Shards

by James Duvall

  I'll be a warm heart, when the winter winds blow,

  and I'll be the sunrise on your land of white snow.

  Spinning up into the cold night sky, Sapphire weaved through a barrage of incoming fireballs, returning fire here and there but to little effect. The disruption was enough to help her keep a few seconds ahead of the blind warp singer but not enough to stop him from firing upon her. A stolen glance showed Lantern and the other male rising up toward her at a rapid clip. Then it finally happened. A direct hit. She looked away for a split second to see how close the other two warp singers were and a fireball hidden in the shadow of another slipped past her notice and when she dove beneath the first, the second took her directly in the chest. Her barrier crackled as it broke, bits of solid magic falling down around her like shattered glass.

  I'll be your north star when fate's borne you far

  and I'll be here praying, wherever you are...

  Her defenses broken, the focus depleted, Sapphire hung in the air. She turned directly toward the blind warp singer. She gathered every bit of strength she had left, physical and magical, keeping herself aloft. One last shot. She fired. A thin blue comet arched through the darkened sky like an arrow, whistling as it cut through the night. The warp singer curled deftly out of the way. Sapphire could see the last of her power soar past him, shining like a shooting star until it hit the distant hillside and briefly filled the sky with a flash of blue light. The warp singer's counter attack came immediately and without mercy. Sapphire remembered seeing the massive fireball coming toward her, feeling its heat, and falling.

  Sleep my precious daughter, and take thee thy rest,

  Sleep my precious daughter, and know you are blessed.

  Chapter 27

  The First Light in the East

  Nothnor, Isla Merindi, Pendric Shard

  I and the other surviving faculty have conversed and determined that there is not enough food on the island to sustain all of the survivors. We have begun to set traps for fish. Also, Evelyn has suggested that there might be vegetable and fruit seeds in the greenhouses. We will clear the rubble to these places and see if this is true. This is our best hope. We have had no success so far with penetrating the walls that have appeared around the island.

  From the Journal of Isaac Faralon

  In accordance with the church's traditions, Christopher was buried at dawn with the sun rising over the mountains. The priest asked Timothy if he would like to say a few words and he quietly declined with a shake of his head. He had said everything he meant to already. A midnight assembly of what remained of the crew had gathered on the Stormbreaker's deck for him to speak his mind.

  “We're going to get Willoughby back,” he had promised. It was his solitary intention to see the old first mate returned to his position on the ship and to leave before any more blood could be spilled on his account.

  The priest anointed Christopher's coffin with a sweet-smelling incense. After this was done he stood beside the open grave and each member of the crew passed by in quiet procession, stopping first at the grave and again before the priest to be blessed. Timothy followed last.

  Nearly all of the crew had attended. Torvald's doing, Timothy could guess. Few of the airmen were fond enough of Christopher to attend without prodding, but there was a code of honor among airmen, even among smugglers: Honor your brothers, honor the dead. Despite all of his misgivings about Christopher, Torvald had held fast to that principle.

  A small crowd of mourners had gathered in the back of the cemetery, drawn to the event by rumors of Timothy's attendance. Consistent with the expectations of a man of his station, Timothy was dressed in his bridger's uniform with Aebyn close at his side. These people had come for his sake, not Christopher's and he found it no small irony that the bridger they adored was as false as they. It wasn't hard to pick out Detective Kanes among them, plainly dressed among a bevy of colorful motifs: dark slacks and a plain shirt and vest with brass buttons. Kanes did not approach as Timothy and Aebyn passed. Instead he waited respectfully with the others, giving Timothy a polite nod as their eyes briefly met.

  “Are you well, Timothy?” Aebyn asked. The question came almost the very moment they had passed between the squat stone pillars holding up the cemetery gates. They creaked quietly in the morning breeze coming off the ocean.

  “I am better than last night, thank you.”

  “I am glad we are not leaving Willoughby behind.”

  “Did someone suggest that we might?”

  Sorrow touched Aebyn's face and he did not speak, only pointed his beak back toward the cemetery, condemning Christopher with his silent gaze. Two boys had begun to shovel dirt in atop the casket. Timothy found he could not bare to watch for long and turned away, putting the image behind him. It joined the company of so many other past sins he had need to set right.

  “We will never leave one of our friends behind,” Timothy said. “It is...”

  Aebyn looked up at him as he searched for the proper word.

  “It is an easy thing, Aebyn, to call someone brother and make virtuous sounding promises when the ale is flowing and the coffers are full. It's the tavern life: brew and merriment. That ends in its time, and we all have to go out into the dark hour. Willoughby is the kind of man that will go with you in the dark hour even when that means leaving a fresh pint and a warm hearth behind.”

  “And you will go with him,” Aebyn added, his eyes bright. They had entered a small tunnel behind the skyport, leading toward the post-dawn market. It was cool in the tunnel. The air smelled faintly of wet moss. Bartering voices already clamored in the air. By midday they would be a dull roar. Timothy stopped in the mouth of the tunnel, watching the marketplace come alive on warm, well-lit streets.

  “Yes, yes I will.”

  “And you will be a much better bridger than Samuel!”

  Timothy chuckled, feeling his spirits raise a little as the gryphon bounded up alongside him. “I hate to disappoint, but I am much too old to become a bridger. They're hand-selected and at a much younger age. I had a chance, I suppose, growing up in Cahen, but I was not noble and nearly all of the recruits are born wealthy.”

  “You can conjure flames,” Aebyn observed, his enthusiasm undeterred. “I saw you do it yesterday.”

  Timothy's life had given him many opportunities to practice reacting to being accused of any of various forms of thievery or con artistry, but never of being a mage. “Yes, you mentioned last night. I'm still not entirely sure I believe it myself.”

  “Detective Kanes believes it. I believe it. Who else needs to believe it?”

  “I do. Ordinary people do not become bridgers overnight. Why me? Why now?”

  A businessman passing by seemed to recognize him and waved pleasantly. Timothy waved back.

  “What better time than now?” Aebyn implored, his face lit up with childlike enthusiasm.

  “What do you mean?”

  Aebyn stretched his wings and sat beside Timothy, looking forward. “You have the accouterments. You have the need. You have a great task ahead of you. What better time than now?”

  Timothy chuckled.”It's never that easy.”

  Footsteps echoed off the stonework. Aaron Kanes had extricated himself from the mourners and caught up. Timothy sighed inwardly.

  It's never that easy...

  “Detective Kanes,” Timothy said, forcing civility. He tipped his hat to the man. “Good morning.”

  “Good morning, Mr. Binks,” Kanes said, his voice touched with fatigue. His eyes were dark and hemmed with exhaustion. Seeming to notice Timothy's concerned expression, Kanes put on a mask of vitality. “Sorry, it's been a rather long night following leads.”

  “Fletcher Street can afford lodgings, can't they?” Timothy asked.

  Kanes chuckled grimly. “That's the problem ain't it? No rest for the wicked? Means no rest for those of us doing the chasing either.”

  “We have a guest room on the Stormbreaker, if that suits your needs,” Tim
othy offered. “And I promise we will not simply sail away with you in the night.”

  Kanes smiled. “Fletcher Street isn't quite so hard up as all that, Mr. Binks, though I do thank you for your offer.”

  “Of course,” Timothy said. “Have there been developments in Christopher's case? I hate to think your troubles were for naught.”

  “Ah that's a... local... matter...” Kanes said, delicately.

  “Right...” Timothy answered, letting his face show his disappointment. “You were looking into our missing bridger, Samuel Raimes. Developments in that matter then?”

  “Yes, I'm afraid so. He's dead. Seems someone found his body.”

  Timothy felt his blood run cold. Only years of cards and cons kept fear from crawling across his face. Surprise was more appropriate, and it came quite genuinely. “That's... where?”

  In the back of his mind he reviewed where they'd buried the body, so far from the beaten trail it had taken hours to find their way back.

  “Out back of a tavern a few streets from here. I ran into this fellow telling stories about it over by the skyport. Says he used to go to the Coal & Crown over on Medford Street but he hasn't been back since he and the guy what owns the place found a body out back. They thought it was just a drunk passed out in the alley, so they didn't get too close a look but it sounds like Raimes from the look they did get at him. Come the morning the body was gone but there was plenty of blood left behind.”

  “That does sound suspicious,” Timothy admitted.

  “What's more is Raimes didn't come back to his hotel that night. No ships left port that day either.”

  Timothy shook his head ruefully. “So Samuel Raimes is dead. It grieves me to hear it. The crown needs all of the bridgers it can get.”

  “Particularly with things as they are with Kent,” Kanes agreed. He sighed heavily. “I wanted to warn you there's someone in town that's not afraid of knifing a bridger.”

  Timothy arched a brow. “He was stabbed?”

  Kanes nodded affirmative. “Has to be. Couldn't have been shot. Someone would've heard. The way I see it, Raimes steps out of the road to smoke his pipe or what have you and someone comes up behind him with a knife figuring he looks like he might have a fat purse and a fine watch. Sticks him. Figures out he's in over his head and leaves the body behind. Comes back in the dark hour to take it away, forgets to do anything about the blood. Or maybe didn't have the time. The rains have washed a lot of it out, but there's still red showing in between the cobblestones.”

  Timothy listened to the detective tell his story with careful attention. Hearing it was an unwelcome complication. It was easy enough to simply deny any knowledge, but now he would have to maintain a correct account of Kanes' interpretation of the act, separate from his own. It would only arouse Kanes' suspicions if he let slip some detail not hitherto known to him. Was that why Kanes was telling him this? To see how he might react? To see if he would make an error later in the week?

  “It is good to know that Fletcher Street takes this serious enough to send a man of your caliber, Mr. Kanes,” Timothy said, looking out at the market square. “It's bad times when a bridger can be knifed just trying to enjoy an evening pipe. Things like this would never happen back home.”

  “And where might that be, Mr. Binks?” Kanes asked.

  “Cahen,” Timothy answered automatically. “Though I've not been back in a number of years. I like to go through these markets in the mornings, when everyone's just unpacking and setting out their wares. Reminds me of the markets back home. Not nearly as big of course, but unless you're headed to Mediri you'll find none bigger.”

  “That's the truth,” Kanes said. He rolled a cigarette and held it in his teeth without lighting it.

  “You do not need to worry about me, detective. I have Aebyn here to watch my back,” Timothy said, jerking his thumb back over his shoulder. Aebyn bobbed his head once, puffing his chest up proudly.

  Kanes smiled unevenly. “Right, of course. It's only a shame no one was watching Mr. Raimes' back that night. Did you know it's been nearly twenty years since they've had more than one mage on this island?”

  “I did not.”

  “Skalde's been here most of that time. Strange ain't it? He doesn't look a day over thirty years but he's been working on that lighthouse of his since eighteen years back.”

  “That's a rather long time to build a lighthouse, isn't it?” Timothy asked, skeptically.

  “Well it's some sort of magical contruct. Draws magic off of the Glory Shard. He started building it...” Kanes trailed off and fished a small notebook out of the interior pocket of his duster. He flipped through the pages until he found the information. “Yes, four years ago. The other fourteen years he's been studying that vault. Been hoping to get into it I imagine. Lots of mages have tried. Granted none of them have tried hitting it with all the power of the old Arclorus.”

  “No,” Timothy said. “They haven't.”

  This at least he knew to be true. Since the Shattering it had been more or less universally agreed that no sane person would attempt to build another Arclorus, for fear that another incident could render even the bridgers incapable of crossing the shardwalls.

  “Have you seen it?”

  “The Lighthouse? No. I'm afraid my business keeps me otherwise occupied.”

  “I had been meaning to ask what business that might be,” Kanes said.

  “Before my associate's murder he found a book that suggested a valuable artifact from the old school might be still here on the island.”

  “Wasn't the place picked clean after Darenvar's expedition opened the place up?”

  Kanes lit his cigarette and took a long drag from it. He leaned out through the archway and blew the smoke so that it wouldn't cloud up around them.

  “It was,” Timothy said. “The lead was credible, stating someone might have hidden an artifact or two right after the Shattering. We've successfully located an Arlorian Focus. There was another, but a clever luminarian acquired it before us, didn't she, Aebyn?”

  Aebyn sulked. “Yes.”

  The new intelligence seemed to catch Kanes at just the wrong moment, sending him into a coughing fit interspersed with laughter.

  “Crafty, aren't they?” Kanes asked with watery eyes after he had regained his composure.

  “If there is one thing I have learned in this business, detective, it's not to underestimate anyone.”

  Chapter 28

  The Last Light At the End of the World

  Alsimor, Land Uncharted, Shard Uncharted

  I saw a dragon in a cloak. I could see the wings and tail. The others parted around it like it was their king, whispering and murmuring and all staring at it in wonder. It proceeded down the street until it came to a man that had poisoned several dragons earlier in the week. When the man emerged, the dragon spoke to it in a loud voice, speaking the ancient tongue. The man was struck down with such swift brutality that I withdrew into the center of the church and locked all of the doors.

  Statement collected from a Priest of the Almighty, taken 102 A.S.

  Three days had passed, as best as Sapphire could estimate. From her prison cell it was difficult to get the bearing of the sun. Trusting her instincts she judged by the daily shift in temperature and her knowledge that her captors would only appear at night. Her sleep cycle had proved unreliable as her injuries and the idleness often resulted in her drifting off without intention.

  “How are you tonight?” Rain asked. His voice stirred her from a lethargic drowse.

  “I'm feeling better, thank you,” Sapphire answered. Rain's vibrant blue eyes peeked at her through the little gap high in the wall. It was little more than a vent for air but through it she could see a smile in his eyes.

  “I am pleased to hear that,” he said, then dropped out of sight. Sapphire was glad of his company. There was a certain inspired vitality in the way he spoke that reminded her of Torch.

  A selection of fruits and vegetables had
appeared in her cell, stacked neatly in a wooden bowl. Water had also been provided. This was the fourth time food had appeared, and she figured that into her calculation. She took several long drinks from it and slouched against the wall, feeling refreshed.

  “They cannot keep us here forever,” Sapphire said.

  Rain chuckled ruefully. “They live forever, or so the stories say...”

  “We don't...”

  Sapphire chewed on something that looked like a peach but had a more citrus taste to it. There were two of these in her satchels. They were heaped on a low table in the hallway, well out of reach.

  “Thinking of home?” Rain asked.

  Sapphire found herself nodding, then remembered that Rain could not see her. “Yes, I was hoping to go back soon. I was born and raised in Cahen. It is on the way to where I now live. Havek Shard.”

  There was a measured moment of silence. “...isn't that a black shard?”

  “It is,” Sapphire said. Her words came out terse and dripping with suspicion. “And I'd like to keep it that way.”

  “Easy, easy,” Rain said. “You can trust me to keep your secret.”

  “Can I?”

  “You trusted me enough to tell me. You could have kept it to yourself. You must have faith.”

  Sapphire scoffed. She patrolled the perimeter of her cell. It was large by luminarian standards, probably meant to house two or more humans. The bars were not individually bored into the floor, instead connecting to a lower crossbar which was in turn anchored into the stone every few feet.

  “Something the matter?” Rain asked, his voice louder than normal. Sapphire looked up and saw him peering through the vent.