Laurell Hamilton - Nightseer

“You could simply kill him. That would free him of the spell.”

“But it would break the bargain. If anyone plays traitor, let it be the demon, not me.”

He shrugged. “As you like, but playing fair with demons is a narrow edge to walk.” “Agreed, but I stand firm.”

Lothor sighed, but let it go.

They debated long and hard but finally came to an agreement. By the time the demon returned they had their plan. “Well, my friends, have you decided?”

“Yes,” Lothor said. “We come with you.”

“Splendid!”

“If we can keep our weapons.”

His face fell. “Oh, my friends, that is not to be; you cannot be prisoners and retain your weapons.”

Keleios said, “How fares Harque’s true sight?”

He narrowed his eyes. “Why?”

“If her vision has decreased at the same rate it was decreasing six years ago, she should be almost blind by now. A small illusion should hide our weapons from her befuddled eyes, and you can supply that.”

He growled low in his throat. He remained silent for a time, then said, “Agreed. Break circle and come with us. I will ready an illusion.”

They stood, hands near the weapons, and Keleios swept the locking sign away with the sword point. The magic faded, and they stepped warily from the carven circle.

Alharzor spoke. “Now see of this thing round my neck, so I will not have to fight against you.”

“I will look at it and see what manner of enchantment binds you.” Keleios stepped forward, unsheathed sword in one hand. The others formed a semicircle around her and the demon. The hounds snuffled at their feet, perplexed. One growled at Tobin’s feet.

Lothor called, “Keep them back.”

The demon motioned, and the creatures fell back, whining.

There seemed to be heat coming from the demon’s body, his scales glistening even in the dark with the rise and fall of his chest. Keleios fought herself to calmness, but remembered terror pushed forward. As she reached for the necklace, every muscle hummed with the need to fight or run. The gold links were cold like winter ice; that was part of the entrapment right there. The red jewels seemed just decoration. “I believe it will not be as difficult to break as I thought.” Her fingertips found the black jewel. Yes, there was something here of power. She caressed it with her fingertips, eyes distant, concentrating on her inner sight.

She was not so deep into power, that she did not notice when the demon teleported with her. There was a spinning sensation as if the world had shifted ever so slightly and Keleios realized she could not feel the wind. Fear trickled through her, an undercurrent to the spell she was seeking. Alharzor had betrayed her. How very demon of him.

She continued to rub the stone, seeking its secret as another part of her sought her location. Stone walls surrounded her. Guttering torches were the only light. She whispered as if still deep in trance, “I think I almost have it.” The demon bent close to hear. She gripped the black jewel and links tightly. “Yes, yes.” She tensed to drive the sword upward. He saw the trick but could not break free of the necklace. The silver blade

took him through the groin with a shower of blue sparks.

The hot acrid stink of demon blood filled the hallway. She drove the sword into his chest as he clawed at her. Their blood mingled on the floor, and she released him and stepped back. The leather armor hung in ribbons from her back and left side. Every claw mark began to sting and ache. If the demon had not been under a compulsion not to kill her, she would have had much worse. Blood flowed in thin streams from the claw marks.

He fell to the floor, orange-red blood pumping from his wounds. There were whispers in the corridor, “Demon slayer, demon slayer.”

But Keleios saw nothing. Alharzor began to shriek, “Welcome home, welcome home.”

His cries would bring others.

The sword whispered in her mind. It wanted to quench the life from the demon. It wanted death. She saw no other way to silence the demon. “Are you sure we can slay the demon? I thought you needed an evil wielder to perform that duty.” It was sure. She came up behind the writhing demon out of the way of claws or sudden grabs. She and the sword lined up for a neck slice. The sword rushed eagerly, pulling her hand with it. The blade chopped cleanly, the head rolling gently to the side. Blood shot forth, and the body continued to writhe and call out. Keleios stepped aside from the blood flow. She was angry. “You said you could kill it.”

It assured her that it could but not by simple methods. It whispered its needs. “That is dangerous.”

“But the only way,” it whispered through her head.

She stepped round the straining body and straddled the slender waist; the chest was too wide to stand across. The sword rose up in a two-handed grip, and Keleios brought it down in the demon’s chest.

The demon screamed as if to bring down the very stones. The sword ate the pain, the fear, the life force of the demon. She tried to withdraw, but the sword glowed blue. The glow crept up her arms until she was bathed in it. She fought, but the power flowed through her, alien and sweet and painful. All that had been Alharzor came to her and the sword. The glow faded, and she fell, jerking the sword with her. She sat in a puddle of cooling demon blood and tried to breathe, tried to control the power rushing through her. She asked the sword, “What have you done to me?”

“Helped you kill a demon.”

The sword was talking out loud. It had gained power, too. She sat and tried to understand, but a sound came from farther down the hallway. The hall curved to the left. Something was coming round that curve; something thick and wet and heavy was being dragged. She had never heard a sound like it. “What is that?”

“I think it is another demon.” It warmed to the thought. “We can take another.”

“No! I cannot take another so soon. You controlled me for a time, and I will not have that.”

“If you do not use me, you will die.”

“No.” She moved to clean the sword but the blood seemed to have burned away. It

continued to warn her until she sheathed it and locked it in place. The demon entered her sight, and she backed away from it. It was black and had no real shape, for it moved like thick watery mud. A trail of slime shone behind it. A single eye stayed near the middle of its head, and that eye took in the carnage, then saw her.

The black jelly split to expose a mouth that was empty except for a great red tongue. The tongue was spiked like a weapon. It dragged itself toward Keleios.

She had no intention of staying long enough for it to reach her. Keleios grabbed the bloody necklace of obedience and sought outward with her mind. She had performed dozens of teleport spells in the classroom. Each time she had come out alive, not half-buried in a wall, but four times a teacher had to help her, save her. There was no one to help this time, but if she took another demon so soon the sword might possess her. Death was better than that. She whispered to herself, “You can do this spell.” She knew only one room well enough to teleport to. A slight dizziness and she stood in Harque’s study. The teleport had worked, she was here, alive. The witch looked up with a smile. “I have been waiting for you, Keleios Incantare.”

Keleios froze, waiting, sword in hand, but nothing happened. She stood near a tripod and its pentagram carved into the floor. The rectangular room was exactly as she remembered it. Harque had been nearly blind to reality six years ago and one did not move furnishings in a blind person’s study. The witch sat at her desk sidewise to Keleios. Harque smiled at a point some yards in front of her near the bookshelves that covered the entire west wall.