Nightseer

The column of fire roared upward into the dark. Orange cinders arched outward like fireworks, sizzling and crackling on the courtyard. The base twisted and writhed, flaming ropes of orange, yellow, and white. In the flames faces flickered, screaming and being endlessly consumed by the fire. Arms reached outward, flamelets that larger flames blazed round and swallowed. A thin keening wail echoed over the roaring of the flames. A hot parching wind seemed to blow off the thing. It robbed what it touched scalding. It dried hope up and left only terror behind -- run, run and hide. But there was nowhere left to hide.



Lothor called to her over the noise, "Hide the book. It will call to him like a signal fire." She stared at him for a moment, half-stupefied by the noise and the presence of the thing. She stuffed the book inside the pouch, quenching the black flames. Keleios pulled the drawstrings tight and stared at Lothor.



He stepped close to her. "Keleios, are you all right?"



She didn't answer but was vaguely aware of Tobin on his knees, eyes riveted to the devil behind her. Over all was the sound of burning and a dark singing in her head. She raised her left hand; it had never itched so much, demanded to be used. She raised it slowly as if unable to stop it. Lothor caught her left wrist just before she touched him. "Keleios?"



The devil spoke. His voice was a burning wind, a forest ablaze. "Who dares summon me?"



Lothor tightened his grip on Keleios, pulled Tobin to his feet, and began to walk quickly, but not too quickly, for the questionable shelter of the dragon runs.



They, like the smithy, were warded. They hit the magic with a skin-tingling rush, but there was no noise of dragons to greet them. The dragons were dead.



When they had put a building between them and the devil, Lothor let Tobin slide to the ground. The boy began to vomit. Lothor gripped both of Keleios' wrists and shook her. "Keleios!"



She heard him distantly over the song in her blood, in her head, from her hand. It sang of death, and power, and a blacker darkness than any night. He shoved her backwards, slamming her into the barn twice.



Tobin crawled towards him and said, "Let her go."



He kicked Tobin hard enough to roll him along the ground. The boy did not get up but lay moaning. Lothor rocked Keleios against the wall until she fought to get away.



She glared up at him, "What, by Loth's red talons, are you doing?" She jerked free of him and he stepped back.



"You wouldn't answer me. I thought something had possessed you."



She tried to remember and found the song still there bubbling through her blood. Her left hand itched, and she had to force herself not to touch it or rub it against herself. "The book promised power. And I listened." She looked up at him, fear tightening her chest. "I listened."



"It is not your fault that it calls to you; you did not choose evil."



She nodded but remained unconvinced. She reached for her leather glove and began binding it into place. She had lost a finger joint worth of leather thong from cutting the knot, but it would do.



When it was fastened securely, she moved to Tobin's huddled form. She pushed back his sweat-soaked hair and said, "Tobin, can you speak?"



His voice was hoarse with emotion, "I have never been so afraid. I couldn't think or move. The black one had to drag me to cover."



"The devil gives off a very powerful aura of fear. It is one of his weapons. You stood beside me when all the others ran. Be proud of that."



He nodded.



She helped him stand, then led the way inside the building. It wasn't much protection, but it was better than being in the open. Sprawled in the aisle was the body of a man. He had been clawed and chewed almost beyond recognition. Only his blond hair and shape of body remained.



Lothor spoke quietly. "The raiders?"



She knelt in the blood-stained sawdust. "No, or at least I don't think so. It looks like some kind of beast did it." She looked up at Lothor. "What sort of pets do black healers keep?"



"A small demon, perhaps."



"Perhaps." She covered the body with a saddle blanket. The large double doors at the other end were open. Through them the devil's fire still blazed into the sky. A small figure in black with a pale, cleanshaven face looked up at the devil, bargaining. Lothor stared out at the devil and the man. "If anyone can command the Fire Lord, it will be Velen."



He turned to her. "You must use the dark book again, Keleios. We must conjure a devil to fight this one or all is lost."



"Then all is lost." She sat down on a bale of hay and stared at her leather-entrapped hand. "I am too tired and too frightened of the book. I couldn't control what I could call up. The last thing we need is two devils after us."



"The devil will bring down the keep."



"Once it finds the secret of the keep's magic. We have a little time."



"Time for what, Keleios? Either be stronger than it or die. There are no other choices."



"Lothor, I can't. I have been healed twice tonight; it has its price. I used instant enchantment on those walls; it has its price. My sorcery is still usable, but against that thing, I have nothing. Only my sword remains and this cursed darkness that seeps from my hand. The first demon summoning was aided by herb-witchery, and that is gone now."



"You only need the book and the power in your veins. Tap your darker half, or we will be destroyed."



"And if I try and fail, I will be destroyed." She began to laugh. "Where would our bargain be then, black healer?"



"Leave her alone," Tobin said.



"You stay out of this, princeling."



"For my sake, don't fight. We need a plan, but I will not, cannot do what you suggest, black healer."



"There is no other way to fight the thing." He paused, "Unless."



"Unless what?"



"Unless we can kill Velen." He gave an abrupt, bitter laugh. "If only it were that easy."



Velen was walking toward them, a group of warriors and black clerics at his back.



"He knows I am here. He felt your magic; he is priest, sorcerer, and very dangerous."



"Who is he to you?"



"My brother."



The man was young, no older than eighteen, with smooth pale skin, but not ice-pale. His hair was like a raven wing, his eyes of some dark color, short, a man in every shape. "Your half-brother, I take it."



"His mother was a Zairdian slave."



Lothor took the left side of the door; Keleios, the right, and Tobin took the rear doors.



Keleios whispered, "Are you close to your brother?"



"You mean will I be angry if you kill him?"



She didn't answer.



"Kill him if you can, Keleios, but I doubt you can. He has Verm's own luck at escaping things."



Velen stopped just out of range of missile weapons. "Brother, I would speak with you."



"You can speak from there, Velen."



"I would rather not air private matters in front of commoners."



Lothor laughed. "I have no commoners with me, Velen."



The boy's face colored. "Very well. Father has named me heir. You were unsuccessful in your plan, but I will not fail. My plan is better."



"I have not failed, yet. She is to be my consort, Velen."



Keleios hissed, "You, mine."



He whispered, "Don't make me lose face, not now."



She huddled into her corner, unsatisfied but silent.



He spoke to Velen once more. "She is mine; I have succeeded."



Velen smiled, a beautiful smile. "Best wishes to you, brother, but you know now what I must do?"



"Yes, brother, you must kill me."



He nodded. "I am tired of father's indecisiveness: first you, then me, then back. Your success could tip the hands in your favor, and I will not have that."



"I did not think you would, brother dear."



Tobin hissed, "Men moving in from the other side."



Keleios backed away from the front and moved to stand with Tobin at the back.



Lothor kept Velen talking so they could set up their own ambush.



Keleios drew Luckweaver quietly, and Tobin drew his own sword. She outlined a brief and hopefully quiet plan, and he crouched down to stay out of sight until it was time. She mouthed the words, "No magic." He nodded.



Four fighters crept along the wall, two on either side. They sounded ridiculously loud to Keleios. Even Tobin winced as a stray blade scraped against the outer wall. The men's breaths were harsh and loud. They muttered one to the other; one on Keleios' side stumbled and cursed. Keleios drew a dagger for her left hand and waited.



Keleios could feel the man just on the other side of the wall. His body was pressed against the stones, and unconsciously she mirrored him. He peered round the edge, and she moved forward, dagger plunging into his neck. She pulled it free with a spray of blood and took the second man through the belly and chest with her sword. He looked surprised. She rolled and left the sword rather than struggle to free it. Tobin had taken his front man with a slash, opening the man's belly, but he traded sword strokes with the second man. Keleios changed grips on her dagger and threw it. It hit with a meaty thunk. Tobin finished the stumbling man with a thrust to the neck. He turned to grin at her, and his face changed.



She rolled without waiting for the warning. Something fell on her left side, stopping the roll before it was begun. A numbing pain took her left arm. Keleios drove an elbow back and threw with her body and shoulder. The attacker rolled forward off her and was on his feet.



She faced him standing, but her left arm hung useless. Her right hand held the last knife. The man was slender and looked snake quick. His only weapon was a white-bladed dagger that gave off a magic aura. His hair was long and reddish brown, held back by a strip of black rawhide. Elf-pointed ears peeked through the hair. He grinned at her and began to circle. Under normal battle with an unarmored man she might have thrown the blade, but he looked too quick. She figured him for an assassin, and she didn't fancy giving up her only weapon without a plan.



Tobin moved toward him.



Keleios said, "No, stay out of his reach."



Tobin backed off and sheathed his sword, but was clearly unhappy about it.



Whatever the dagger was, it had harmed her. The wound was deep and clean from one side of the arm to the other. The bone had been missed and for that she was grateful. It had bled a great deal at first, but now the blood had almost stopped, save for a trickle.



It shouldn't have. A deep bone-numbing cold was seeping from the wound down her arm and spreading up her shoulder.



She feinted, trying to draw him out and test his fighting style, but he stayed out of reach and smiled. He knew what the dagger was doing to her. The cold was an ache, not the healthy pain of a knife wound, but freezing like a touch of ice. All he had to do was stay out of reach and the cold would take her over, she could feel it. Tobin was not quick enough, even armed with shield and sword, against dagger.



As they circled and put the assassin's back to Tobin, the boy extended a hand and said one word. An explosion of yellow-white light took the assassin in the back. He stumbled forward, and Keleios lunged. He turned at the last moment, spoiling her heart blow. The dagger took him in the upper chest and shoulder. They teetered, pressed together. Keleios fought for his heart and forced her left hand to grab for his dagger.



It cut a shallow wound down the length of her hand from little finger to wrist and sliced through the rawhide bindings. The glove slipped to the ground, and her hand grabbed the man's hand desperately. She dug half-frozen fingers into his flesh, fighting to keep the blade from her. Her own dagger came free, and his hand kept its point from his throat.



A warmth began at the palm of her hand, chasing the coldness. Like a warm summer breeze in a snowstorm, it chased the cold, melting, giving hope. Her grip strengthened, and she bent all her enchanted strength to plunge the dagger in his throat as the warmth spread. His eyes opened wide, surprised. The dagger tip was almost there.



The warmth reached the wound, blood flowed freely, and it hurt like it was supposed to. Her left hand crushed downward, and the white dagger fell to the dirt. He began to scream, eyes staring downward.



A green mold covered his hand, spreading up his sleeve. Keleios watched it climb from his tunic collar to his neck. He panicked, and she plunged the dagger home. His screams were cut short in a gurgle of blood.



The green disease kept spreading as he twitched and died. It ate the flesh as it covered it, bare white bones showing at his hand where it had begun.



So that was how it felt to use the demonmark. It felt good and warm and safe and powerful. Most who passed through the fifth darkness had only a round scar for proof. For a very few, as a sign of high favor, they were given the gift. The wound would never be healed but remained raw, full of pus and blood and death.



The green slime had nearly covered the body. Tobin stood across from her, eyes disbelieving, and he whispered, "How did you do that?"



She raised her left hand and showed him the demonmark, "I did not do it of my own free will," She knelt in the dust and picked up her leather mitt, but it was ruined. A substitute would have to be found. Keleios wondered what would happen if she touched her own flesh accidentally. A laugh caught at the back of her throat and didn't quite come out. She pulled Luckweaver free of the dead body and cleaned and re-sheathed it. They walked back in the building slowly. Keleios found a pair of riding gloves, leather with the fingers free to work. She slipped one on gingerly, then thought of the dagger. They couldn't just leave something like that lying about. She went cautiously, looking up this time as well as out. It lay shining whitely in the dust beside the remnants of its wielder.



There was a great roaring sound; the devil had returned. Keleios could see the orange flames spreading along the keep, but a larger glow was on the other side of the dragon gates. She touched the dagger's blade tentatively with her left hand. Its blade was the coldness of early winter before the land has given up on life. It was bearable, and she picked it up loosely, carrying it, blade down, into the building.



Lothor and Tobin crouched beside the open doors. She stood behind them, not trying to hide.



The devil had formed from the waist down now, and its great cloven hooves walked in a shower of fire. Gripped in his hands were Bella and a blond servant girl. Bella had fainted, and he dropped her as if uninterested in prey that was immune to fear. She fell and rolled as if dead, a seep of blood spreading from beneath her. The other girl struggled, screaming, so lost in terror that she tore bloody scratches in her own face.

The devil held the girl away from its body and gripped a struggling arm in its giant fingers and pulled. The arm gave way at the shoulder, a burst of crimson. Like a cruel child with a butterfly, first a wing, then a leg. But butterflies do not scream.



Keleios strode forward, shrieking her frustration, white dagger plunging skyward, a white torch of defiance that the devil found most amusing.



Tobin and Lothor crowded round her, trying to drag her back. Lothor stared at the blood on his hand from her wound.



The devil turned, grinned, and flung the bloody remnants toward them. The body flew end over end, spraying blood in arcs. They scattered and it fell to the pavement with a heavy wet thud. Keleios knelt and struck the dagger against the stones. Sparks like bits of snow showered upward.



The devil began striding toward them. They regrouped and drew weapons; there was no place left to run.



As the ground trembled under each step, Lothor asked, "So I may die happy, how did you get wounded and how did you get that dagger?"



Keleios glanced at it in her left hand paired with Luckweaver in her right. "An assassin, he was good, but not quite good enough. This was his blade. I don't like leaving relics lying about, so I picked it up."



The first wave of fear hit them, and the devil laughed. "Run, and hide, mortals. You cannot escape me. Behold." He spread his great crimson arms skyward. A flash of sorcery thundered over them like a storm, and was gone.



All around the keep, over the ruined walls an orange glow spread; a devil's warding. "A barrier," Lothor said.



The devil roared, "Run, run from me!" He took two giant steps toward them, crashing on the stone. It split into a crevice that widened and spread toward them.



"Run!" the devil shrieked.



They sheathed their weapons and ran. Keleios ran carefully, the naked dagger in her hand. They scrambled over the crushed hedges and the dead dragon. They ran into the gardens with their whispering death, and Keleios led them through the living maze of greenery. She had been leading them back to the keep without thinking about it. When they reached the rose garden, Keleios stopped. She sat on the fountain's edge and stared.



Fire reflected redly into the fountain's basin, blazing from the windows and roof of the keep. The west side of the keep was broken, shattered, and the fire was strongest there. The mostly stone keep was holding its own against the fire.



Keleios fought an urge to scream, or cry. There was no place of safety tonight.



Lothor examined her wounds.



She asked, "How do we kill it?"



"The devil?"



She nodded.



"We don't."



"How do we fight it then?"



"Let me see the dagger." He touched it gently. She let it fall from her fingers to his hand.



He grinned and gripped the thing. "Do you know what this is?"



She shook her head, no.



"It is 'Ice,' one of the seven."



"Then it is a relic."



Lothor handed the dagger to her good hand and continued to probe the wound. "I have no healing left, but I can bind it. What made this wound?"



"The white dagger."



He stopped and looked at her. "It couldn't have."



"Lothor, believe it. The wound felt as cold as a winter ice storm."



"Then how is it healthy now?"



Keleios hesitated, unwilling to share it. "That is none of your business."



He jerked the bindings tight and she gasped. "Keleios, I need to know if you have any special powers over the dagger because it could affect the way we use it."



Tobin's voice came low but clear. "For those of us who aren't enchanters, what are the seven, and what is that dagger?"



Keleios spoke as Lothor cleaned and bound her wound. "Long ago, when Pelrith was but a man and not a demigod, he made seven daggers with the aid of demon magic. Each blade was cooled in blood and flesh, and a demon was imprisoned in each one." Keleios stared at the blade in her hand. "You say that this is 'Ice' from the frozen hells."



"Yes." He finished dressing the wound and took the dagger from her. "With this dagger we can build ourselves a protective circle." He frowned. "But we would need a third person who had been initiated to at least the second darkness."



"If we had such a person," Keleios asked, "could it work? Could we control it?"



"I've seen it done before with another of these."



She hesitated, but the image of the girl flashed across her mind. "Belor is such a person."



"Then we must find him. And you must tell me how you cleansed yourself."



"Do you need to know?"



"It could make the difference between success and failure."



"Very well." She dragged the riding glove off, wincing as the leather caught on the dried blood.



Lothor hissed between his teeth when he saw her palm. "Even Velen lacks that."



"The dagger sliced through my mitt, and the demonmark touched his flesh. As I destroyed him with it, warmth crept up my arm and cleansed me."



He spoke in a low voice. "Demon magic against demon magic."



A mind power crushed through her shields, and Keleios swayed. "Master Eroar. He is with Belor. Great danger, fire, trapped, sorcery almost gone, can't hold out. The devil broke their hold on the west side. Belor is badly injured." Keleios opened her eyes and said, "We must hurry." Keleios was surprised that the assassins had missed Eroar. Of all the remaining masters, he was the most dangerous. His true form was a dragon, Keleios smiled grimly. Perhaps dragons were not so easy to kill as a blind herb-witch.



Keleios stared up at the burning keep. There was no fire directly in front of them, but it was only a matter of time before it spread, "We might want to have protection from fire spells close in mind."



Tobin nodded, eyes wide.



"Shall we go," Lothor said.



They clattered up the steps leading into the keep. Lothor hesitated before the opened doors, testing the darkness. Keleios came up slightly behind him. There was a hint of smoke over everything, stronger inside than out. Two keep guards lay dead near a third body. No living thing moved.



Keleios whispered back to Tobin, "Do you have the fire-protect spell ready?"



The boy closed his eyes and drew a deep breath. "Yes."



They entered, Keleios taking the lead followed by Tobin, and Lothor guarding the rear. It took some energy to follow toward Eroar, but thankfully not too much. Keleios led them toward the west and the smell of smoke. The harsh clash of battle drew nearer as they approached the central library. Keleios called a halt in the hallway before they reached the library. Something was moving down the main corridor toward them. They flattened themselves against the wall and waited, trapped between the fighting in the libraries and whoever was coming toward them.



The figure appeared around the comer and found Keleios' sword at her stomach. The woman gasped.



"Jodda!" Keleios hissed. She grabbed the healer's arm and drew her into the smaller hallway.



Jodda's white robes were stained with dried blood and soot. Her healing calm was stretched and almost gone. Her eyes looked too large for her face, and her skin was nearly the color of her dress. She leaned against Keleios with a long sigh.



"Jodda?" Keleios said.



The healer stood away from her, straight and proud, but worn around the edges. "I am very glad to see someone alive."



"Belor is still alive and Master Eroar -- we are on our way to rescue them. Do you have major healing left?"



She nodded. A tear slid down the dirt on Jodda's face. "Why are they doing this?"



"Jodda, we have a way to stop the devil, but we need Belor whole for it and he needs healing."



She nodded. "You want me to come; I cannot refuse. It is the code."



Eroar the Dragonmage called, *Keleios, we are trapped between the fire and the battle. Belor is weak. I cannot fight and carry him.*



*We are coming, Eroar.*



*We are discovered.*



The contact was broken. Keleios forced herself not to reestablish it for fear of breaking his concentration. She could feel the shreds of his power gathering. "Tobin, can you cast a traveling invisibility spell?"



Tobin grinned. "I do that spell much better than you."



Keleios smiled and could almost have hugged him for being himself in the midst of all this . . . chaos.



He closed his eyes and nothing happened. The most unnerving thing about group invisibility was that your group could tell no difference. You just have to trust that it was working. It was one of the reasons Keleios hated the spell. She liked to see her results.



Keleios led the way, with Tobin behind her, Jodda in the middle, and Lothor protecting their backs. As long as they didn't attack anyone, the invisibility would hold, if it held at all. Keleios forced that thought away. She had to trust Tobin's magic.



The great central library was dying, shelves fallen and tossed like a child's toys, irreplaceable books scattered on the floor. Guards and invaders struggled weapon to weapon, finding footholds treacherous on the blood-stained, book-strewn floor. It was all Keleios could do not to lend a hand, but if the devil went unchecked, they would all die. As Carrick had said time and again, "Keep your eye on your objective." She gritted her teeth and led them along as far from the fighting as possible.



A struggling pair fell between Tobin and Jodda. They all froze, watching the daggers come closer to the two throats. The guard gave a mighty yell and plunged the dagger home. When he got up, he left the body. Jodda lifted her white skirts delicately to step over it.



They entered the far corridor, unchallenged. The sounds of battle drew them faster. The west wall was no more. A blasted emptiness full of torn rock and naked support beams was all that was left. Belor lay in a crumpled heap against that emptiness. Poth lay curled beside him on her side, panting. She was not hurt but Keleios could feel the emptiness of no more sorcery. Eroar knelt in front of him, blue fire spilling from his hands to surround a black-robed figure. A man in ebony plate mail moved toward Eroar's back, a naked sword in his hands. The sword was as night black as the armor.



Lothor motioned to Keleios that he would take the armored man. She nodded. That left her the wizard. They began moving toward the men. Tobin stayed behind to guard the entrance from the library and to concentrate on his invisibility spell.



Eroar half-collapsed onto the cracked floor. His arms trembled as they pushed his body away from the floor. Poth hissed at the black-armored man. Eroar half-turned, but before he could cast a spell, the wizard struck. The Dragonmage was enveloped in a red glow. Eroar screamed.



Keleios hesitated, close enough to touch the wizard. Lothor drew Gore from its sheath and nodded. They had to strike together, for if even one of them betrayed the spell, they were all visible. Keleios drew Ice from her belt and did two things at once -- she gripped the man's shoulder and shoved the dagger between his ribs. The dagger sank through flesh as if it were silk.



Lothor swung Gore in a great looping curve. The blade sank through the other's black helmet like cracking an egg. The ax buried itself in the man's shoulder bone, the head split in two.



Keleios stared as the black-armored corpse toppled to the floor in a spray of blood, bone, and brains. The axe had cut through the magic plate mail like warm butter.



Lothor stared at her over the body, as if he could read her unease. She knelt and cleaned the dagger on the dead wizard's robes. Lothor walked over and knelt beside her to clean his ax. She glanced up and met his silver eyes. For some reason Keleios didn't want to be this close to him. She stood and went to Master Eroar.



Eroar the Dragonmage was covered in ash, his straight black hair, royal blue robe, the dark skin of his face all white-grey with wood death. It was all he could do to retain his human form. The shadow of his true self lurked in his eyes, leather wings stretching skyward. He smiled at her as she stooped and picked up Poth. The cat gave a weak meow. She stroked the thick fur and asked, "Master, how did the assassins miss you?"



"They did not, completely." His smile widened. "But Eduard was not the expert killer that was needed."



"Eduard was Fidelis' journeyman."



He nodded and said, "It seems she taught more than simple herb-witchery."



Jodda knelt by the emptiness of the ruined wall; the night sky framed her white dress. Her hands were on Belor; he did not move. She sat back in deep meditation, blood flowing from her shoulder. A trail of blood was drying on her forehead.



"We must leave here soon; the fire is near," Keleios said.



Eroar nodded. "I fought long and hard to find a place without flames to make a stand. When the devil came through, it shattered Belor's illusions and blasted and fired the keep." He breathed deeply, then coughed, "These human lungs don't take to smoke properly."



A tongue of flame broke through to the left, a tiny sparkle of orange, promising great things. "We need to get out of here. Can you walk, master?"



Eroar nodded and got to his feet, slow, a little unsteady, but moving.



Jodda blinked at them as if just waking. "He is not well enough yet to help you."



"Heal him later; we must keep ahead of this fire. The smoke will steal our lives as surely as the flames."



Jodda allowed herself to be helped up; Lothor took Belor's still-unconscious body.



A shudder ran through the area and Keleios yelled, "Go, now!"



They ran with her bringing up the rear, Poth clutched to her chest. The fire exploded outward, spraying the room with rocks and fire. Keleios turned her back against the blast, shielding the cat. The fire was free and climbed hungrily toward her.



The others stood uncertain in the midst of the library wreckage. The guards had been defeated, and the invaders circled round the group that had suddenly appeared. Lothor set Belor down to unsheath his ax. The men smiled; ten against one were their kind of odds.



Keleios appeared and contacted Eroar. *Can you teleport all of us to the dragon area?*



He stretched his shoulders. *No, I am too tired. We would just as like end up in a wall as at our destination.*



Keleios cursed, set Poth down on the floor, and drew Luckweaver. The roof overhead gave a long groan, and everyone looked up apprehensively.



The invaders shifted uncomfortably, but one led forward, saying, "I want the white healer. I've never had myself a white healer."



The roof sighed, and a sparkle of orange showed itself. Smoke was beginning to fill the room like grey choking fog. Keleios contacted Tobin. *Can you do another group invisibility spell?*



*I think so.*



*Then do it.*



Lothor started forward toward the fighters and Keleios caught his arm. He pulled away, and the men said, "Where did they go? They just disappeared!"



Tobin spoke. *The spell's done. Now what?*



Lothor turned to Keleios. She put her fingers in front of her mouth; if one of them spoke, the fighters would know they had not just disappeared. Eroar and Jodda carried Belor's unconscious form out of the room.



Two fighters advanced within a sword stroke of Lothor and Keleios. She fought an almost overwhelming urge to strike out, but there were too many of them, and the fire was coming. There was no time. Tobin was in the hallway trying to keep everyone in sight. He had to concentrate on the whole group or the spell failed.



Keleios swallowed hard against the smoke and a horrible urge to cough. It was Lothor who coughed. A small sound, but almost in the face of one of the men. The fighter's sword struck outward and reflex took over. Lothor caught the blade with his ax, and smashed his fist into the man's face. The man fell to the floor and did not get up.



Keleios slashed the nearest man across the stomach, and shouted, "Get to the hallway!"



The hall was narrow and Lothor filled the doorway, slashing with Gore. Keleios stood behind him out of the fight. "Keep them busy for just a minute."



He spoke through gritted teeth. "Whatever you are going to do, do it fast." Gore sliced one man's throat, and nearly chopped off the arm of a second. The fighters drew back, wary, but it wouldn't last. Eight against two were good odds.



Tobin stood at the far end of the hallway, sword out, facing the main corridor. A sword swung into view; Tobin turned the blade and chopped downward and retreated back into the doorway. There was more than one.



Keleios called wild sorcery, no concentration, no shaping of a spell, just raw power, and a prayer that it wouldn't backlash on her. Magic raced along her skin and raised the hair on her arms; her stomach twisted with the strength of it. She yelled, "Lothor, get out of the way!"



He didn't ask why but dropped to one knee, ax upraised to deflect a sword stroke.



Blinding white power spilled from Keleios' hands and smashed into the face of the man Lothor was fighting. The man screamed and vanished. Keleios spilled raw power into the fire-touched ceiling. With a scream of dying timbers the roof collapsed on top of the men. Fire whooshed into the room. Heat and smoke drove Keleios and Lothor back along the hall.



Jodda screamed up ahead and they ran toward the sound. A man lay dead near the doorway. Tobin was trying desperately to keep the far wall at his back while three fighters circled him. He blocked two of the swords but the third was coming in for his throat and there was nothing he could do. Keleios raced toward them and knew she would not make it in time. A large white dog leapt on the sword arm and pulled it back with teeth and weight. The man stumbled, cursing as Piker dug teeth into his arm. Feltan darted forward and shoved a dagger into the man's leg.



Tobin took advantage of the surprise and shoved his sword into one man's chest. His sword caught and wouldn't come free. He dropped to his knees and a sword swished air over his head. Keleios was there slashing at the man, forcing him to turn from Tobin to her.



She faced him with Ice in her left hand, Luckweaver in her right. The man crouched behind a small shield, sword ready. Smoke poured out of the narrow hallway behind them like a chimney. They fought in a choking fog. Someone yelled, "The fire is spreading."



Keleios doubled over coughing, the man's sword sliced toward her bowed neck. She dropped to one knee, Luckweaver coming up, taking the blow. Ice shoved under the shield edge and sank through leather armor into the heart. When she stood up, Tobin was standing over the man who Feltan and Piker had injured. The man's throat had been sliced.



Jodda called from the entryway that led into the garden. She and Eroar had Belor sagging between them. "Hurry!"



Keleios found Piker running at her heels. Feltan stumbled and fell. Keleios stuffed Ice in her belt and picked the boy up by one arm, and they ran. The others were coughing by the fountain in the rose garden, waiting for them. Piker gave a soft snuff, half-sneeze, half-greeting, and nuzzled Keleios' leg. Feltan, face smudged with soot, flung himself upon her, hugging fiercely. "I thought you were dead. I thought everyone was dead."



"Not everyone. Did you think I would leave you alone with just that mongrel for company?"



He grinned up at her, tears shining in his blue eyes.



She petted the dog and found Lothor staring at her. "Thank you for your help in there," she said.



"You didn't seem to need any help."



She started to argue, then stopped. Was it a compliment? Keleios wasn't sure.



Eroar said, "Let us go on to the dragon runs if it is a place of safety."



Keleios nodded. "Safe as we are going to get tonight." She led the way deeper into the gardens, toward the doubtful safety of the dragon runs.