seaward as if pushed by inexorable hands. Randal closed his eyes and faced into
the wind, then murmured something and traced a Sign upon the air. Lalo shifted
focus as the mage had taught him and glimpsed lines of violet fire that wavered
a moment and then were torn apart by the wind. Then his vision was sucked upward
into the clouds themselves, and he saw as he had Seen in the country of the
gods.
Something moved there with, but not of, the clouds- shapes that were subtly
wrong, spirits that took a malicious pleasure in manipulating the elements.
Oblivious to his presence, they played-it would have taken a more compelling
personality than Lalo’s to disturb them. But were they demonic? Lalo had never
seen storm elementals before. He knew only that he did not like these.
With a wrench, Lalo pulled back into his normal perceptions-Randal’s training
had done this much for him-and looked quickly at the mage. Randal’s eyes were
still closed, his face set in a snarl; his hands moved, but it was clear that
whatever he was doing was not enough. After a few moments he, also, shuddered
and sagged back.
He opened his eyes. “Sorcery …” he muttered, “black sorcery, and I think I
know whose! There’s a Nisi stink about those demons. That bitch is working her
spells, and she has reset her wards. I doubt even Ischade could get to her now!”
Lalo swallowed. If Roxane’s house were impregnable, then Gilla was lost. His
gaze moved numbly across slick rooftops, alternately revealed and hidden by
tattered gray curtains of rain, to the muddy ribbon of the river. Mist blurred