Shards of Time

by Lynn Flewelling

  The dancing and merriment went on through the night, and the turab flowed like a river. By dawn everyone was unconscious on the grass or had gone off to bed, except for the guests of honor, Micum, and the doctor. Sitting together on a table, they watched the sun rise.

  “Are you sad to be going?” asked Kordira.

  “We’ll come back this time next year, if not sooner. They want to have a Founders’ Day feast,” Alec said. “But I think the estate and village are in good hands.”

  “You’ve done a very fine thing here.”

  Seregil shrugged. “We got them started. It’s up to them to make it work.”

  The doctor smiled. “They will. I’ve a mind to take on a few students here. I can’t be doctor to the whole island, after all.” She paused. “There are those who won’t be pleased to see a clan here.”

  “Will they make trouble?” asked Micum.

  “It’s hard to say. At least the new governor is on their side. And I’ll keep an eye on things for you, too.”

  Seregil leaned over and kissed her cheek. “I’ve said it before. You’re a useful person to have around.” He smiled and offered his hand. “And the first Plenimaran I’ve ever called friend.”

  SEREGIL and Alec leapt over the low cottage garden wall into the next snowy little yard, ducked under a clothesline, and over the next wall, but the three bluecoats were still close behind them. Seregil was reasonably certain that in their dark clothes and black silk masks there wasn’t much chance of Alec or him being recognized at this time of night, especially here in Cirna, but getting caught would be embarrassing, if not disastrous. That was always the risk of burgling the house of someone who knew you, especially someone who loathed you as much as did elderly Duchess Tria—a regrettable past conquest of his misspent youth.

  He grinned behind his mask. The higher the risk, the more the zest.

  Dodging down a backstreet between two tenements, he spotted a convenient drainpipe and went up it like a squirrel, Alec close behind. Seregil gave him a hand up onto the snow-crusted roof tiles, then peered over the edge. The bluecoats, a bulky lot, shook their fists and cudgels at them, but gave up the chase.

  “They’ve got to come down sometime,” one of them grumbled.

  “That’s what they think,” Alec chuckled, breath puffing out like pipe smoke on the frigid night air.

  Together they ran across the roof and leapt to the next building, and the next. Seregil was in midair when a tiny spark of blue light appeared just beyond the tip of his nose and he lost his footing as he came down on the next roof, which was rather steep. Alec, already there, caught him by the wrist and yanked him forward.

  “Bilairy’s Balls!” Seregil gasped, flattening himself on the tiles. The message sphere was still there, like an annoying fly. He touched it and heard Thero say, “It’s time.”

  They found a fast southbound ship on the west side of the Isthmus before dawn and arrived at the Palace in Rhíminee on the eve of Mourning Night. Most fires were extinguished in honor of the old Immortals’ symbolic death, and people were already running about the streets with lightstones.

  Retrieving Alec’s Patch and Seregil’s old cob, Star, from the harbor stable, they rode to the Upper City and their comfortably anonymous rooms over the Stag and Otter. Once suitably scrubbed and attired, they rode through the throngs of early merrymakers to the Palace.

  “You are expected, my lords,” the old doorkeeper said with a bow, handing each of them a lightstone on a gilded handle. “Please go through.”

  They knew the way and strode through a maze of darkened corridors to the wing where the royal apartments lay. Thero answered their knock at Klia’s suite of rooms.

  “It’s us,” said Seregil.

  “Of course it is. You needn’t keep telling me,” Thero retorted, but it lacked its usual bite. He led them through the dark salon and down the corridor toward the sitting room overlooking the shadowed, ice-rimed gardens.

  “How are they?” asked Alec.

  “Perfect in every way,” Thero replied with a most uncharacteristic grin.

  “Everyone else off to the ceremony?” asked Seregil, throwing an arm around Thero’s shoulders.

  “Yes, and to be honest, it’s a bit of a relief to have them to myself at last. The Cavishes have been by. And Elani is very excited about her little cousin.”

  Seregil chuckled. “The price you pay for marrying into the royal family. And I can finally call you cousin. What would Nysander make of that, eh?”

  “He would be very pleased, I’m sure.” Thero reached for the sitting room door latch as naturally as if he could still see and ushered them inside.

  Dressed in an embroidered dressing gown and a cloak, Klia sat in a rocker by the sitting room hearth, where a bowl of lightstones glowed instead of a fire in deference to Mourning Night custom. She was singing softly to the swaddled infant in her arms but looked up as they came in. Like Alec and Mika, she was still a little thinner than she used to be; her smile as they joined her, however, was as lovely and warm as ever.

  Seregil leaned down and kissed her cheek, then gazed at the tiny face framed in the soft knitted blanket. The baby had only a dusting of dark hair, but he could already make out the hint of a widow’s peak, and the lashes against her cheeks were already long and thick like her mother’s.

  “She’s lovely!” Alec whispered.

  “Clearly takes after the maternal side,” Seregil observed.

  “I agree,” Thero said, sitting down in the chair beside Klia’s without assistance. “Mika, you must tell our friends the great honor our lady bestowed on you.”

  Mika stood proudly between his master and Klia. “Klia made me one of the baby’s guardians.”

  Klia placed the infant in Alec’s arms. “We’d like you and Seregil to be guardians, as well. We’ve already asked Micum and he accepted. If it weren’t for all of you—”

  “Of course,” said Seregil. This was not a mere favor she was asking, but a bestowal of a serious royal charge.

  “I’d be honored,” Alec replied. “But you haven’t told us her name.”

  “We thought a lot about that,” said Thero. “We settled at last on Tamír.”

  “The Third?” asked Alec.

  “No, that would only be the case if she were in line for the throne,” Klia told him. “Our girl is just Tamír ä Klia Idrilain Elesthera, our little duchess.”

  “Is she wizard-born?” asked Seregil.

  Thero smiled fondly in the direction of his daughter. “Oh, yes.”

  They sat taking turns holding the baby, laughing and admiring the soft knitted goods Kari and Micum had brought, until little Tamír began to whimper and nuzzle at the front of Klia’s gown. Seregil rose and kissed Klia again. “A thousand blessings from all the Four on you and your family, dear cousin.”

  “A thousand and one,” Alec added with a smile.

  “I’ll walk out with you. Stay here with Klia, Mika. I can find my way back.” Thero rose and held out his hand for Seregil’s.

  They went to the salon, and Thero stopped.

  “So what do the queen and the royal aunt and uncle think of Tamír?” asked Seregil.

  “Korathan and Queen Elani are thrilled. The queen’s mother? Less so. She made a bit of a fuss over the choice of name since it belonged to queens.”

  Seregil snorted. “Aralain has always been a jealous bitch.”

  Thero nodded, sightless eyes seeking Seregil’s. “That’s one of the reasons I want you all as her guardians, in case Aralain should ever try to poison the queen against her cousin.”

  “Elani is too kind for that,” said Alec.

  “I think she is, now, but who knows what the future might bring? A hard streak runs through that branch of the family, and has a way of surfacing. I just want my daughter to live a long and happy life.”

  Seregil and Alec each put a hand on their friend’s shoulder. No words were needed between them.

  “Have you—I mean, can you use the
wizard eye spell to see her?” Alec asked at last, giving voice to Seregil’s own concern.

  Thero smiled. “Yes. Now, there is another matter I wanted to talk to you about. I believe you gamble sometimes with Duke Sera? Korathan thinks some of the gold shipments from the north are going astray under the duke’s stewardship. It needs looking into.”

  “Of course,” Alec replied. “Isn’t he the one suspected of poisoning his nephew?”

  “Yes. He’s a good deal more dangerous than he appears.”

  “Ah, something worthy of our attention!” Seregil said with a crooked grin that Thero could no doubt hear, for the wizard smiled again.

  “I’ll send you the details in a few days. You should go enjoy the celebrations.”

  “No better time to sneak around in the dark than tonight, when everyone else is running around drunk in the streets,” said Seregil.

  “Very well.” Thero held out his hands to them. “Luck in the Shadows, my friends.”

  “And in the Light.”

  Afterword

  MY dear, wonderful, patient, funny, supportive, creative, generous Readers:

  So ends the Nightrunner Series, at least for the foreseeable future. I’ve been playing with the boys and their friends since the early 1980s, long before some of you were born. Back when I was writing in spiral-bound notebooks in pencil and getting fired from jobs because I was writing instead of doing my work. Yes, that happened. Back when “Alec” was just a placeholder name I borrowed from a beloved orange tiger cat because I couldn’t think of anything else at the moment of the poor fellow’s creation. Back when I conceived of quick-witted Alec as nothing more than a stalwart Watson to Seregil’s dashing Holmes. Alec was one of many characters who got away from me to become much more than I’d initially imagined: Thero, Klia, Korathan, Beka, Eirual, even Micum, just to name a few.

  Bless you, those who have stuck with me since Luck in the Shadows first saw print in 1996. To those of you who have only just joined the party, welcome aboard and enjoy the ride! Seregil, Alec & Co. live on through your imaginations. And to you who have shared beautiful stories from your lives with me, or your artwork, your music, your enthusiasm, I have always felt very honored.

  Finally, I’ll save you time firing off emails and searching blogs. Here’s the Straight Dope: no, this isn’t the last book I will ever write, just the last Nightrunner novel. I think. Maybe. Never is just too sad a word. Will there be more Nightrunner short stories? I hope so. More books about Tamír and Ki? (Let’s not forget them!) Perhaps. To be honest, right now I’m thirsting for new vistas, strange voices, and unknown countries. Some odd folks have been wandering in and out for a while now, checking to see if I’m ready to play with them, including a boy who can read water. We’ll see. Whatever form future books take, I hope you’ll come with me again.

  In the meantime, thank you so very much for being there.

  LYNN FLEWELLING

  Redlands, CA

  March 31, 2014

  For you

  Acknowledgments

  This series owes its existence to my awesome support system through the years: first and foremost, my wonderful husband, Dr. Doug, without whom I probably wouldn’t have done what I’ve done; my sons, Matthew and Timothy (who are both younger than Alec and Seregil in real time); my amazing agent, Lucienne Diver, without whom the world would never have met my characters; my super editor, Anne Lesley Groell, to whom you all owe a debt of gratitude for making the books even better; and my dear circle of friends and relatives who have supported me the whole long way.

  BY LYNN FLEWELLING

  The Nightrunner series

  Luck in the Shadows

  Stalking Darkness

  Traitor’s Moon

  Shadows Return

  The White Road

  Casket of Souls

  Shards of Time

  The Tamír Triad

  The Bone Doll’s Twin

  Hidden Warrior

  The Oracle’s Queen

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