Snippet from The Trouble with Demons -- Ronan Cayle

Vegard passed his hand over a crystal set into the wall next to the door. The crystal flashed once, and after a minute or so, Ronan answered the door.

If you were a magic user, you'd heard of Maestro Ronan Cayle. The spellsinging master. The legend who only taught future legends. The maestro who turned out the finest spellsingers the Isle of Mid and the Conclave had to offer. The snappiest dresser I had ever seen.

His robes were a riot of silk and color. Red, orange, amber, gold--every color that flame could be at one point or another in its capricious existence--Ronan managed to wear them all at once and wear them well. It was nothing short of a stunning fashion achievement.

I was about to say as much when Ronan quickly held up a hand to stop me and put a warning finger to his lips. I shut up and froze, and so did Vegard.

I cautiously looked over his shoulder. Ronan's music room was filled with a profusion of cushions and rugs and furniture carved from exotic woods all topped with more cushions, all in sumptuous, brightly colored and gilded fabrics. A Nebian pasha's throne room would have looked drab in comparison. Piaras and Talon were there along with another pair of large and highly watchful Guardians. Everyone was standing perfectly still, and the Guardians weren't watching Piaras. They had their eyes on something else entirely and had glowing weapons in their hands. I looked where they were looking.

Hellfire and damnation.

A knee-high, naked, yellow, potbellied demon was sprawled like a Nebian pasha on a pile of silk cushions. His eyes were closed, and his fleshy lips stretched in what looked like a contented smile on his flat and ugly face.

I'd squished his big brother yesterday.

I sucked in my breath and went for my daggers.

Ronan held up both hands. He wanted me to stay put; I wanted to move. If I was going to be a demon target, I was going to be a moving target.

An armored goblin dark mage slipped silently between the Guardians; he had an ornate and open bottle in his hands. One hand held the bottle; the other had the stopper. Tam and I had done the same thing in the Quad yesterday. I stayed put and let the mage do his work.

The little yellow demon snorted, rolled over, and started to snore.

After a hissing incantation from the goblin dark mage, the demon was doing his snoring from inside a sealed bottle.

We all started breathing again.

"I used an ancient Caesolian love song with a lullaby twist to put him out," Ronan said with satisfaction. "He seemed to like it."

"Looked like a bored stupor to me," Talon muttered.

Ronan's amber eyes fixed him with a look. "What was that?"

"Nothing, sir."

"Are you both okay?" I asked Piaras and Talon.

"Sure," Piaras said. "It was just a little one."

Talon shrugged and grinned. "A little ugly never hurt anyone."

I looked at Vegard, he looked at me, and we decided not to enlighten either one of them.

"Don't demons wear clothes?" Piaras asked, clearly grossed out.

"No demons wear clothes," I told him.

Talon looked at the bottle and made a face. "Some demons should."