Shards of Time

by Lynn Flewelling

  The vessel had one finely appointed royal stateroom high in the stern, occupied by Klia and Thero, and Micum was bunking with Mika in a smaller one beside it. The rest of them had to make do with a larger passenger cabin below, the walls of which were lined with narrow bunks with railings.

  The royal cabin had silk-hung windows, a poster bed, a small round table, and a sideboard stocked with bottles of fine spirits held in a rack.

  Klia was at the sideboard as the others came in and took their places around the table. Selecting a bottle of brandy from the rack, she shook her head. “I don’t feel right, toasting the voyage, given the reason for it.”

  “To the late governor’s memory, then, and to luck apprehending his murderer,” Seregil suggested.

  Klia nodded as she filled four silver brandy cups and sat down between Micum and Alec. “Tell me what you know so far.”

  “That the former governor and a companion were killed in some unpleasant manner in a locked room in the old city,” Seregil replied.

  “Yes. The windows were barred and the door was locked for the night. The guards on duty are no use. One was driven out of his wits and is confined to the madhouse in Deep Harbor. The other disappeared without a trace.”

  “But someone reported seeing a spirit, didn’t they?” asked Alec.

  “Yes, just up the corridor from the bedchamber, at the same time that the screams were heard. According to the guardsman who saw it, it was the shade of a man, and it blocked his way for several moments.”

  “Did he describe it in any detail?” asked Seregil.

  “Not that I know of except that he was tall.”

  “Is this man—the one who claims to have seen the ghost—available to speak with us?” asked Alec.

  “Yes, he’s being held at the governor’s villa,” Klia replied.

  “Held?” asked Seregil.

  “He was desperate to get away from the island. Can’t say as I blame him, if he’s telling the truth.”

  “Odd thing to lie about, unless he thought he was going to be blamed for the murder,” Micum noted. “You say he was down the corridor from the bedchamber? Was he within sight of it?”

  “That I don’t know,” said Klia.

  “What about the bodies?” asked Alec. “We saw Lady Zella’s letter, but she didn’t go into detail.”

  “You know as much as I do on that account,” Klia replied.

  The ships pounded up the coast, tacking into the wind to Cirna, which straddled the massive cliffs of the Isthmus that connected Skala to the mainland. The city was a major trade port and guarded the great Cirna Canal—a man-made channel that cut through five miles of stone to connect the Inner and Osiat seas.

  The captain steered for the mouth of the Canal, a dark and deceptively narrow-looking cleft in the cliffs. It was flanked by two towering pillars carved in relief on either side of it. Each was topped by a huge smoking beacon supported by the symbol of one of the sacred Four Immortals. On this end of the channel, the left-hand pillar bore the carving of a massive sheaf of grain bound with a serpent, and the right one a coiled dragon crowned with a crescent moon.

  “Do you know what those carvings symbolize, Mika?” Alec asked as they stood with the others on the deck of the forward castle. Thanks to the drysian’s herbal teas, the boy was his chipper self again.

  “The sheaf is Dalna the Maker, the Immortal who tends to life and fertility. The snake represents forever,” Mika answered dutifully.

  “Eternity,” Thero corrected. “And the other?”

  “That’s Illior Lightbearer’s dragon, wearing Illior’s Moon on its head.”

  “And what does Illior rule?” Seregil prompted.

  “Illior rules over magic, madness, and dreams.”

  “And nightrunners,” Alec added softly.

  “And nightrunners!” Mika whispered.

  “Very good.” Seregil ruffled the boy’s hair.

  “He’s quite taken with iconography,” Thero noted.

  The ships joined a few dozen vessels anchored outside the Canal. Klia’s flag on the masthead of the Courser and her sister vessels gave them precedence, and before long the towing boats came out for them. When the heavy lines were fastened, they were rowed into the damp, echoing confines of the channel.

  “It’s your first time through, isn’t it, young Mika?” asked Captain Lira, who’d made a pet of the boy over the past few days.

  “Yes, Captain.”

  She reached into the purse at her belt and gave the boy a small silver amulet on a chain. It bore the wave symbol of Astellus. “For luck in travel, child. Keep it safe.”

  “Thank you, Captain!” Mika slipped the chain over his head. She patted his shoulder and strolled away, shouting orders.

  “Who made this place, Master Thero?” the boy asked, looking up at the thin band of daylight far above the echoing channel.

  “Queen Tamír the Great built it when she founded Rhíminee five centuries ago,” Thero explained. “It’s said that it took a hundred wizards and a thousand workmen several years to cut down through the rock, and many lives were lost. If you look closely, you can see places where the stone was blasted and melted with magic.”

  “A hundred wizards?” Mika exclaimed. “Are there even that many in the Orëska House?”

  “There are, but not all of them are powerful enough for this kind of magic. There were many more powerful wizards in the land then.”

  “Because there are fewer wizards born like me now.”

  “That’s right.”

  “It was quite an undertaking, wasn’t it?” said Micum. “Those beacons, atop the pillars we sailed between? Sailors can see the beacon fires for miles by night, and steer by the smoke by day, as we did.”

  In the gloom of the Canal it was hard to gauge time, but at last one of the sailors called out, “Halfway sighted, Captain!”

  A large statue of a queen carved from polished marble stood in a niche above the tide line, seeming almost to glow in the dim light of the channel. She appeared to be striding into the wind, long hair blown back from her face and the robes she wore molded to the curves of her body. In her left hand she held a huge oval shield; her right hand was raised, holding up a sword. Her face was stern, and not beautiful like Klia and Elani, but her fierce expression spoke of a valiant heart.

  “That’s Queen Tamír the Great,” Alec told Mika. “She’s the one who founded Rhíminee and had the Canal built.”

  “Why is she called the Great?”

  Alec looked to Seregil. “Would you do the honors? You’re a much better storyteller than I.”

  “Well now, Mika, once upon a time—” Seregil began.

  “I’m not a baby!”

  “Forgive me, you’re quite right. Let’s make it a history lesson, shall we? Some five centuries ago Princess Tamír was born to Princess Royal Aralain, who should have been queen. However, Aralain’s older brother, Erieus, had usurped the throne and was killing every woman and girl child with royal blood in order to wipe out any challengers to the throne. The one exception was his sister, whom he must have loved a great deal to spare her. However, when he learned that she was expecting a child of her own, she knew that if it was a girl, he would show the baby no such mercy. To protect the princess, who was named Tamír, she was disguised as a boy, called Tobin, and kept hidden away in the mountains until she was old enough to fight the king for her birthright. Then she took off her boy’s clothes in front of the whole army she’d gathered and revealed her true identity.”

  Mika grimaced. “Took her clothes off?”

  “I suppose it was the best way to convince them.”

  “Seregil is no stranger to that argument,” Thero noted dryly.

  “What happened then?” the boy asked.

  “She led a great army and a band of loyal wizards against the king and his son, her own beloved cousin, and won back the throne. There have been queens ever since, as the Lightbearer intended. She was a great queen—kind, just, and a fearless w
arrior, just like her ancestor, Gherilain the First. During her reign she founded Rhíminee as her new capital, and built the Orëska House to reward the loyal wizards. From that time they’ve been known as—”

  “The Third Orëska,” Mika chimed in. “Master Thero taught me the history of the wizards of Skala. The First Orëska was the Aurënfaie, and the Second was the free wizards of mixed blood, before they became the Third Orëska and came to live in Rhíminee.”

  “But not the queens? What sort of education is Thero giving you?”

  “The boy has had enough to contend with, learning the basics and getting used to life in the Orëska House,” said Thero. “Plenty of time for history lessons.” He paused and raised an eyebrow at Seregil. “Perhaps you’d like to instruct him in subjects of that nature? You’re well versed and long-winded. Perfect qualifications for a tutor.”

  Seregil grinned and flipped him a rude two-fingered gesture behind Mika’s back.

  It was nearly dark by the time they sailed out of the Canal and moored in Cirna’s deep, sheltered harbor. The beacons atop the pillars there roared with flame, casting wavering paths of light across the water.

  The top of the column on the left was carved in the form of a fish emerging from a wave to signify the Immortal Astellus the Sailor, who watched over those who traveled by water and guided the newly dead to Bilairy’s dark gate. The capital on the right bore the stylized flame of Sakor, Immortal of bravery and war, and patron to soldiers.

  After supper Alec stretched out on a hatch cover and stared up at the sky. Nearby Seregil was laughing with the captain and Klia while they played bakshi on the deck with several sailors.

  It was a clear night; the starlight was bright enough to read by. Away from the city with its lanterns and high walls, the stars were so plentiful that they looked like handfuls of glittering sand thrown across the black vault of the sky.

  “Beautiful, isn’t it?” said Thero, sitting down beside him with Mika.

  “It feels like you could fall up into it.”

  Thero lay back beside him, resting his head on his folded arms. “I see what you mean, though I never thought of it like that before. Mika, do you see the constellations I’ve been teaching you?”

  “That’s the Soldier, and there’s the Swan, and the Belt of Illior.” Mika pointed this way and that. “And the Crown of Three, and the Eight Ladies.”

  “What else is Master Thero teaching you?” asked Alec.

  “How to grind pigments, and dry herbs. And cantrips! I can already light a candle, or even the fire logs, and make water boil in a cup. Master Thero taught me how to brew tea last week.”

  “A very useful skill to have.” Alec grinned sidelong at Thero. The truth was, Mika had talents beyond his years, and Thero was helping the boy harness them before he hurt someone. Untrained wizard-born children had been known to raise havoc without a mentor to guide them, and in many cases were killed. For that reason, wizards traveled the countryside, looking for children with the gift. In other cases, proud parents presented their children at the Orëska House. Some, like Mika, were found by lucky accident.

  Just then laughter broke out from Seregil’s direction.

  Looking over, Alec saw a sailor bowing to him and presenting him with a battered harp.

  “We’ve all heard what good singers you are, my lords,” the man said, bowing again in Alec’s direction. “We’d be honored if you’d give us a few songs.”

  “What do you say, Alec? Shall we earn our passage?”

  At dawn they set out south across the azure, island-dotted Inner Sea. The wind was at their backs and the ships flew along with bellied sails, Klia’s royal pennant snapping smartly atop the central mast. The ship rolled deeply with the swells, making walking the deck and eating a challenge. For most of the day Alec and Micum lounged in Klia’s cabin, playing knucklebones and bakshi with her. Thero found a sheltered corner by the forecastle and was teaching Mika how to draw simple figures on the air with a child-sized wand of polished wood.

  Seregil had woken restless that morning, however, and couldn’t seem to settle down to anything for long. He gamed with the others for a while, then went above and prowled the deck. Climbing to the bow in the afternoon, he braced himself between two water barrels with his cloak wrapped warmly around him and stared out over the rolling indigo waves, looking for signs of dolphins and whales. In the sunlight, the water looked like deep blue ink.

  The motion of the boat lulled him, and he let himself nod off.

  The huge black oak door set into the impossibly high stone wall looked familiar. He’d been here before. Thrusting his hand into the gaping keyhole, he braved the razor-sharp tumblers again, working it open. When he opened the door, the other side was blocked by a stone wall.

  He woke gasping, jammed awkwardly between the barrels with his cloak twisted around his shoulders. He couldn’t remember the dream, but a strange and powerful grief had followed him out of whatever it had been. A few nearby sailors were stealing looks at him and he realized he was weeping. Mortified, he hastily wiped his eyes on his sleeve and untangled himself from the barrels and cloak. He gave the sailors a sheepish grin and hurried to Klia’s cabin, uncommonly anxious to see Alec.

  His entire party, together with Captain Lira, was there, laughing and drinking. Alec looked up and his smile faded to a look of concern as he saw Seregil hesitating in the doorway.

  “What happened to you?” asked Micum, setting aside his wine cup. Soon everyone was staring at him.

  “Nothing.” He caught sight of himself in a looking glass above the sideboard; his eyes were red, his face pale except for hectic spots of color in each cheek. “I’ve been out in the wind. Alec, a moment?”

  Alec joined him in the companionway and closed the door behind him. As soon as the latch clicked Seregil grabbed him in a rough embrace.

  Alec held him a moment, then pulled back to look him in the eye. “Your heart is pounding. What’s wrong?”

  “I think I had another nightmare.” Seregil let out a shaky sigh. “I can’t remember this one, either, except—I think something was happening to you. When I woke up, I couldn’t get here fast enough.”

  “I’m worried about you. It’s like after Nysander died.”

  “No, it’s not. This feels more like—”

  “Like what?”

  “Like the dreams I had when we were chasing down Mardus and the Helm.”

  “You think they might be prophetic?” Alec asked, frowning. “You haven’t had any of those in ages.”

  “I know. And those I could remember. With these it’s simply feelings of panic and fear. And I’m pretty sure they’re about you. I just don’t recall any details.”

  Alec embraced him tightly, then guided him back into Klia’s cabin. “You could do with a drink.”

  “Is everything all right?” asked Klia as they came in.

  Seregil nodded and accepted a cup from Micum. As he raised it to his lips, he caught the sharp aroma of brandy. Grateful, he took a long sip and savored the burning trail it blazed from palate to belly.

  THEY reached Kouros four days out from Cirna. At dawn the lookout cried land sighted and they came on deck to see the snowcapped peak of Mount Erali, shining like new silver against the clear blue sky. By late morning the island grew to a craggy reality as they sailed down the western coast.

  It was here to Kouros, more than ten centuries earlier, that the first priest king, Hierophant Valmir, had led his people, establishing it as the seat of a far-flung empire that would eventually become the Three Lands. Where they had come from and how they found their way here was lost in the mists of time, but they’d brought worship of the Four with them. The ruins of the ancient capital, Menosi, still stood somewhere in the eastern hills, where Toneus and his mistress had died.

  From the sea, Kouros looked barren, with steep grey stone cliffs and long expanses of ledge and beach. Here and there, however, small villages were tucked into pocket coves, and the passage of the car
racks tossed tiny fishing boats in their wake, white sails bright in the morning sunlight.

  The island was shaped roughly like a horseshoe, with the opening facing south. Rounding the western horn, they sailed into the long inlet, dotted with tiny wooded islands, that nearly split the island up the middle. At the head of it on the western shore lay the city of Deep Harbor, center of life and industry on the island and the only place large ships could put in. From what Seregil could see, the town had prospered under Plenimaran rule; buildings of whitewashed stone spread out from the waterfront in all directions, and there appeared to be much activity around the quays. The town curved around the head of the harbor, with a jumble of jetties and warehouses along the waterfront, and climbed the surrounding slopes. Thick columns of smoke rose from the tall chimneys of what appeared to be three different foundries, and there were grimy ships riding at anchor; they brought coal and took away ingots of gold, silver, copper, as well as smoked mutton and salted fish. Finer trade ships would carry away fine Kouros gold and silverwork, and exceptional horses.

  “Alec looks almost as excited as Mika,” Micum murmured to Seregil as the cold sea breeze fluttered their cloaks and tugged at their hair.

  Alec and the boy stood together as far forward as they could get without climbing on the rail. Mika was pointing excitedly at the seaside town and Alec was laughing.

  They docked at the largest of the long stone jetties, and it took some time to secure their ships and ready the gangways. When the horses had been unloaded, a turma of Klia’s armed guard, led by Captain Brescia, marched down to line the jetty in a display of strength. By the time Klia left the ship in full uniform a crowd had gathered at the head of the jetty, welcoming her back with cheers and waving handkerchiefs. Among them Seregil noticed quite a number of worn-out-looking Aurënfaie and others who bore the telltale band of callused skin on their necks, from slave collars.

  A delegation came forward, led by a plain young noblewoman escorted by half a dozen Skalan soldiers. The crowd parted for them as she hurried forward to present Klia with a wreath of hyacinth and ribbons.