Laurell Hamilton - Nightseer

Only a few small windows gave sunlight to the forge. Most of the light was fire. Metal glowed in the near dark, blue, straw yellow, white, and cherry red. The giant bellows whooshed air into the main forge, and over all, the clang of hammers.

The heat was skin stripping, air stealing: The constant heat, darkness—it was not a place to look for an elf, or even a half-elf.

She passed through to the back with its glimmering shield spell keeping it separate from the rest of the forge. Keleios had had Allanna place the shield, because if it failed, it wouldn’t be mere explosions. Tally, master smith, had been given a gift. It was a remnant of a sword and handle, with numerous blackened pieces along with it. It had been a gift from the High Councilman himself. He wanted a sword made of the pieces, but no one else would touch the job.

It was rumored to be the remains of the sword, Elf Killer. It had been made by a renegade elven smith. He, fittingly enough, was its first victim. It had been a soul-stealer among other things. Keleios had no desire to put a relic in Nesbit’s hands, but she could not resist the challenge to discover some of the secrets of making that the elves had lost through the war. If they could manage to save the metal, the blade would not be Elf Killer risen from the grave. This sword promised to be a marriage of evil magic and Keleios and Tally.

Tally did not turn around as she entered the warding. He was the shortest Astranthian Keleios had ever met, and his nearly bald head with its fringe of fine blond hair gave him a

peculiar look. “Good,” he said, still bent over the sword’s main piece. “You’re here. Today we will finish saving the last piece.” He turned then with the largest whole piece in his hand, and his smile faded. “You are not dressed for the forge.”

“No, Master. I am to duel tonight.”

His fingers tightened on the metal. “That black healer, isn’t it?”

She nodded.

“Well, it had to come, I suppose.” He set the metal down on the work stand and then grabbed a handful of saw dust from a bucket where it was kept. He threw it on the embers and soon a blaze was going.

“Tally, I can’t help you today. I must prepare.”

“I know, I know. Send in Jarick.”

“Do you think that wise?”

He frowned and snapped at her, “He’ll just man the bellows. I won’t do anything but purge the steel.”

Seeing the look on her face, he said, “I promise.”

“All right, I’ll send him in as I go out.”

“You be careful tonight, Keleios. I may not like the man’s religion, but he’s careful and meticulous when he forges, and his enchantments are strong. And if anything happened to you, who could I trust to stand beside me on this?”

She laughed. “No one else is crazy enough, Tally.”

When she told Jarick, his freckles stood out against suddenly white skin. “Don’t worry. He’s just going to restore the metal; you man the bellows.” She clapped him on the back. “Besides, Jarick, you’ve been wanting more responsibility.”

He stared at her, brown eyes wide. “Not that kind.”

Journeyman Nerine stopped her on the way out. “Keleios, our ice elemental is about to be loosed. Could you redo the entrapment spells?”

The elemental stood by the main forge. It was glittering white ice with vague eyes and mouth. Nothing could temper steel like a captive ice elemental.

Flickers of white crossed the bounders of the entrapment spell. “You’re right; someone should have seen to it days ago. Ask Allanna to do it. If she protests entering the forge tell her I asked.”

The girl looked cautious, considering. “I will, but why can’t you do it yourself? You are right here.”

“I walk the sands tonight.”

Being Nerine, her face did not give away her emotions. “You will need all your energy then. Thank you for looking at it. And, Keleios, have a care tonight.”

“I will, Nerine.”

Nerine said softly, in a neutral voice, “And if you fight the black healer, kill him.”

The voice betrayed nothing, but there was a look in the eyes.

Keleios said, “That is my intention.”

Nerine smiled, a very rare thing for her. She left the forge area, presumably to find Allanna, but Keleios wondered what harm the black healer had done to the girl.

Just outside the smithy doors a white envelope floated at eye level. The outside was marked ‘Keleios’ and sealed with wax. It bore Poula’s seal: crossed sprigs of mint with a ring at the bottom. The note requested that Keleios go to Poula’s room, and she did as the note asked.

Poula was sitting in the familiar dark with her back to the door. She did not turn as Keleios stepped in the room. “So you go on the sands tonight.”

“It would seem so, Master Poula.”

The silence stretched outward, and Keleios let it stand untouched. Poula stood, her chair scraping backwards. “I think this was ill advised, Keleios.’‘

“Perhaps it was, but he challenged me.”

Poula turned swift and angry, striding down on her. “But you berated him in front of witnesses. You gave him a reason to challenge you. And you let your anger best you. Do you know what your chances are of winning against the black healer?”

“I think my chances are good.”

“How could you be so foolish? Don’t you understand, Keleios? He is a black healer, completely treacherous. You have never faced such as that in the arena.”

“I am prepared, Poula.”

“You cannot be prepared. Nothing prepares you for dealing with true evil.”

Keleios raised her left hand, with its leather covering, to Poula’s eye level. “I know what evil is, Poula.”

Poula turned from her and walked a few steps. Without turning around, she asked, “Who is your second?”

“Belor.”

“Find him. I’ll rearrange the afternoon classes. You and he are excused for the rest of the day to prepare. Go on; get out.”

Keleios stepped forward, one hand reaching then dropping to her side. “I had to answer challenge.”

“Remember what I taught you.”

Keleios stepped through the darkness and embraced her.

Poula stiffened then gripped the arms that held her.

Keleios whispered, “I remember everything you ever taught me.”

Poula released her first, and Keleios stepped back.

Keleios started to say something, but it would all have been lies. There was no real comfort when death was near.

Keleios realized then that Poula had worn her mask. For the first time since Keleios was ten, Poula had hidden from her. Keleios hesitated at the door, wanting to say something, anything, but she left, closing the door quietly behind her.

The apprentice dorms were empty, each bed carefully made, every one like every other. At the end of the long room Alys lay in bed. A journeyman in healer’s blue sat in a chair beside the bed, reading to herself. Alys’ laughter filled the dim room. Poth was patiently chasing a piece of yellow yarn over the coverlet. She crouched, furred tail tense, and pounced. The child giggled.

It was Poth who saw her first, giving a loud meow. Alys yelled, “Keleios, Keleios!”

The journeyman stood and swept back long blond hair. “Keleios, how good of you to visit. Do you wish me to leave?”

“Sit down—Valira, isn’t it?”

“Yes, I am honored that you remember.”

“Sit down. There is no need for you to leave.”

Keleios sat on the edge of the bed. “And how are you doing this morning?”

“Oh, much better.”

“Do you remember what happened last night?”

A frown crossed the small face, and she would not meet Keleios’ eyes. “No, no, I don’t ’memember.”

Keleios corrected her. “Remember—you don’t remember. You must have clear diction or you’ll never be able to cast herb spells.”