Shards of Time

by Lynn Flewelling

  Dorin unlocked the door at Seregil’s knock and took in the sight of them with barely concealed alarm. Thero’s clothing was shredded, and he and Sedge still bore the painted marks on their faces and hands.

  “You’re to say nothing of this to anyone,” Seregil ordered.

  “Of course not, my lord. Where do you wish to put your—this man?”

  “In the chamber next to mine, but neither you nor any of the household will go in there under any circumstances.”

  A sudden wave of dizziness swept over Thero, and he grabbed the back of a nearby chair to steady himself. “I need something to eat. The magic took more out of me than I expected.”

  “Come with me,” said Alec, taking his arm. “I’ll tend to your hand. And I’ll bring food up for everyone.”

  “Don’t question him without me,” Thero warned.

  “Wouldn’t think of it,” Seregil assured him.

  Thero handed him the container with the chalk. “Guard this with your life.”

  Leaving Thero to Alec’s care, Seregil and Micum led the confused, distrustful Sedge upstairs. He’d clearly never been in such a lavish home and was uneasy being there.

  Seregil opened the door to a smaller guest chamber between Micum’s and the one he shared with Alec. It was less gaudily appointed, just a pleasant room with a window looking out over the countryside.

  “I’d like a wash, if it’s all the same to you gentlemen,” Sedge told them, clutching his blanket around him.

  Micum fetched water and a clean nightshirt from his room, then went off to take a clean robe to Thero. Seregil looked out the window while Sedge took a noisy basin bath.

  “There,” he said presently, and Seregil turned to find him seated on the edge of the bed in the nightshirt, scrubbing his wet hair and beard with a flannel. Tossing it on the floor, he combed his hair back with his fingers and regarded him with eyes that were clear and sane. “Now, some answers.”

  “You’ve been locked up in the madhouse, my friend.” Seregil pulled up a chair beside the bed. “Whatever you saw that night at the palace drove you out of your wits.”

  “That young fellow with the black beard said something about possession.”

  “Yes. Thero is a wizard, and he cast whatever it was out. He’ll want to speak more about that with you.”

  Micum returned with Alec and a tray laden with mince pie, bread, and sheep’s-milk cheese. Alec had a large earthenware jug and some small wooden flagons. “Honey mead. I thought we could all use some,” he said, handing the flagons around and filling them. “Thero will be up when he’s done soaking. He’s a mess.”

  “What happened to him?” asked Sedge.

  “I don’t see any harm telling him, do you?” asked Micum.

  “No,” said Seregil. “Go ahead and eat, Captain.”

  Thero lay back in the tub, bandaged hand propped carefully on the side of it to keep the wrappings dry. Sabriel had discovered Alec rummaging through her pantry for butter and shooed him away. Seating Thero at the worktable, she’d brought out her box of simples and applied an aromatic salve to the blisters on his fingers that took most of the pain away, then had given him a sweet bun to eat while the bath was prepared.

  Someone had put oat chaff in the bathwater and it was wonderfully soothing; the marks across his skin were still an angry red but hurt a little less. He shuddered to think how much worse things might have gone without his fortunate precautions. Before he could doze off, he rose from the bath and gratefully put on the silk dressing gown Seregil had sent down for him. He never wore such things, but had to admit the smooth fabric was preferable to wool or linen right now.

  When he reached Sedge’s room he found the others eating together. “I hope you saved some for me.”

  Seregil handed him a thick slice of pie. “You need it more than any of us.”

  “Thanks, I’m famished.” The mince was rich with venison and currants, making his mouth water so hard it hurt.

  “That was a close call tonight, wasn’t it?” Alec asked, handing him a cup.

  “It was.” He took a sip—dry mead, flavored with some herb and potent, just what his shattered nerves needed.

  When they were done, Thero leaned back in his chair and said, “Now, Sedge, it’s important that you tell us everything about the day the governor and his lady were killed.”

  “I told you before, I don’t remember,” Sedge replied through a mouthful of bread. There were crumbs caught in his beard and down the front of his nightshirt.

  “The first time we visited you in the madhouse, you said something about your Lieutenant Phania being pulled somewhere,” Seregil told him gently. “And you were afraid of our wizard friend here, afraid he was going to practice sorcery on you.”

  Sedge gave him a bleak look. “I didn’t dream that? Phania’s dead, too?”

  “We don’t know. No one’s seen her since that night. What did you mean, ‘pulled’?”

  Tossing his half-eaten chunk of bread onto the tray, Sedge rested his head in his hands. “I told you, I don’t—”

  “You do, on some level,” Thero told him. “If you’d allow me, I’d like to touch your thoughts. It’s quite painless and won’t do you any harm.”

  Sedge recoiled. “Sorcery!”

  “It’s nothing of the kind. I’m an Orëska wizard. You’re a Skalan, aren’t you? You know better than that.”

  “Perhaps when the captain has rested, his mind will be clearer on the matter,” Seregil offered, giving Thero a warning glance.

  “He has been through a lot,” added Alec.

  “You could use some rest, yourself, Thero,” said Micum. “The rest of you go get some sleep. I’ll sit with our friend here.”

  “Am I a prisoner?” asked Sedge.

  “Does this look like a prison?” Seregil asked with a smile. “No, but we’re acting on Governor Klia’s behalf, and as she’s in command of the Guard now, you’ll do well to cooperate with us. You can speak to her yourself tomorrow. She’s coming here, then we’re all going back to Menosi.”

  There was no mistaking the terror on the man’s face.

  Micum patted his shoulder. “Get into bed and get some sleep, my friend. Things will look better in the morning.”

  Anxious as he was for information, Thero had to admit the others were right. Sedge was frightened, disoriented, and exhausted. There was no sense pressuring him.

  “Very well, then. Rest, Captain, and I wish you pleasant dreams. Your affliction has been lifted.”

  Seregil and Alec followed him out into the corridor and closed the door.

  “It won’t help to push him too hard,” said Seregil.

  “I know that!” Thero snapped.

  “How are you doing? You don’t look well.”

  “I’m fine, considering how the day turned out. That man may be the key to this entire business.”

  “Tomorrow. Go get some sleep. You can use the room next to Micum’s.”

  The very suggestion seemed to weight Thero’s eyelids. Giving the others a parting nod, he went to his room, crawled into bed, and fell into exhausted slumber.

  IT was still dark when the sound of shouting brought Thero bolt upright in bed.

  Hurrying to the door, he threw it open and started for Sedge’s room, but instead discovered Micum at Seregil and Alec’s door, knocking and jiggling the handle. The raised voice was Seregil’s, and he sounded desperate.

  From inside they heard Seregil shout, “No, come back, please!” followed by a thud, then silence.

  “Are you two all right?” Micum called, knocking harder.

  After a moment they heard the lock turn and Alec opened the door with a blanket pulled around him, Thero’s golden amulet glinting among its folds. “It’s all right,” he whispered. “Seregil just had a bad dream.”

  “Another one?” Micum said, concerned.

  “It’s nothing!” Seregil growled.

  Glancing past Alec, Thero saw Seregil standing naked at the window, arms
crossed so tightly across his chest that his shoulder blades stood out under the skin.

  “It was just a dream,” he said. Turning, he snatched a dressing gown from the end of the bed, struggled into it, and stalked over to join them. He was wearing his amulet, too, the wizard noted with relief. “Just a dream. Go back to bed.” He was trying to sound annoyed, but Thero could see that he was pale and sweating.

  Thero exchanged a worried look with Alec; it was clear the younger man was equally unsettled. “There are dreams, and then there are dreams,” he said. “And you of all people should know that, Seregil. May I come in?”

  “We have an early day ahead of us. It was nothing. Good night.” He turned and went back to bed, lying down facing away from them with the coverlet pulled up to his ears. It reminded Thero eerily of Sedge in that cell, after he’d told them they were going to die.

  “We’ll talk later,” Alec whispered.

  “No, you won’t!” Seregil called from the bed.

  Alec shrugged and closed the door.

  “He has plenty of reasons to have nightmares,” Micum said at last, not sounding fully convinced.

  “I’m sure if there is anything we should know, he’ll tell us.”

  Alec sat down on his side of the bed, still wrapped in the blanket. Seregil had stolen the rest of the bedding. “You must remember something, Seregil. The way you were yelling, you sounded terrified.”

  Seregil rolled to face him and sat up, keeping his distance. “I told you, Alec, I don’t know what the dreams are about. Maybe Illior is toying with me, or protecting me. I just know they scare me and it takes a lot to do that. Please, talí, try to understand.”

  “When you had the dreams about the Helm, and Nysander, you knew what they were.”

  “Yes, but I didn’t know what they meant until it was too late, did I?” He rested his head in his hands and massaged his eyelids with the heels of his palms. “I can’t control my dreams. And I don’t know if these are the same kind of prophetic visions. I haven’t had them for a long time. If I have another one and you’re aware of it, wake me up any way you have to, before I have a chance to forget. Will you do that for me, Alec?”

  “Of course I will. Can I have some of the covers now?”

  Seregil gave him a wan smile. “Thank you.”

  The rest of the short night passed uneventfully. Seregil fell almost at once into a deep sleep but Alec found he couldn’t keep his eyes closed. Lighting a candle, he sat in an armchair by the bed for a while, trying to doze and keep an eye on Seregil at the same time. When sleep still eluded him and Seregil seemed at ease, he took the candle and made a circuit of the room, looking for something to do. It was too dark to work on the arrows he’d been fletching, and he had nothing to read. With a last look at his lover, Alec headed downstairs, determined to grab up whatever was left in the pillaged library and carry it back as quickly as possible. Light showed under the door where Sedge lay under Micum’s watchful eye. Thero’s room was dark.

  As Alec passed the door of the haunted chamber they’d shared the night before, curiosity got the best of him. Steeling himself for whatever lurked beyond the door, he went in and stood for a moment in the middle of the room. The side window was securely fastened, however, and the cool air smelled of nothing more sinister than the ash in the fireplace. His flickering candle set shadows jumping in the corners, but their sad visitor was nowhere to be seen.

  Shaking his head, Alec went downstairs to the library. There were four dusty volumes on the shelves, and two of them were ancient and written in what looked like some form of Konic, a language he had little grasp of. They were fragile, as well; bits of parchment flaked off as he opened one and turned a yellowed page. Leaving these for Seregil, he examined the other two. One was a thick ledger book filled with many years’ worth of farm records, mostly to do with horse sales. The last and most promising was bound in fine red leather stamped with silver patterns around the edges, but with no title on the spine. It proved to be a journal kept by the last Skalan master of Mirror Moon. Or mistress, rather; on the first page he found NETHELI Ä SERA MALIA KALA OF MIRROR MOON inscribed in slanting, spidery script; both the names and the language were Skalan. The Skalan nobility had adopted the Aurënfaie style of naming since the time of Idrilain the First, who’d taken one of Seregil’s forebears as Consort. Phoria had changed the fashion by decree before her death, but there was talk of going back to it now.

  Netheli had been an avid journal keeper. Lengthy passages were written in the same slanted hand, and illustrated here and there with fine ink drawings, mostly of shells, birds, sea creatures, and other natural objects. Turning to the back, he saw that the last entry was dated nearly two hundred years ago. That seemed promising. Tucking the volume under his arm, he went back to his bedchamber.

  Seregil was as he’d left him, his breathing soft, his brow cool and dry.

  “What goes on in that head of yours?” Alec murmured, brushing a stray strand of soft brown hair away from his lover’s cheek. Seregil sighed and turned his face to Alec’s touch, but didn’t wake.

  Settling in the armchair with his book, Alec pulled the candle stand closer and flipped the pages. At first he paid more attention to the drawings than the hard-to-read text. Netheli ä Sera had painted, as well, and he discovered several delightful miniature scenes. One was recognizable as the view from the front of the house over the pond, and another looked like Deep Harbor as it must have been centuries ago. There were several studies of children’s faces, with blue eyes that seemed to look at him over the years with disconcerting interest. Near the front of the book he found another portrait, this one of a man who was clearly Aurënfaie, with the fine features and high cheekbones of his race. The artist had only hinted at clothing—some sort of black robe, thought Alec—but the face and head were painted in loving detail. His hair was a lighter brown than Seregil’s and braided in the front into long, thin plaits on either side of his face. But he had the same storm-grey eyes; Lady Netheli had captured the color perfectly. The entry associated with it was brief but ecstatic.

  Slept in the dreaming cave and saw my handsome Aurënfaie prince again. If only I could learn his name, I might discover his history, but still he greets me with silence, looking yearningly through me like so much empty air, as if there is someone beloved standing just behind me. Then he became so grim he frightened me. I could not look away and watched as he disappeared weeping.

  The “dreaming cave” must be part of the oracle’s shrine, Alec supposed. He flipped through the journal, looking for another picture of the man or another mention. Instead, in the back he found a portrait in ink that sent a chill up his spine. It was the face of the ghostly woman he’d seen last night, complete with shells in her hair.

  Holding the book closer to the candle, he puzzled out the brief entry that accompanied it.

  She came to me again last night and I fear for my dear children. Syana and I are the only ones left here, apart from the servants. I pray Illior she comes for me this time, and not my precious girl! I am sending Syana back to Cirna tomorrow morning. Lightbearer, I beg you, protect us through this foul stormy night.

  Perhaps the drowned woman had come for poor Netheli, after all. Turning the page, Alec found that the rest of the journal was blank. Badly unsettled, he set it aside and watched Seregil sleep.

  Seregil stirred as the sky began to brighten outside the window.

  “It’s early,” Alec told him. “You should go back to sleep.”

  Seregil sat up and ran his fingers through his hair. “I feel like I’ve been dragged through a knothole backward, but I’m wide awake. Did you sleep?”

  “Not after your nightmare,” Alec admitted. “And not after—Look what I found in the library downstairs.”

  He turned the journal to the page with the drawing of the ghost and sat back while Seregil read the entry. When he was done he flipped through the pages for a few moments, stopping here and there, then closed it and looked up at Alec. “
Do you think we’re going to die?”

  “Do you? Wait, did you see her, too?”

  “Yes, when I looked over your shoulder.”

  “So if the ghost really means someone is going to die—”

  Seregil tossed the book aside and swung his legs over the side of the bed. “I’m not going to get too worked up over it, Alec. I’ll talk to Dorin about it. If anyone knows the history of it, he will.”

  “Wait, there’s something else.” Alec retrieved the journal from the rumpled counterpane and found the portrait of the Aurënfaie “prince.”

  Seregil raised an eyebrow at that and read the passage carefully. “Well, we don’t have royal titles, of course, but he does have a regal bearing. Handsome fellow, but he can’t have had a happy history, if her dream truly holds any meaning.”

  “It makes me want to sleep in the oracle’s cave.”

  Seregil grinned as he stood and stretched, belly taut in the early-morning light. “Me, too. I’m sure it can be arranged.”

  They washed and dressed for riding, then went to see if Sedge was awake. He wasn’t; nor was Thero, who’d taken Micum’s place sometime in the night. The wizard sat slumped in the chair beside the bed. Red lines still showed on his bare neck, shins, and wrists from his battle with whatever it was that had possessed the guard.

  They could hear Micum snoring through the thick wood door and left him to his rest. Downstairs, however, the household was already stirring.

  They found Dorin in the library.

  “Looking for this?” Seregil asked, holding up the journal. “You’d asked after papers,” the steward replied. “I was looking for it to give to you.”

  “Have you read it?” asked Alec.

  Dorin hesitated, then nodded. “When I was a boy. I knew better, my lords. I shouldn’t have done it. But I was curious.”

  “No need to apologize,” Alec said. “But did you know about the ghost?”

  “She is just a lost soul, my lord. She doesn’t hurt anyone. If she did, my father would have told me. And I’ve lived my whole life here. She’s been seen many times. Some of the old stories even claim she helps the people who live here.”