Laurell Hamilton - Nightseer

Keleios fought the nausea, breathing in the clean, cool air. She pulled off the mailed hood, still gasping. She managed a whispery, “Magda.”

But the woman was in near hysterics from the little demon’s antics.

Keleios called sharply, “Groghe, leave her.”

The imp gave a last swipe to the full skirts and then scuttled out of reach and sat down.

He grinned at her, showing long pointed teeth.

The woman, gasping and near tears, stared at Keleios. “Are you real, or some demon-got illusion?”

“I am real, Magda.”

The woman came forward hesitantly. She spoke to the wide-eyed child. “You remember your Auntie Keleios, Llewellyn.”

The girl stared at the blood-coated mailed figure in front of her. The white pinched face, the matted brown hair, and the eyes—the eyes were frightening. But she had been raised properly and managed a faint, “Hello, Auntie Keleios.”

“Auntie?” Lothor said from across the room.

Keleios frowned at him. “Greetings, niece Llewellyn.” And knowing something of children, Keleios added, “I’m the one who brought you the metal top that spins and sings.”

The child’s face brightened. “It still sings for me. That was a good enchantment.”

Keleios smiled. “Thank you.” The door burst inward and two guards came in dressed in the white and silver of the Guardian’s livery. Short swords came from sheaths at the sight of the motley group. Magda said, “Put those away. Can’t you see the Lady Keleios has come home with some friends?”

The two guards looked doubtful, but Magda shooed them out of the room. “Go wake the Guardian.”

At this they looked even more uncertain. One said, “It is very early for the Guardian to be up.”

“No matter, her sister is here. Now do as you are bid.”

They left, and the nurse shut the door behind them. Magda looked Keleios up and down and clucked her tongue. “What a mess. I’m sure there is a fine story to go with this sudden appearance, but for now, I will see to rooms for all of you, and food and clean clothes.” Before Keleios could speak, Magda continued, “I will see that some men’s, or rather boy’s, clothing is included with yours.”

“Thank you, Magda.”

The woman bundled up the child into a blanket.

“Come, pet, we’ll leave the room to your aunt until other arrangements can be made.”

Llewellyn waved a shy good-bye over Magda’s shoulder, and they were left alone in the room.

Morning sun streamed in a warm oblong across the bed. The deep rose-pink, almost red, coverings seemed tinged with gold. Slices of golden warmth invaded through the narrow windows that ran along the eastern wall.

“Where are we?” Tobin asked.

“The Guardian’s Isle.”

Eroar stepped forward. “You nearly had us materialize inside that bed.”

“I didn’t know the bed would be so close to the tapestry.”

The dragon man’s eyes narrowed. “You didn’t know?”

“It has been over a year since I visited. Then there was plenty of room.”

“You had us teleport to a point that you hadn’t seen in a year, a point as mobile as a tapestry? It could have been anywhere.”

“But it wasn’t just anywhere; it was right here.” She didn’t feel like fighting with the mage today.

Gabel said, “I said that her luck was good.”

Keleios settled tiredly on the bed, ignoring what the blood was doing to the bedding. Poth had curled into a rocking chair that stood at the far left corner of the room. The cat pawed the plump cushion, sheathing and unsheathing claws in the rich fabric, and, when satisfied, lay down. She curled into a black and white ball, head hidden under bushy tail. Groghe had discovered a rocking horse. The green-clawed hands gripped the baby handles at the wooden head, and his wide-scaled feet didn’t quite touch the floor. He bounced his rump up and down on the wooden horse, giving a hissing laugh.

The unicorn tapestry had always hung in the nursery. A herd of unicorn ran from an organized hunt. Hounds yapped at their heels and farther back the hunters rode. The unicorns were the large white beauties of Calthu, the flowers and plants painstakingly exact. The trees were truly the Calthuian forest. Keleios wondered, as she always had, why with all the attention to detail, they had spoiled it by having the unicorns running in a herd like horses.

Gabel rested in a cushioned chair near the windows. The sunlight made his scar almost the same gold as the rest of his face. His eyes were closed, and an odd smile touched his lips.

Keleios half-wished she had left him on the island. In the boat the demons already knew. There was nothing for him to blackmail them with. She shook her head. Even Gabel didn’t deserve to die at the hands of demons. Did he?

She found Gabel watching her. They stared at each other, testing wills. He turned away with a half-laugh.

Keleios watched Lothor watching them both.

There were sounds at the door. Guards entered first. They stood on either side of the door, naked swords held close to their chests.

The one on the left was tall and well muscled, but surprisingly lean. His hair was black and still fell in a tangle over grey-blue eyes. He said uncertainly, “Princess Keleios.” His eyes had gone to the demon on the hobby horse shouting, “Yippee.”

“It is I, Trask, returned home albeit unexpectedly and with strange companions. It is a long story.” Keleios remembered him as one of the bullies who had tormented Belor when they were young.

He opened his mouth to say more, but a figure came up behind them. The figure was dressed in a woman’s green cloak that fell long, giving only brief glimpses of a pale skirt as she walked. The hood was full and drawstrung so it effectively hid her face. She brushed past the guards and told them, “Put up your weapons.” They did as ordered.

Gold thread sparkled along the cloak as she stepped into the sunlight. The cloaked woman stood before Keleios. They faced each other silently for a moment and then embraced.

The cloak hood was pushed back to reveal a thick mane of brown hair, a fine-boned triangular face with eyes that tilted slightly at the corners and were the same gold-green as her cloak.

Except for eye color she was a mirror of Keleios. Keleios stared at her twin sister, wondering what kind of greeting she would receive.

The voice was formal. “Welcome home, sister.”

Keleios answered in kind. “It is good to be home, sister.”

“And who are your companions?”

She motioned Tobin forward. “Methia Twice-royal, my sister, I present Prince Tobin of Meltaan, heir to the province of Fenian, journeyman sorcerer and visionary.”

The woman extended fingertips in an Astranthian gesture of welcome. Tobin returned the touch lightly and bowed.

Methia hesitated before Lothor’s black armor and pale face, one eyebrow lifting, “Sister, may I present Prince Lothor Gorewielder, sometimes heir of all Lolth, enchanter, sorcerer, and my promised consort.”

The woman said quietly, “Are you, like the rest of the Loltun princes, a black healer as well?”

Lothor bowed at the neck. “I am, sister of my promised.”

She seemed to wince at the last and asked, “Gore’s wielder, who is Gore?”

Lothor’s hand caressed the ax at his side with a cold smile.

She said simply, “I see.”

Gabel was next, but Keleios said only, “He blackmailed me into rescuing him. He is the Gabel who murdered my smithy master Edan.”

The harsh look that came to Methia’s eyes was very like Keleios’. “Murderers are not welcome on the Guardian’s Isle.”

“I have been punished by the Meltaanian courts.”

Keleios stepped up to him. “You still live. Edan is dead, and you still live. That has always bothered me.”