the sword's eagerness and her own anger.



"Lay the sword on the desk. Perhaps you don't believe me. Shall I have one of them slain to prove my sincerity?"



Keleios touched the sword with her mind, telling it to be patient, that they would yet drink the demon-monger's blood. It lay silver and lovely on the desk. Keleios smoothed her hands across the chain mail, forcing herself to relax.



"Good, now look upon your dragon."



A movement caught Keleios's eye. Poth crept round the room. A chance, still a chance. "Show him to me and be done with it, witch."



"Oh, so the old Keleios still lurks within that calm facade. I will show you your dragon." She turned her gaze upon the crystal once more, and Keleios followed.



Eroar still in human form stood knee deep in black slime. Strange half shapes crowded round until it seemed the darkness itself writhed. One darted too close, a bolt of cold sent it scurrying back to the others. Keleios touched Eroar's mind cautiously. Harque did not seem to mind. *Eroar, can you teleport out to me?*



*No, some magic binds me here.* The image faded, and Keleios blinked up at the witch.



Poth crouched on top of the bookshelf, waiting.



Harque half-turned toward the shelf, and Poth leapt upon her. She shrieked as claws raked her face. Poth was a spitting, clawing, biting fury.



The sword asked, "Now, now?"



"Now." The blade leaped to her hand, and Keleios plunged forward.



Harque threw Poth from her and turned a bloody face to Keleios. "Cursed be." The blade slid home, seeking her heart.



Keleios drove the sword deeper as the witch dropped to her knees. They knelt face to face, and Keleios watched the life flicker in the jewel eyes. Harque whispered, "Curse you, curse you." But, there was no magic to it. Keleios watched the life slip from her eyes as it had slipped from Keleios' mother's eyes so many years ago.



Heart blood welled out of the wound, splashing the silver chain mail with near-black gore. Keleios drew the sword from its fleshy sheath. The body knelt for a moment, then slowly slid to one side. It lay crumpled and empty on the stone floor.



The sword crooned in her ear, "We bring death and vengeance."



Years ago she had come seeking the witch's death and found pain and defeat. This time she had come as a sacrifice to die and found vengeance. Was it enough for the days of suffering her mother endured? No. She cleaned her sword on a corner of Harque's grey cloak. No, it wasn't enough, but it would do, it would do.