Laurell Hamilton - Nightseer

“And?”

“And I had a vision in the library. The books were burning, except for ones I saved. I believe this school, this keep, will burn.” Keleios held the thin china cup in her hands as if it had no handle and stared at the tea, breathing in the fumes of strength and calm.

Poula said, “I will contact one of the master sorcerers and have her raise the shielding. Now what else can we do to protect the school?”

“Send for Master Zeln and the rest. Alert Carrick to double the watch. Have someone watch Fidelis. I believe she is the key.” Keleios spread her hands on the tabletop. “But none of it may help. In fact it may harm.”

Poula nodded.

That was the crux of prophecy of any kind. What one saw was valid for the future but would one’s actions prevent it or cause it? “Right or wrong, Poula, we must do something.”

“Agreed. I will alert Zeln and the others using the communications tower. No other magic messages are allowed into Nesbit’s castle.”

Keleios laughed. “The High Councilman of Astrantha is very afraid of assassination and plotting behind his back.”

“Is he still with your sister Methia?” Poula asked.

Keleios flinched and could not hide it. “He no longer visits my sister or their child.”

“Did he truly challenge you to the sands?”

Keleios nodded. “On the day I leave this school as a master sorcerer, he plans to kill me.” “What did you do to him, Keleios?”

She stared at Poula. “I, what did I do to him? Poula, he treated my sister worse than the lowest whore.”

“Did you bring this to his attention, my hot-tempered journeyman?”

Keleios almost smiled. “Yes. I shoved a knife between his ribs during one of those silly Meltaanian duels.”

“If I remember correctly, it is considered bad manners to kill someone during one of those silly Meltaanian duels.”

“He didn’t die.”

“Why do I believe it wasn’t for lack of trying on your part?”

Keleios shrugged. “Our host, Duke Cartlon, had a very good white healer.”

“What am I to do with you?”

Keleios grinned and changed the subject. “Nesbit believes that the only reason Zeln is allowing Astranthian peasants into the school is to become High Councilman.”

Poula said, “We know Zeln. He wishes to prove that the peasants are human and have rights. To do that, they must have magic. This year will prove him right as three peasants graduate. What changes will that make in Astrantha?”

Keleios answered, curious about the new line of questioning. “The peasants will all be able to vote in the next council elections,” Keleios stared at her. “He wouldn’t dare. He wouldn’t dare attack a keep in his own country.”

“Frightened men do many foolish things.”

“Not even Nesbit would do that.”

“Do you think it an accident that we have only a handful of masters left here? Zeln left me in charge. We have one master enchanter, one master conjuror, one master illusionist, and two master sorcerers. Fidelis is a master of both illusion and herb-witchery, but if she will betray us, I doubt we can depend upon her help. The rest are in Altmirth, attending this impromptu council meeting. Zeln did not want to take so many from the school, but it is only for two more days. If I were attacking this keep, it would be before they returned.”

“Then sometime between now and day after tomorrow.”

Another thought came to Poula, “Were Zeln and the others under attack in your dream?” “No, come to that they weren’t in my dream at all. If my dream were true, they are safe.” “Do you think your dream could be clouded?”

“The Lady of Shadows had her minions in the tower tonight. It is possible, but I don’t think so.”

“We will warn them anyway.”

“If you can get a private message to them.”

Poula laughed. “That has not been an easy thing with Nesbit’s spies, but I have managed.”

“I’ll bet you have.” Keleios stretched her shoulders and back. She was beginning to feel like sleeping. “The strength spell seems to be wearing off. I feel tired.” She stood and pushed the chair under the table.

“It was of limited use. I only knew you were coming an hour before you came. I didn’t have time for anything fancier.”

Keleios smiled and stretched again. “It was fancy enough. I’ll bid you good dreams and pleasant prophecies.”

“And to you. Warn Carrick or his lieutenant before you go to bed, if you would.”

“Done, but first I must take care of something.”

Poula’s eyes widened. “What sort of something?”

Keleios grinned. “Let us say that Belor will not be happy with me.”

Poula laughed again. “You have no idea how to be boring, do you?”

Keleios made no answer but left the room to the sound of Poula’s laughter. The torchlit hall seemed very bright. And the silence of the sleeping keep pressed very close.

She reentered the library corridor. The flames were a beacon down the narrow way.

Belor was no longer visible, and as she neared the circle, Keleios wondered if he had escaped somehow. If he had gone to all that trouble, how angry would he be?

She approached as close as the heat would allow and peered over. Belor the Dreammaker sat, ankles tucked under, one elbow propped on his right knee. His tunic lay crumpled beside him. The hilt of his sword and the metal fittings on his sheath glimmered in the firelight. A sheen of sweat glistened on his back and shoulders. Keleios raised her hands upward and drew inward. The reverse of spells always felt strange, as if you were trying to breathe air you’d already used. The flames hesitated and paled until they were colorless as melted glass. With a rush the fire vanished.

It left them in a velvet darkness with the scattered glow of books only emphasizing it. Keleios called a witchlight to her hand and set it shining above them. It was white light, so Belor could see normally, a peace offering. The night had been busy and the effort brought a bead of sweat to her forehead. She could feel the energy draining away.

Keleios found herself looking into a pair of hostile eyes. She stepped close and offered a hand; Belor stared at it coldly. He rose in a single motion, using only his legs. His pale blue eyes had turned nearly grey, a very bad sign.

“Belor, please, I had no choice.”

He said nothing, having discovered long ago that silence made her more uncomfortable than accusations.

“I was afraid I would harm you. You know that,” She picked up his fallen tunic and said, “Here, let me wipe your back. I am sorry I was gone so long.”

He turned without a word, and she tried to soak the sweat from his back.

Belor took the robe from her and mopped his chest. “I was worried about you,” he said without meeting her eyes. ‘I’ve never seen you so close to losing control of a vision before. What happened? I heard you screaming and a man yelling your name.”

She smiled. As long as he was willing to talk, he wasn’t that mad. “I’ll tell you all on the way to alert the guard.”

He shook the robe out and held it gingerly in his right hand. “Alert them to what?”

“I’ll tell you that on the way.”

She spoke quietly as they turned down the west corridor. The white witchlight floated steadily some eight inches above Keleios’ left shoulder. She told him everything except that she carried the book commonly known as The Book of Demons. Over the centuries since its creation it had gone by many names: Black Death, Pit Opener, Demon Summoner.

Belor stopped her before they came to the outer hall, gripping her arm loosely. His eyes grew distant. “You’re lying, hiding something.”

She could have broken his grip, but there would have been no purpose to it. “Belor, I carry another book.”