Laurell Hamilton - Nightseer

Her anger was gone, and only a cold knowledge remained. If she escaped, she would kill Nesbit. It gave her a measure of comfort.

Nesbit almost screamed, “Enough of this!” He drew his self-control like a cloak and picked

his sword from the ground. He ran it automatically along his cloak to clean and sheathed it.

Breena had already sheathed hers.

“We will take the prisoners now.”

Six guards gathered to him, swords bared and crossed on their chests. They surrounded the four prisoners. Four out of hundreds—were they all that was left? Poth ran to stand by Keleios, and the councilman laughed and let her stay. Nesbit stood and raised his arms. For the first time Keleios felt nothing save dizziness and darkness as they were teleported away.

They appeared on bare grey rock. The sea rushed and whispered along the desolate shore. White foam rode the waves like pale ghosts. Stunted, wind-blown trees formed a winter-bare forest. There was no summer on this island. A small mountain rose in the center, but no buildings could be seen.

Keleios said, “Nesbit, you cannot leave us here.”

He smiled pleasantly. “Oh, but I can, and will.”

She pulled at her wrists, but without the golden bracers’ enchanted strength, she could not snap them. Eroar growled deep in his chest. He was magic-stripped but nothing more. He still held his dragon strength. With a word Nesbit had one of the guards train a crossbow on Keleios. “One move, dragon, and she dies.”

Lothor asked, “What manner of place is this?”

Nesbit made a broad gesture to include the entire island. “This is the Grey Isle, home of Harque the Witch. Your consort can tell you all about Harque and the Grey Isle.”

Keleios spoke quietly, fighting to keep panic out of her voice. “Nesbit, do you intend leaving us here, chained, without magic or means to defend ourselves?”

“It was my intent.”

The guards gathered at his back. “You see, Keleios, you are right. If I execute you, I will be at war with two nations, but if you die in exile, there will be no war. I want you dead, halfling. I saw my death in your eyes. I don’t want you at my back some dark night.”

He smiled and looked out to sea. “And there is what will finish you.”

The last brush of twilight flickered over a thick grey cloud, mottled with hints of other colors. Sickly green, the purple of bruises, a faint yellow and the sickly sweet smell of corruption came with it. It crept only yards above the sea, sending out tendrils of itself, then drawing its bulk along the tendril, coming closer. It seemed to be crawling along some invisible surface. The wind was stale, testing like invisible hands and bringing the stench with it. A smell like long-closed sickrooms and rotting things rode the wind.

The light died as they watched it just offshore. Two of the Astranthian guard began to retch from the stink.

Lothor whispered, “A moreacstrom.”

Tobin asked between deep swallows, “What does moreac mean?”

“It means death storm. The thing is a minion of Verm.”

Nesbit said, “Very good.”

Keleios stumbled forward and fell on the rock, half-catching herself. “Nesbit, in the name of whatever you hold sacred, at least undo the chains. Give us our magic and our bodies; give us a chance.”

He raised his arms. “Goodbye, Keleios Incantare, demon-named Nightseer, we will not meet again.”

“If we do, Nesbit, you are a dead man.”

He vanished with his guard. The stench of old death came closer.

“Can we run from it, black healer?”

“No, it can hunt over land or water.”

“What can we do, then?”

“The only thing is a circle of protection.” He pulled at his chains, eyes staring at the near-invisible cloud. “And we aren’t going to get that wearing these.”

The storm began to rain into the sea in a sickly yellow rain that made the water boil at its passing. Tobin succumbed to the wind and began to vomit onto the rock.

Lothor said, “If we can’t get free, we will die.”

“That I know, black healer. Tell me something I don’t know. Tell me something I can use to get us out of here.”

He spoke quietly. “I can’t.”

Flashes of odd light, like broken lighting, writhed through the cloud. The lights flashed across the rock, chasing the darkness back in bursts. The sickness of the chains tried to numb her mind, but there had to be a way. “Eroar, can you bite through the chains?”

“They are a powerful enchantment and would explode if damaged.”

“Yes, yes, I know that”

Poth looked up at Keleios and meowed, one long plaintive note.

“I know, Poth, the storm is coming.” There had to be a way. “Eroar, could you break them between your claws?”

“The problem remains. If I touch the runes of binding they will explode.”

She nodded. “But if you touch between the runes, on the bare chain, the runes will be intact. They won’t explode.”

“I can no longer see magic. I cannot see where the runes are.”

“Nor I.” Keleios looked at the others. “Does anyone have a better idea?”

There was silence. The wind grew stronger, bringing the scent of old death.

She turned to Eroar. “I remember two runes per bracelet.” She closed her eyes and said, “Here and here.” She touched the metal above and below her wrist.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

“No, but I’m willing to take the risk, if you are.”

The dragon nodded. He bent over her hands. His black claws, like ebony knives, hovered delicately over her manacles. Poth struck at his claws. She hissed, tail bushed, eyes wild.

Lothor said, “What is wrong with that cat?”

Keleios stared at the cat. She had never realized that her ability to communicate with animals was magic, but now Keleios was deaf and dumb, looking into the cat’s yellow eyes. She didn’t know what the cat was trying to say. “Tobin, hold her out of the way.”

Tobin, still crouched on the ground, moved toward the cat. Poth reacted violently, striking at him.

“Poth...” Keleios couldn’t understand this, and there wasn’t time to puzzle it out.

The dragon bent over the manacles once more. The cat attacked.

“Poth!”

Lothor dived for the cat and caught her snarling and spitting.

The cat continued to yowl as Eroar started to work on the chains.

Keleios said, “Stop.”

The dragon hesitated. “What is it?”

“Let her go, Lothor.”

“There isn’t time for this, Keleios.”

“Don’t you see, Poth can see the runes. Her magic sight is still working.”

Eroar said, “If she could see magic before this, the cat should still be able to see the runes.”

Lothor released the cat, “Our last chance is a cat’s magic sight. We are doomed.”

Tobin said, “Shut up, Lothor.”

Poth hissed at Lothor and then walked daintily over to Keleios. Eroar touched the chains. Poth struck at him. He moved claws slightly to the right. The cat sat watching, wary but satisfied.

There was a sharp crack, and the manacle fell away. The runes were paired magic. With one bracelet off, the spell was released. The chains fell to the ground.

She stared into the cat’s yellow eyes and said, “Thank you, Poth.”

The leg irons were not enchanted. Keleios reached down and spelled open the lock.

Eroar nearly bugled his relief at being free again, but kept silent and began to work on Tobin’s chains. Keleios freed Lothor at almost the same time, and without discussion they began to jog toward the stunted forest.

Eroar shapeshifted into his young human form and ran after them. The cloud seemed to hesitate over the land then began a laborious climb upward upon the rock itself.