Shards of Time

by Lynn Flewelling

  “It should be,” said Seregil. “It’s Aurënfaie, and quite old.”

  “That’s what Toneus said,” Zella told him. “He thought it must have been a gift to one of the Hierophants from an Aurënfaie lord.”

  “Where was this found?” asked Klia.

  “One of the workmen brought it to Toneus, who rewarded him for it. It was found in the innermost cave, caught in the dripstone. You can still see bits of it in the carving.”

  “May I?” asked Seregil.

  “Trust Baron Seregil to get sidetracked by something shiny,” Thero murmured with a sidelong look at Micum, who chuckled.

  Zella held out the box and Seregil picked up the arm ring. It was thicker than he expected, and weighed nicely in the hand. “Yes, definitely made in Aurënen, or copied from something that was. From the weight of it, it’s a solid piece. There’s just nothing quite like the feel of solid gold. A pity about the damage. That’s recent. The man who found it must have chipped it out of the stone formations.” He placed it back in the box and turned to find Alec inspecting the remains of a dagger.

  “How old do you think this is?” the younger man asked.

  Seregil shook his head. “There’s not enough of the design left to tell. But from the looks of it, very, very old.”

  “A most interesting collection,” said Klia. “But now the papers, I think.”

  “Of course, Highness.”

  Zella was nothing if not efficient, Seregil thought as they entered the spacious library. A long table held neatly arranged maps, ledgers, and stacks of documents.

  “How far away is Menosi?” asked Alec as they began with the maps.

  “About ten miles—seven beyond Mirror Moon, which lies on the way,” Zella replied. “The governor had the road improved, as it was little more than a grassed-over cow path. He excavated the original stone road and repaired it. The Plenimarans did the same with many of the old roads, particularly the ones leading into the hills where the mines are. This map here is a survey of the island, and this is one of the old city. He died before it was completed, and the builders have refused to go back there since—” She paused, and Seregil was certain he heard a catch in her throat as she finished, “Since the deaths.”

  “And where were the duke and his companion killed?” asked Thero.

  Zella unrolled a detailed map of the restored palace and pointed to a room that lay roughly at the center. “It was here, in the suite of rooms he believed to have belonged to the Hierophants. The palace restoration was almost complete and he wanted to spend a few days there, overseeing some of the interior details.”

  She blinked, and Seregil saw tears glittering along her lower lashes. That, and the way she spoke of the man suggested she’d been very devoted to her employer—or more than devoted, perhaps.

  “And the oracle’s shrine?” asked Klia.

  “Here, Highness.” Zella showed her a small square marked to the east of the ancient city. “It’s just a short walk away.”

  “Who found the governor and his lady?” asked Seregil.

  “Two officers making their rounds.”

  “One missing and one mad, I believe?”

  “Captain Sedge went mad at the sight and the other, a young lieutenant named Phania, disappeared that night. She was one of our bravest officers.”

  “Where is the madhouse?” asked Thero.

  “Near the quays,” Zella replied. “We passed it on our way up from the harbor.”

  “I’ll speak with him tonight,” said Thero.

  “As you wish, my lord, though I doubt you’ll get much sense out of him. Neither the physician nor the governor’s healer could help him.”

  “There’s a healer here?” asked Seregil.

  “There was. He died of a fever soon after the governor was killed. Since then we’ve had only Doctor Kordira.”

  Seregil exchanged a look with Thero. “That’s very convenient.”

  “All the same, I’ll try my luck,” Thero told Zella.

  “I’ll arrange a guide.” She turned to Klia. “Your Highness, perhaps an encampment outside the city would be more comfortable when you go to Menosi, rather than staying in the city itself, or going back and forth? It will take a few days to arrange.”

  “Please see to that, Lady Zella,” said Klia. “I’ll only be there a few days, but others of my party may stay on for some time. In the meantime, you can acquaint me with the business of the island and show me Deep Harbor.”

  “Of course, Highness.” Zella paused. “If you desire it, I could serve as your secretary, as I did for the former governor.”

  “I accept your service, my lady. You will be my guide at Menosi, and act as my liaison with the locals.”

  “Of course, Highness.”

  “One last thing, Lady Zella,” Seregil said as they rose to go. “The Aurënfaie former slaves in the crowd at the quayside—what is their status, now that their masters are gone?”

  “They’re free, of course, but many of them have stayed on at the estates where they were owned, having nowhere else to go. Others were cast out and abandoned. Governor Toneus offered to arrange passage back to Aurënen, but none went.”

  Pain constricted around Seregil’s heart. Of course they wouldn’t. “And the ones owned by islanders?”

  “It’s my understanding that as soon as the Skalans came to reclaim the island, the owners released them and many sent them away to fend for themselves so as to cover the fact that they’d held slaves. Some of the dispossessed ones have taken shelter here at the villa.”

  “I see. Would it be possible to put the word out that I would welcome any ’faie who wishes to come live at Mirror Moon? I’d like to provide for them.”

  “Of course, my lord. How generous of you. No doubt you’ll want to see your estate tomorrow.”

  “Yes,” said Alec. “If that’s acceptable to you, Klia?”

  “Of course. We’ll meet you there in two days’ time, since it’s on the way.”

  “Very good, Highness,” said Zella. “Is there anything else I can do for you tonight?”

  Klia stifled a yawn. “No, you’ve been most helpful. Good night.”

  Klia’s spacious chamber was richly appointed, with tall windows overlooking the harbor. A mist was rising, and gauzy tendrils curled against the thick panes.

  The heavy black oak furniture was of an age with that in Alec’s room, but here featured stylized dolphins and birds rather than monsters. A door led to an adjoining chamber on the left. A spacious fieldstone fireplace was set into the wall across the room, with a small couch, several armchairs, and wine tables arranged around the hearth. A fire had been laid and Thero lit it with a casual snap of his fingers while Alec went to the sideboard and poured wine into the crystal goblets arranged there.

  Klia settled on the couch and held out a hand for the wizard to join her. For all his resistance to teasing from Seregil, he looked remarkably at ease as he sat down at his lover’s side and rested his arm along the back of the couch behind her.

  Leaning into the circle of his arm, Klia accepted a glass of wine from Alec. Seregil and Micum took the remaining chairs, so Alec settled on the hearthrug, leaning back against Seregil’s legs.

  Klia rubbed the back of her neck and yawned. “So, thoughts?”

  “I think Zella was in love with Toneus,” said Alec.

  “Or at least thought a great deal of him,” Seregil agreed.

  “She doesn’t strike me as the type to murder anyone, especially not the man she loved,” said Micum.

  Seregil shrugged. “You never know. Love can make people do some pretty strange things.”

  “But how would she manage it in a room locked from the inside?” Klia wondered. “Thero, did you sense any magic on her?”

  “No.”

  “I don’t suppose you took a peek inside her thoughts?” asked Seregil.

  Thero frowned and set his glass aside on the ornate table by his elbow. “One doesn’t do that lightly, Seregil. If
you come up with any serious evidence against her, I will, but not before.”

  “I think that’s best,” said Klia.

  “She did seem decidedly uncomfortable at the idea of you staying in the old palace,” Alec noted.

  “Considering what happened to the last occupants, it’s hardly surprising.”

  “I’m more interested in the disappearances since the governor’s death,” said Micum. “It could be that whatever killed him and his lady is still at work there. I can’t help but wonder what sort of a mess we’re about to wander into.”

  “I hope to shed some light on that,” said Thero. “Until we know what we’re dealing with, we need to be very careful.”

  Micum yawned. “Shall we get an early start tomorrow, Seregil? I want to see this holding of yours.”

  “It depends on how late our madman keeps us tonight. Shall we, Thero?”

  “I’ll go with you,” said Alec, climbing to his feet as Seregil rose.

  “I think it best if just Seregil comes,” Thero told him. “We don’t want to overwhelm him with visitors.”

  “We won’t be long,” Seregil promised, hoping to smooth over Alec’s disappointment. “I’ll tell you everything when I get back.”

  GUIDED by a manservant and a linkboy, Seregil and Thero rode under a clear, starry sky to a grim-looking building that stood between one of the foundries and the docks. It was windowless and built of dressed stone. The front door was black, with the Eye of Illior freshly painted in white over a small grate. Orange light showed through the bars.

  The servant had to pound on the door for some time before a warder answered. The man was huge, tall and wide and a solid wall of muscle, Seregil judged. He shuddered inwardly at the thought of being at this fellow’s mercy.

  The smell inside the madhouse was appalling, reeking of filth and human misery. He and Thero both pulled out handkerchiefs and covered their mouth and nose.

  The lower floor was divided into two large, barred cells, one filled with a horrific assortment of men in all stages of decline, some naked, and some clearly starving to death. The other held an equally pitiful collection of women dressed in dingy, shapeless shifts. Most of them were asleep but those awake raised an outcry at Thero and Seregil’s approach and instantly the whole place was in an uproar. The inmates screamed, roared, sobbed. Dirty hands clawed at them through the bars on both sides.

  Seregil exchanged a disturbed look with the wizard as the warder hurried them toward a stone stairway at the far end of the gauntlet; they’d been in less disturbing charnel houses. It was an unsettling reminder that Illior, the patron Immortal of wizards and nightrunners, also held sway over these mad wretches.

  “Come on, then,” the warder shouted above the wailing and screaming. “The one you want’s upstairs.”

  It was marginally better there, more like a prison, and quieter. Heavy black doors with tiny grates lined the long corridor. They were barred, rather than locked.

  “How can such a small island produce so many lunatics?” asked Thero, cautiously taking his handkerchief away from his face.

  “Most were shipped over from the Plenimaran mainland,” the warder replied. “It’s unlucky, you know, to hear or see the mad.”

  “Where does that leave you?” Seregil asked.

  The man grunted. It might have been a laugh. “Where you see me, my lord. There’s your man, third cell on the left.” He jerked a grimy thumb in that direction. “I’ll have to shut you in.”

  “Is he violent?” asked Seregil.

  “Now and then, my lord. I’d be real careful, if I was you.” He took a lamp from a niche in the wall and gave it to Seregil, then heaved the thick bar from the brackets and let them into a tiny, airless cell that reeked of piss and fear.

  A narrow stone shelf served as a bed, and a wild-eyed, unshaven man cowered there, clutching a blanket to his chest as he stared at them in terror. He was of middle years, muscular and bearded, but fear had clearly unmanned him. Seregil found a niche high in the wall next to him and set the lamp there. By its flickering light, he saw that the only other things in the room were a wooden pitcher and a large tin chamber pot.

  Thero exchanged a look with Seregil; the wretched man before them didn’t look capable of violence.

  “You have nothing to fear, Captain Sedge,” Thero said gently, remaining just inside the door.

  Sedge blinked at him. “Captain?”

  “Captain Sedge of the Governor’s Guard. That’s you. My name is Thero, a wizard from Skala, and this is my friend Baron Seregil. We’d like to help you, if we can.”

  Sedge shrank back as if he wanted the stone wall to swallow him. “A wizard? Why have they sent a wizard? Oh, please, no more sorcery!”

  Signaling for Thero to remain by the door, Seregil slowly crossed the tiny cell and sat down on the end of the bed shelf, hands folded in his lap. “Did someone use sorcery on you?”

  “No one believes me!” The man was trembling so hard Seregil could hear his teeth clicking together. “Lieutenant Phania was pulled—pulled—”

  He choked and his eyes rolled up into his head as a sudden spasm took him. He tumbled off the bed and began flailing, back arched, spittle foaming between his lips as he beat the back of his head against the stone floor.

  “Your belt, quickly!” Thero cried, springing forward to hold the man down.

  Seregil pulled off his belt and pried the man’s jaws open to place the leather end between Sedge’s teeth to keep him from biting off his own tongue. “Is he an epileptic?”

  “Who knows? Hold him down!”

  Seregil threw himself across the man, and Thero gripped Sedge’s head between his hands to stop him from hurting himself any further. The man continued to buck and thrash, screaming hoarsely through clenched teeth. Thero gripped Sedge by the hair and managed to trace a hasty sigil on the man’s brow with his thumb, murmuring some spell under his breath. The mark writhed like a tiny eel, then disappeared in a little puff of malodorous steam.

  “That’s not good, is it?” asked Seregil. “Put him to sleep, will you?”

  Thero managed to grip the man’s head again, one hand pressed over his eyes and commanded, “Sleep.”

  Sedge screamed and thrashed harder, throwing both the wizard and Seregil off.

  Seregil grabbed Thero by the arm and pulled him back toward the door. “I think we’re only making things worse,” he shouted over the stricken man’s screams. “What did the smelly sigil mean?”

  “That he’s probably not mad. Some sort of curse has been placed on him. Inside, he’s screaming for help.” Thero extended a hand in the frothing man’s direction and held his other out to Seregil. “Would you like to see what he sees?”

  Seregil clasped Thero’s hand and was immediately surrounded by blood. It was smeared across the walls, dripped from the edge of the bed, and covered Sedge’s hands and face. Flies were thick in the room, crawling in the blood and over the man’s eyes and mouth. Seregil and Thero looked hulking and demonic to him, with slitted pupils and blackened lips.

  “Illior’s Light!” Seregil pulled his hand away. “That’s what he sees all the time?”

  “Yes.” Thero looked down at the tormented man with pity in his pale eyes.

  “It must be necromancy.”

  “Not necessarily. There are other magics that include such spells. Whoever put the curse on him was skillful in covering their tracks. I think even a drysian would be—”

  Sedge suddenly stopped thrashing, then sat up and looked at them with dead, empty eyes. The air around them went clammy as he let out a thick, bubbling laugh and pointed an accusing finger at them. “Sorcerer, you are going to die, and you, too, skinny man. Only the dead can walk with the dead.” He made a horrible retching sound and spat a gob of black, slimy spittle at Thero’s feet.

  “Are you going to kill us, Captain Sedge?” asked Thero.

  Sedge lunged at them but Thero was ready. Raising his left hand palm out, he shouted “Halt!” and S
edge fell to his knees, snarling and frothing like a mad dog.

  “I think we’re done here, for now, don’t you?” Seregil turned and pounded on the door.

  The warder looked in at Sedge as they hurried out, then slammed the door as the madman threw himself against it. “Told you to be careful, didn’t I?”

  “Thank you for the warning,” Thero replied, looking shaken despite the success of his spell.

  “Get any sense out of ’im?” the tall man asked as he led them downstairs.

  “Hard to say,” Seregil told him.

  Seregil waited until they were safely outside before asking, “What else did you get from his thoughts?”

  “Terror mostly, but also just a glimpse of a young woman’s bloody face disappearing into darkness.”

  “He said Phania was ‘pulled.’ What do you make of that? Ghosts?”

  “I don’t know. It’s like someone has built a wall around the man’s memories.”

  “There are still Plenimarans on the island. One of them could be a necromancer,” said Seregil.

  “If we can heal Sedge’s mind, he may be able to tell us. We need a strong healer, someone who can calm him enough for me to brush his mind more deeply.”

  “So far the only one we’ve heard of is this Doctor Kordira. And she’s Plenimaran. For all we know, she’s the one who put the curse on him.”

  “Now who’s jumping to conclusions? I’ll pay the good doctor a visit tomorrow.”

  Micum and Alec stayed with Klia for a few rounds of Blue Goose, then bid her good night and went to their own rooms.

  Micum opened his door and shook his head. “I could fit the whole family in here, along with the household, dogs, and horses!” he whispered, careful not to wake Mika, who was asleep in a trundle bed by the fire.

  Alec followed him inside. The chamber was as large as Klia’s, with the same antique appointments. Micum tested the mattress of the massive poster bed. “We might as well sleep out on the ledges.”

  Alec chuckled and went back to his own chamber, which seemed even less welcoming now, even with the lamps lit and a fire crackling on the hearth. The monsters on the bedposts and mantelpiece took on a life of their own in the flickering firelight. The idea of ghosts seemed less amusing here than it had in the sunny Wheel Street dining room. Alec wandered over to one of the tall windows that faced out over the town. Lights glimmered there through halos of fog. A dog howled somewhere close by, and another answered—a lonely sound.