Nightseer
Chapter 5 Into the Darkness

The smithy area was under the keep near the kitchens. It was doubly warded. One ward would contain the magic in case of a mistake. A good explosion could bring down half the castle. It had happened at other smithies that handled the repair of relics. A second ward would keep the stench of fire and burned metal from leaking into the kitchens and ruining the food.
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."
"I know."
"I didn't come here for a lesson, apprentice. I came to see how you were."
The girl looked up, eyes shining. "Poth came to visit me."
"I see that." Keleios picked the cat up and stroked her. "She attends to my duties better than I do sometimes."
Alys tossed the yarn at the cat. Poth threw a reproachful glance to Keleios then went to chase it. Poth hadn't even liked chasing yarn when she was a kitten. Keleios hid her smile as best she could. It was terribly obvious to Keleios that the cat was only pretending to enjoy herself. But the child was fooled.
"Alys, we must talk about last night, but it can wait until you feel like talking about it."
Again she wouldn't look at Keleios. "I don't want to talk 'bout it right now." She looked up quickly. "I mean about, about it."
"All right, apprentice, get some rest, and I'll try to look in on you just before dinner. Come along, Poth."
"Oh, can't she stay?"
"No, we have work to do." Seeing the look on the child's face, Keleios added, "But perhaps she'll come visit again soon." The cat looked thoroughly disgusted but gave Alys a last body rub and then hopped down to the floor. She padded noiselessly at Keleios' heels.
When they were out in the hall, Keleios said, "That was a very nice gesture on your part."
The cat didn't answer but bounded ahead, white-tipped tail held high. She vanished through the door to Keleios' room without waiting.
Keleios opened the door and went after her. "All right, what's wrong with you?"
The cat sat on the bed and licked a delicate forepaw and stared at Keleios.
"You think I could have avoided the challenge with Lothor."
The cat concentrated on grooming her back and pointedly ignored Keleios.
"You think I'm going to get myself killed. We can win tonight." Keleios went down on her knees by the bed, eye level with the cat. The golden eyes stared at her, hostile, distant.
"I will win tonight," Keleios said.
The cat gave a small sneeze and went back to grooming, swiping one paw over her face.
There was a knock at the door. Belor entered without being asked. He wore a charcoal-grey jerkin, cut short, over brown trousers. White linen showed at rounded collar and sleeve. He stopped. "What's wrong? Not more exciting news, I hope."
"No, Poth's mad at me. She thinks I was foolish, like Poula, and you."
Belor said nothing but leaned against the bedpost. His blue eyes said everything for him.
Keleios stood and paced the room. "All right, all right, I let my anger best me. But who could have known he would challenge me? He did come here to marry me, after all."
"It was not entirely unexpected."
"All right, he has had two duels since he entered Astrantha. But he lost the second; if Glairstran hadn't taken a vow of mercy, we might have been rid of him then."
"That is awfully cold for a follower of Cia."
"Our vows say only we cannot murder. When someone is trying to take our life, we are not bound to give mercy." It was a matter of disagreement between them. He had fought in the arena twice, once by steel and once by magic. He had been victor both times. He had killed both times, but he was not comfortable with it.
"What are your plans, Keleios?"
"To use what herb spells I already have made up. To strike viciously and completely."
"What spells do you have made up?"
"At least two sleep spells, a ward of pain, a ward of fire, a spell of dragon summoning that I've been working on, and one for demon summoning."
He raised a pale eyebrow. "Do you think it wise?"
"I was curious; I haven't used it yet."
"Curiosity such as that, you do not need."
She ignored him and went on. "I have a potion to bring pleasant dreams and some powder of illusion. The powder is very unpredictable, though."
"There's no substitute for a good illusionist."
Keleios smiled. "Not yet, anyway."
"The sleep spells, yes; the ward of pain and fire, yes. I don't know what good dragon summoning will do. He might be able to gate in a demon of his own, so demon summoning may be useful. But for Magnus' sake be careful what you bring in. The illusion powder could be useful as a distraction."
Keleios agreed with his assessment. "So much for planning."
"Now wait, Keleios. You need more of a plan. Remember, if he kills you, I fight him."
"I absolve you of it, Belor. You are my second, but this is not your fight."
He stepped close to her and spoke softly. "If he kills you, it will be my fight."
She smiled. "I suppose if things were reversed, I'd do the same."
"You know you would." He pulled a slip of paper from the bed where it had been pinned. It was a note from Fidelis. She had retired to the stillroom for the rest of the day. She would not be interrupting them. Belor said, "That was very considerate of her."
"Very. She plans on killing me tomorrow night, so why should she worry?"
Keleios stretched arms over head and said, "I must spend some time in the hall of gods this afternoon."
"Quite a bit of time. How many gods do you normally worship now, four?"
"Three, but I will have to waste something on Zardok and Loth."
Belor raised a pale eyebrow. "You are going to make an offering to the black prince's god?"
"He doesn't own him personally; he is merely a priest. And Loth is the god of war, bloodshed, and battles. You do not enter the arena without first offering something to the god who can control it."
Belor shrugged; he didn't make sacrifice to Loth, regardless of circumstance.
As if reading his mind, Keleios said, "And before you go all self-righteous on me, illusionist, you worship the Shadow Lady. She isn't exactly good."
He shifted uncomfortably. "No, but she is the only illusionist among the gods."
"That is not true. There is Shalinelle, the elven goddess of beauty, truth, and music. She is an illusionist."
He smiled. "And you have to be at least partly elven to worship her."
"Not always."
Keleios left it at that. If Shalinelle wanted him, she would have him. If not, all the sacrifices on the island wouldn't make him a worshipper.
The midday meal was tense and short. Rumors like wind moved round the dining hall. All the voices fell silent as Keleios passed, but the wind of buzzing voices trailed her.
The hall of gods stretched cool and shadowed. A thick haze of incense nearly choked her as she entered. The vast pillared hall was cluttered with altars and carven figures of gods.
It had been Zeln's idea that people would prefer to send their children to a school where they could worship as their parents chose. He had been right.
There was something about the hall of gods. Perhaps it was the presence of so many holy items, or the magic, or just the emotions of the worshippers, coming in their endless line. Or the presence of lonely students first away from home, crying to their gods. The place had a claustrophobic feel to it, the stones weighed down, the pillars looked too frail to support. The chanting and the cloying sweet incense tried to hide it, but underneath was the neck-ruffling scent of blood. This was a place of sacrifice, and things died here. Everyone passed through the double doors, everyone. When the gods can reach out and punish, there is no disbelief.
The elven gods were here, tucked away in a cramped corner, nearly touching one another. Keleios made her first sacrifice to Elventir, god of agriculture. He had been the first god that she had chosen for herself.
When Keleios was seven, a sprig of mint that she had grown herself sprouted on his altar and grew into a tremendous plant before her eyes. People had come for miles around to get a start off of that mint plant. Keleios had worshipped Elventir ever since, even if she was not an earth-witch and had little time for gardening.
She placed one half-open white rose, a sprig of thyme, and a ripe red tomato on his altar.
He was the only elven god she regularly worshipped. The human pantheon seemed more forgiving of her dual nature. One goddess shared both pantheons. She was the goddess of the hunt, archery, and wild things; and she had a vindictive nature. She was half-elven daughter of Urle, human smithy god, and Shalinelle, elven goddess of beauty. She stood with the humans in the hall of gods.
Keleios laid a short dagger she had made herself, and a rabbit skin that had been killed and cured with her own hands. Urelle or Wolelle always demanded sacrifices that had been done by the hands of her worshippers.
Urle, god of the smithy, was next. He was Keleios' personal god, for she was a minor priestess in his temple, as were most enchanters. She laid a plain gold ring on his altar. It was the ring of protection she commonly wore and had made with her own hands. She did not usually give such rare magic to the altar. Urle understood what work went into such a simple thing. He was content with less for all but one day a year. If this were to be the last time she worshipped Him, Keleios wanted it to be special. The ring was all shining magic, and she felt good about giving it to her god.
Zardok, consort to the All-Mother, was next. He was the sorcerer among the gods, and Keleios would need all her sorcerous powers tonight. She placed a flawless opal, the size of her middle fingernail, on his altar. Zardok was the god of wealth and would accept only jewels and precious metals. He was not a poor man's god. He was also the god of madness, and for that reason alone Keleios worshipped him as little as possible. He was too unpredictable and too powerful.
She knelt before Loth's altar, god of bloodshed, war, and violence. She came empty-handed and drew her dagger. She made a diagonal cut across her left fore arm and let the blood drip onto the altar. She laid her bleeding arm directly on the cool stone and said, "I do not often come to you, great god that you are. But I come to you now, offering myself as sacrifice, my own blood to coat your altar. Guide me tonight; let my blows be swift and sure, let my enemies hide themselves in terror. Give me victory tonight as I give you blood today."
There was a small sound behind her, and she whirled, knife held ready in her right hand. Lothor stood there, a strange half-smile on his face and a tied but living hawk under his arm. Keleios could see the bird's frantic heartbeat as its chest rose up and down.
He wore a priest's garment over his clothes; perfect blackness with the blood-tipped sword of Loth sewn across the chest. "Well, Keleios, Loth's two favorite sacrifices, a bird of prey and his follower's blood. I wonder which he will favor?"
She said nothing but cleaned her dagger and put it away. She walked past him without a word, and he called, "Keleios."
She stopped and half-turned.
He strode toward her and made a lightning grab for her right wrist. She pulled back, but he was quick, almost elf-quick. His pale face flushed and he said, "Your arm, show me your arm."
There was something about his voice, a note of urgency; she did what he asked. She held out her left arm.
"The wound."
He seemed almost afraid, and she showed him the underside of her arm without a word. He brushed the blood away with his long fingers, but there was no wound. He hissed through clenched teeth. "You are a woman; he would not honor you."
Keleios stared at the unblemished flesh. She was shaken, a sign of favoritism from an evil god was not always a good sign. But she spoke boldly, calmly. "You say it is an honor. What does it mean?"
He stared at her, angry.
"You are a priest of Loth; act like one. Perform your priestly duties; interpret this sign for me."
He nodded and spoke. "Any sign that the god Loth has deigned to use his powers is an honor. It could mean that he is well pleased with your offering and nothing more. It could mean he will grant what you asked -- victory over me tonight, I would think. It could mean that he will lay a heavy hand on your life in the next few days. That is what it could mean."
"Thank you, priest. May your sacrifice be as blest."
She turned to go, and he did not call after her.
Keleios walked into her room to find a crowd. Melandra sat on the bed, stroking Poth. Her dress was forest green and flattered her thick gold-brown hair. Keleios had helped her pick out the cloth. It was time the girt stopped dressing like a peasant.
Tobin and Belor stood quietly talking. The younger man's bright orange-red clothing was a sharp contrast to Belor's casual grey and brown. They had laid her armor, weapons, and spells out on the bed; Keleios crossed to the water basin and poured water from the pitcher to the bowl. She cleansed her bloodied arm hurriedly. Tobin stepped close to her and said quietly for only her ears, "What's wrong?"
"I sacrificed to Loth."
He stared at the smooth unbroken skin of her arms. "An animal?"
"No."
He smiled. "Then it means victory. You will triumph over Lothor tonight. "
"Over a high priest of Loth? Over the crown prince of Loth's pet country? Something is wrong with that."
"You worry too much, Keleios. Take it for a good sign and let it go."
"When the gods are near, trouble is never far behind."
"If you are determined to think badly of this, then I can't help you. But by Magnus' red hand, don't let it spoil your concentration."
Belor had heard some, and she had to repeat the tale for the entire room. Melandra's brown eyes were a sparkling glint from her veil of hair. Both she and Tobin should have been elsewhere, and Keleios knew how much favor swapping had gone into it.
'Tm glad you are all here."
Tobin grinned, and Melandra dipped her head even lower. Keleios had spent a great deal of time helping the girl gain some sense of worth. Now she looked up, and the scar that twisted her mouth made the smile an uncomfortable thing to see.
Melandra was very brave to do it with her beloved Belor in the room.
They dressed Keleios in the leather armor with its gold-plated studding; it was a familiar snugness. The magic bracers went on over the arms of the leather. A long knife for in fighting was fastened at her right hip. Luckweaver was secured at her left-hand side. The golden helm, a gift from her elven grandfather, she laid back on the bed. It was a thing of great craftsmanship. It was the sculptured head of a bird, each feather etched, the eyeholes in the center like an owl, so she could see. The nosepiece was a small hooked bill. Her chin and mouth came where a lower mandible would have been. The feathers covered to her collarbone, carved to fluff at the edges as if real feathers rested on her shoulders. The helm was a thing of beauty but no magic. The spells lay encased in cloth bags, a clay vessel, all enchanted and secure against breakage. They would hang on a cross strap across her chest attaching to her sword belt. The last thing to lie on the bed was a golden shield. It had been a gift from her journeyman smithy master Edan. The shield held a small magic dweomer. It had cost him dearly to magic the shield.
Keleios unbound her hair, and Melandra brushed every tangle from it. It was a wavy frothy mass. Keleios braided only the hair on either side of her face, leaving most of it free but holding it back from her eyes. It was an elfish custom, something the half-elven Loltun wouldn't recognize. For all he knew of elves, he might as well be wholly human.
She asked them to leave then. They did, all but Poth. The cat rolled onto her side and stared at Keleios with lazy golden eyes. Only Poth watched the last few weapons go into place. It was a rule among the Nagosidhe that no one but a fellow warrior watch you. The Nagosidhe were a tiny sect of the Wrythian army. Men called them assassins. Though Keleios had only brushed the surface of the dark and efficiently violent way of the Nagosidhe, she did not break the rules. Her elfish uncle, Balasaros, said Keleios did not have the temperament for true Nagosidhe. Keleios was never sure if he was complimenting or insulting her.
The wrist sheath was useless with the bracers on and she changed that throwing knife to a sheath that went down her back. The hilt brushed against her neck. The second stayed in its boot sheath. Inside the neck of her armor she tucked a garrote. The thin double strand of wire with its gripping places on both ends fitted snugly and invisibly into place.
She was sitting with Poth on her lap when there was a knock on the door. It would be Tobin to fetch her for the evening meal, "Come in."
Most boys didn't get their first set of plate mail until they had ascended to title or reached their full growth, but being a prince, Tobin had been an exception. For his last birthday he had received a suit of plate mail. It was glittering and gold like so much of Meltaanian armorwork, with flowers and beasts etched along it. The helmet tucked under his arm was scrolled with vines, and two lions battled on its top. Tobin was very proud of the gaudy suit, for he, like most Meltaanians, liked sparkle and glitter. It had a small magic dweomer on it because no wizard could wear that much normal metal and still be able to cast spells.
Keleios slipped on the helmet, cool, constricting, protecting. She hefted the shield to her left arm and tested its balance. A wrist strap needed tightening.
Tobin's shield was large, almost as big as he, and strapped to his back. A short sword and dagger hung at his belt.
Lastly, she settled her spells and pouches round her belt. When it was as comfortable as it would get, she said, "Let's go," and led the way out the door. Poth trailed after them.
Neither spoke as they turned toward the stairs. Someone was running through the library, someone whose breathing was ragged and loud, a voice saying, "Mother help us. Mother help us."
Tobin slipped on his helmet, and Keleios crouched forward, motioning him to stay put in his clanking armor.
She hunted through the shelves, shadowing the gasping stranger. It was Selene, leaning against a shelf, tears trailing quietly down her cheeks. "Selene?"
She jumped as if struck then turned and flattened herself against the books, moving away from Keleios. She muttered, "I didn't know, I didn't know."
"Selene, what has happened?"
"I didn't understand, how . . ."
"Journeyman, tell me what has happened."
"I . . . I gave tea to Master Draeen, the conjure master, drugged tea, spelled tea."
"Selene, what sort of spell was in the tea?"
"I didn't know."
"You didn't know the tea was drugged?"
She shook her head.
"Who gave you the tea?"
"Master Fidelis."
"Where is Dracen now?"
"She took him."
"Fidelis? How, Selene, how?"
"She had a wand, and she changed him into a large black snake. He didn't even wake up after he was shapechanged."
Selene turned wide brown eyes to Keleios and said, "And Poula . . . "
"What about Poula?"
The girl turned away and began to walk down the shelf isle. Keleios caught her and spun her round. "What about Poula?"
Tobin stood behind them, all gold and unseen.
Selene said, "She's dead, she's dead." Once having said it, she kept saying it over and over again. Tears and laughter came in torrents. Keleios shoved Selene into Tobin's arms. "Get her to a healer and send a healer to Master Poula's room. Have Fidelis stopped and detained."
Before he could answer, she was running toward Poula's room.
Luckweaver snicked from his sheath as she eased open the door. Just this side of the table Poula lay face down. A wide pool of darkness was spreading from her back across the floor. The reeds had been scuffed clear, and the blood traced along the bare stones.
Her first instinct was to run to her, protect her somehow, but it wouldn't help if she fell victim too. Keleios forced herself to search the room and see that nothing lurked. She sent a frantic call to Jodda, nearly knocking the healer into a wall with the force of the summons. All she could do was wait.
Keleios stood beside Poula and carefully knelt, setting her sword on clean reeds near at hand. The bird helmet she took off and placed by the sword. She swept back the graying hair and touched the mask, but her fingers couldn't find a pulse in the throat. Keleios' chest tightened, her throat closing around unshed tears. She would not cry, not yet. Had Fidelis done this, too?
The flesh was still warm. The wound flowed slow but had not begun to clot. From the angle and size she judged the murder weapon to be a knife, straight to the heart. Not everyone could knife someone in the back and strike the heart; you had to know just where to enter.
She resisted the urge to hold the body; nothing must be disturbed. Healers were coming, but it was really too late.
Tears sparkled in the candlelight. Whoever had come had needed light, been welcomed in, betrayed her.
The light glinted off something -- a small oval mirror that was propped on Poula's table. What did a blind woman need with a mirror? Keleios sheathed her sword and went to the mirror. An envelope sat in front of it, sealed with wax and bearing Keleios' name.
She hesitated. Where was Jodda? Keleios picked the envelope up; on the back was written, "Answers are inside." She recognized the long swirled handwriting: Fidelis.
Keleios broke the seal and found one sheet of paper. "Half-Elf, If you want to know the how and why of it, repeat the words written below. The mirror will answer all your questions. The Witch." There was a spell written on the bottom half of the paper. Keleios recognized it as a triggering spell; speak the words, add a little sorcery, and presto, magic. Keleios had to do it, had to know.
She placed hands on either side of the mirror and spoke, "Mirror, hear me. Pane of glass, oval seer of this room, hear me. I enchant thee; I adorn thee with magic. Show me what I show me what I need to know."
Nothing happened at first, then the clear surface clouded as if her breath were fogging it.
Jodda entered the room with two journeyman healers in tow. Tobin was behind them, and he came to stand near Keleios and watch the mirror.
The fog vanished as if sucked away, leaving a mirror image of the room. The reeds on the floor were undisturbed, no body lay in the image.
Tobin called to the journeyman Feldspar. "We need two witnesses for this."
Jodda nodded her permission, and the Zairdian healer stood and watched the images.
Fidelis passed in view bearing a tray with tea on it. Poula met her saying, "A new blending of mints. I'll try it, but I believe I've tried them all." Then they passed from the mirror's sight.
The quiet murmur of their voices; the tea was good, but Poula had something similar.
Fidelis' voice next, admiring the completeness of Poula's herb racks. "May I borrow a pinch of dried tarrow root?"
"Certainly." Poula, being blind, had a different system for knowing what was in the jars, so she would have to get it.
They came into sight, Poula walking to the herb shelves, her back to the woman. Fidelis brought a dagger that flashed in the light. Keleios whispered, "Poula, Poula, please see it, please see it."
The tall, slender woman stepped close, peering over her shoulder. "How do you tell what is in all these?" Fidelis was almost leaning against the woman. An arm swung round Poula's chest, the dagger flashing upward. Poula's spine stiffened, and everything froze for an instant. The candlelight flickered over the scene. Poula's hand stretched outward as if reaching for something, her spine bending backward, her leather mask. Fidelis' grey dress, shimmered like silk, face buried in Poula's unbound hair. Then she stepped back and pulled out the knife.
Poula stood for a moment, heart blood pumping down her back, black and rich with life, then she fell forward. She struggled barely at all. Fidelis knelt and stirred the reeds away from her, making the struggle look worse.
The woman passed from sight, then returned with her tea tray and left.
Jodda came quietly up behind them, eyes on the mirror, and said, "I can do nothing for her."
Keleios didn't react for a moment then she turned slowly. "You cannot raise her?"
"No, there was a curse on the weapon used. Whoever dies by it is dead once and for all."
"A soul-eater?"
"I don't know."
"She's dead then?"
"Yes."
Keleios walked past her and knelt by the body. Tears slid silently down her face. She stroked the hair and said, "Poula, I swear to you that you will rest easy with Fidelis beside you."
A voice spoke in the room. "Keleios Incantare."
She looked up to find Fidelis' face staring out at her from the mirror. Keleios stood and went to it. "Fidelis?"
The face smiled. "For you, half-elf, a present, from your old friend, Harque." Fidelis turned away from the mirror, then back, laughing. "And from me, of course. A knife in the dark, half-elf." The mirror cracked. Keleios threw an arm in front of her face and turned. The mirror exploded outward in a shower of glass. Keleios staggered and found herself standing in a ring of glass slivers, like solid rain. For a moment she was stunned, numb; she thought she had escaped unhurt, then two points of sharp pain touched her. A piece of glass in her left cheek and the left side of her neck. The neck wound covered her fingers with blood.
Jodda touched her shoulder. "Keleios, let me remove the glass." The healer's gentle fingers removed the slivers. Keleios gasped at the neck wound. It was deep. Just a touch deeper and it might have killed her, but armor and Luckweaver had protected her.
"You failed, Fidelis," she whispered.
Jodda gave a small cry and dropped the last piece of glass. She was cradling her hand. Blisters covered her fingers. She stared up at Keleios, blue eyes wide. "Poison, Dermog. Keleios . . . "
Keleios understood. Dermog was a derivative of demon venom; no white healer could touch it, let alone cure it. Only a black healer could save her now. The only black healer in the keep had challenged her to the sands, and hoped to kill her.
"I've summoned Lothor," Tobin said.
She stared at the young man, in his gaudy plate mail. "It won't help."
"Only a black healer can save you."
"Lothor hopes to kill me tonight, Tobin. Why would he save me now?"
The boy shifted uncomfortably. "He answers my summons. He is coming."
As if conjured by Tobin's words, the black healer entered the room. He was dressed in full plate armor, black as the night, plain and unadorned. Only the helmet sported two long horns as decoration. His double-headed battle-ax, Gore, was belted at his side. He was an enchanter in his full power and had bound the ax to his soul. "How may I be of service?"
Keleios glared at him. "Didn't Tobin tell you?"
He nodded, black helmet moving ever so slightly.
"Then why ask?"
His silver eyes stood out like jewels in the ebony of his helmet.
"Zardok's crown, you two, get on with it. Heal her, Lothor." Tobin stared from one to the other.
Keleios swallowed hard. The wounds were beginning to burn, as if someone had shoved a piece of red-hot metal into her skin. Her voice came out breathy. "Perhaps he came to watch me die."
"Lothor?" Tobin said. He took a step toward the man, then stood undecided.
Lothor stripped off his gauntlets. "I did not come to watch you die, Keleios." He strode over the broken glass, grinding it underfoot. His voice came whisper soft from behind the helmet. "What if I would not heal you unless you promised to marry me?"
The burning was spreading down into her chest. Each breath was becoming painful. She took as deep a breath as she could manage and said, "Then I would die."
He laughed softly and laid long white fingers on her neck. "I thought you would say that."
A soothing coolness spread from his hands through her skin. She took a deep shaking breath. The burning was chased away by the cool healing magic. There were two tiny bursts of warmth as he healed the outer wounds as well.
Keleios stared at him. "Thank you, black healer."
"You are welcome." His hand lingered on her neck, and she was forced to step back out of reach.
"Why, black healer?" she asked.
He pulled on his gauntlets. "Why did I save you?"
"Yes."
"I have my reasons."
She could feel the weight of his gaze on her, an almost physical touch. Keleios shivered before she could stop it. "What reasons?"
An explosion sounded far off, muffled. Keleios staggered as a journeyman sorcery blared through her mind. "Carrick bids everyone to their posts. We are under attack. The communications tower was just destroyed."
Keleios blinked and found Tobin staring at her. He had the same message. Jodda was pale. Feldspar murmured a prayer to Mother Blessen.
Only Lothor stood apart. "What was that explosion?"
Keleios answered, "The communications tower." She retrieved her helmet where it lay by Poula's body. "I will kill Fidelis for you, Poula, I swear it." The lamplight swam in tears. Keleios shoved the helmet on and stood. There was no time to cry, but Keleios was glad of the masking gold helmet. She strode out the door, with Tobin behind her.
Lothor called, "Where are you going?"
"To our posts, to defend this keep," she called back.
Lothor caught up with them. "I will help you."
She glanced at him. "Suit yourself, black healer, but if you hinder us in any way, you become the enemy."
"Of course."
Keleios led the way to the cellars. A narrow doorway was nearly lost in the wall by the boys' dormitory. A spider web hung across its top, and Lothor brushed it away. Cool, damp air flowed up the stairs against them. The stairs allowed two abreast, but barely. They came to the lower corridor stretching off into the cool darkness.
Around the first corner the darkness stretched velvet and whole. A second explosion sounded and the keep shuddered above their heads. For a moment Keleios could feel the weight of the castle on top of her, making the air stale and her chest tight. The feeling passed, as it always did. An elf underground in the dark, what a wonderfully dwarfish joke. Keleios unsheathed her sword and led the way into the dark.