Laurell Hamilton - Nightseer

Keleios flinched at the power in the dispelling. If it had been only sorcery, it would have worked, but enchantment is a stouter thing.

The soldier hung limp and bloodied. The man tried again to dispel it as if he couldn’t believe he had failed.

His next attempt was at destruction, and power like red lightning played along the hall.

The child, waiting alone, stumbled back in fright and fell into the fire ward. Flame roared up her legs, drowning out her screams. Her small frame was engulfed in fire. It rushed outward a sheet of flame, orange death. It filled the hallway with burning.

When the fire cleared, the men stood untouched. The girl had done her duty. She had set off the ward with them safely out of range. Her bones were twisted and black, a charcoal heap.

The magic-user tried once more, and this time Keleios leaned against the wall. It was the sorcery that tripped the enchantment like a string on a snare. She reached outward through the cold stone toward that sorcery. Keleios wasn’t sure how to absorb it, so she held it in by brute will. The stone arms on the left side vanished.

The blond spellcaster smiled, pleased with himself.

They entered the cleared way, the right-hand wall straining after them. When as many as possible were there, Keleios released her control. The arms shot out and grappled. Metal screamed on stone to little effect.

“You would have used that on me?”

Keleios whirled, sword half-rising from its sheath. Lothor stood there and repeated his question. “You planned to use that fire ward on me, didn’t you?”

“You challenged me to the arena. What did you expect? And what are you doing here?”

“You have been gone a long time.”

They backed away, leaving the men to the carnage of the stones.

Keleios poured out the warding of pain at the bend to the stairs.

Lothor said quietly, “I know the magic-user who leads them.”

“Who is he and how powerful?”

“Tranisome the Smiler, and very.”

“The smiler—what does that mean?”

“If the gods are not with us, you’ll see soon enough.” “You are his prince. Can you talk to him?”

Lothor considered it. “Perhaps, but doubtful.”

“Doubtful is better than facing seventy to eighty men and a powerful sorcerer.”

Again Keleios crept forward and spied upon them. Another child walked before them.

This time Keleios could put a name to her.

She was Bella, daughter to a Zairdian earl. She was eleven and a sorcerer of some promise. The girl paced forward nervously, sweeping long black hair from her face, eyes concentrating on the floor. Bella was good.

She stopped and flinched; she had seen it. The girl looked backward and licked her lips; she was planning something.

Tranisome came within sight and called to her, “Girl, get on with it.”

“I... have found one.”

Bella stepped a little back from it. He approached and peered at the powder line. She was standing just behind him, and it was a small matter to give a tiny push. The ward flared brighter and vanished, his screams echoing in the hall. Bella ran past him over the now-useless ward.

Tranisome writhed on the floor and shrieked, “Kill her!”

Two guards moved to obey and Keleios simply appeared before them. Luckweaver sliced one’s neck and took the other in the side. The blade pulled free with a sound of breaking bone, and Keleios ran up the stairs after Bella.

The fighters were in full chase. Here was something they could fight, something to bleed and die.

Keleios let her still-bloody sword fall to the steps and touched the wall. A warding of destruction was in the walls; all it needed was a spark of sorcery. The warding blinked into place. Two fighters hit it seconds later.

Lightning exploded in blinding white fire. It raised the hair on head and arms like a secret wind. The bolt blazed down the stairway. Men screamed, ran, burned, and died.

Tranisome was still writhing and shouting, “’Idiots, they want you to chase them!”

The smell of burned flesh was strong, and Keleios swallowed past it. Smoke curled from the bodies. It was not the complete incineration of a fire but as if a great lightning whip had torn along them.

Tranisome called for the boy to be brought to him. Keleios knew this one, also, briefly. It was Tobin who exclaimed, “Brion!”

Some of the fighters glanced their way. Keleios understood the frustration, the horrible helplessness of it all.

Brion was a journeyman herb-witch and fighter. His hands were bound behind his back, and they forced him to kneel by the writhing black healer.

Keleios whispered to Lothor, “What is he doing with the boy?” “Healing himself.”

“How will the boy help him?”

Lothor said nothing, only stared down at the scene below.

Bella had been quietly sick in a corner, the stench of burning hair and flesh too much for her.

The healer put hands on Brion’s shoulders and the boy started to scream.

Keleios swallowed hard, fighting sickness. She knew what he was doing now. “He’s using him like a grey healer uses an animal, but the boy can’t take that much damage.”

“His life force, no; his dead body, yes.”

“This isn’t healing, it’s murder.”

He chose not to argue.

The boy’s screams stopped abruptly, and he sagged to the floor. Tranisome never lost contact with him. The body quivered, then lay very still. But it was long after that that Tranisome released the body. Then he stood and looked up the stairs, smiling.

Lothor stood in front of the ward’s bare glow without his helmet and waited. It was the last ward fixed into the walls themselves. After this, it would be their magic alone.

Tranisome walked slowly, deliberately, through the bodies and stopped on the other side. The smile spread across his face. It was large and cheerful but it never reached his eyes. They remained pale and empty like a corpse’s.

He bowed from me neck, still smiling. “Your brother, Velen, sends greetings, my prince.” “And what are those greetings, Tranisome?”

“Death, my prince. She must die.”

“So in my absence my father’s mind was changed.”

The smile brightened. “Did you expect it would be otherwise, my prince?”

“No.” Lothor stared at him for a moment and asked, “Am I to die also?”

“Regrettably, my prince.”

“And will you do it, Tranisome?”

The smile waxed and waned, eyes never changing. “There is a bonus for your death. Someone will claim it before dawn.”

Keleios stepped into sight, “But it won’t be you, smiler.”

Tranisome looked surprised. “I am flattered that you spoke of me, prince.” His blue eyes searched her from golden helm to leather armor and shining sword hilt. “Ah, this must be... your intended.”

“Yes.” “I am honored, but this warding will not stop me from slaying you.” He glanced along it.

“It is strong, but not strong enough.”

She said, “Let us test how strong it is.” She placed her hands flat against the surface. It glowed and shimmered through her body as she connected with it. Tobin gasped. What was a rather childish test of wills in the classroom could be deadly in combat. Though Tobin’s control was better, Keleios could not ask him to do this test. It was hers to succeed or fail.

A smile of pure delight shaped Tranisome’s lips but left the rest of his face untouched, like a partial mask.

Lothor understood also, and was horrified. “Keleios, no.”

Tranisome spoke, a lilt to his voice. “Oh, what a bonus I will make tonight.” He matched his hands to hers.

The world narrowed to a glowing wall and hands that she could almost feel pressed against her own. He would use great force against her, that’s what she was counting on.