Praise for the Nightrunner Series

CASKET OF SOULS

“Full of intrigue and plots upon plots.”

—RT Book Reviews

“A solid high fantasy novel, with engaging characters, espionage, magic, political intrigue, and a well-realized world, [though] the real draw of the book (or of any other Nightrunner book) is the characters. The cast of characters in this series probably consists of some of the most genuinely likeable people in high fantasy.”

—Bookshelf Bombshells

THE WHITE ROAD

2010 Romantic Times Reviewers’ Choice Award Nominee for Career Achievement in Sci Fi/Fantasy

“The White Road is an action-packed and terrific read—enjoy. Flewelling is at the top of her game, and her game is very, very good indeed.”

—PATRICIA BRIGGS, New York Times bestselling author of the Mercy Thompson series

“Picking up right where the fourth book left off, this is an action-packed and exciting read.… Seregil and Alec remain two of the most memorable heroes in fantasy.”

—RT Book Reviews

“Marvelous … one of the most entertaining series out today … What makes Flewelling’s books so appealing is that they manage to blend Tolkienesque world-building with characters who are three-dimensional, realistically drawn, and often gritty. Though the stories themselves are awash with spells, prophecies, war, and other high fantasy conceits, the characters are always at the foreground—characters who live and breathe and love.”

—Rob Will Review

SHADOW’S RETURN

2008 Romantic Times Reviewers’ Choice Award Nominee for Best Fantasy Novel

“The fourth book in Flewelling’s superb Nightrunner series picks up right where the last book left off with nary a hiccup. Seregil and Alec continue to be entertaining, while Flewelling pulls off the near impossible in this compelling page-turner.”

—Romantic Times (4½ stars)

“Excellent! … This [is a] terrific fantasy thriller that can stand alone, but is enhanced by the other tales in the Skalan saga.”

—BookReview

“Flewelling presents a well-developed fantasy world with faie from many clans, wizards, alchemists, and ambitious humans. Love and jealousies abound and drive the story.”

—SFRevu

TRAITOR’S MOON

“While fans of Dungeons and Dragons–style lore will find enough wizardry, necromancy, swords, daggers, and devilishly clever traps here to satisfy the most avid, this book also provides entry to a complete and richly realized world that will please more mainstream readers.”

—Bangor Daily News

STALKING DARKNESS

“Flewelling is bringing vigor back to the traditional fantasy form. In this highly engaging adventure novel, the most powerful magic is conjured out of friendship and loyalty. The author has a gift for creating characters you genuinely care about.”

—TERRI WINDLING, editor of The Years’s Best Fantasy and Horror, Eleventh Annual Collection

LUCK IN THE SHADOWS

“Memorable characters, an enthralling plot and truly daunting evil.… The characters spring forth from the page not as well crafted creations but as people.… The magic is refreshingly difficult, mysterious, and unpredictable. Lynn Flewelling has eschewed the easy shortcuts of clichéd minor characters and cookie-cutter backdrops to present a unique world.… I commend this one to your attention.”

—ROBIN HOBB

“Part high fantasy and part political intrigue, Luck in the Shadows makes a nice change from the usual ruck of contemporary sword-and-sorcery. I especially enjoyed Lynn Flewelling’s obvious affection for her characters. At unexpected moments she reveals a well-honed gift for the macabre.”

—STEPHEN R. DONALDSON

“Exceptionally well done and entertaining.”

—Locus

Praise for The Tamír Triad

“Some of the most inventive and emotionally gripping fantasy to come down the pike in years … Flewelling takes the stock trappings of the sword-and-sorcery genre and turns them into a riveting epic story that is unique, disturbing, and enthralling.”

—Mythprint

“Perhaps the deepest psychological novel I’ve ever read—the fantasy makes the unconscious issues real. Gorgeous but dark.”

—ORSON SCOTT CARD

THE ORACLE’S QUEEN

“A splendidly stirring coming-of-age tale.”

—Romantic Times (4½ stars)

“Magic, mystery, politics, emotions, and rare golden threads of the numinous all make this book a rich tapestry of a read right through the climax … This trilogy is a must for those who love fantasy with all the Good Stuff stitched together by intelligent world-building and a wise eye for the frailties, and the greatnesses, of the human spirit.”

—SF Site

HIDDEN WARRIOR

“Stellar high-concept fantasy.”

—Mysterious Galaxy

“A beautiful, compelling, dark tale.”

—Booklist

“Satisfying … intriguing … exploring not merely issues of gender and power but questions of honor as well.”

—Lambda Book Report

THE BONE DOLL’S TWIN

“A thoroughly engrossing new fantasy. It got its hooks into me on the first page, and didn’t let loose until the last. I am already looking forward to the next installment.”

—GEORGE R. R. MARTIN

“Lynn Flewelling’s The Bone Doll’s Twin outshines even the gleaming promise shown in her earlier three books. The story pulled me under and carried me off with it in a relentless tale that examines whether the ends can ever completely justify the means.”

—ROBIN HOBB

“Masterful … readers will be hooked.”

—Bangor Daily News

“Magnificent, impressive … capture[s] some of the same flavor found in T. H. White’s classic, The Once and Future King, as well as in Ursula Le Guin’s Earthsea books. Factor in some essence of Mervyn Peake, and you have a winning combination.”

—Realms of Fantasy

“An intensely poignant tale that begs the question—how far should one go to change destiny. Lynn Flewelling delivers a tightly crafted narrative with vivid characters and a detailed background that quickly pulls the reader into her world.”

—Romantic Times

“Flewelling is the best thing that could have happened to the fantasy genre.”

—BookWeb

Shards of Time is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

A Del Rey eBook Edition

Copyright © 2014 by Lynn Flewelling

All rights reserved.

Published in the United States by Del Rey, an imprint of Random House, a division of Random House LLC, a Penguin Random House Company, New York.

DEL REY and the HOUSE colophon are registered trademarks of Random House LLC.

Map on this page by Virginia Norey; map on this page by Robert Bull

ISBN 978-0-345-52231-3

eBook ISBN 978-0-345-54673-9

www.delreybooks.com

Cover design: David G. Stevenson

Cover illustration: © Michael Komarck

v3.1

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Maps

Chapter 1: Rain on the Roof

Chapter 2: A Timely Offer

Chapter 3: Seregil and Alec Go to Court

Chapter 4: Sails and Tales

Chapter 5: The Sacred Isle

Chapter 6: Madhouse

Chapter 7: Mirror Moon

Chapter 8: Micum Goes to Town

Chapter 9: Wizard’s Work

Chapter 10: Dreams and Arrivals

Chapter 11: Menosi

Chapter 12: The Oracle’s Caves

Chapter 13: Tears

Chapter 14: Night Visitors

Chapter 15: Detour

Chapter 16: Rhazat

Chapter 17: The Grey Land

Chapter 18: Ghosts and Shadows

Chapter 19: Lost

Chapter 20: Old Magic

Chapter 21: Kordira Lends a Hand

Chapter 22: Zella’s Return

Chapter 23: Beyond the Help of the Four

Chapter 24: Taking a Gamble

Chapter 25: Secrets, Salves, and a Spade

Chapter 26: Old Sorrows

Chapter 27: Despair and Hope

Chapter 28: Hard Choices

Chapter 29: Respite

Chapter 30: Mourning Night

Afterword

Dedication

Acknowledgments

Other Books by This Author

EARLY-SPRING rain lashed against the windowpanes next to Alec’s chair and drummed on the inn’s roof slates overhead. With a fire crackling on the hearth, a good supper just dispatched, and an interesting tome borrowed from the Orëska House library open on his lap, Alec was looking forward to a peaceful evening. His companion, however, had other ideas.

Sprawled in a pile of cushions in front of the fire, Seregil had thumbed through a succession of apparently uninteresting letters, discarded several books, and now lay staring up at the ceiling and whistling a sad tune softly—and rather annoyingly—through his teeth. Alec guessed he was composing some new song, as he maddeningly kept repeating phrases and tapping time against the ash shovel with one bare foot. Even Ruetha and her kittens had lost patience with him and had retreated to their basket in the corner.

But as distracting as it was, and as melancholy as the tune sounded, Alec felt a certain amount of relief, too. It had been difficult for both of them, losing more people they cared about—Myrhichia, Lady Kylith, Duke Malthus—the previous year. They’d nearly lost Micum Cavish’s daughter Illia, as well. Alec had felt the losses deeply, but Seregil was always one to hang on to pain, tinged as it was with guilt.

This was the first time Seregil had shown any interest in composing in months, so the interruption was almost welcome, even if it did mean Alec wasn’t going to get any reading done.

He closed his book. “That’s a pretty tune you’re working on. Play it for me?”

Seregil glanced up at the Aurënfaie harp hanging on the wall. “It’s not done yet.”

“So play me what you have.”

Seregil cast him a sidelong glance. “I’m annoying you.”

“Just a little.”

With an apologetic half smile, Seregil marshaled his long limbs and resurrected himself from his nest. Taking the harp down, he plucked at the strings, tuned them a little, then played a few bars of what sounded like a lament.

The melancholy tune together with Seregil’s overall restlessness were familiar weather signs. Hoping to lighten his lover’s mood, Alec said, “You know, you once promised me you’d never say it again.”

“I haven’t said a thing in the past hour,” Seregil said, brows arching over sea-grey eyes.

Alec snorted softly. “And we haven’t accepted a nightrunner job in nearly a month.”

“There haven’t been any worth our time. They’re all so—” Seregil threw up his hands in exasperation.

“Go on, then. Just say it.”

“Boring!” Seregil hung the harp back on its hook and faced Alec with his hands on his hips. “If I have to deliver one more love token or look for any more compromising letters, I’m going to hang myself!”

“We spend time at court.”

“Yes, we do—and as much as I care for our young queen, I’ve made about as much polite chitchat as I’m capable of.”

Alec couldn’t argue that point. It had been a long, hard winter, burying Rhíminee in treacherous slush and ice that had curtailed riding and outdoor shooting; the last hunt had been just after Mourning Night.

They were relative newcomers in the royal inner circle, and favorites of Queen Elani despite their lowly rank, so naturally they were despised by a good many of the more established members of the entourage. Seregil won so consistently at the bakshi table, and Alec so consistently defeated other would-be archers—soft-handed nobles who’d never had to shoot true or else starve—that few would take them on anymore. Some had taken to calling them the queen’s lapdogs behind their backs.

Their detractors might have had a great deal more to say if they could see them now, lounging in their hidden rooms at the Stag and Otter in decidedly unfashionable Blue Fish Street behind the Harvest Market. Seregil secretly owned the place, and it was their true home and refuge from the endless round of social obligations their public reputations demanded: entertaining at the Wheel Street villa, attending salons of their remaining friends, evenings at the Orëska House with Thero and Magyana, the requisite keeping up with the latest fashions via their tailors and jewelers. With the end of the war a year and a half earlier, luxuries were once more abundant and the black-market dealers were going hungry. Many people still decried the state of theater, since Master Atre and his marvelous company had abruptly disappeared near the war’s end. The Golden Crane stood empty, but the other companies around the city were still suffering by comparison.

“Well, what do you want to do?” asked Alec.

“Get out of the damn city!”

“Then let’s go out to Watermead. We haven’t seen Micum and the family in ages.”

Seregil looked out at the rain, and his thin lips tilted into a doubtful line. It would be a wet, cold ride, and he avoided being wet and cold as much as possible. “Maybe in a few days, if the weather breaks. Anyway, we’re due back at Wheel Street in time to appear for Korathan’s birthday.”

He threw a few logs onto the fire and subsided back among the cushions with one of his scattered books.

Peace at last, thought Alec, returning to his own book—until Seregil started whistling again.

THEY returned to Wheel Street and public life a few days later, attending the prince’s birthday gala, and the social whirl began again. The foul weather continued—with sullen rain giving way to dank fog. They went to the theater, to gambling houses, and to a few salons, including that of Marquise Alania, a fashionable dowager who’d taken quite an interest in them since Seregil’s risqué display at the Three Dragons nearly a year ago. To her credit, her circle was an interesting collection of well-educated nobles, philosophers, artists, and amusing ne’er-do-wells like Seregil. The food and wine were always exquisite. Even Seregil had to grudgingly admit that life was a bit less tedious than it had been.

The weather improved at last, rain giving way to bright sunshine and brisk winds. They were at Alania’s house one night during the Festival of Flowers when Alec noticed Seregil blinking and rubbing absently at his left temple as he lost a bakshi game to the court painter, Vireus. Finishing his game of Blue Goose with Alania and two flirtatious young noblewomen, Alec laid his cards aside and went to sit by Seregil.

“What’s wrong?” he murmured as Seregil conceded the game.

“Headache,” Seregil replied. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to make an early night of it.”

“I’m so sorry to hear it,” said the marquise, coming to join them. “I can have Evers prepare you a willow bark tea.”

“That’s very kind of you, but I think a good night’s sleep is in order.” Seregil bent over her hand and kissed it gallantly. “I promise you a fine dinner at Wheel Street to make up for this.”

The wind had blown out many of the street lanterns, and those few left cast uncertain shadows at the edges of the street. It was a good night for footpads, even in this fashionable district of guards and walls, but Seregil seemed unusually distracted, often raising a gloved hand to his brow as he rode.

“You’re in real pain.”

“Must be the change in the weather.”

As soon as they got home Seregil went to bed with a cup of willow bark infusion. When Alec came to bed later, he was asleep but restless. Alec touched Seregil’s brow and was relieved to find it cool. He didn’t wake when Alec blew out the night lamp and climbed into bed to pull him close. That seemed to calm him, and Alec soon drifted off.

A buffeting wind yanked persistently on his cloak and whipped his hair across his eyes as Seregil bent to inspect the lock on the huge oak door. The moon was high, casting enough light to see the rusted plate and enormous keyhole. Nothing in his tool roll was large enough to pick the lock. Surrounded by lichen-blotched stone, the door stood between him and Alec, and he had to get to Alec. The thought made his head and his heart pound painfully: must find Alec!

Thrusting his hand into the keyhole, he felt for the tumblers. They were razor-sharp, cutting the sensitive pads of his fingertips, but he could not stop. The pain was unbearable, but at last he felt the lock give. Withdrawing his bloodied hand, he swung the door open and found himself in a long corridor.

“Alec!” His voice came out strangled, barely audible. He tried again but could only force out a hoarse whisper.

As he started down the corridor, however, he heard his name called from a great distance that had nothing to do with stone walls. The corridor was long, and at the far end stood Alec, facing away from him.

“Alec!” Seregil croaked, knowing there was no way that Alec would hear.

As he’d feared, Alec disappeared around a corner to the right. Seregil ran to the turning, only to find another equally long corridor and, once again, Alec with his back to him. He called out, but Alec disappeared again—to the left this time. It happened again and again, as if they were playing some strange and frustrating game not of Seregil’s choosing.

Rounding a final turn, he could see Alec crouched against the wall that dead-ended at the far end of the hallway. He had his face in his hands but Seregil knew him by his blond braid and his clothing. When his lover looked up, his once beautiful face was nothing but an empty-eyed skull. Suddenly a door opened behind him and Alec fell through it. The door disappeared as suddenly as it had come.

“No!” Seregil screamed. “Alec! Talí, come—”

“—back!”

The desperation in Seregil’s voice jolted Alec awake in time to catch something hard and blunt in the face. With a grunt of pain and surprise, he automatically reached out to fend off an attacker, but instead felt Seregil sitting bolt upright in bed, trembling and covered in cold sweat. His voice was ragged and eerie as he whispered over and over, “Come back! Please come back!”

“It’s all right, talí.” Alec gently pulled him back down, settling with Seregil’s head on his shoulder. It was too dark to see him, but Alec could feel his lover’s heart hammering against his ribs, and the clamminess of his skin. Seregil was no stranger to nightmares, but it had been ages since he’d had one like this. “What was it?”

“A bad one.”

“What about?”

“I—I can’t remember.”

“You talked in your sleep. You were begging someone to come back.”

“Really?” Seregil drew a shuddering breath. “I don’t know. I can’t remember anything except being terrified.”

“Maybe you will in the morning. How’s the headache?”

“Still bad.”

“I’ll get you something.” But when he tried to leave the bed, Seregil’s arms tightened around him.

“Please, stay.”

Alec pulled the sheet up to Seregil’s chin and rubbed his back, as he had so many nights after Nysander’s tragic death. It was a long time until he was certain Seregil was asleep.

The following morning they woke late. Seregil looked positively haggard.

“Does your head still hurt?” Alec asked.

“No, thankfully, but I don’t think I slept well.” Seregil rubbed at his eyes, then frowned up at him. “Bilairy’s Balls, what happened to your face?”

“You did, talí. You thrashed around while you were dreaming.” Alec went to the tall looking glass and ruefully examined the small bruise under his right cheekbone. “You’re a hazard to sleep with sometimes.”

Seregil came over and gently kissed the bruise. “I’m sorry.”

“Maybe it was just the rich food last night. Alania’s cook uses too much spice and butter.”

“That’s probably it,” Seregil said with a chuckle, but it sounded a bit hollow, for they both remembered a time when his nightmares had been more than mere dreams.

Late-morning sunlight streamed in through the dining room doors. In the garden beyond, the crocuses had already vanished and jonquils and fragrant hyacinth were in bloom under the budding lilacs. Fresh green leaves adorned the rosebushes. Seregil and Alec were lingering over a late breakfast when Runcer ushered in Thero and his young apprentice, Mika.

Ten years old now, the sandy-haired boy had grown half a hand span since Thero had rescued him from the sleeping death. Bright and inquisitive, and a bit mischievous at times, Mika was utterly devoted to Thero. His wide grey eyes shone with pride and adoration at every approving word.

Runcer went off to the kitchen to fetch extra dishes and milk for Mika.

“What brings you two out so early?” asked Alec, pouring a mug of strong Aurënen tea for Thero.

“Early?” Thero scoffed. “It’s nearly noon and you’re still in your dressing gown. Did Alania keep you two out all night again?”

“No, we finished early, as it happens,” said Alec.

“I like her,” Mika informed them, reaching for a spiced bun. “She kisses me, but she gives me sweets, too.”

Thero moved the buns out of reach without touching the plate. “Manners!”

The wizard’s relationship with the boy was that of a teacher, mentor, and guardian since Mika had moved from his parents’ house to Thero’s tower rooms at the Orëska House. Despite being a rather strict disciplinarian, Thero clearly cared deeply for his apprentice, and Seregil continued to marvel at the transformation of the man—once rival, and now valued friend. The “cold fish” of old had matured into a reasonable human being, concerned with more than just his prowess with magic and thirst for knowledge.

Mika did his best to look contrite. “May I have a bun, please, Lord Alec?”

Alec grinned and nudged the plate back within reach. “Have as many as you like.”

While the adults chatted about various social doings, Mika ate his fill of buns and bacon, managing to slip a few morsels to the pair of white Zengati hounds lurking under the table when he thought no one was looking. When the meal was over, Thero suggested the boy take the dogs into the garden.

Seregil whistled Zir and Mârag out from under the table and found a well-gnawed wooden ball for Mika to throw for them. When he was gone, Seregil gave the wizard a questioning look.

“You look uncommonly tired, Seregil,” Thero noted. “Don’t tell me your roistering life is starting to catch up with you?”

“I didn’t sleep well.”

“He had a nightmare,” Alec added, earning himself an annoyed look from Seregil.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” said Thero. “You used to have them quite often, as I recall.”

“Everyone has one now and then,” said Seregil, brushing it aside. “So, what brings you here?”

Thero helped himself to more tea. “What’s your opinion on ghosts?”

“I’m not fond of them.” Seregil took a sip of tea and glanced at Alec. There were only three things Seregil knew of that the younger man actually feared: losing Seregil, heights, and—since feeling their cold touch the day Alec had killed the dyrmagnos on a distant Plenimaran shore—ghosts. “Why do you ask?”

The wizard smiled. “I was just wondering if you two would like to take a little journey with me. Word arrived that ghosts may have killed the governor of Kouros and his mistress last week.”

“Kouros? Sacred Kouros?” Alec looked suddenly less concerned about ghosts.

“The same. You’ve never been there, have you, Seregil?” asked Thero.

“No, though I’ve always wanted to,” Seregil replied. “Nysander promised to take me when I was his apprentice, but things went wrong before we could.”

Gold-rich Kouros, the historical and spiritual heart of the Three Lands, was home to the oldest oracular site in the Three Lands. It had come back into Skalan possession for the first time in decades at the end of the war. Klia and a large force had gone there the previous summer to sort out the populace. Plenimaran loyalists were driven out—though most had already fled before she arrived—and those left were required to swear fealty to Queen Elani and Skala.

“Why do people think that ghosts might have killed them?” asked Alec.

“Because several people claimed to have seen ghosts near the room where they died, for one thing. Apparently at least one was seen by reliable witnesses: the shade of a very tall man.”

“Assuming these ‘reliable witnesses’ are telling the truth.”

“Yes,” the wizard replied, “but there had been other reports of mysterious deaths and disappearances recently, as well—mostly shepherds and travelers.”

“Hmmm.” Seregil swirled the tea in his mug.

Thero raised an eyebrow. “You really do seem to have already made up your mind.”

“No, but I refuse to have it colored by secondhand tales. Otherwise we’ll be jumping at every shadow and calling it a spirit.”

“And if I tell you that the room was locked and barred from the inside?”

Seregil sniffed at that. “That’s hardly proof of supernatural doings. Has anyone ruled out magic?”

“I’ll be looking for signs of that, of course,” Thero replied.

“Where exactly did this happen?” asked Seregil.

“In the Hierophant’s palace in the old capital city of Menosi. The late governor, Archduke Toneus, was rebuilding the palace precinct and refurbishing the oracular site, with the intent of presenting it all to Queen Elani as a tribute when she visits this summer.”

“That would certainly have earned him some favor.” Alec claimed the last rasher of bacon from the platter. “So, you think by mucking around in the old ruins, he might have disturbed some angry spirits?”

“It seems plausible,” Thero replied. “For centuries the whole island has been said to be haunted. Travelers and bards tell endless stories of meetings with people in ancient clothing or children being spirited away all over the island, not just around Menosi. How much truth there is in them remains to be seen, but with so many stories, I’m willing to suspend my doubts until we get there. Ghosts exist, and it would be stranger if there weren’t any on an island inhabited for so long. Whatever the case, if Elani plans to go to Kouros this summer to tour the island and visit the site of the oracle, her mother and uncle won’t want her in any danger.”

“No, of course not,” said Alec. “How exactly were Toneus and his lady killed?”

“The report sent from the governor’s secretary, Lady Zella, described the bodies as having been literally torn to pieces. A very grisly business.”

“Hmmm.” Seregil drew arabesques with the tip of his knife in the remaining yolk of his poached egg, still looking skeptical.

“It’s thrown the island into renewed unrest and there is some fear of a popular uprising,” Thero went on. “There may be a more down-to-earth explanation of the disappearances, and she fears the worst. The queen is sending Klia to Kouros as acting governor, and I’m going along—”

Seregil chuckled. “Indeed?”

“It’s a royal commission,” Thero replied tersely, but the tips of his ears had gone a bit pink.

While Thero had been formally recognized as Klia’s lover a year ago, this was the first time an Orëska wizard had ever had such a close connection to the royal family, so whether or not they could marry was still uncertain, as there was no precedent for it on either side. The Orëska wizards, most of whom maintained a vow of celibacy, were quietly scandalized. On the royal side, it was decided that it would be more tasteful to postpone the wedding until after young Queen Elani was safely married. Since Elani hadn’t yet taken a consort, much less produced an heir, Klia was still in the line of succession, so her liaison with a wizard—made sterile by their magical nature—had obvious advantages for allaying any lingering suspicions that Klia had pretensions to the throne.

Seregil and Alec both thought it was all overly complicated and silly, but for the time being Klia and Thero still ostensibly maintained separate residences: Thero in his tower, Klia in her chambers at the Palace. Time away from the city no doubt offered a welcome respite from societal scrutiny.

“I’m going along to investigate the haunting,” Thero finished, “and I could really use your help. In fact, Klia has already suggested to the queen that the two of you come in your capacity as Watchers, as well as Micum Cavish. If you agree, I’ll send word to him immediately. Your particular skills would be much appreciated. Of course, the queen can’t make it a formal commission.”

“Of course not.”

“Will you be bringing Mika?” asked Alec. With a wink in Seregil’s direction, he added, “You could make a family outing of it.”

Thero ignored the jest. “Yes. I won’t expose him to danger, of course, but the journey should be most educational. He’s never been away from Rhíminee.”

Just then the boy burst in from the garden. “Will they come with us, Master?”

“Have a seat,” Thero told him. “We are still discussing it.”

Mika settled in his chair, but he was clearly bursting with excitement. “You have to come! The first Hierophant and his people came to Kouros and built Menosi over two thousand years ago. I can’t even imagine how long that is, but the city is still there! Don’t you want to see where they lived?”

“I don’t know that much about the Hierophants,” Alec admitted.

“Master Thero has been teaching me,” Mika piped up. “Kouros is the place the great rulers, the Hierophants, lived when they and their people came over the eastern sea. Their descendants spread to the mainland, which turned into Mycena, Plenimar, and Skala after a while.”

“Very good,” said Thero. “And why did they stay on Kouros for so long?”

“Because of the oracle, the first in the Three Lands.”

“Why did they leave?” asked Alec.

“No one is certain,” Thero replied. “According to the histories I read, a great storm struck the island not long after the founding of the Three Lands, killing most of the population. The oracle went silent then, too, though I’ve never found any explanation for why that happened.”

“That’s the tale that’s told in Aurënen,” said Seregil, and all eyes turned to him.

“The ’faie knew of Kouros?” asked Alec.

“Of course. The eastern clans traded with Menosi and the mainland outposts, up until the reign of the last Hierophant, Nhandi the Wise. Kouros is the first place your kind and mine mixed blood.”

“And the first wizards were born there, mages of great power,” said Thero.

“Why was Nhandi the last Hierophant?” asked Alec.

“Another thing lost in the mists of history. So many records were destroyed at that time.”

“What kind of storm wipes out a whole island?” asked Mika.

Seregil shrugged. “Some say storm, but it could just as easily have been an earthquake or great wave. Whatever it was, the city of Menosi gradually emptied out and people began to avoid it.”

“But the oracle site is still there, even if it’s silent,” Alec noted. “You said Toneus was fixing it up?”

Thero nodded. “It’s sacred ground, consecrated to Illior, I believe.”

“Can we go there, Master?” asked Mika.

“Yes. We must pay our respects. What else do you know of Kouros, Seregil?”

“Not much, really, except that trade between Aurënen and the island was cut off for some time after the cataclysm, but by then the island’s resources had given out anyway, except for the mines. The gold of Kouros seems to be endless.”

“From the initial surveys when Klia took the island back, the Plenimarans were still mining gold, silver, and a few other things.”

“Is that why the queen wanted the island back?” asked Alec.

“We’ve done without the gold for a long time, but Kouros is the cradle of our whole civilization, and all the Three Lands. To hold Kouros is to hold our roots, our past. Many lives have been given down the centuries for the honor of claiming that lonely rock.”

“When are you leaving?” asked Seregil. “And how would Klia explain why we’re going along?”

“Ships are being provisioned to sail in three days’ time,” Thero replied. “As for you two, the queen is granting you an estate on the island, one of many left empty when the Plenimaran loyalists fled. You should be receiving a royal writ to that effect sometime today. She’s making you barons, I believe.”

Seregil groaned.

“You won’t have to serve at court,” the wizard assured him. “And the estate can certainly be left to a steward. Treat it as another of the various properties Lord Seregil holds and manages from Rhíminee. It’s just for show, after all. And think what a good excuse it will be, when you need to disappear.”

Alec grinned. “Baron Alec í Amasa of Kouros. I like the sound of that. What do you say, Baron Seregil?”

“I don’t care for it,” Seregil grumbled, annoyed at the prospect of having the title thrust upon him.

Thero let out an impatient sigh.

“Thero, tell me more about the situation on the island,” said Alec. “You mentioned Plenimaran loyalists leaving, but are there others who stayed? Is that where the unrest is coming from?”

“In part, but since Plenimar has held the island for several generations, there is a sizable population who were born there and consider it their home and birthright. And of course some married into the families of the Kouros islanders, so their status is even hazier. As I said, those who remained swore fealty to Elani.”

“People will swear to anything to keep what they consider theirs,” Seregil remarked.

“And one among these new ‘citizens’ may have taken it upon themselves to kill the symbol of what they would consider occupation: the governor,” said Alec.

Thero nodded. “That’s certainly one possibility.”

“What do you know about the secretary who sent the report?” asked Seregil.

“I don’t know Lady Zella personally, but I understand from Korathan that she was the governor’s right hand.”

Seregil drummed his fingers on the edge of the table, then nodded. “I must admit, it sounds like an interesting problem.”

“So you’ll come?” asked Thero.

Seregil gave Alec a crooked grin. “What do you say? Shall we brave the spirit world for queen and country?”

Alec grinned back. “Of course.”

Seregil raised his mug. “To ghosts and traitors!”

The rest of the day was spent on preparations for the voyage, and the court visit looming over them.

As Thero had predicted, a royal writ was delivered by a herald that afternoon, summoning them to the Palace in two days’ time to receive their new rank and lands.

Micum arrived the evening before, in time to go with them.

“So, Elani finally got her way, did she?” said Micum, grinning at them as they sat by the fire in the library upstairs. His thick, silver-streaked red hair and drooping moustache were neatly trimmed, his clothing that of a country lord come to town. He’d brought his bow and long sword, but the old battered scabbard had been replaced with a very fine one of Aurënfaie workmanship.

Alec chuckled. “You look every inch the gentleman come to court.”

“Bit of a change from the usual, isn’t it?” said Micum, taking out his pipe and tobacco pouch. “Nyal made this scabbard for me for my name day, last time he and Beka were home.” He touched the leather fondly; he was well pleased with his eldest daughter’s choice of husband. “I’m glad to finally have cause to wear it. Kari and Illia had every clothes chest we own turned out to properly outfit me, and fretted considerably that I’m not up to the latest fashion, whatever that is these days.”

“You know Elani won’t care,” said Seregil. “How much do you know about this commission of ours?”

Micum used the tongs from the mantelpiece to light his pipe with an ember from the fire. “Only that the governor of Kouros was murdered and Klia’s been made acting governor and sent to investigate the deaths. I assume that’s why she’s taking us along.”

“There may be ghosts,” Alec told him.

Micum raised a shaggy eyebrow at that. “That’s a detail Thero’s message left out.”

“He probably thought Kari would make a fuss if she knew,” said Seregil.

“She might have, at that.” The love between Micum and his wife ran deep—deep enough for her to accept his wandering ways all these years—but as they grew older, Kari worried more than she used to. “If it is a ghost, is there anything we can do about it?”

“Just offer proof, I suppose, and perhaps warn other people off,” said Alec. “Seregil’s already decided there isn’t one, though.”

“I have not! I’m just keeping an open mind.”

“I hope there isn’t one,” Alec admitted. “Give me a nice, live enemy any day.”

“But if there is?” Micum puffed thoughtfully at his pipe. “Does Thero have any magic of that sort?”

“He claims to,” Seregil said with a shrug. “Are you coming to our investiture tomorrow?”

Micum grinned around his pipe stem. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

THE following morning they dressed with care. Alec stood in front of the long glass as he tied up the front of his embroidered linen shirt and slipped into his new coat. The rich wool fabric was nearly the same dark blue as his eyes, and the buttons, which Seregil had insisted on at the tailor’s, were stylized golden flowers set with polished sapphires. The bands at the collar, cuffs, and down the front edges of the coat were stiff with gold embroidery in an elaborate pattern of leaves.

“If I fall into water, this will drag me to the bottom,” Alec muttered.

Sitting on the edge of their silk-hung bed, Seregil grinned as he pulled on his best boots. “I don’t think we’ll have to worry too much about that at the Palace.”

“So Elani finally has her way.”

Elani had come to regard them as friends during their investigations of the plots that had threatened not only her life, but those of the queen and Princess Klia. She’d wanted to make them courtiers then, by way of reward, but her uncle, Prince Korathan, had talked her out of it on Seregil and Alec’s behalf. After consulting with Thero, Seregil, and Alec, Korathan had gone to his niece and explained something of their work for Skala as Watchers—the network of spies overseen by Thero. Elani had been thrilled to learn their secret and had at once renewed the royal approval of the Watchers, which her aunt, Queen Phoria, had rescinded before she died.

Seregil stood and Alec held out the dark red coat. Seregil slipped his arms into the sleeves and shifted his shoulders to settle it. The garment was as elaborately styled as Alec’s, with golden buttons shaped like crescent moons cradling round disks of jet. Going to the dressing table, he opened a small casket, took his ancestor Corruth í Glamien’s ruby ring from its velvet bed, and slid it on his right forefinger. He already wore a small diamond ring on his left little finger—a reward from Elani. Alec wore a similar ring set with an emerald, also from her own hand. The young queen was generous with her gifts—a charming trait that had nearly gotten her killed during the previous year’s reign of terror.

Brushing back his long dark hair, Seregil hung a dangling ruby earring from his right earlobe. With a bit of sleight of hand, he produced a matching one set with a sapphire for Alec.

“It’s not my name day.” Alec laughed as he put the bauble on.

Seregil gently touched Alec’s ear, admiring the way the jewel matched his lover’s eyes. “We have to put on a proper show. We are about to be barons, after all.”

Downstairs they found Micum dressed for court as well, though not so resplendently as they were. He had little patience with fripperies, as he called any sort of unnecessary ornamentation. His fine green coat was well cut, though, with silver buttons, and his belt was beautifully worked Aurënfaie leather, like his scabbard.

He grinned at them as they came down the sweeping staircase to join him in the salon. “You two look like a couple of soft-handed court lapdogs.”

Seregil made him a mocking bow. “Just what we were aiming for.”

At the Palace a page accompanied them to the huge, vaulted audience chamber. The assistant chamberlain took their names and business, and they went to join the crowd of petitioners gathered in front of the royal dais.

“Ah, here you are, Micum,” said Thero, emerging from the crowd with Mika close by his side. “Thank you for getting here so quickly.”

Thero was dressed for court in a fine blue robe, and Mika wore a short white robe banded in his master’s colors.

“Well, hello there!” Micum ruffled the boy’s hair. “I suppose Master Thero is making a lesson of this?”

Mika grinned. “I’ve been learning all the ranks and titles. I can still call Seregil and Alec ‘my lord,’ so that will be easy.”

“Are you excited about our journey?” asked Micum.

Mika’s grey eyes widened, and so did his smile. “Oh, yes! Though Master Thero says I have to keep away from dangerous places. He promised Mama.”

Just then the elderly lord chamberlain, Duke Waris, tapped his carved staff on the marble floor and announced, “Attend Her Majesty, Queen Elani.”

At seventeen, flaxen-haired Elani was still slim as a boy, and deceptively delicate looking as she took her place on the carved stone throne. Even so, she looked every inch a queen. She wore the ruby-studded diadem, and a golden breastplate over her gown of royal red silk chased with the royal emblem of flame and crescent. The great Sword of Gherilain, the ultimate symbol of her power, hung at her side, and a golden war helm rested on a cushion at her feet, constant reminder that the queens of Skala were first and foremost warriors and protectors of the land.

Her uncle, Prince Korathan, stood at her right hand in his capacity as vicegerent, wearing the robes, heavy chain, and flat black velvet hat of his office.

The chamberlain summoned each petitioner in turn. As he waited for their names to be called, Alec watched Elani carefully. Favors were asked, pleas made, and grievances presented. The girl listened intently to each one, occasionally consulting Korathan before she made her pronouncements. Alec admired her impassive demeanor. Only once did her expression threaten to give way to emotion; a dyer’s wife fell on her knees, wringing her stained hands as she begged for her husband’s life. Apparently the man had killed an apprentice in a fit of anger. For an instant Alec was certain he saw pity in Elani’s eyes, but she shook her head and the woman was led away by relatives, sobbing into a handkerchief.

The queen was the supreme justice in the land and Alec suspected that it weighed heavily on the shoulders of a girl five years his junior, despite her training.

At last the chamberlain called out, “Lord Seregil of Rhíminee and Lord Alec of Ivywell. Present yourselves.”

He and Seregil stepped forward and knelt before the dais. Elani came down to stand before them, left hand resting on the pommel of her sword.

“Be it known throughout the land,” Korathan announced, “that these two men, though foreigners, stand in the queen’s favor.”

Elani drew the sword and held it up before her in both hands.

“Do you swear fealty to the Throne and Skala?” she asked.

“By the Four, I so swear,” answered Alec, who’d been coached on the ritual responses by Seregil.

Seregil solemnly repeated the oath.

“Do you swear to come to the queen’s aid in times of war?”

They both swore to do so, and Alec wondered if that meant serving as officers. He’d always envied his friend Beka Cavish, now a commander in the Queen’s Horse Guard, a little.

“Demonstrate your devotion to Skala and the Queen,” Korathan intoned.

They prostrated themselves at Elani’s feet and kissed the hem of her gown.

“Kneel,” Korathan ordered.

With the hint of a smile tilting the corners of her pale green eyes, Elani touched them each on either shoulder with the tip of the sword. “As you have both sworn your loyalty before these witnesses, so I invest you with the title of Barons of Mirror Moon, with all lands, waters, and chattel that belong to it.”

“We will be faithful stewards, Your Majesty, and serve at your pleasure,” Seregil replied.

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” said Alec.

Elani sheathed her sword and offered her hand for the kiss of fealty. Her fingertips were cool against Alec’s hand, and callused from the bowstring. When he straightened up again, he caught her smile and the faint flush infusing her fair cheeks.

Elani ascended the dais and took her seat. At her nod, Korathan proclaimed, “To all here before gathered, at the queen’s pleasure, I present to you Baron Seregil of Mirror Moon and Baron Alec of Mirror Moon. Accord them all respect due their rank.”

The crowd of commoners bowed to them, along with the lesser nobles among the courtiers. Those who held rank higher than baron merely nodded. Micum grinned, making them an exaggerated bow.

And with that Alec found himself, for the first time in his life, a landowner with a legitimate title, his previous one having been fabricated by Seregil when he first brought Alec to Rhíminee.

“The queen wishes to speak with the three of you when the audience time is over,” the under chamberlain informed them when it was over and Elani had turned to the next duty.

Several hours later they were led to a private drawing room, where Elani and Prince Korathan joined them.

“Thank you for accepting my commission,” Elani said as they all bowed and kissed her hand.

“It would be unthinkable not to, Majesty,” said Alec.

“I have the utmost faith in all of you,” Elani replied with a smile. “And I hope you’ll forgive me, Baron Seregil, for elevating you against your wishes. Uncle Korathan said you wouldn’t like it, but it is more than deserved.”

Seregil gave her a gracious nod. “I am honored, Majesty, and will do my best to uphold the honor of Mirror Moon.”

“I’m told it’s a very pleasant place, with considerable lands.”

“And a fine herd of island-bred horses,” added Korathan. “They’re said to be a match for the horses of Aurënen.”

“Then they’re very fine indeed,” said Micum, a horse breeder himself.

“Now, to business.” Elani drew a folded letter from her sleeve and gave it to Seregil. “This is the report I received from the governor’s secretary, Lady Zella. If you’d be so good as to read it out for the others?”

Seregil unfolded the fine vellum and smoothed it on his knee. “ ‘To her most Royal Majesty, Queen Elani, on the twenty-seventh day of Klesin. Honored Majesty, it is with great sorrow that I must report the death last night of the archduke, Governor Toneus. He and his companion, Duchess Seria, were killed while in residence at the palace in the old capital, which the archduke had been rebuilding in advance of your visit here.

“ ‘I am most distressed to report that the archduke died under mysterious and horrifying circumstances. When the door to his chamber was broken down, a scene of unspeakable carnage was discovered within. Both occupants had been torn to pieces in a most vicious and brutal fashion. I must beg your forgiveness for not going into more detail than that, as I can hardly comprehend it, even having seen it with my own eyes. At the same time, it was reported that another guardsman saw a ghost nearby. Whether this is true or has any bearing on the deaths I do not know, but I beg you to send someone who can make a thorough investigation of the facts.

“ ‘While Governor Toneus had established friendly relations with much of the population here, in the absence of a Queen’s representative, I fear for the stability and security of the island and your loyal subjects. I beg of you, Majesty, to send assistance as soon as possible to maintain your sovereignty on Kouros. Your most humble servant, Lady Zella.’ ”

He looked up. “She paints a dark picture.”

“And she certainly sounds desperate,” Micum noted.

“Yes, she does,” said Elani. “I’m sending Aunt Klia back as acting governor with a force to keep order, and Lord Thero as her wizard. I require your special talents to assist them in discovering the reasons and real means of the deaths, and any implications they have for our control of Kouros.”

“We welcome the challenge, Majesty,” Alec replied.

“I am most grateful for Your Majesty’s confidence,” Micum added.

“You were indispensable in that business last year, my lord. And Lord Thero told me that you and Seregil have been the most accomplished of the Watchers for many years, and that Alec is your equal in skill.”

“You honor us, Majesty,” Alec replied.

Elani smiled. “You are very modest, Baron Alec. All of you are. You serve Skala quietly, without any expectation of renown. Quite the opposite, it would seem. That’s quite rare in my experience at court, and most refreshing.”

“The work is its own reward,” said Seregil.

“There aren’t many I’d believe saying that,” she replied. “But I believe you.”

THE day of departure dawned cold and grey. A damp wind off the harbor whipped Seregil’s cloak around his knees and blew his hair across his eyes as he walked down Whale Quay with Alec and Micum. For an instant he felt a pang of anxiety, though he wasn’t certain why. Something tugged at his memory, but he couldn’t seem to remember what it was.

The flagship, a large carrack named Courser, rode at its mooring while sailors carried the last of the baggage and supplies up the swaying gangway. She had high castles fore and aft and looked solid as a house. It was a good thing, too. Even here in the relative shelter of the inner harbor moles, the water was choppy and flecked with foam. Three similar ships rode at anchor just beyond, loaded with horses and soldiers.

Klia stood with a small crowd of well-wishers near the Courser’s gangway. With her, as always, was her friend and aide-de-camp, Commander Myrhini. Klia was dressed in a fine traveling gown today, but Myrhini was in uniform, wearing the close-fitting doeskin breeches and green tabard edged in white of the Queen’s Horse Guard, with the embroidered emblem of a pair of crossed sabers supporting a crown on the front. A well-used long sword hung at her side and a golden gorget of rank glistened at her throat.

“Here you are, my noble lords!” Klia called, striding over to embrace the three of them. “I was sorry to miss your investiture, but I was away in Cirna, seeing to the defenses at the Canal. Peace is already making some people lax.” She clasped hands with Micum. “Beka and Nyal send their regards.”

“Thank you,” he replied. “The queen is certainly keeping you busy.”

“It’s nearly as much work as war,” Myrhini replied with a laugh. “Less bloody, though, and we don’t go wanting at mealtimes.”

By the end of the war Klia—then a regimental commander of the Queen’s Horse Guard of which she was now general—had been gaunt and sunburned, but months of peace had restored her beauty. Her dark chestnut hair was drawn back from a sharp widow’s peak, and a few strands of it had escaped to frame her heart-shaped face in soft, curling wisps. Windburned color only heightened her beauty. Seregil had watched her grow from a pretty child to a formidable warrior and had always been proud that she called him friend.

Myrhini, tall and dark-haired, looked more worn, though her dark eyes sparkled with the old good humor as she looked Seregil and Alec over. “Barons, eh? What if this Mirror Moon of yours is some ramshackle old farm?”

Klia laughed. “I suspect my niece thinks too much of them for that.”

“You’ll see for yourself, soon enough, I expect,” said Alec.

“I’m afraid not,” Myrhini replied. “I’m staying here to command the Horse Guard in Klia’s absence. I just came along to say farewell. You two will have to look after her for me now.”

“Look after me?” Klia snorted.

Alec grinned and made a smart salute, fist to chest.

Thero and Mika soon joined them, dressed for traveling in coats and breeches. In such ordinary attire, the young wizard could have passed for the boy’s older brother.

Mika was fairly vibrating with excitement. “Are we really going to sail on that? Can I stay on the deck? How long will it take to get to the Canal? Oh, hello, Klia!”

“Decorum, Mika,” Thero reminded him. “You must address her as Your Highness when we’re in public.”

“Your Highness, I mean,” Mika amended.

Klia gave the boy a wink. “Once we’re under way, it won’t matter so much. It’ll be like a holiday.”

“A holiday?”

“Not from your lessons,” Thero warned, though not unkindly.

“I like my lessons, Master Thero, but I’ve never been on a holiday before,” said Mika.

“Well then, I suppose we’ll learn how well you like traveling by sea today.”

The boy looked from him to the ship. “Why wouldn’t I like it?”

The Courser and her escorts sailed smoothly out through the inner and outer moles. Standing on the stern castle, Seregil watched the harbor and the city on its tall cliff recede into the distance. For the first time in months he was excited, with something new and possibly deadly to look forward to. Alec gave him a knowing smile as they joined hands and leaned against each other, sharing a moment of mutually understood excitement. The slap of waves against the hull, the cries of the gulls, the cold salt breeze, a journey to a place unknown: it all spoke of adventure.

That, and the unmistakable sound of Mika being sick over the ship’s rail.

When the shoreline had faded away in mist and distance, one of Klia’s aides summoned Seregil, Alec, and Micum up to Klia’s cabin, leaving Thero above with Klia’s drysian healer, Yana, and her apprentice, who were tending to Mika’s seasickness.

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 warrior, 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 carracks 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.

“Welcome, Your Highness,” she said, curtsying deeply. “I am Lady Zella, chatelaine and secretary to the late Archduke Toneus.”

“I wish the circumstances were happier ones.” Klia passed the wreath to Brescia and waved Seregil and the others forward. “This is my wizard, Lord Thero of the Third Orëska, and his apprentice, Mika of Rhíminee. This is my friend, Lord Micum of Watermead, and these two fine gentlemen are the new masters of Mirror Moon: Barons Seregil and Alec.”

“You’re most fortunate, my lords,” said Zella. “Mirror Moon is one of the prettiest estates on the island, and it’s been well maintained by your steward, a man named Dorin.”

“Send word to have the house opened for them,” said Klia. “I want to inspect it at some point on behalf of the queen.”

Their horses were brought for them, and they started off for the governor’s mansion. Scattered knots of people greeted Klia, who cut a fine figure on her favorite horse, Moonshine—an Aurënfaie stallion with a glossy night-black coat and silvery white mane and tail. Many of the former slaves fell to their knees, thanking Klia and tossing flowers. Elani might be queen, but it had been Klia who had purged the island and freed them.

“Welcome back, Your Highness, and bless the Queen!” one old ’faie woman wept, holding up a small nosegay of spring wildflowers.

However, Seregil noted that many of the townspeople were eyeing him with curiosity or outright hostility. Those of his own kind looked away, ashamed, he knew, for a countryman to see them in such a state. Unfair or not, living in slavery brought shame on an entire clan.

As they rode through the streets it was also not lost on Seregil that there were few men among the well-wishers, and even fewer who appeared to have Plenimaran blood. Looking up, he saw faces at windows, and sensed the fear and uncertainty that underlay the welcome. Kouros had been in Plenimaran hands for several generations, and seeing a royal commander with soldiers was still cause for alarm, especially after Klia’s last visit.

Deep Harbor was an old city, with a jumble of architectural styles from differing times and cultures. Children, dogs, and sheep scampered before their horses, and the breeze carried the smells of salt fish, smoke, seaweed, night soil, and foundry smoke. Many of the larger houses appeared to be empty, abandoned no doubt when Klia had routed the Plenimaran inhabitants.

“The man who claims to have seen the spirit that night, is he still in your custody?” Klia asked as they rode along.

“He awaits questioning, Your Highness,” Zella told her. “Though you’re not likely to get much sense out of him.”

“But he’s not the one who’s mad, right?”

“No. At least I don’t think so, but he was deeply shaken by the experience and has difficulty talking about it.”

Klia nodded. “We shall see.”

The governor’s villa was several centuries old, built during one of the many Plenimaran occupations. Three stories high, it was made of the native limestone. The main house was a large block, with square towers on either end and a steeply pitched roof. The lower windows were barred and a high wall surrounded the grounds, giving it the air of a garrison, which it in part was. There were stables, a large garden, wells, and some pasturage inside the curtain wall, and a line of barracks was built along one side, where Klia’s riders were to be billeted.

Inside the house was more welcoming, with a great hall done in dark woods, and a huge fieldstone fireplace that would have fit a bull on a spit for roasting. A cheerful blaze crackled there now.

Servants took their baggage and led them to their rooms. Seregil and Alec were given one at the front of the house, next to the one Klia and Thero would share. Micum’s lay just across the corridor, with a trundle bed for Mika. The furnishings in Alec and Seregil’s chamber were Plenimaran in style, with carved wooden shutters to fold around the bed and posts carved with what appeared to be demons or monsters of some sort. A fire crackled in the fireplace under a mantelpiece carved with mythic sea monsters. More sea beasts were painted in bands on the walls.

“Ugly, but serviceable,” Seregil remarked, tossing his cloak aside.

“It’s not so bad,” Alec said, though he guessed that anything Plenimaran would be ugly in Seregil’s eyes.

A servant came to the door. “I’m Marten, my lords. Lady Zella has assigned me as your personal servant. I’m to guide you to the bathhouse whenever you are ready—”

“I’ve been ready since we got off the boat,” Seregil said with a chuckle.

“Your baggage has not yet arrived, but will be here quite soon. I can provide you with robes in the meantime.”

“Excellent. When our trunks arrive, please bring down clothing suitable for tonight’s feast.”

Marten led them back the way they’d come, and down a covered walkway behind the house to a pleasant bathhouse. The men’s chamber was a bit primitive by Aurënfaie standards, just a hot room with individual tubs and a few attendants. Micum, Mika, and Thero were already there, soaking happily.

“I can’t believe I got here sooner than an Aurënfaie,” Micum remarked; the ’faie were famous for their love of bathing, and Seregil was no exception.

“I wonder if it’s quite up to your standards,” Thero remarked as he washed his face. “No scented oils or flowers in the water.”

“It’s warm and it’s clean. That’s all I care about at the moment.” Seregil stripped off his traveling clothes and sank into the tub beside Thero’s with a long sigh of satisfaction.

“You have a lot of scars!” said Mika. “Were you in the war?”

Seregil smiled. “No, but I’ve had an interesting life. I’ll tell you stories sometime.”

Alec took the tub by Micum’s. Unbinding his hair, he sank under the water for a moment to wet it. Some helpful servant had left a jar of soft soap on a stand by the side of the tub. “I hope we talk to the man who saw the ghost soon,” he noted as he lathered up. “I’d like to know one way or the other what we’re dealing with.”

“It certainly sounds as if something shook him deeply,” said Seregil.

“And there’s the guard in the madhouse.”

Micum shook his head. “I don’t want to bet my life on the words of a frightened man or a lunatic. Do you?”

“They’re all we have to work with,” Seregil said with a shrug. “We’ll speak with them both before we go up to Menosi.”

“Can I go, Master Thero?” asked Mika. “I’ve never met a mad person before.”

“I don’t think that would further your education at this point,” Thero told him. “And don’t forget to wash your ears.”

“But I can come to Menosi, right?”

“Yes.”

“I want to see a ghost!”

“Perhaps you will, but you must be patient and careful. Ghosts are nothing to be taken lightly.”

The feast that night was an intimate affair, just Klia and her party, Lady Zella, Master Hasen, the mayor of Deep Water, and his wife Loena. Both Hasen and Loena were native islanders, with the dark eyes and fair skin that spoke of generations of mingled heritage. Kouros had changed hands many times, seen Skalan and Plenimaran settlers come and go, but the islanders themselves persisted, making do as best they could.

“Tell me how your city is faring,” Klia said to the mayor as they dined on the local spring lamb and blue-tail grouse stuffed with ewe’s-milk cheese and figs.

“Well enough, Your Highness,” he replied. “Governor Toneus was a fair man, and a good one.”

“How did he compare with the Plenimaran governor?” asked Thero.

“General Rugo left us mostly to our own devices, so long as we paid our taxes and no one made trouble.”

“His wife was the soul of charity,” Loena added. “She saw that the poor were fed, and organized a hospital in town when a bout of plague swept through. And she brought in a real physician, dear Doctor Kordira.”

“A Plenimaran?” asked Alec.

“Yes, and she’s a very good woman, regardless of where she came from. She saw our youngest through milk fever last spring.” She smiled at Mika. “You look about his age. Perhaps you can come to play.”

Mika’s mouth was full, but he nodded politely.

“Tell me, Your Highness, even though you fought the Plenimarans, didn’t you now and then meet a good one?” asked Hasen.

“There’s goodness to be found in all places,” Klia replied. “Many of their officers were men of great honor on the battlefield.”

“I noticed some former slaves at the waterfront,” said Alec. “Were there many here during the occupation?”

“Oh, yes,” the mayor replied, as if he’d been asked about the weather. “Shameful, the way some of them were treated, but most of the masters were kind.”

Alec’s gut tightened; he’d experienced such “kindness” for himself, and so had Seregil. As he was searching for a response that wouldn’t be utterly rude, Seregil set his cup aside and leaned forward in his chair.

“All kindness goes out the window when you put a metal collar around the neck of another person. Those poor broken souls with the scars of bondage still showing didn’t look as if they’d been overwhelmed with kindness.”

The mayor blinked in surprise. “I meant no offense, Baron. I was only saying that some treated their slaves better than others. Surely that counts for something?”

“No, it doesn’t.”

There was an uncomfortable pause, then Micum said, “The Plenimarans are particularly brutal with Aurënfaie, so Baron Seregil feels very strongly about the matter.”

“Ah, of course.”

“Forgive me,” Seregil said, all gracious apology now. “I didn’t mean to spoil anyone’s appetite. Lady Zella, I’m most curious about the oracle site. I understand Governor Toneus was in the process of restoring it, along with Menosi.”

“Only the façade was finished, I’m afraid. The precinct was so overgrown he had to employ a diviner to find it. The interior of it is actually a series of three caves. The tunnels leading to the inner ones had been blocked. The workmen had just gotten them all cleared a few days before Toneus died.” She sighed. “At least he lived long enough to see the wonders there. They’re very beautiful. After the deaths, the workmen wouldn’t stay there or at Menosi, so all work has stopped. Now that you are here, Princess Klia, I’m sure things will return to normal.”

“And the oracle doesn’t speak anymore?” asked Alec.

“No, my lord, not for centuries, though there are those who claim to have had significant dreams sleeping there.”

“Indeed?” said Seregil. Perhaps a night there was in order at some point. “Do you have any histories of the island?”

“Most documents have been lost over the years, with one battle and another. But Doctor Kordira has made a study of it. You should speak with her.”

“Thank you, my lady. We will be sure to.”

“The archduke did amass a sizable collection of artifacts, however,” said Zella. “Perhaps you’d like to see them after dinner, Highness.”

“I’d be most interested,” Klia replied.

When everyone was relaxed and chatting over the nuts and sweet wine, Mika was allowed to stand on a chair and demonstrate a few of the spells he’d learned: rolling a hazelnut across the tablecloth, lighting a candle by snapping his fingers, and drawing patterns on the air with his wand.

“Such a talented boy!” Loena exclaimed, clapping her hands with the rest of them. “You really must come and visit my son Hamit.”

“If time allows,” Thero said. “Thank you, Mika. Say good night and go up to bed.”

Well rehearsed, Mika bowed to each guest and dutifully went off with a servant woman.

When the child was gone, Klia brought the conversation around at last to the governor’s death.

“Mayor Hasen, I’ve been sent by the queen as interim governor until the new one arrives with the queen this summer. While here, I am tasked with ascertaining the circumstances of Governor Toneus’s death. What can you tell me?”

“We warned him the ruins were dangerous,” Hasen replied. “No islander will go there.”

“Dangerous how, exactly?”

“Well, of course, they’re very old. The buildings that are still standing are in a hazardous condition. Stones fall at the slightest breeze. And there are places where the ground gives way to underground rooms or tunnels.”

“Or graves,” Loena said with a shudder. “And of course, there are the mine shafts riddling the hills. People are always falling down them.”

“I understand the mines are still active after all these centuries?” said Micum.

“Oh, yes,” Hasen replied. “It’s supposed that was why the Hierophantic people settled here for so long—in addition to the oracle. The soil was fertile then, and there were forests. We still have some good grazing land. The sheep, goats, and horse stock here are from very old bloodlines. Some say the black-tail sheep were brought over in the Migration. You’ll find you’ve come into some of the best horses, too, my lords.”

“The Mirror Moon herd is well known for its beauty and stamina,” added Loena. “I ride one myself.”

“You should turn a good profit in Skala, with the right representatives,” Hasen added with a wink.

“Queen Elani has been most kind,” Seregil replied. “But we were talking of the poor governor’s demise. The most extraordinary rumors are going around Rhíminee. What exactly happened?”

“I suppose you’re referring to the ghost stories, my lord,” said Zella.

“It does sound a bit far-fetched.”

“You wouldn’t say that if you were from here,” said Loena. “Even the Plenimarans stayed out of the ruins.”

“If it’s so dangerous, why was Governor Toneus so determined to rebuild there?” asked Alec.

“He didn’t believe the stories, you see,” Hasen replied. “He made a great deal of progress before his death, too. The Hierophant’s palace is safe and beautiful again, and the precinct of the oracular site. He preserved all that he could of the original architecture and monuments, clearing away the decrepit houses and building new villas. I went up there a few times with him. There are some impressive things there, and a marvelous view.”

“The Hierophants built their monuments and palaces to last the ages,” said Zella.

“What about the person who claimed to have seen a spirit?” asked Alec.

“Poor Corporal Karis,” Zella replied. “He’s downstairs in the cells.”

“Cells?” Klia asked.

“It was the only way, Highness. At first I gave him a room, but he tried to leave Deep Harbor twice before we finally locked him up.”

“I shall speak with him in the morning.”

“As you wish, Highness. I thought tonight you’d like to go over the late governor’s papers. He had the whole area mapped. I’ve laid the pertinent documents out in the library. It’s just down the corridor from your room, together with the artifacts I mentioned.”

“Yes,” said Klia. “But what about the reports of people going missing since Toneus’s death?”

“Rumors!” scoffed Hasen.

“I wish that were so,” said Zella, “but I’m afraid those are true. Upward of a score of people have vanished around Menosi—workmen, soldiers, shepherds, and travelers—though it’s not known for certain what happened to them. You see, that’s why the workmen fled, and the soldiers are only there because they’re ordered to be. It’s thought that some of them simply ran away out of fear and are hiding in the hills somewhere. That’s all I know, but you can speak with the officers in charge when we get there.”

“If you will kindly excuse us, Highness, it’s time we were getting home,” said Hasen, clearly uncomfortable with the turn of the conversation. “And I must say, this has always been a haunted island. I’ve seen a few strange things in my day, I admit, but nothing that ever hurt a living person. This business with Toneus is horrible, and I have no explanation for it, but don’t limit yourself to thinking spirits did it.”

Klia smiled. “Thank you, Mayor. I’ll keep an open mind.”

The antechamber of the library had been turned into a sort of museum. The room was lined with shelves on which a diverse collection of oddments was on display. There were corroded buckles that might have once adorned a harness, the rusted remains of knives and swords, clay buttons, bits of painted pottery, small statues, and pieces of carved stone. Beautifully worked bits of gold jewelry lay in velvet-lined boxes. Earrings shaped like stylized leaves lay next to a circular brooch made in the shape of a snake biting its own tail. Other brooches and pendants were more stylized designs, including many spirals.

“This all came from the palace?” asked Klia as she perused the collection with interest.

“From there and the city. And these bits were found at the back of the oracle’s cave.” Zella led her to a shelf near the library door. There were bits of colorful dripstone, some like melted wax, others in the shapes of striped daggers or delicate straws. “The inmost chamber, the third, lies below two others. There are ancient paintings on the walls, dripstone formations, and many of these.” She pointed to a line of tiny votive figures in the shapes of horses, birds, arrow points, and serpents. Most were made of clay, but there were a few fashioned from copper, green and pitted with age. In the center stood a box made of polished burl wood, six inches square, with a bronze lock plate.

“The excavators found most of these, though the archduke punished those caught looting the caves. There may have been more things of value that were smuggled out before Toneus realized they were doing it. There is still something quite surprising there, but I’ll let you discover that for yourselves. The city and palace were looted ages ago. Most anything of real value has been carried off. Except this.” Zella drew a small key on a chain from the neck of her dress and unlocked the square box. Lifting the lid, she showed them a woman’s golden arm ring covered in delicate tracery. It was slightly bent, and scratched in a few places, but it was still beautiful.

“That’s a pretty piece of work,” Micum remarked.

“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 Sedge 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.

A tall tree stood near the window, fretting the darkness with its branches. As he watched, a huge owl glided out of the fog and landed on a branch right in front of him. It hooted loudly, then set to work eating the mouse clutched in its talons. The lucky sign lightened his heart a little, and Alec bowed his head respectfully to Illior’s bird, breathing a prayer that their own prey was as easily caught and dispatched.

With nothing else to do, he explored the room, looking into the wardrobes and chests and checking the paneled walls for secret doors, but found nothing more alarming than a few spiders.

What was keeping Seregil? He sat up for a while poking the fire, then blew out the lamps and stretched out on the hard bed. Lying with his hands behind his head, he watched the shadows dance and listened to the crackling of the fire, expecting it to lull him to sleep.

He was still awake, however, when Seregil finally slipped in and began to undress by the door.

“It’s all right. I’m awake. What did you and Thero learn?”

“That our poor guard is probably cursed rather than mad,” he said as he crawled into bed with Alec and stretched out with his arms behind his head. “Bilairy’s Balls, this bed is like iron! I never thought I’d miss a ship’s bunk.”

“The curse, Seregil. What is it?”

“Terrible visions, terrible fear. Someone doesn’t want him telling what he saw that night. All Thero could get beyond that was the impression of a woman, probably Lieutenant Phania, being pulled into darkness.”

“By whatever attacked the governor, probably.”

“Hmmm. Maybe. Whatever it was, Thero wasn’t able to get much out of the poor man before he fell into a fit. In the midst of it he claimed that Thero and I are going to die. ‘Only the dead can walk with the dead.’ That seems like a fairly obvious statement—”

“Illior’s Light, Seregil! Did he say anything more?”

“No, talí, he didn’t. He’s not the first to threaten me with death, and as you can see, I’m still here.”

“Do you think these nightmares you’re having that you can’t remember have anything to do with it?”

“If I could remember the dreams, I’d tell you.” Seregil sighed. “Thero’s going to find a healer for the man to calm him so that he can get a better read on his thoughts and memories.” Seregil yawned. “That’s all for now. Not bad for a first night’s work, wouldn’t you say?”

Alec rose up on one elbow. Seregil’s eyes were closed already. Alec nudged him gently with his knee. “I thought you were going to lose your temper at dinner when the mayor mentioned slaves.”

Seregil sighed again. “I’d lay money on the mayor having had a few in his own household.”

Alec had suspected as much from Hasen’s reaction. “Insulting him in front of Klia wasn’t going to change anything.”

Seregil touched Alec’s chest where the slave taker’s fatal arrow had struck him, then ran a finger along his collarbones. “Don’t you remember the weight of that collar against your throat? I’ll never forget, and I’ll never forgive. Not that.”

“I’m not defending him, but you have to think of what it must be like to be occupied by different sides over and over again.”

“You don’t have to become the oppressor. When Loena started making excuses—”

“I know. They both made my skin crawl but we may need them at some point.”

“I know, talí.” He was quiet for a moment, then a smile tilted his mouth up at one corner. “Come here, you. Monsters in the shadows notwithstanding—” He gestured at the weird creatures carved on the bedposts. “The fact that we’re finally alone together is not lost on me.”

“Now that you mention it …” Alec kissed him. “And we don’t have to sleep in our clothes.”

Seregil pulled the tie from the end of Alec’s braid and slowly teased his hair loose over his shoulders. “Quite the opposite, it appears.”

ZELLA provided an excellent early breakfast in a sunny dining room the next morning and at Klia’s order she and her party ate in private. Mika sat beside Thero, unusually quiet and wide-eyed. Perhaps Thero had explained the previous night’s events, thought Seregil.

“So, I assume you’ve told Alec what you and Thero found last night?” asked Klia as soon as the servants had left their platters and departed.

“It’s a nasty magic, apparently,” Alec replied. “From what Seregil says, it sounds like we need a healer or a priest. Drysians don’t deal in curses or ghosts.”

“Until I speak with Doctor Kordira, I won’t be able to do anything more with him,” Thero explained. “Assuming we trust her to help us.”

“I don’t trust anyone here yet,” said Seregil. “But I think our next concern should be the other soldier they’ve got locked up here.”

They finished the meal quickly and Alec went to find Zella. “Her Highness wishes to speak to the corporal now,” he told her.

“Of course. Naya, go fetch one of the boys to lead them down.”

The maid returned with a young man.

Mika gave Thero a nervous look. “May I stay with you, Master?”

“I think that’s best,” Thero replied.

The servant led them to the back of the house and down a wide set of dank stone stairs to a heavy door with a thick grille at eye level. Seregil wrinkled his nose at the smell, one he was all too familiar with, and caught Alec doing the same. They’d met in a place very like this one.

At the servant’s knock they heard the clink of keys, the scrape of the lock. A burly warder in a leather jerkin swung the door open, revealing a long stone corridor with a sharp bend at the far end.

“Shall I wait for you?” asked the servant.

“No, I’ll find my way back,” Klia replied.

The warder, a taciturn fellow apparently little moved by the presence of royalty, led them down the torchlit corridor and around the corner through another locked door and into a large square room lined on three sides with barred cells. Though windowless, they were not the worst Seregil had ever seen. They were clean and didn’t stink. Only one of them was occupied. Mika stayed close to Thero as he looked around.

Corporal Karis, a tall, wan-faced young man hardly out of boyhood, sat on a pallet against the back wall, hands and feet in manacles chained to the wall. He was barefoot but still in uniform otherwise, wearing a dirty black tabard stitched in white showing two rampant catamounts supporting a sword.

“On your feet, Corporal,” Micum ordered sharply, playing sergeant-at-arms. “This is Princess Klia and you are to answer whatever she asks you.”

Karis scrambled awkwardly to his feet, chains rattling, and saluted Klia fist to heart.

“Warder, open this cell and unchain this man at once,” Klia ordered.

The cell was opened and Klia stepped in while the manacles were being released. “Now, tell me what you saw that night.”

Trembling, the corporal wrung his hands and mumbled something in the general direction of his bare feet.

“Stand at attention when you address the princess, and speak up,” Micum snapped.

Karis drew himself up as best he could but still looked terrified. “I said I seen the worst thing I ever seen, Your Highness.”

“And what was that?” Klia asked gently. “I know this is difficult for you, but lives may depend on your information, Corporal. As your commanding officer, I order you to speak.”

“It didn’t have no face,” he quavered. “It was tall, almost up to the ceiling, and where its face should be it was just—just empty.”

“It had no head?”

“It had a head, Highness, just the face weren’t there, only blackness.”

Seregil exchanged a sharp look with Thero. The wizard raised a noncommittal eyebrow and turned his attention back to the man being questioned.

“Could this person have been wearing a mask?” asked Klia.

Karis shook his head vehemently. “No, on account of that I could see into the blackness, like it was a well.”

“A well?”

“Yes, Highness. You know—deep, a long way down and dark, only it weren’t down. It was sideways, looking at me.” He was shaking harder now. “And when it reached for me with those great long arms it had, it was going to—” He fell to his knees and wrapped his arms around himself. “It was going to pull me into that blackness and I knew I couldn’t never get out again!”

“Apart from its face and arms, what did it look like?” Klia asked.

“Like I said, taller than regular folk, and arms too long even for it to have.”

“You mean they were out of proportion to its body?”

“So it seemed to me, Highness.”

“What was it wearing?”

“I can’t say.”

“In Lady Zella’s initial report, she says you claimed it was wearing some sort of old-fashioned clothing.”

“Did I?” Karis looked positively dazed with fear. “I disremember, Highness. A robe, maybe, or some kind of cloak. I don’t remember seeing the body, ’cept for the tallness. I’m sorry, Highness, but that’s the truth!” He wrung his hands miserably again, and Seregil heard his knuckles cracking. “Lady Zella says I must go back with you. Please, Highness, don’t make me! I ain’t no use to anyone anymore. It knows me!”

“What do you mean?”

Karis shuddered and closed his eyes. “When I looked into that—that place where its face should have been, I could feel it looking into me, all cold-like.”

“Cold?” asked Thero. “You could feel its gaze?”

“Weren’t no gaze, my lord.” Karis’s voice fell to a strangled whisper. “I didn’t see nothing, but I felt it, like a snake crawling down my throat and going up behind my eyes.” He shuddered violently at the memory. “I ain’t no use to anyone, Highness. No use at all.”

“That’s not entirely true,” said Thero, joining Klia in the cell. “Highness, do I have your consent to touch this man’s mind?”

“Please do,” said Klia.

Karis cringed away as Thero knelt beside him.

“There’s nothing to be frightened of,” the wizard assured him. “This won’t hurt. I’ll just be able to see your memories for a moment, that’s all. I’d prefer not to do it against your will.”

Karis gave him a hopeless look. “Do what you want, then.”

Thero drew a sign on the air with one long forefinger, then placed his hand on the man’s matted hair and closed his eyes. Karis shivered under his touch.

Several minutes passed as the others waited in expectant silence. At last the wizard patted Karis on the shoulder. “Thank you, my friend. You’re a very lucky man.”

“It could have pulled me into that darkness, couldn’t it?”

“Yes, and would have if that’s what its purpose had been. As it was, you appear not to have been its prey that night.”

“But if I go back? It knows me, my lord! It won’t let me get away a second time! Please, Your Highness, don’t make me go!”

“I can’t make you any promises, Corporal,” Klia replied. “It depends on whether your presence is deemed necessary.”

Karis covered his head with his hands. “Please, Sakor, show me mercy.”

“I think we’ve learned as much as we’re going to for now,” said Thero.

“Shall I chain him up again, Highness?” asked the warder as Kira and Thero stepped out of the cell.

“No, let the poor wretch be. And fetch him a blanket and some proper food.”

The warder touched his forelock and led them out again.

Upstairs they found Zella waiting for them in the front hall. “Did you get any sense out of him, Highness?”

“He told us his story,” Klia replied.

“If you’ll excuse us,” said Seregil. “Please let me know when the steward of Mirror Moon arrives.”

“Of course, my lord.”

Seregil and the others accompanied Klia to her chamber. Thero locked the door and cast a silence spell on the wood, lest anyone try to eavesdrop.

Klia looked from him to Seregil. “What he said—it meant something to you two.”

“What he saw was a kind of dra’gorgos,” the wizard replied, taking a seat on the sofa beside Mika and resting a hand absently on the boy’s shoulder.

“A what?” asked Mika.

“You could call it a creature, but it’s difficult to explain. It exists, and it doesn’t. They appear as dark, sometimes man-shaped forms and are extremely dangerous.”

“I ran afoul of one, soon after Alec and I met,” Seregil said with an inward shudder. “It seemed pretty damn real to me.”

“I didn’t say it wasn’t real,” Thero replied. “But it’s a created thing, something a necromancer makes and discards. We’ll need to take precautions at once.”

“How do you do that?” asked Alec. “Seregil saw the creature that time, but I didn’t, even though it was right there behind me.”

“Actually, you nearly encountered one with me,” Thero told him. “Remember the night you helped me escape from Mardus’s encampment in Plenimar?”

“The howling we heard?”

“It was a kind of dra’gorgos, conjured by the necromancer dyrmagnos, Irtuk Beshar.”

“You saw it?”

“It captured me. And though it was nothing like what poor Karis described, I have no doubt that it was something of that nature. The blackness and the cold he spoke of?” He tightened his arm around Mika again, frowning. “It was just as he described.”

“Then how do you protect yourself from something like that?” asked Micum.

“By taking proper precautions that I was unable to do that night. There are amulets I can make. That should protect us.”

Micum grimaced. “You don’t sound too sure of yourself.”

Thero’s expression was hard. “I’ve never had to put it into practice, but given my experience of them, I made it my business to be prepared if I ever met one again. We’ll be ready.”

“Will we need Karis?” asked Klia.

“I think he’s too frightened to be much of a guide. Give me an hour,” Thero replied. “I don’t want any of us walking around unprotected. Stay together in Klia’s room for now. Come, Mika, I have a new lesson for you.”

The wizard and his apprentice disappeared and didn’t return for nearly two hours. When they came to Klia’s chamber at last, Mika was proudly holding up a collection of what appeared to be golden sester coins, each strung on a leather cord.

Seregil took his and noted the new markings on each side of the coin. They weren’t pictures, but rather some sort of writing or symbols, done in raised lines of silver that had been fused to the gold. The metal was still warm from whatever Thero had done to it.

“Put them on,” Thero instructed. “Don’t take them off for any reason until we get back to Skala.”

“Will this work for me?” Seregil asked, slipping the cord over his head and tucking the amulet away inside his shirt. Magic—good or evil—had a way of going wrong around him—a fact that had both ruined his aspirations as a wizard and saved his life more than once.

“I hope so,” Thero replied. “It acts on the dra’gorgos, rather than on the wearer, so you should be safe.”

“Very fancy,” said Klia, putting hers on. “Did it have to be made from gold, or are you just showing off?”

Thero smiled. “The magic is in the silver; the gold amplifies it for the kind of magic it’s to ward off.”

“I helped make them,” Mika put in, holding up the one that hung around his own neck on the same chain as the Astellus amulet the sea captain had given him.

A servant knocked on the door. “The steward from Mirror Moon has arrived to greet you, my lords, and guide you to the estate. He’s in the front courtyard. Lady Zella has sent your baggage on ahead.”

“Thank you,” Seregil replied. “If you don’t mind, Klia, I think we’ll be going now.”

“I’ll see you in two days, then.”

Donning their cloaks and weapons, Seregil, Alec, and Micum bade the others farewell and went to meet the steward. As they stepped out into the late-morning sunlight of the front courtyard, they found a tall, rawboned man talking with the grooms holding Cynril, Windrunner, and Micum’s glossy black gelding. He looked pure islander at first glance, but under his brimmed felt hat Seregil noted the high cheekbones and light eyes that suggested the man had some ’faie blood—a ya’shel of some degree.

“Ah, here you are, Dorin,” said Zella. “Allow me to introduce the new masters of Mirror Moon. This is Baron Seregil and Baron Alec.”

An unmistakable look of surprise tinged with something like dismay crossed the man’s face as he bowed to them, but his manner was impeccably respectful as he greeted them. “My lords, I am honored to serve you.”

“Lady Zella says you’ve done a fine job managing the estate,” said Alec.

“My family has served at Mirror Moon for as long as anyone can recall, my lord. We take great pride in the place.”

“We’re glad to have you continue your service.”

“Indeed,” said Seregil. “Lead on, Steward Dorin.”

It was a bright, brisk day, and the ever-present wind blew the scent of salt and seaweed up from the harbor.

A highroad ran east along the coastline. It was one of the old ones, stone-paved and wide enough for two good-sized wagons to pass, with grooves worn by centuries of wheels. Masses of wild sea roses grew along the edge of the road, and there were marshes filled with reeds and cattails, wild ducks, and chattering blackbirds. Gulls and a few sea eagles circled overhead, mingling their harsh cries. The seaward side of the road reminded Seregil of the area where the sea temple in Plenimar had been; long granite ledges shot through with dark veins of basalt stretched into the water from grassy banks. Here and there small inlets were edged with beaches made of egg-shaped rocks that clicked and rattled like dice in the surge of the waves. As they went on, the banks rose to cliffs, which changed from granite to pale limestone. Small islands lay scattered in the distance, dark with trees.

“There’s the old city,” Dorin said, pointing at the hills ahead.

Seregil shaded his eyes. Menosi was just visible in the distance, in a broad, shallow valley up in the hills. Its distant walls glowed white as bleached bone in the morning light, and it appeared from here as if it were floating above the pale spring green blanketing the gently rolling hills.

“It looks like the river flows down from the city,” said Micum. “Are there springs there?”

“Some of the sweetest on the island, my lord.”

“I believe menosi means ‘clear water,’ ” said Seregil.

“You’re well versed in ancient Konic, my lord,” Dorin replied in surprise.

Alec laughed. “He’s a walking compendium of languages.”

“The advantage of a long life,” Seregil said, looking sidelong at the steward. The man made no response.

They crossed a mossy stone bridge over the same rushing river that flowed down from Menosi, and then came at last to their new holding up a small rise overlooking the distant harbor.

As much as Seregil had resisted the idea of the title, he was instantly taken with the place. The main house was built of local granite with a steeply pitched slate roof bristling with chimneys. It was a huge, rambling, two-story place built in a U shape facing a very large, almost perfectly round pond. A thick profusion of wild white roses crowded around one side of it, and cattails and rushes grew in the shallows.

“Is it the pond that gives the estate its name?” Alec asked.

“It is, my lord,” Dorin replied. “On a clear night the full moon looks big as a millstone on its surface. And the roses are white, rather than the usual pink, as you see. Quite rare on the island, and lovely in the moonlight.”

More ducks and several stately wild swans glided in pairs across the water, and as Seregil watched some sort of large fish jumped.

“That looked like a trout,” said Alec.

“It’s well stocked, my lord. Good fishing in that pond, and a tasty catch, if you care for fish. The cook is ’faie, and she does them up in meal, herbs, and butter.”

“Etrai son sela!” Seregil exclaimed. A flavor from home.

Dorin frowned slightly. “I’m sorry, my lord. I don’t understand you.”

Seregil laughed. “I beg your pardon. I was overcome by nostalgia. That’s how my sisters cooked the fish I brought home.”

Meadows stretched away behind the house, and the farm roads that ran through it were edged with wildflowers. Colorful patches of red starbrush grew in the ditches. There were small cottages and large barns up there, and large herds of horses grazing and gamboling across the gentle green slope.

“Did the former owner bring in those horses from Aurënen?” asked Micum.

“No, my lord. Those are island horses, bred from the time of the first settlers. There’s no finer on the island.”

“I’ve a mind to ride up there and see them. Seregil, do you mind?”

“Not at all. See if you can find the herd master.”

Micum nodded and galloped away up one of the farm roads.

“How old is the house?” asked Alec.

“Twelve centuries, my lord.”

Seregil nodded. “Some of the last Hierophants could have visited here.”

“Indeed they did, my lord. We had various articles given as guest gifts. Sadly, the previous owner carried them off.”

Inside the house its original style had been largely preserved; the stone-walled rooms were decorated with wooden vaulting and carvings of marvelous beasts. Some were recognizable as dragons, stags, rabbits, and the like, but others were strange and alien, like the ones they’d seen at the governor’s house. One had the body of a catamount, but with a woman’s head, its face twisted into a leer. Another was a horned serpent with a bull caught in its muscular coils. At the peak of the vaulted ceiling, frozen in time-blackened wood, three naked winged women were caught in midflight holding the long chains of gold and crystal hanging lamps. Sunlight streamed in through round windows with bull’s-eye-glass panes. Everything was polished and dusted to perfection. The air smelled of polishing oil, beeswax, and the sea.

At the back of the room stood three ’faie women—two old and careworn, the third much younger and rather pretty—and a ya’shel boy who looked about Mika’s age. All of them bore the marks of collars around their necks.

“Your servants, my lord,” Dorin said. “This is the housekeeper, Rose.”

The eldest woman curtsied. “My lords, welcome.”

“Alda, the cook.”

The other older woman curtsied.

“And this is Willow, the chambermaid, and her son Boot.”

“Are those your true names?” asked Seregil, aghast.

For a moment no one said a word, then Rose stepped forward. “No, my lord, not for my sister and me. They were given us by our first master in Plenimar when we were first sold as girls. But we still remember the names our parents gave us.”

“What are your true names?”

“Khiria ä Mariel Ronia Ylanti, my lord,” the housekeeper replied. She gave no clan name.

“And you?” he asked the cook.

The words came awkwardly, dusty with disuse. “Sabriel ä Mariel Ronia Ylanti.”

“Sabriel and Khiria.” Seregil bowed to them, then turned his attention to the younger woman and her son. “Willow is a pretty name. Will you keep it or would you take a ’faie name?”

Willow gaped at him. “I’ve never been called anything else, my lord, and I don’t know who my mother was. I’d just as soon keep my own name, but if you could find something for my son, I’d be obliged.”

Seregil walked over to the boy and bent down to shake his hand. “What’s your favorite thing?”

The boy looked at him shyly. “I like the pond out front, my lord. I catch frogs there and fish sometimes, when I’m free to play.”

“It’s a special place for you, somewhere you’ve been happy.”

The boy nodded.

“Well, now you can play there anytime you like. In our language, vhadä means ‘spring’ or ‘pool.’ What do you think of that?”

“Vhadä?” The boy grinned, showing off a missing front tooth. “It’s lots better than Boot!”

“Do you approve, Mistress Willow?”

“I like it, my lord.”

“Then Vhadä of Kouros you are, son of Willow of Kouros.” He turned to the others. “None of you is a slave. Please consider this your clan house, if you wish to stay, and that of any other ’faie or ya’shel who comes here. My hope is that you will live here in ease and dignity.”

“Ease!” Sabriel scoffed, then gave him a fond smile. “What would I do with myself without my kitchen?”

“And someone has to see to the housekeeping,” said Khiria.

“All right, then, but think of it as doing for your family. My name is Seregil í Korit and this is my talímenios, Alec í Amasa.”

“Are you both from Aurënen, Baron Seregil eee—um—?” Vhadä stopped, brow furrowed as he tried to puzzle out the rest.

“Just me, but Alec has been there,” Seregil told him. “We’ll tell you tales of dragons and pories sometime if you’re very good.”

Vhadä grinned and gave them a nodding bow.

“Perhaps you’d like to see the rest of the house, my lords?” said Dorin, who’d watched all this with a hint of disapproval.

“You don’t have to call us ‘my lord’ anymore,” said Alec.

“If you don’t mind, I’d prefer to maintain the proper forms of address,” the man replied stiffly. “I was not a slave, but a valued servant of the house, and I hope to remain so.”

Seregil clapped him on the shoulder and felt him flinch. “Then I guess we must remain lords. Please, show us the house.”

“As you can see, this is the main hall, preserved very much as it was originally constructed, as is the rest of the house.”

“It’s beautiful!” Alec exclaimed, turning slowly to take it all in.

“I hope you will be very happy here, my lord,” said Dorin.

“We won’t be here often,” Seregil informed him. “However, I’ve had word given out that this house is to be a refuge for any Aurënfaie and ya’shel who wish to live here. Please make them welcome and give them a room.”

“I—of course, my lord.” The man’s smile was forced.

“Very good. Mistress Sabriel, please, would you make up a cold lunch, and dinner for tonight? I’d like to test your abilities.”

The old woman gave him a warm smile and strode away with Vhadä at her heels.

Dorin took them around the first floor first, showing them the ornate dining rooms—one large for company, one small for family—several drawing and retiring rooms, a large formal parlor, and a library with a few tattered volumes on the shelves.

“The previous owner had a substantial collection, but he took most it with him, as well,” Dorin explained. “All that remains are some papers and histories regarding the manor.”

“A pity, that,” said Seregil. “I’d like to see the kitchen, as well.”

Dorin gave him an impassive nod and led them to the back of the house, where Sabriel and Vhadä were already at work on the meal. A dozen plump trout lay gutted on the chopping block. Both servants looked very happy at their work.

“Are these all the household?” asked Alec. “It seems a small staff for such a large house.”

“There were others,” Dorin told him. “Some went away with the Plenimaran lord. Others—slaves—ran away. I don’t know what’s become of them.”

“Hopefully they’ll return,” said Seregil. “And now the upstairs?”

The second floor had enough bedroom suites to host a royal delegation, though most were unfurnished and closed up.

“The master suite, my lords,” Dorian said, swinging open an ornate set of doors into a sun-washed room the size of the upper floor at the Stag and Otter. It was lavishly appointed, with carved cornices, fine tapestries, blue velvet hangings with silver bullion edging on the massive bed, and some excellent Aurënfaie statuary. Evidently their predecessor had been a man of good taste. Two tall windows and smaller side ones overlooked the pond and the sea beyond. Another equally impressive suite with red hangings had been prepared for Micum.

“This is very fine. Very fine, indeed, Dorin,” said Seregil. “I’m most impressed. But where are the baths?”

“There is a separate bathhouse adjoining the house, my lord, built several hundred years ago. Before that, tubs in the kitchen were used.”

Alec chuckled. “You’d better show him. If the baths aren’t up to his standards, we may have to build new ones.”

The bathhouse, reached by a long covered walkway, was as finely appointed as the rest of the house, with separate rooms for men and women, heated stone floors, its own spring, a special furnace to heat the water, and tubs carved from blocks of polished basalt. The room was outfitted with fretted golden lamps, clothing racks and bath stands carved from fragrant wood, and various other luxuries.

“Even you must approve of this, talí.” Alec laughed as Seregil walked around, inspecting it.

Seregil nodded. “Beautiful, immaculate, and properly heated. Are the other members of the household allowed to use it?”

“Certainly not, my lord!”

“That changes today, Dorin. Aurënfaie are by nature fastidious.”

“But my lord—!”

Seregil raised an imperious eyebrow. The steward shut his mouth and bowed.

They enjoyed Sabriel’s cold lunch, then rode out to inspect the herds and look for Micum.

He found them, accompanied by a sandy-haired, bearded man who appeared to be about the same age. He was mounted on a handsome bay mare. She was a few hands taller than the ’faie horses, but had the same fine lines and arched neck.

“Here they are,” Micum said as they reined in. “Master Carpis, these are your new lords, Baron Seregil and Baron Alec.”

“Honored to meet you, my lords,” Carpis said with the thick burr of a Kouros accent.

“If your mount is an example of the rest of the herds, then they must be fine indeed,” said Alec.

“She is, my lord,” Carpis replied, rubbing the mare’s neck. “You’ve the best horses on the island and there’s none who’d dispute it.”

“I can vouch for that,” Micum agreed. “We’ll be doing some horse trading before I head for home.”

In addition to Carpis, the herds were tended by servants who lived in stone cottages scattered among the fields. All of them were islanders who, like Dorin, had served the estate for generations. Carpis and his family had a cozy house next to a stream.

The horses were magnificent, robust and tall, with varied markings from golden with pale manes to parti-colored ones of all colors.

They spent the afternoon exploring the boundaries, then turned back to the house for dinner.

“I like it already,” said Alec. “The house and the horses. I think I’d like to spend some time here, Seregil.”

“I have to agree.”

“You wouldn’t like it half so well if it was an orchard, rather than horses,” Micum said with a grin.

When they got back to the house they found seven former slaves waiting for them in the kitchen, three of whom had been servants in the house before the emancipation: two gardeners and a maid. The other four included a man who’d been a weaver in town and a woman with her two teenage daughters, one of whom was visibly pregnant.

“We’d like to come back, if your lordships will take us,” said the maid, a middle-aged woman named Yrani.

“As I’ve told the others, you can live here as family,” said Seregil.

“We’ve been talking with Mistress Rose—Khiria, that is, and the others, my lord,” Yrani replied. “If you’ll accept our service, we’d like to keep at our occupations and be useful.”

“Of course. Choose whatever rooms you’d like and make yourself at home.”

“If you have a little cottage, I’d be much obliged to set up and make cloth for the house,” said Anri, the weaver.

“And we’ve got rooms in the servants’ wing, my lords,” the gardeners told him.

“Settle in as you like. Master Anri, consult with the housekeeper or my steward on the cottage. I’m sure we can find you something.”

The seven thanked them profusely, and Seregil thought he saw the not-pregnant daughter making long eyes at Alec, who was, as usual, oblivious.

The evening meal was simple but satisfying. Spring greens and vinegar, pan-fried trout with wild sage and thyme, a casserole of winter vegetables from the root cellar, and jam tarts. The servants chose to eat in the kitchen and Seregil left them to it.

He sat up late with Alec and Micum in the small dining room over wine and nuts.

“That steward of yours is an odd character,” Micum said, taking out his pipe and tobacco pouch. “I don’t think he cares for your plan to make this house a refuge for displaced ’faie.”

“He’s a ya’shel himself,” Seregil mused. “That must have been a difficult thing for him, under the occupation—a mixed blood but not a slave. Did you see the look on his face when he realized that one of his new masters was a pure-blooded ’faie?”

“I did,” said Alec. “Why would he hate other ’faie?”

“I suspect someone beat the shame of it into him from an early age. For all his life, it was slave blood.”

“The rest of the household is nice, though, and they seem to like us. How many people can the house accommodate, I wonder?”

“As many as come to us,” Seregil replied.

“You’ll have your own village here in no time,” said Micum, puffing away on his pipe.

“That’s my hope.”

Micum blew a smoke ring at the ceiling. “Are you anxious to go off hunting for ghosts?”

“Murderers,” said Seregil, reaching for the wine.

Micum smiled. “I think I’d like to meet up with a ghost or two. Friendly ones, anyway.”

“You can have my share,” said Alec.

They lit the candles Dorin had left for them and made their way upstairs to their quarters.

As Alec stepped into their room, he was surprised to find it dark and damp, with the smell of guttered candles heavy on the chill air. The small side-hinged window near the bed had been left open, and the sea mist had found its way in. He pushed it shut and latched it.

The bed had been turned back for them and Seregil ran a hand over the sheets. “Damp, damn it. Who in Bilairy’s name lays a fire and leaves the window open?”

There were no fire chips to be found, so Alec made do with flint and steel over the wood that had been laid in the fireplace. He struck sparks half a dozen times before the tinder caught, and even though the kindling was cedar, it was slow to burn. He blew gently on the flames, trying to coax them higher. The wood caught at last, but the fire was dull and smoky.

“What’s wrong?” Seregil asked from the couch, where he’d curled up in his cloak.

“The wood must be damp, too.” Alec joined him, legs stretched out toward the hearth. Without much hope of the bed drying anytime soon, he pulled his cloak over him and went to sleep.

A loud knocking woke them both sometime later. The fickle fire had burned down to embers, the candles were guttering, and the room was colder and damper than ever. The knocking came again, sounding from somewhere down the corridor. It was loud, even at a distance, more of a dull pounding.

Alec went to the door and peered out.

Micum was at his door across the hall. “Is there a fire?”

“That’s what I was wondering.”

They walked down the corridor together, toward the sound. Many of the night lamps had gone out.

“Who’s there?” Alec called softly, not wanting to wake the whole house. “Dorin, is that you?”

There was no answer, but the knocking stopped and they both heard someone walking off in the other direction, toward the stairway.

“Must have been one of the servants,” Micum said with a yawn.

“Knocking the whole house awake? And all the rooms at that end of the corridor are empty.”

“Very odd. Well, it seems to have stopped. Good night, Alec.”

“What was it?” Seregil grumbled as Alec returned to the couch.

“Nothing, I guess. No one’s raising the alarm and the noise has stopped.”

“Thank the Light. I’m exhausted.” Seregil burrowed down into the folds of his cloak again.

Alec was headed for the bed to check the state of the sheets when he noticed that the side window was open again. He closed it and checked the latch; it didn’t appear to be loose. The sheets were damper than ever, though, so he blew life into the embers, rebuilt the fire, and rejoined Seregil. “I guess we’re spending the night here,” he sighed, pulling his cloak around him and resting his head against the back of the couch.

Seregil’s only answer was deep, even breathing.

Alec was nearly asleep when he heard a tiny rattle from the direction of the window. As he watched, it slowly swung open again. That latch clearly needed replacing.

He gave the fire a stir with the poker and threw on another chunk of wood to brighten the room, but even that couldn’t banish the dank chill. As he approached the window, tendrils of sea mist curled into the room, then dissipated in the marginally warmer air. Going to the window, he felt a deeper chill here that he suddenly knew had nothing to do with the fog. As he leaned out, he felt wetness under his fingers. Two wet handprints had appeared on the windowsill, just where he’d rested his fingers—where anyone would rest their hands—dark against the weathered wood, and so wet that they dripped down the wall underneath. He pulled back quickly, wiping his hands on his coat. Just then he sensed movement to his right, through the panes of the window.

There was a face there, and it wasn’t his reflection; a haggard woman gazed back at him, her image carved into diamond-shaped puzzle pieces through the leaded glass. Frozen with fear, Alec stared back at her. Her eyes were lost in shadow, long hair hanging limp and dripping over bare shoulders. She wore an ornate necklace of antique design at her throat—a person of rank rather than a servant or slave. Her pale lips moved as she tried to tell him something. He couldn’t hear the words, but a wave of crushing sadness rolled over him, pushing aside the fear. He couldn’t move, but felt the tickle of tears rolling down his cheeks.

He had no idea how long he stood there like that, lost in grief, before Seregil whispered behind him, “Artha dom alika, sala.”

She bowed her head, then slowly faded away, taking the deeper chill with her.

“That—That was—” Alec stammered, wiping his cheeks with shaking fingers.

“Our first ghost, yes. Are you all right?”

Alec looked down at the sill, where the wet handprints still showed. “I don’t know.”

Seregil touched the handprints and licked his finger. “Salty. Seawater, probably. Our sad lady must have drowned.”

Delayed shock was setting in, and Alec began to tremble in earnest. Seregil pushed the couch closer to the fire and made Alec sit down, then put his cloak around him.

“What did you say to her? What language was that?” Alec asked through chattering teeth.

“Middle Konic. I told her ‘Go to your rest, my lady. Be at peace.’ It’s the language that would have been spoken when the house was new.”

Seregil latched the window, lit fresh candles on the mantelpiece, and settled down beside Alec with an arm around his shoulders.

“Did you feel the sadness?”

“No, but you did, didn’t you?”

Alec let out a shaky breath. “It was like she was making me feel what she felt.”

“Anything beyond the sadness?”

“No. Well, fear, but I don’t think that was her doing. Do you think she’ll come back, after what you said to her?”

“I doubt a few kind words will lay her to rest after all these years. I’ll speak to Dorin about shifting rooms.”

As Alec gradually calmed down, he noticed that the fire was burning brighter than it had before, spreading more warmth. The damp was gone. Whoever their night visitor had been, she seemed to be gone, too.

Despite that, his dreams were uneasy.

The room was cold again, and stank of seaweed and mud. Despite Seregil’s arm around him, Alec felt the short hairs on the back of his neck prickling. Someone was standing behind him.

Seregil didn’t wake as Alec slipped from his embrace and stood. The woman was standing by the window, looking as solid as the wall behind her. Her ragged gown was sodden, and as Alec watched a crab scuttled out from under the hem of it and scrabbled away into a shadowed corner. As she slowly walked toward him, Alec could see that her eyes were moon snail shells and that her tangled, dripping hair was crawling with sea lice and tiny crabs. A spiny green urchin clung to the bodice of her gown like a brooch.

The couch stood between them, and she stopped just behind it. Seregil was no longer there; Alec didn’t dare take his eyes off the woman to look for him.

The hand she raised to point at him dripped with mud, spattering the fine carved wood and upholstery. She pointed first at the bed. The bed curtains were gone, and something hung by a thick string from one of the posts: a dead owl, hanged by the neck.

More mud dribbled over her chin as she gagged out, “Only the dead can walk with the dead.”

Terrified, he found she was pointing at him now, as if she could see with those blind shell eyes. “Only the dead can walk with the dead.”

Alec jumped up from the couch and twisted around toward the window, expecting the woman to be standing there, dripping. But the window was still closed and there was no one there but Seregil, looking up at him with concern. The bed curtains hung in neat folds; no dead owls there.

“What’s wrong, talí?”

Alec shuddered, overcome with dread. “The woman—she was back. Right there behind you. There was a dead owl hanging from the bedpost, and she told me that only the dead can walk with the dead, just like that madman said to you!”

“Interesting. And an owl, you say?” Seregil frowned and made a sign against ill fortune. “Come back, Alec, and sit down before your knees give out. I can see you shaking from here.”

Instead, Alec went to the bed and felt the sheets. They were dry. “I’d rather sleep here.”

It was farther from the window.

BETWEEN the night’s terrors and the unforgiving mattress, Alec woke tired and out of sorts. Seregil didn’t ask any questions, just gave him his space.

By the time they entered the dining room Micum was already at breakfast, waited on by a very cheerful Willow and her son. Dorin was there as well, a dour presence in dark livery as he oversaw the breakfast.

Morning light slanted in through diamond-paned windows. Bands of colored glass at the top of the casements cast rainbow hues over the silver chargers and delicate porcelain on the table. The previous night’s events seemed even more impossible to Alec in daylight.

“I’m afraid we didn’t sleep very well,” Seregil said, stifling a yawn. “Dorin, our room was very damp. Is it always like that?”

“I’m so sorry, my lord,” the steward replied. “I’ll have your things moved to the purple suite at once.”

“There was someone making a racket, too, knocking on doors,” said Micum, and Alec saw Willow exchange an uneasy look with Vhadä.

“A ghost?” Seregil suggested.

“She’s—” Vhadä began, but Dorin cut the boy off with a dark look.

“Who?” asked Alec. “Please, continue.”

“There is a ghost here, my lord—”

“Please, just Alec.”

Willow nodded. “It’s just that the ghost is most likely what you heard.”

“What sort of ghost?” asked Micum.

“Oh, nothing to concern yourself with,” she assured him. “As the story goes, a few hundred years ago the noblewoman who owned Mirror Moon disappeared mysteriously, and her lover was hanged for murder, though her body was never found. It’s said she walks the corridors on misty nights, dripping with seawater and knocking on the doors, looking for him. She doesn’t hurt anyone, and she doesn’t appear often, but is known to when there’s a new master or mistress in the house. She’s just a lost soul, or perhaps only a memory.”

“How sad,” said Seregil.

“So she just knocks on doors?” asked Alec.

“Well …”

“Go on then, tell them,” Dorin snapped.

Willow nodded. “It’s just that the chamber you had last night was her room and she’s known to haunt it, as well.”

“She opens the window and lets the sea fog in,” Vhadä added.

“Not for many years, my lord,” said Dorin. “I’ll have the latch seen to. It’s probably just loose.”

“Is there anything about a dead owl in the room, in the old stories?” asked Alec. “A hanged owl?”

Vhadä and his mother both made a warding sign on the air.

“No. But it’s terrible bad luck to kill an owl on Kouros!” Willow told them.

“Thank you,” said Seregil. “You can leave us for now. I think we have all we need.”

“As you wish, my lord.” Dorin led the others out.

“Seregil, did you know it was a ghost?” asked Micum.

“Ask Alec. He saw her.”

“Just for an instant,” Alec explained. “But we both felt her. And then I dreamed about her. There was a dead owl in the dream.”

“I’d say that would be bad luck anywhere, especially to a ’faie.” Micum stroked his moustache. “Well, we’re off to quite a start.”

Dorin returned as they were finishing to inform them that more refugees had arrived. “I have them in the front hall, my lords, if you’d care to look them over.”

Seregil slammed his knife down. “Damn it, Dorin, they are not livestock! I will thank you to treat any ’faie who come here with more respect than I’ve seen thus far. You may hate your own lineage, or have been mistreated because of it, but it is time you let go of that, or I shall have to find myself a new steward.”

The color drained from the man’s face and to everyone’s amazement, he fell to his knees. “Please accept my apology for my behavior, Baron! I—this has always been my home. I couldn’t bear it.”

“You have my terms,” Seregil replied coldly. “Now bring them in to meet us. Respectfully.”

Dorin rose and strode from the room, returning a moment later with a bedraggled-looking woman clutching a little girl in her arms.

“May I present Oria, and her child Daisy. They have come here for shelter, as you offered, my lord.”

Alec felt his heart torn between gladness and sorrow as he went to greet the newcomers. The woman was pure ’faie and young, barely old enough for childbearing. The little girl had the dark eyes of whoever her Plenimaran father had been. The right sleeve of the woman’s dress was pushed back, exposing her former master’s brand on her forearm.

“Ysanti maril Elustri,” Seregil greeted her.

She did not look him in the eye as she replied softly, “I don’t understand, my lord. I never learned ’faie talk.”

“I’m sorry.”

She just shrugged.

“It’s no matter,” said Alec. “You’re safe here. We want you to consider Mirror Moon your home. And no titles, please.”

“I’m not looking for charity,” she replied. “I’m a chambermaid, come to offer my services.”

“Do we have work for another chambermaid, Dorin?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Then the position is yours, Oria,” said Seregil. “Dorin, see that our new friends have clean clothing, a proper bath, and a good meal.”

Oria gave him a grateful look. “That would be much appreciated, my lord. I’m sorry for you to see us in such a state.”

“You never need to apologize for that, my dear. Tell me, do you know your mother’s name?”

“Laziel, my lord.”

“And her mother’s?”

“Qani, I think.”

“Then your true name is Oria ä Laziel Qani. The last of it should be your birthplace.”

“Here, my lord.”

“Then from this day you have your true name: Oria ä Laziel Qani Kouros.”

Oria curtsied again, looking a little overwhelmed.

“Is Daisy the name you chose for your child?”

Oria shook her head. “I called her Tala, but ’faie names weren’t allowed by her—by my master.”

Seregil held out his hand to the child and she grasped his fingers. “Hello, Tala ä Oria Laziel Qani Kouros.”

A tear rolled down her mother’s cheek. “You’re not ashamed of us?”

“How could we be? No one chooses slavery. You’re a free woman now, and can raise your child in freedom and dignity.”

Oria began to weep in earnest. Alec reached out to her but she flinched away. Seregil signed too soon and Dorin led her away toward the kitchen.

Alec shook his head. “Are you going to rename every ’faie on the island, Seregil?”

“I’ve giving them back their names.”

“I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with that, talí. It’s just that you might ask first if they want you to.”

“He’s right, you know,” said Micum. “You’re a noble and they’ve been slaves. It’s not as if they can say no if it seems you’ve made up your mind.”

“I suppose you’re right.” Seregil sighed. “It’s just—”

“I know,” said Alec. “But give them time to get used to us, all right?”

“Yes. Consider me chastised.”

“You know we don’t mean it that way.” Micum sat back down at the table and poured more tea. “So, Klia doesn’t need us ’til tomorrow. What do you two have planned for the day?”

“I guess we’d better ride over the estate and act baronial,” Alec replied.

“You don’t need me for that. I have a mind to go into town, have a look around, and do some listening.”

“Good idea,” Seregil replied. “I expect the average citizen will be more comfortable talking to you than a ’faie lord. It will take some time for the people of Kouros to get used to the idea, given recent history. Perhaps you could call on the good Doctor Kordira and give her our regards, too.”

Micum chuckled. “Consider it done.”

Micum set off just before midday and gave his horse a good gallop back to Deep Harbor. As beautiful as Mirror Moon was, he was more unsettled by the previous night’s spirit visitation in the hallway than he cared to admit. Finding out how the wind was blowing in a new place was much more to his taste, and he was looking forward to it.

The road branched as he neared the town and he decided to come in from the north, passing by the governor’s mansion as he made his way to the wealthy district that bordered that estate. Quite a number of fine houses here were shuttered, the gardens already sprouting weeds. Nonetheless, there were carriages and riders about, and not a few of them looked to be Plenimaran, judging by the preponderance of dark hair and eyes, not to mention some of the unfriendly looks he was getting.

It was a bit of a surprise when a dandy on a fine black-and-white mare reined in to ride beside him.

“Good morning, sir. You arrived with the princess’s entourage yesterday, didn’t you?” He looked to have Plenimaran blood, but his accent was pure island.

“Word certainly gets around fast here,” Micum replied, and extended a hand. “Micum Cavish of Watermead.”

The man shook with him. “Azrin of Kouros.” He gave Micum a wry look. “Formerly a lord myself, as it happens, but alas, times change.”

“Yet you’re still here.”

“I was born here. My grandfather came over from Benshâl years back, but I’ve never been. Don’t let my appearance fool you; I’m as island as they come.”

“So you had no problem taking the oath?”

Azrin shrugged. “Queen or Overlord, it’s all the same to me, so long as I get to keep my farm. This is my home.”

“Home is home,” Micum agreed. “Say, if you can point me to a good tavern, I’d be happy to stand you a meal.”

“My pleasure! The Fox is just two streets over.”

The Fox turned out to be a fine establishment, with superb mussels boiled in ale and wild herbs. Azrin was well known here, and a lively dining companion. They talked horses, which Azrin’s family had traded for generations.

“I know the Mirror Moon herd well,” he told Micum. “Please tell the new baron that if he wants to sell off his stock, I’d be happy to assist.”

Micum chuckled. “I don’t think he’ll be parting with any for the moment, and there are two barons: Seregil and Alec.”

“Two? Are they brothers?”

“No.”

Azrin raised an eyebrow. “Ah, I see. Such things are common in Skala, I suppose. Which one is the ’faie?”

Micum grinned and pretended to not notice the man’s clear disapproval on both counts. “That would be Baron Seregil. Do you think they’ll be unwelcome here?”

“It’s none of my business. Are you their friend?”

Micum shrugged. “I met them on the ship.”

“And do you approve of such—relationships?”

“I can’t make much sense of it, really.”

“Then you are a sensible man!” Azrin laughed and poured more ale for both of them. “So, what brings you to Kouros?”

Micum gave him a wink. “I happen to be friends with Klia’s aide-de-camp and she got me a warrant to buy island horses. I hope to be the main Skalan importer in Rhíminee. Perhaps the two of us can work out some mutually agreeable relationship, eh?”

“I think we might, my friend.”

“So, how’s the political situation here? Was the transition of power a smooth one?”

“About what you’d expect. Your General Klia came with a large force, evicted the Plenimaran governor, fought any who stood against her, and drove out anyone who wouldn’t swear an oath of loyalty to Queen what’s-her-name. Quite a few chose to go to Plenimar.”

“Did many of them take slaves with them?”

“No, Klia wouldn’t allow it.” He paused, and something in the way he suddenly avoided eye contact caught Micum’s attention.

“There should be more ’faie than I’ve seen so far.”

Azrin nodded. “Some of the islanders who held slaves killed them quietly, to keep the fact from her.”

“Damnation!”

“Klia hanged the ones she caught at it. Some of us aren’t so happy to see her back again, and as governor, no less.”

“I’ve known her through her aide for some time. She’s a good woman, and fair,” Micum assured him.

“If you say so.”

“I’ve heard talk of unrest here. What do you think?”

Azrin shrugged. “I’ve heard grumbling, but given the force the new governor brought with her, I doubt there’ll be open insurrection. Still, enough of politics. The apple tart is exceptional.”

They returned to lighter topics, and soon Micum knew of the best gambling establishments, brothels, and tailors in Deep Harbor.

“What do you make of the ghost stories up at the old city?” Micum asked at last.

Azrin’s smile faded. “They’re nothing to laugh at, my friend. When I was a boy, some friends and I rode up there to see for ourselves if spirits still walk there. We went when the moon was full and saw men and women walking the streets with their chopped-off heads held under their arm! Even the dogs had no heads.”

Micum gave him a skeptical look and Azrin burst out laughing. “Those stories are for scaring little children into being good. ‘Eat your dinner or we’ll leave you at the gates of Menosi!’ ”

“So you’ve not been there?”

“I passed there once on a hunt. It’s just a ruin, or was until Governor Toneus began messing about up there.”

“What about the stories of people disappearing?”

“It’s a dangerous place, I suppose, as any old ruin is.”

“Was Toneus popular with the people?”

“What do you think?” asked Azrin. “The Plenimarans ruled here for as long as most can remember. When you see your friends and neighbors run off like that, you don’t much care for those who did it.”

“So an islander murdered him, not a ghost?”

“I heard it was that lover of his. Rumor is that she stabbed him in a jealous fit, then killed herself. How else do you explain the room being locked from the inside?”

“That’s common knowledge, is it?”

“The guard who finally broke the door down blabbed it. Crazy stories, most of it—guts hanging from the ceiling and such.”

“More stories to scare children?”

Azrin shrugged. “They locked him up in the madhouse.”

“Do you know the man?”

“Hardly,” Azrin sniffed. “I may be down on my luck, but I’m still a noble. The man was one of the guardsmen Toneus brought with him. A captain, I think.”

“I didn’t mean to insult you.”

“Not at all. I’m just saying things have changed on the island, and they haven’t, if you take my meaning.”

“Thanks for that.”

They finished off the last of the tart and Micum paid for the meal.

“Say, could you recommend a good healer?” Micum rubbed his thigh. “The voyage played havoc with an old scar of mine, and the drysian with Klia wasn’t much use.” It wasn’t completely untrue.

“Doctor Kordira is the one to see,” Azrin told him. “She’s a proper doctor, not one of those mystical hand wavers you have in Skala.” Azrin gave him a wink. “She’s a pretty thing, too, but mind your manners. It’s said she knows as much about poisons as she does healing.”

“More tales to scare children?” Micum said with a laugh.

“Let’s just say I wouldn’t push my luck if I were you.”

“Much obliged, friend.” He shook hands with Azrin at the door. “I hope to see you again soon. Could you direct me to the good doctor?”

“Of course. Go back the way we came, go left on Leaf Lane, and you’ll see the sign.”

It was midafternoon now. Micum soon found the physician’s home—a narrow, three-story row house with a receiving room on the street level.

The room smelled of herbs and roots, and baskets of them lined one wall, together with bolts of linen and baskets of vegetable lint. The instruments of her trade lay on shelves on another wall, many of them rather alarming.

A pretty young woman came out from behind a tapestry at the back of the room. “Are you in need, sir?”

“I was hoping to speak with you about my leg, Doctor Kordira.”

The woman laughed. “Oh, I’m not the doctor, sir. She has a visitor at the moment, but if you’d like to wait, I can make you comfortable here.”

She set a chair for him by the front window. “Give me your name and I’ll bring word to her upstairs.”

Micum told her and she moved another tapestry aside and disappeared up the steep stairway behind it. A moment later she returned with word that the visitor was a friend of his, and that he could go up and join them.

His leg ached as he slowly climbed the steep, narrow stairs. At the top he went through an open door and down a short corridor to a comfortable sitting room where he discovered Thero and a beautiful Plenimaran woman at tea. The wizard wore his formal Orëska robes and his curly black hair bound back in a severe queue. Nonetheless, he seemed perfectly at ease with his hostess.

Kordira was a true beauty. Her skin was fair, her eyes and hair black as night, her lips red and sensuous, without any sign of cosmetics. She wore a plain blue gown and a rainbow-colored knitted shawl over her shoulders. Her hair was in a braided coronet around her head, woven with blue ribbon. She wore no jewelry, and her nails, though well trimmed, were stained from her work.

“Ah, here’s your friend, Lord Thero!” she said with a smile that would melt the hardest of hearts. “Please join us, Lord Micum. We’ve just started.”

“Thank you, my lady.”

“Oh, I have no title. Please, call me Kordira. Everyone around here does.”

“Then you must call me Micum.” He took the empty chair and noted how graceful her hands were as she filled a delicate tea dish for him from an equally elegant pot and passed the sweets plate.

“I was just telling your friend how grateful I am to Princess Klia for allowing me to remain on Kouros,” she said. “I’ve been here for nine years and can’t imagine living anywhere else. It’s so beautiful.”

“I can understand that,” Micum replied, balancing his tea dish carefully in his big, callused hands.

“But I think that’s not what you two came to speak with me about.”

Micum had planned to give her the complaint about his bad leg, but Thero seemed to have the situation well in hand.

“Princess Klia brought me here to help investigate the death of the previous governor,” the wizard told her, the pleasantries evidently out of the way. “I visited the madhouse last night, and spoke with Captain Sedge. The man seems completely unhinged by what he saw that day. Have you had any contact with him?”

“Yes, I attended him when they brought him down from Menosi. Believe it or not, he’s much calmer than he was. He tried several times to kill himself that first week, and anyone who came near him. But I doubt he’ll ever fully recover. It’s tragic. Sedge is a good man. I treated his little daughter for thrush soon after he moved his family here. He has three children, and his wife’s six months gone with another.”

“I’d like to help him, if I can. The princess has ordered me to make a full examination but he’s much too agitated as he is. I wondered if you might assist me with your healing arts. Perhaps between the two of us, we might be able to get a better idea of the state of his mind.”

“I wasn’t aware that you Orëska practiced medicine.”

“Not as such, but I might be able to draw from his mind something of what occurred that day.”

“I see.” She considered this for a moment. “Very well. I gave him brandy drugged with a distillation of sticky rush last time. Will that interfere with your magic?”

“It shouldn’t.”

“Give me a few moments to prepare the draught and we can go at once. Please, finish your tea. I’ll send Cyra up to fetch you when everything is prepared.”

When she was gone Micum leaned closer to Thero and whispered, “What do you think so far?”

“I’m not sure yet. There’s no overt sense of magic around her, but a skilled necromancer could probably mask it. I haven’t mentioned the curse, and neither has she.”

“She’s very charming.”

Thero smiled. “So I noticed. We shall see.”

The serving woman came for them shortly and they went downstairs to find the physician by the door, a leather satchel in hand.

“I noticed your limp, Micum.” Kordira handed him a small clay phial sealed with wax. “Take this draught tonight and have a good soak in a hot tub. It should give you some relief.”

“Much obliged, Doctor. It’s not so bad that I can’t carry that heavy bag for you,” Micum offered, to see if she’d relinquish it. “It’s a long walk down to the harbor.”

“You’re very kind.” She handed him the heavy case and led the way down to the madhouse.

“By the way,” said Thero as they went along. “Our ship was overrun with rats on crossing. Filthy things, full of disease. Do you know of any sort of poison to take care of them?”

“Poison has a way of turning up where it’s not wanted,” Kordira told him. “Tell your captain to take on some cats. There’s no shortage of them on the island.”

Thero trod very lightly around Kordira. If she was a necromancer skilled enough to hide what she was so well, then touching her mind was out of the question, as she’d most likely know it. And she was clearly well liked here. Everyone they met greeted her or gave a respectful nod. Many of the men took off their hats to her.

“The new lords of Mirror Moon are causing a bit of a stir,” she remarked as they walked along. “Are they friends of yours?”

“Yes. What are people saying?”

“Oh, nothing serious. It’s just jarring to many, seeing a powerful, free ’faie. And no one’s sure what to make of him gathering former slaves to the estate.”

“Word certainly travels fast around here,” said Micum.

“It’s a small place. So tell me, why is Baron Seregil massing ’faie at Mirror Moon?”

Micum chuckled. “I’d hardly say massing.”

“No, it’s nothing of the kind,” Thero explained. “It’s out of compassion. It pains him deeply to see his countrymen in such a miserable state.”

“Ah. Well, I’m glad to hear it.” Kordira shook her head. “Slavery is the curse of my people, and one that took root here, sadly.”

“You don’t hold with slavery?” asked Micum.

“If I say no, will you believe me?”

“I thought all Plenimarans practiced it.”

“I’m a physician, Micum, from a long line of physicians. We deal in misery every day and don’t believe in adding to it through such degradation.”

“I heard that some of the islanders killed their slaves to cover up the fact that they’d kept them.”

“Yes. I’m not excusing it, but you can’t imagine the fear people felt when word came that Skala had taken possession of the island again. It’s well known how bitterly the Skalans hate the Plenimaran people, and everyone assumed there would be reprisals. To some extent, they were right.”

“How so?” asked Micum. “I was told the only deaths that occurred were those who fought back and people who were hanged for slave killing.”

“Which confirmed the fears of many.”

“I wouldn’t say Skalans hate the Plenimaran people,” Thero told her. “They hate the wars, and necromancers, and the marines, in particular, but you must admit, they are a brutal lot.”

“I can’t contest that.”

“What do you make of the tales of spirits killing Toneus and his companion?”

“I think it’s entirely possible,” she replied. “I’ve been to Menosi. It’s not a good place. You’ve heard of disappearances around there, no doubt.”

“Yes, but the mayor dismissed the stories. Apparently people fall down mine shafts and get lost in the mountains.”

Kordira snorted. “Of course Hasen would say that. He’s made a good deal of money from the building that’s gone on up there, and hopes to make more if the restored city and shrine attract travelers and pilgrims.”

“I understand there have been problems with the shrine, though.”

“Yes. Still, I understand much of it has been repaired since I last visited.”

They reached the madhouse and the same warder let them in and took them up to the unfortunate captain’s cell.

Sedge looked as terrified as he had the first time Thero had visited him, huddled in the corner near the slop bucket, but he calmed visibly when he recognized the doctor.

“He’s having a good day,” Kordira murmured to Thero.

“Who are these men, Doctor?” Sedge asked.

“Friends, my dear.” She went to him and took his hand in hers. “They’ve come to help me help you. You have nothing to fear from them. How are you feeling today?”

“I want to go home. I want to see my wife and little ones.”

“And so you shall, as soon as you’re better. But first you must allow us to help heal you. This young man is Thero, a wizard from Skala. Do you remember him?”

Sedge cowered back against the wall. “He attacked me. Him and that other demon! He’s made himself look human today, but he’s not, Doctor. And he’s brought an even bigger demon today. Why have you let them in? Don’t go near them!”

“It’s all right, my dear,” she said, stroking his hand. “They’re not demons, they are friends. That’s just your illness tricking you. We’ve talked about this, haven’t we? You can’t trust your eyes, so you must trust me.”

Sedge shook his head, still regarding Thero and Micum with dismay. “How can anyone help me?”

“You must let us try. I’ve brought you medicine—the draught that helps you sleep without dreams. Come, lie down and drink for me.” Kordira helped him to the bed and spread the blanket over him, then took a small brass jar from her satchel. Uncorking it, she offered it to him and he downed it eagerly.

“That’s good. That’s good,” he whispered, licking his lips. “No dreams?”

“No dreams,” she promised.

He lay down, eyelids already drooping, and she stroked his brow until he was deeply asleep.

“There. I made it strong, so he won’t wake for hours.” Kordira stood and let Thero take her place.

The wizard felt the man’s pulse; it was slow and even, and his breathing was calm. He rested his hand on Sedge’s forehead and let his mind brush the sleeping man’s. To his surprise, he found that the madness had not followed the poor fellow into sleep. Instead, he saw a pretty, pregnant blond woman and three small children in a garden by a tidy stone cottage. It was a static image, like a painting, but he could hear the sound of the sea nearby.

“Did you stop his thoughts somehow, Doctor?”

“Not intentionally. You can read his mind?”

“I can sense his thoughts,” Thero replied, adding, “but only with some effort. It’s not something I do lightly.”

Taking out his crystal wand, he drew the sigil of discernment over Sedge and watched as waves of pale light spread out from it, then settled like ash over him. It turned silver—a sign that some magic was present. That was no surprise, after what he’d managed to learn last time. Now to find out what exactly it was.

The moment Theo touched Sedge with the wand an unbearable stench rolled over him. He had the fleeting impression of red eyes and a misshapen maw full of yellow teeth before a dreadful force struck him, knocking him across the room and into the stone wall so hard he nearly lost consciousness. He gagged and swallowed hard, trying desperately not to vomit.

Kordira and Micum were beside him at once, and through the haze that threatened to engulf him he was aware of her fingers on his wrist, and the sound her voice, although he couldn’t make out what she was saying.

Sitting up, he blinked to clear his vision, then felt gingerly at the back of his head where it had struck the wall. There was no blood, but he was certainly going to have a headache, and a lump.

“Are you seeing a double image?” she asked, and her voice still seemed to be coming from a distance. More than the blow to the head was affecting him.

“No,” he replied, and his voice sounded loud and hollow inside his head. “My wand …”

“Here,” said Micum, putting it in his hand. “You’re lucky it didn’t break.”

Lucky indeed, thought Thero, smoothing his fingers over it. Such items were not easily broken, but the force of the malevolent energy that had thrown him across the room was much more of a danger.

He drew the same sigil again, this time over his heart, and was relieved to find that nothing evil had transferred to him, though he was still suffering the aftereffects of the attack, for attack it had certainly been.

“How are you?” asked Micum.

“Just a bit rattled.”

“What do you make of all that?” asked the doctor.

“He’s cursed, rather than mad,” Thero replied, his suspicions confirmed. “Or been driven mad by the curse. He came in contact with something very evil, and it’s marked him.”

Kordira gave Sedge a worried look. “Can the curse be lifted?”

“There is a ritual—” Thero tried to stand, but she laid a hand on his shoulder, keeping him down.

“Can you perform it?” she asked as she examined his skull with gentle fingers.

That was a good question. He’d studied the cleansing ritual, and assisted Nysander in performing it, but he’d never done it on his own.

“I can try,” he said at last. “Whether it will work on this kind of magic or not, I don’t know. It could prove fatal.”

“Sometimes death is a blessing for one as tormented as he.”

“It will take some preparation, and I can’t do it here.”

“My rooms are at your disposal.”

“That’s very kind of you.” As much as he instinctively liked the woman, there was no guarantee that she didn’t have something to do with the man’s condition. “But I wouldn’t want to endanger you or your neighbors, and I need a very controlled space. I’d like to have him moved to Mirror Moon as soon as possible.”

“Mirror Moon? Why there of all places?”

“The barons are familiar with the ceremony, and I’ll need their help. And it’s away from the town, in case anything evil is released.”

“It would be best to move him now, then. He’ll sleep for some time. I can come with you.”

To help, or to control the outcome? wondered Thero. “That won’t be necessary. I wouldn’t want to expose you to such danger.”

“The barons must be very good friends, if they are willing to be placed in such a position,” Kordira noted.

“As I said, they are familiar with the process.”

“Doubtless you’ll need more of the sleeping draughts. I’ll prepare some for you to take.”

The warder directed Micum to a local carter who would be willing to transport their patient, and Thero went with Kordira for the draughts.

“Would you mind me watching you prepare them, in case I should have to do it myself?” he asked as they entered her treatment room.

“Not at all.” She raised an eyebrow at him. “You don’t entirely trust me.”

“That’s not why—”

She waved his apology aside. “If I were in your position, I wouldn’t trust me, either.” She took a large green glass jug down from a shelf and poured a small cup for each of them. She took a sip of hers. “See, just brandy. Go ahead.”

Thero sipped his and smiled. “It’s very good. Is it local?”

“I distill it myself from wild grapes. I’ll be happy to give you a cask if you like it.” She went to another shelf for a clay jar covered with a leather cap. “This is a powder of sticky rush. It grows in the marshes at the foot of Mount Erali. The islanders have used it for millennia. I’d give you a taste of it, too, but then we’d need a cart to take you home.”

“So you find many of the simples you need on Kouros?”

“Oh, yes. This island is blessed with riches of many sorts beyond gold and silver.”

“What about magic? I’ve heard no mention of wizards here.”

“I’m told the locals have some sort of tradition, but they’re very secretive about it. The roots of it are said to predate the Hierophantic migration.” She paused. “This island is steeped with a force beyond my comprehension. Stay here long enough and you’ll begin to feel it. It gets into your dreams. And Thero, there are ghosts, whether you believe in them or not. In fact, Kouros is very likely to change your mind on the subject, if you brought any doubts with you, as I did.”

“You’ve seen spirits?”

“Many times.”

“Any dangerous ones?”

“Not that I’ve encountered, but people do disappear now and then, and it’s not all getting lost and falling down holes. I’ve seen things, traveling the roads beyond Deep Harbor: people in strange clothing who are there one moment and not the next, even a flock of ghostly sheep one night, and a little boy shepherding them.”

“You’re joking.”

“No, I’m not. I heard the sheep and looked across a field. I thought it odd for a shepherd to be out at night without a fire, but then they just disappeared.”

Thero could tell she was not speaking in jest. “As I understand it, not much is known about the original inhabitants.”

She chuckled. “Look around you. They’re still here, mixed in with everyone else who came along to claim this place.”

She stirred two heaping spoonfuls of the brown powder into each container, then corked them securely and put them in a bag for him. “And I think something for your poor head, if you’ll allow me.”

“I’d be most grateful.”

She took another jar down and poured an amber liquid into a smaller cup. “Tincture of willow, mixed with honey.”

Thero sniffed it. “More of your brandy?”

“It’s an excellent base for many of my medicines, especially for macerating botanicals.”

He downed the sweet concoction and felt warmth spread in his belly. “Thank you, Kordira. It’s much appreciated.”

“Good luck to you. I hope you can help Sedge where I couldn’t.”

Returning to the madhouse, Thero found Micum waiting for him with a cart outside. Sedge was wrapped in blankets in the bed of it. Thero climbed up beside Micum on the front bench and placed the bag of Kordira’s medicine carefully between his feet to keep the jars upright.

“How’s the head?” asked Micum as they set off.

“I’m feeling a little better.”

“Good. I bet you’ve got your work cut out for you tonight.”

“I suspect you’re right.”

THEY arrived at Mirror Moon just before sunset. Seregil came out to meet them in the courtyard.

“You brought him here?” he asked in surprise, looking over the side of the cart.

“It’s the safest place,” Thero replied, climbing down and lifting out the bag of medicine. “Away from prying eyes.”

“I see. What are you going to do to him?”

“A cleansing. I’ll need your help, and someplace outside the house to work.”

“There’s an empty cottage up in the pastures.”

“That should do. We’ll need Alec, and the right materials. I wrote out a list on the way here.”

Seregil took the scrap of parchment and read it over. “I doubt greyleaf grows out here.”

“A few large sprigs of rosemary will do, or anything else aromatic.” Thero paused, then spoke softly so only Seregil and Micum could hear. “He’s the only living person who might know what really happened to the governor and his lover. It’s my hope that I can clear his mind enough that he can tell us something useful. Would you have someone go for my things? I don’t know how long this will take.”

It took some time for the servants to gather everything necessary, but what Thero needed was finally packed in the cart as the stars were coming out overhead. Seregil and Alec climbed in with Captain Sedge, Micum flapped the reins over the horse’s rump, and they set off up the slope from the house.

The cottage was a small, one-room stone building with half a roof on it. Starlight shone through the exposed rafters, casting barred light across the floorboards. It was no proper casting room, but it would have to do.

Thero checked to make certain Sedge was still soundly asleep, then helped the others carry in the lanterns, a small table, and the baskets of branches and the other items.

When everything was set up to his liking, he took a final look around, making certain everything was in place. On the narrow side table stood a pitcher of water and a basin, Nysander’s ancient ivory knife, his own silver dagger and wand, a small dish of ink and a fine brush, a thick wax candle, and three piles of short branches: birch, pine, and rosemary. The pitcher and bowl should have been silver according to tradition, and the rosemary greyleaf, but Nysander had taught him that it was the magic and a wizard’s skill that made a ritual work, not the accoutrements, and Thero hoped it was true; his master had been the most powerful wizard he’d ever known, but could be very lackadaisical about details.

They laid Sedge on a blanket in the middle of the floor and removed his soiled clothing. He was emaciated and covered in bruises.

Thero picked up several of the short pine branches and stripped all but the needles at the tip away, making a crude sort of brush for the spargefaction. Then, taking a lump of blue chalk from his coat pocket, he drew a complex, double circle of holding on the rough floor—one large enough to easily encompass the table and his friends.

“There, I believe we are ready to begin,” he said. “Don’t speak until we’re done, and don’t under any circumstances cross out of the circle unless I tell you to. That’s crucial.”

“Understood,” Micum replied.

“Very well.” Thero snapped his fingers and the candle flared to life. He filled the basin with water, held both hands palm down over it, and spoke the words of purification of water. At once the water began to glow and released a sweet scent that had always reminded him of lilacs. Taking up the ink and brush, he painted blue symbols on Sedge’s forehead and palms, over his heart, and on the bottoms of his feet; hopefully these would protect the man as the evil magic was drawn from his body. Whispering the second purification spell, Thero dipped the needle end of the pine branch in the water and sprinkled the man from head to toe. The water beaded in glowing droplets across his skin, and Thero continued until Sedge’s body was well covered. Using a birch switch next, he struck him all over, hard enough to raise slight welts. At the twenty-first blow, the droplets lost their light and disappeared.

Chanting the spell of dissipation, Thero broke the switch over his knee and was gratified to see foul brown smoke spiral up thickly from the splintered ends. It swirled around the confines of the magic circle with a fearsome stink, stinging their eyes and making the others cough. Thero purified his crystal wand by passing it through the candle flame and the water, then drew the glowing sigil of summoning in the air above Sedge. The symbol twisted and coiled in the proper patterns and disappeared with a loud pop as it was supposed to. The foul smoke disappeared with it.

So far, so good, he thought with relief. He nodded to the others and they arranged themselves around the table, one on each side.

Thero began the fast, rhythmic summoning chant as he repeated the spargefaction ritual. This time the water droplets sizzled across Sedge’s bare skin then disappeared, leaving tiny points of red light like embers in their place. He waited expectantly for them to assume a form—with Seregil it had been spiders—but instead they went dead, turning to grey ash. Sedge stirred, letting out a deep, pained groan. Only then did Thero realize that he’d left the bag of Kordira’s medicine in a corner of the room outside the circle.

Restrain him, Thero signed to the others, and they held the man still.

Thero traced another intricate series of patterns on the air, trying the summoning-out spell again, but with the same result. Something was wrong. If this was a curse, then the ritual should be working. Either it was something else, or he wasn’t performing it correctly. The latter hardly seemed possible; Nysander had drilled him in the steps, and Thero had an infallible memory.

Sedge stirred again, the whites of his eyes showing under the edge of his eyelids.

He was running out of time. If not a curse, then what?

A terrible possibility came to mind. Grabbing his knife, he cut the circle. “All of you, get out! Don’t speak. Go!”

They left the circle and watched uneasily as he deftly joined the lines again. This ceremony he knew only from his studies. He’d never even witnessed an actual exorcism, but Sedge was the only living person who might know what had actually happened the night of Toneus’s murder, so he had to risk it.

Taking up the ink and brush, he painted warding symbols on his own forehead, over his heart, and on the palms of both hands. Kneeling beside Sedge, he wove a seeking spell on the air. It spread lazily over the man’s body for an instant, then streamed swiftly into Sedge’s mouth and nose as if he’d suddenly sucked in a great breath. He convulsed violently for an instant, then sat up and gave Thero a sly, baleful look, eyes rolled up in his head, leaving only the bloodshot whites showing. “Aka nor reh?” he growled in the same thick, eerie voice he’d spoken with in the madhouse.

Thero blinked in surprise. The words meant “Who summons me?” in early Konic.

“Aka tu mani?” Who are you?

Sedge let out a horrid laugh. “Urazia reh tu ali?” Want me to show you?

“Ra nor tu. Ali tua!” I summon you. Show yourself!

Sedge shuddered, then fell back on the blankets with a choked snarl, a plume of thick grey vapor pouring from his mouth. Formless, it swirled and buffeted around Thero, confined within the wards of the protective circle. The painted symbols on Thero’s skin grew hot and felt like they were crawling across his skin; whatever the spirit was, it was trying to invade his body as it had the captain’s. The warding symbols Thero had placed on Sedge would not let the creature back in, either. Formless though it was, Thero could hear it hissing and spitting in anger, and suddenly something cut across his forearm, opening the thick wool fabric of his coat like a razor whip and leaving a welt on the exposed skin. Other blows came in rapid succession across his shoulder, across his knee, his cheek, as the entity attacked from every direction at once like a storm of lashes. It couldn’t draw blood, thanks to his protective magic, but the pain was real and serious. Protecting his eyes with one arm, he reached in his pocket for anything he could use. He had nothing but the lump of chalk. This he held up, shouting “Avah! Aravah! Arasaaavah tula reso!” Bind, twice bind, thrice bind this being.

A storm of sharp blows covered his hands and neck. “Avah! Aravah! Arasaaavah tula reso!” He clung to the chalk, hoping desperately that it would not shatter, and chanted the third and fateful binding. “Avah! Aravah! Arasaaavah tula reso!”

A roar like thunder threw him against the table, but still he held the chalk. The grey vapor constricted around him, burning like fire, then it was gone. The chalk was so hot now it was raising blisters on his fingertips. He tried to pull himself up one-handed by the edge of the table, but it overturned on him. The basin and ewer smashed to bits and water sloshed across the floor, sinking into the cracks between the floorboards and running along them like channels. If the protective circle was washed away and the binding didn’t hold, the others would be killed.

Thero scrabbled through the broken crockery and scattered branches until he found the paintbrush. The ink had upended, too, but he dabbed at the spill and was able to get enough to inscribe the final holding sigil on the chalk. The ink hissed and sank in but the mark remained clear. The intense heat disappeared, leaving the chalk cool and inert.

Thero placed it carefully back in his pocket, then found his knife and cut the circle. He tried to stand, but collapsed instead at Alec’s feet.

“Stay down,” Alec advised, supporting him with one arm.

“People keep telling me that,” Thero replied with a shaky laugh.

Seregil examined Thero’s blistered hand and tattered state with concern. “What in Bilairy’s name just happened? Something practically flayed you.”

“I was caught by surprise,” Thero admitted. “It wasn’t a curse. It was a possession.”

“By what?” asked Micum. “One of those dra’gorgos things?”

“I’m not certain that’s even possible.” Thero took out the chalk with his unburned hand and checked the sigil to make sure it hadn’t gotten smudged. “Whatever it was, I managed to contain it. I must find somewhere safe and dry to store it until I can get it back to the Orëska vaults.” He looked around. “Kordira’s medicine. Pour one of them out and dry the inside thoroughly.”

Alec opened the bag and took out one of the brass containers. He pried loose the wax seal and dumped the potion out the door. Using the tail of his shirt, he wiped out the inside.

“It must be perfectly dry,” Thero said.

“Here, let me.” Seregil took the container, made a band of his handkerchief to hold it, and held it upside down over one of the lanterns to dry any remaining moisture.

“There, that should do it,” he said, setting it on the floor next to the wizard. Thero placed the chalk inside, seated the lid back into place, and ran his finger around the seam, murmuring the spell of sealing, which smoothed the remaining wax into a perfect gleaming ring securing the lid. “That will have to do until I can get to my equipment,” he said, more relieved than he let on.

“What if it doesn’t hold?” asked Alec.

Thero stifled a groan of pain as he rose to his feet. “It would be considerably worse than what you saw just now.”

“Something like that could have killed the governor and his companion, then taken over Sedge,” said Micum.

“That seems likely.” Sedge still lay sprawled on the floor among the wreckage. “I hope he’ll be able to tell us more.”

Micum felt Sedge’s pulse and placed a hand over the man’s heart. “I think he’s just asleep.”

“We may have already accomplished what the queen sent us for,” said Alec.

“I wouldn’t start repacking your trunk just yet.” Thero ran his unburned hand over his face. “The thing spoke old Konic, Seregil.”

“So I heard. That raises some interesting questions. Toneus’s renovations of the palace might have disturbed something important.”

“Yes.”

“Those wounds need attention, Thero,” said Alec. “Especially your fingers.”

“A cold bath and some salve should suffice. It’s Sedge we need to concern ourselves with now.”

He shook the guard gently by the shoulder, and the captain’s eyes fluttered open. He looked up, then grabbed Thero’s forearm in a painful grip. “Who are you?” he demanded in his own voice.

“You don’t remember me?”

“Never seen you before in my life.” He sat up and pushed Thero aside, then stared at the painted designs on his hands and naked body. “What’s going on here? Who in Sakor’s name are you people? And where in Bilairy’s name are my clothes?”

Seregil fetched the blanket and gave it to him. “My tattered friend here is the wizard who just cured your possession. You’ve been a gibbering madman for weeks.”

Sedge shook his head slowly. “Last thing I remember is hearing screams from the governor’s—” He looked around. “Where am I? What happened to Governor Toneus?”

“You remember nothing?” asked Seregil. “Think, man!”

“Give him time,” cautioned Thero. “Captain Sedge, we brought you here to Mirror Moon to heal you. You were possessed by some sort of spirit.”

“Is it safe to take him back to the house now?” asked Alec.

Thero nodded and together they got the dazed man into the cart. Leaving the cottage as it was, Thero gathered his tools and they headed back.

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.”

“Thank you, Dorin,” said Seregil.

“Very good, my lord. If you will give me a moment, I’ll see that breakfast is served.”

“No need,” Seregil replied. “I’ve a mind to eat in the kitchen today.”

Dorin looked as if Seregil had just told him he planned to dine on horse dung. “My lord, really, it will only take a moment.”

Seregil chuckled. “Don’t worry, Dorin, you’ll get used to our little eccentricities.”

The sweet aroma of baking oatcakes greeted them as Alec and Seregil entered the kitchen. Sabriel and Vhadä were at work at one of the tables. The boy was cutting up turnips and carrots; Sabriel was mixing something in a large bowl. Glancing up, she spied them by the door and gave them a surprised smile. “Good morning. Can I help you with something?”

“Just a bite to eat,” Seregil told her, pulling a stool from under the table and sitting down across from her.

“Here?” she asked as Alec sat down.

“If you don’t mind.” Alec felt a bit uncomfortable, as if they were unexpected guests in someone else’s home.

“Why, of course not, I’ve just never heard of such a thing! Boo—Vhadä, go and fetch the new bread from the oven. It should be done by now. And that hunk of bacon from the cold room. You’ll have some tea, won’t you?”

“Yes, please,” said Alec.

“I’ll just go and fetch a proper pot.”

Seregil pointed to a stout brown-glazed teapot on the mantelpiece. “Nothing wrong with that one.”

The woman gave him a puzzled look, then took it down, spooned tea leaves into it from a canister, lifted the steaming copper kettle from its hook over the fire, and filled the pot.

“Where do you get your tea?” Seregil asked.

Sabriel set the pot on the table in front of them and pulled a knitted cozy over it to keep the heat in. “From Aurënen, now. Before, it was shipped in from Plenimar.”

“They grow tea in Plenimar?” Alec said, surprised. “I assumed they got it by way of Virésse.”

Sabriel shrugged. “All I know’s that the chests used to be marked PLENIMAR and now they’re marked AURËNEN.”

“A change for the better, I hope,” said Seregil.

Sabriel gave them a fond look. “A lot of things are these days.”

Vhadä came in with the bread and a small haunch of bacon hanging from a loop of string. “Here you are, Sabriel.” He placed the bread and bacon on the table and looked at her expectantly. “Have you shown them yet?”

“Hush, child, and mind your manners,” she warned, and set about cutting thick slices of bacon to fry.

“Shown us what?” asked Seregil.

The cook hesitated, then set the knife aside. “I don’t suppose there’s any danger in it now.” Folding her hands against her apron, she closed her eyes and the mixing bowl rose off the table by itself, then settled back again with a soft thump.

“You’re a wizard?” said Alec.

“Oh, no, nothing so powerful, my—Alec, that is. If I was I wouldn’t have lived all those years with a collar around my neck.” Her hand stole to the high neck of her gown, which covered the worn-in scar of metal on flesh. “No, I can do a little trick here and there. Moving small things, mostly, but I can sometimes light the kindling when there’s no flint handy.”

“Did the man who enslaved you know?” asked Seregil.

“By the Light, no! During the Dark Times, before Kouros was rescued, the Plenimarans would kill any ’faie with so much as a hint of kitchen magic about them. Usually it was children, who didn’t know enough to be careful and got caught. Sometimes, though, a necromancer would come through and check households who paid him to ferret out any ’faie with the powers. I was lucky; he never came here. When one was found, though, we were all dragged off to the place of execution and made to watch.” She wiped her eyes on a corner of her apron, then took a skillet off a hook, threw in the bacon, and set it to fry on a grate over the hearth. Poking the strips straight with a fork, she shook her head and said softly, “It was horrible, what they did to them.”

“Weren’t any of them strong enough to fight back?” asked Alec.

“That sort didn’t end up as slaves.”

“I suppose not. I’m sorry.”

She looked back at him. “Nothing to be sorry for, my dear. That’s all behind us now, thanks to Princess Klia and those like her. Like you two, as well, with all your kindness. It truly is a new day for Kouros.”

“Are there many others with magic?” asked Seregil.

“I don’t know. It was the sort of thing you didn’t share with anyone. Knowing and not telling was as bad as having the magic yourself.”

“I suppose so.”

As soon as the bacon was crisp she heaped four plates with it, oatcakes laced with honey, and fresh bread spread thickly with butter. Alec entertained them with tales of Rhíminee while they all ate together.

When they were through, Seregil and Alec carried heavily laden trays up for Thero and Sedge.

“How are you feeling today, Captain?” Alec asked as Sedge eagerly set upon the hot food.

“Better than last night,” he replied. “Been talking with Lord Thero here. Reckon I owe you all an apology for how I acted.”

Micum came in just then, pulled over a chair, and sat down by the bed. “Not a bit, after what you’ve been through.”

“My family—can I go to them? My poor wife must be beside herself with worry.”

“We’ll send word to her today,” Seregil promised. “Commander Klia should be here soon and you’ll need to answer her questions, and Thero’s.” He turned to the wizard. “Why not let the man eat and rest until Klia gets here, so he doesn’t have to go over everything twice?”

Thero began to say something impatient, then stopped. “I suppose another hour or two won’t make any difference.”

Within the hour Vhadä came streaking in with news of a great column of riders and wagons coming their way. Leaving Sedge in Micum’s care, Alec, Seregil, and Thero went out to meet Klia. The sun was shining brightly, glinting off helms and harnesses as Klia and her soldiers came up the road at a canter.

Klia led the column in full uniform; Mika, dressed for riding in a tunic, breeches, and shiny new boots, rode beside her on a pony Klia had given him in Rhíminee. Zella rode just behind, mounted on a spirited Kouros black. As they came to the house, a grizzled woman Alec recognized as Captain Brescia, one of Klia’s most trusted officers, took over the column, leading the riders up into the pasture beyond.

Mika, Klia, and Lady Zella rode up to meet Alec and the others. Mika slid off his pony’s back and ran to Thero. Taking his hand to examine the still-visible stripes of the attack, he exclaimed, “Who hurt you, Master?”

Klia joined them and touched Thero’s cheek in concern. “Yes, what have you been up to?”

“A cleansing of Captain Sedge had a few unexpected turns,” Thero told them. “It’s nothing to worry about. I’m fine, and so is he.”

“The captain is in his right mind again,” Alec added. “We waited for you before we questioned him.”

“Did you get anything else useful out of Karis?” asked Seregil.

Klia shook her head. “No. The poor man hanged himself in his cell that night, with the blanket I insisted he be given. I meant to be kind. Instead I handed him the instrument of his own destruction.”

Thero took her hand. “His fear was so great, he’d probably have found a way no matter what. The thought of returning to Menosi was too much for him.”

Zella joined them and dismounted. “I trust all is ready, my lords? By the Light, Lord Thero!”

“I’m quite all right,” Thero assured her. “Would you mind watching Mika for me? Ah, and here’s a friend for you,” he added as Vhadä appeared shyly in the doorway. “Vhadä, would you show Mika the pond? We’re going to interview Captain Sedge.”

The boys grinned at each other and took off running for the pond, Vhadä already extolling its features.

“Then you were able to help him?” asked Zella. “Illior must have looked kindly on him.”

“Indeed, and me, as well,” he replied.

Alec and the others led Klia up to Sedge’s room.

They found him playing cards with Micum, laughing together as if they were old friends. Alec smiled; Micum often had that effect on people. The captain was dressed in unfamiliar clothing of Plenimaran cut, no doubt left by the previous inhabitants.

At the sight of Klia’s uniform and golden gorget he jumped to his feet and pressed his fist to his heart. “Highness, I am yours to command!”

“Thank you, Captain. I’m glad to find you looking so well.”

Sedge dropped his fist but remained standing at attention. “I have these kind men to thank for that, Highness. Lord Thero, I believe my memory’s improved, now that I’m not in fear for my life.”

Klia took a chair by the window and motioned for the others to sit. “At ease, Captain. Please, sit down.”

Sedge hesitated, then settled stiffly on the edge of the bed.

“Now, I need a full report of what happened that night, or at least what you’ve remembered,” Klia told him, getting down to business.

“I’ll do the best I can, Highness. Most of it’s a blur, still. Phania and I were talking to the guards outside Governor Toneus’s room, he and the lady having turned in for the night. There was no sign of any strangers about; in fact, we hadn’t seen so much as a servant for some time. It must have been around midnight when we heard the screams.” He was pale now, and his fists were clenched on his knees.

“Who was screaming?” asked Klia.

“It came from inside the room, Highness, so it could only have been the governor and his lady. I remember the lieutenant yelling for help. The door was locked and the governor had the only key, so I had to kick it down. It took some doing and the screaming stopped before I got it open but when I did—” He passed a shaking hand across his eyes. “I just got a glimpse of—of what was left of them when I heard Phania cry out behind me. I turned and saw her disappear into thin air, or rather into some kind of deeper darkness there in the corridor. She was just—gone. Then something came out of the darkness at me.” He shuddered and sat there, staring down at his hands.

“What came at you?” Thero asked quietly. “It’s important that you tell us everything.”

“I can’t tell you that, my lord, because I don’t remember.”

“Nothing that looked like a man in a dark cloak?”

“I’m sorry, I just don’t know. After that it’s all confused until I woke up last night. It was like I was caught in a bad dream and couldn’t wake up. All I remember is blood, Highness, and being visited by awful—I don’t know what to call them. Big smoky things with yellow eyes like a cat’s and they meant to finish the job. And that’s all I can tell you. I swear to it.”

“Smoke? I’d like to touch your mind again,” said Thero. “Now that you’re clearheaded, there might be something more I could bring out.”

Sedge nodded and Thero stood and placed his fingers on the man’s temples. After a moment he grimaced, then nodded to himself and withdrew his hands. “Something definitely emerged from some sort of unnatural portal, and I believe we encountered it last night.” He shook his head. “This is beyond my knowledge, but it most certainly was not a dra’gorgos. I hesitate to use the term, but for want of a better word, it may in fact have been some sort of demon.”

Alec instinctively made a warding sign and noticed that Seregil did the same.

“That only adds to the confusion,” said Seregil. “I mean, you seem certain that it was a dra’gorgos that Karis saw that night, yet you’re saying what Sedge found in the governor’s chamber was something else?”

“Yes.”

“Karis?” Sedge brightened at that. “He’s a good lad. I’m glad he escaped that night.”

No one disabused him of that idea, and Alec guessed it wasn’t time to burden the man with another death in his condition.

“So the governor and his lady were killed by a demon, rather than a dra’gorgos?” he asked. Sedge was watching them with renewed fear. “You’re saying I had a demon in me? Why didn’t it tear me to pieces, as well?”

“Only the demon would know that, if such creatures think and reason,” Thero replied. “Really, you know as much as we do at this point. Perhaps it was curious.”

“Have you ever heard of a necromancer who could control demons?” asked Micum.

“There are ancient tales, but I haven’t heard of one in my lifetime.”

“Assuming that this necromancer can, then maybe he wanted to make a very definite statement,” said Seregil. “Such as, ‘Try and take this island from Plenimar and I’ll slaughter anyone you send to rule in the nastiest possible way.’ ”

Thero gave Klia a stricken look as the enormity of the possibility became clear. “You’re in danger here, more than I guessed!”

“Only if I sleep in the old palace, apparently,” she replied calmly. “Otherwise, the necromancer could have killed Toneus much sooner, down in Deep Harbor, where there are more people around to get that message.”

“She has a point, Thero,” said Seregil. “For that matter, if the whole point was to terrorize, why not leave Lady Seria alive to tell the tale?”

“We aren’t going to find any answers here.” Klia placed a hand on Sedge’s shoulder. “I’m sorry to say this, Captain, but I need you to accompany me to Menosi today and show us exactly where you saw these things. Once you’ve done that, you are free to go back to your family.”

The captain went a little pale, but he bravely saluted her again. “I serve you and the Queen, Highness. If you judge me fit, I’d prefer to take up my place again.”

“I have plenty of horses to spare,” said Seregil, going to the door. “I don’t know if the house has an armory or not. I’ll go check with Dorin.”

“Where is my baggage?” Thero asked Klia.

“Somewhere in the wagons.”

“I’ll need to find it before we leave.”

“I’m sure the wagoneers can help you,” she replied.

“Good. I’ll go see to that while you make your final preparations.”

Thero went to his room and took the brass container holding the chalk out from behind his pillow, then went downstairs, where he found Mika sitting on a carved bench in the front hall, swinging his legs impatiently. Lady Zella was chatting with the housekeeper.

“Come along, Mika,” Thero said, striding for the door. “I have something new to show you.”

The boy brightened considerably as he trotted along at his side.

Thero found his horse saddled and ready in the courtyard beside Mika’s pony, and together they rode up to where the wagons were drawn up in the nearby pasture.

Thero’s trunks were located and he and Mika climbed up into the wagon to kneel beside a large iron-bound box, which held the equipment Thero had brought. Among the carefully packed instruments and spell ingredients were several crystal boxes of varying sizes. Selecting one of the smaller ones, he took the lump of blue chalk from the jar and placed it inside the crystal box.

“This is a very important spell,” he told the boy. He showed him the painted symbol on the chalk. “A very evil spirit came out of Captain Sedge during a cleansing ritual. That’s what made these marks you see on my hands and face. It struck me all over, in fact, and even though I had taken precautions, it still hurt a lot and was very dangerous. If I hadn’t known how to capture and seal the spirit in this chalk, it would probably have killed me.”

“Master!”

Taking advantage of the boy’s fear for him, Thero continued. “You know how I’m always telling you not to attempt to do things you haven’t been fully instructed in? It’s because of this very sort of thing. I’m not an expert in demon binding, and it was only luck that I’d thought to take the particular precautions that I did. I might just as easily have been killed or possessed, and our friends with me. Do you understand what I’m telling you?”

“I have to be careful because what I think I’m doing right might not be?”

“That’s right. We walk a thin line between bravery and death, we wizards. Don’t ever forget that.”

“I won’t, Master Thero.”

“Now, watch what I do, for this is a very important and useful spell.” Thero placed the lid on the crystal box and ran his finger around the circle where lid and box met. “Arturvia descorim. That means ‘seal forever’ in our language and seals the box completely. See how it’s become one solid piece? This is what you do with dangerous objects. The vaults under the Orëska House have shelves and shelves of these, containing all sorts of dreadful things.”

“Can it be opened again?”

“Oh, yes, but that’s a different spell and you’ll seldom want to use it.” He took out a tiny crystal box and handed it to Mika. “You try. The spell words are arturvia descorim, and while you say them you must concentrate your power through your fingertip and picture that it’s a stick of melted sealing wax that you’re using to seal the box.”

As he’d expected, Mika managed it on the first try, just as Thero had when Nysander taught him that spell.

ZELLA and Seregil were waiting for them in the great hall when Alec and the others came down with Sedge.

Seregil handed Sedge a sheathed long sword and belt that Dorin had found in a closet. “There you are, my friend. Let’s just hope you have no need of it.”

“Are you pleased with your estate, my lords?” Zella asked as they walked out to where the grooms held their horses.

“Very pleased, my lady,” Alec replied, taking Windrunner’s reins from a groom.

“Yes,” Seregil agreed. “The house is remarkable, and the herds superb!”

Zella glanced curiously at the bows Alec and Micum carried. “Are you intending to hunt along the way?”

“You never know,” Alec replied, mounting and laying the Black Radly across his saddlebow. The fact was, he felt safer with it, not knowing what they were facing. “Is there much game?”

“Oh, yes! The island swine are a great delicacy, and there are wild goats, if you care for the taste. Lots of game birds, too, and deer up on Mount Erali.”

With Klia’s escort flanking them, the company set off inland for the old capital, following a road that ran beside a river.

“The island is well watered,” Micum observed. “A pity about the forests.”

“All gone to shipbuilding and houses long ago,” said Zella.

They saw scattered herds of wild goats and a few swine. Foxes darted across the road, hunting field mice in the tall grass beyond. Eagles circled above them against a clear blue sky, piercing the surrounding quiet with their high, stuttering calls. The way steepened and the river grew louder, tumbling over and foaming around boulders and small islands. It twisted sharply around bends, and the road followed it between rising hills that cut off the view.

The encampment and city surprised them as they rounded one last wide curve at midafternoon. Menosi was surrounded by crumbling walls that still showed bits of broken statuary along the tops here and there, along with the fancy stonework that had decorated the uppermost stones. The huge gate that must have stood in a thick, towering archway had long ago rotted away and not been rebuilt, though two of the massive hinges remained, furred with rust.

A circle of several dozen brightly colored tents and awnings stood on the level ground before it, already teeming with servants who came to the roadside and bowed to Klia. Smoke rose here and there, bringing with it the smell of roasting meats.

“Shall we stop so you can refresh yourself, Highness?” asked Zella, and Seregil sensed she was in no hurry to enter the city.

“No, let’s go on.”

“Shall I see that the soldiers are billeted, or do you want them to come with you?” asked Captain Brescia.

“Break out a decuria and come with me. Billet the rest here,” Klia replied.

“You’ll be staying here, as well,” Thero told Mika.

“But Master, we’re almost there!” Mika exclaimed, disappointed.

“And I told you already that you can come in when I’ve found it to be safe. No sulking now. You must find us a tent and make sure our baggage is properly stowed. And explore the encampment for me. I’ll expect a full report.”

Mika brightened a little at being trusted with a responsibility. “I’ll make sure everything is taken care of, Master.”

“Very good.”

“I’ll make sure he has a tent close to Klia’s,” said the captain. With that she saluted and rode off to make arrangements.

Klia waved Sedge to her side. “You’ll be our guide from here, Captain. Are you ready?”

The man gave her a brave salute. “I am, Highness.”

“A moment, if you will,” said Thero. “I think it’s best if we take some additional precautions.” He dismounted and pulled a leather tube from his saddlebag. Inside were an ink stone and a small brush. “If someone could lend me a waterskin, please, I’ll make quick work of this.”

One by one, each member of the party going into the city stood before Thero as he painted a quick succession of wards on the backs of their hands, over their hearts, and on their foreheads, which offered some protection from any dra’gorgos they might meet, and from demons.

Klia blew on the symbols on her hands to dry the ink. “We’re a strange-looking bunch now.”

“Learn and live. Right, Thero?” Alec said with a grin.

Seregil’s heart beat a bit faster as their smaller contingent continued on through the gates and into the echoing avenue that bisected the city. Here lay the heart of the mystery—and probably danger, as well. He caught Alec’s eye and Micum’s and the three shared a dark smile.

A few buildings were still standing here, but closer inspection found empty windows, broken walls, and missing roofs. Even so, evidence lingered of the gracious place it must have been a millennium ago in the lines of the buildings, and the crumbling façades crowned with triangular pediments and more bits of statuary.

Much of the rest was rubble, and from the barrows and shovels scattered about, workmen had been clearing away the broken stone before Toneus’s death had driven everyone from the city in fear.

They passed through a market square and Zella pointed out a large, four-sided structure that still stood at the center of it. This had clearly been restored, for the side facing them had a solid-looking door carved with symbols of Astellus, and the wall surrounding it was freshly painted with scenes of naked youths and maidens riding leaping dolphins through stylized waves in front of a setting sun.

“That’s the oldest shrine to the Four we’ve found, apart from the oracle’s cave,” she explained. “There’s a door on each side, which let into a room with an altar and paintings on the wall. The building was largely intact, and showed signs of recent use. The paintings inside were quite recent, as if someone had been tending it. Toneus had the ones on the outside restored. It’s quite beautiful. It’s clearly dedicated to the Four, but some of the imagery is different.”

“I’ll examine it later,” said Klia. “Please, lead on.”

As they continued Seregil noticed that Thero was squinting a bit and rubbing his forehead. “You should have worn a hat.”

“It’s not that,” Thero replied. “There’s magic here. Strong magic of a sort I don’t recognize.”

Overhearing, Sedge glanced back. “A wizard or necromancer?”

“No, it’s more diffuse, like it’s coming out of the ground and air.”

“Some remnant of the Hierophants?” asked Alec.

“Or something native that drew them to build here in the first place,” Micum remarked. “Why would a people travel who knows how far from the east, get this close to the fertile mainland, and stop here instead?”

“Will you be able to continue, Thero?” Klia asked, concerned.

“Yes, it’s just giving me a bit of a headache. I’m sure I’ll adjust.”

As they went on toward the palace, the former glory of the place was still more evident in fanciful stonework, delicate fountains in paved squares, and a few whole statues still standing on plinths above the streets. One was an intricately coiled dragon with one outstretched wing; another was of a tall man in robes and a strange apron carved with what appeared to be stars and sigils. Instead of a crown, he wore a diadem with four long rays flanking a disk cradled by a crescent. His face was long and gaunt, and his beard flowed down his chest in heavy waves and curls. His right hand was raised palm out, and he held a heavy-looking tome with his left. There was an inscription across the top of the plinth in a script only Seregil and Thero recognized.

“One of the Hierophants?” asked Micum.

“Yes, though we’re not sure which one,” Zella replied.

“Actually, the inscription, in Middle Konic, reads: ‘Sardomin the Sage, Builder of Wonders,’ ” Seregil told her. “From the inflection, I’d say this was built about fifteen hundred years ago.”

“You speak the language?” asked Zella.

“He speaks a lot of languages,” Micum said with a chuckle.

“As does Thero,” Seregil added. “What do you say? A contest to see who can decipher inscriptions first?”

“Perhaps another time,” the wizard replied.

Alec felt a vague sense of foreboding as they continued down the broad avenue that cut through the center of Menosi—a feeling that only increased when he caught a hint of motion from the corner of his eye. A dark figure ducked into an alleyway between the ruins of two buildings.

“I think there’s someone over there,” he murmured to Seregil.

Wheeling their horses, they rode to see who was sneaking around. The walls that formed the alley were intact, and it dead-ended against another wall. The shadows were deep but at the far end Alec could make out a young girl kneeling with a knitted shawl pulled close around her narrow shoulders. She was crying.

“What’s wrong, miss?” asked Alec. He dismounted and walked slowly down the alley so as not to alarm her.

She looked up at him, her face thin and dirty, and said something that he didn’t understand.

He took out his handkerchief and held it out to her. She hitched a sob as she took it and wiped her face, then disappeared before his eyes.

Alec stepped back in alarm, hair prickling on his arms and up his neck. The handkerchief lay on the ground where she’d been, pristine as when he’d put it in his pocket. He gingerly picked it up. It was dry. He looked around, wondering if anyone else was hiding in the shadows, then hurried back to where Seregil was waiting at the mouth of the alley.

“How could anyone think this place isn’t haunted?” he said, showing Seregil the handkerchief.

“What did you see?”

Alec looked up at him in surprise. “Didn’t you see the girl?”

“No, but I did watch you give your handkerchief to something I couldn’t see. I’m starting to think you have a talent for attracting spirits.”

“Illior’s Light, I hope not!” Alec cast a last glance over his shoulder then swung up into the saddle and they rode back to where the others were waiting.

“What was that all about?” asked Klia.

“Alec saw a ghost,” Seregil replied before Alec could.

“That’s not uncommon, especially here in the city,” Zella told him. “Given the number of disappearances around here, I’d keep my distance.”

“So you really think ghosts are stealing people?”

Zella nodded. “Something is. My lords, I advise you to stay with the group and leave the ghosts to their business.”

“I didn’t know she was a ghost,” Alec told her.

“Those are the most dangerous kind,” Sedge told him. “We saw a lot of them, on guard duty at night, and sometimes even in daylight, like you just did. More than once they tried to lure my soldiers away from their posts.”

Goose bumps broke out on Alec’s arms again. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

They went on and soon came in sight of the great palace, which stood on a rise at the far side of the bowl-shaped valley. Alec stole a glance at Sedge and found the man looking pale but resolute.

Sunlight glinted off newly glazed windows, and colorful pennants in the queen’s colors fluttered on the battlements. Unlike the palace in Rhíminee, it was built not to be a fortress, but rather with grace and beauty. Square, with two tall towers, it was made of the local light-colored limestone, with decorative scrolled details done with black basalt inlay work. Tall pointed arches framed the windows. The main entrance was a set of immense double stone doors, each carved with a large ouroboros. The serpent that formed the circle had four horns and small wings. Within the circle of its body was carved an archaic ship.

“The seal of the Hierophant,” Thero murmured.

Four armed guards stood to attention on the steps at Klia’s approach. Even with their presence, the place felt deserted and, it seemed to Alec, eerily silent. “It looks a bit like the Orëska House.”

“That’s no accident,” Thero replied. “Tamír the Great sent her architects here for inspiration while building Rhíminee. I suspect a few wizards came along.”

Newly built villas and restored old ones ringed the palace precinct, ready for new occupants. The street and huge oval courtyard were freshly paved with granite cobbles, still immaculate, and edged with neat verges, showing the first pale green of spring and sprinkled with bluets.

“It’s lovely,” said Klia, reining in. “Hard to imagine anything grisly, here in the sunshine.”

“I’m afraid what I must show you will change your mind, Highness,” Zella replied as they reined in before the impressive entrance.

“How’s your headache, Thero?” asked Alec.

The wizard gave him a wan smile. “A bit worse, actually. I wish I had one of the good doctor’s draughts.”

“How many guards do you have here?” asked Klia.

“Four on each of the entrances, and more to patrol the precinct,” Zella explained.

“No one inside?”

“It seemed unnecessary, and dangerous, Highness.”

“So no one’s been inside since that day?” Seregil asked.

“Which means that anyone could have come in,” Alec added.

“I assure you, Baron, no one comes here,” Zella replied.

As they reached the guards it was clear that the soldiers were exhausted and under stress. A tall woman wearing a lieutenant’s steel gorget came down the steps and saluted Klia, then gave Sedge a quick look of surprise and relief.

Klia dismounted. “Lieutenant, I’m Princess Klia, your new governor and general.”

The woman bowed, fist to her heart again. “Lieutenant Nara, at your service, Highness.”

“Report.”

“We’ve lost two more guards in the past week, Highness.”

“There have been others?”

“Yes, Highness, the count is at fourteen now, all since the previous governor was killed. I don’t believe all of them were desertions.”

“What do you think, Lieutenant?”

Nara exchanged an uncomfortable glance with the guard next to her. “Whatever took Lieutenant Phania, Highness.”

“I appreciate your good efforts,” said Klia, “but there’s not some more rational explanation? Soldiers do desert—”

“With respect, Highness, not my people. I was talking to one of my men in a chamber near the royal apartments just two nights ago. I stepped out to call for someone else and when I looked back, Thorn was gone. Just gone.”

Alec exchanged an uneasy look with Seregil; had he just had a narrow escape?

“There’s been no one else about except for those who bring us supplies,” Nara was saying. “It’s getting hard to count on them, as they’ve lost a few people in the dark. And most of us have seen things, Highness, things we can’t explain any other way: women with no heads, children who call to you then disappear. I saw a man with no eyes near the royal chamber, where the lamps were lit. He looked just as real as you or me.”

“And you think they’re stealing your people?”

“I do, Highness.”

“Thank you for the warning. How long have you and your people been on duty here?”

“Since the previous governor was killed, Highness.”

Klia turned to Zella. “Weeks in this place? Was this by your order?”

“I didn’t know what else to do,” Zella replied uneasily. “I feared if they went back to town they’d spread rumors.”

“We’ll speak more of this later.” She motioned Sedge forward. “As soon as you’ve shown us the royal chambers, I want you to get a full report from everyone who’s been on duty here.”

Sedge saluted and Alec thought he looked relieved to have something routine to look forward to.

“Anything else to report, Lieutenant?” asked Klia.

“Yes, Highness. Strange noises have been heard up around the oracle’s cave.”

“Such as?”

“Shouts, screams, moans.”

“And the weeping,” one of the soldiers added.

“Yes, the sound of a man weeping,” the lieutenant said.

“Thank you, Lieutenant. I’ll see about getting you some relief here. Speak to your people about keeping things to themselves for now.”

Klia led the way up the broad stairs to the massive double doors, and the guards pulled them open by the large brass ouroboros-shaped handles set in each one. Despite the make and size of the doors, they swung silently open with apparent ease.

Thero paused and pressed his palm to the right-hand door, forehead furrowed in concentration or pain.

“What do you feel?” asked Klia.

“Echoes of great magic,” the wizard whispered, almost reverently. “The stones are steeped in it.”

“But the Hierophants didn’t have magic, did they?” asked Alec.

“It’s believed that they didn’t until they mixed with the ’faie here, but there’s more than that. The ground itself seems to have power.”

“Perhaps that is why the first Hierophant settled here,” said Seregil.

Inside they found themselves in a huge, vaulted hall richly decorated with frescoes of forest and ocean scenes, many featuring dolphins. Soaring pillars painted in ornate designs of blue, silver, and red stood in ranks around the room. The domed ceiling was painted a dark blue and featured representations of the rising and setting suns and recognizable constellations. The floor was covered in a mosaic of a massive red dragon in flight over a walled city; it was nearly identical to the floor of the atrium at the Orëska House, but larger in scale.

“These are the original paintings,” Zella said with some pride. “Dozens of artists were enlisted to study what remained of the designs and restore them. It was truly a labor of love for the governor.”

They proceeded along a series of arched, echoing corridors, past empty rooms freshly painted in wonderful, sometimes gaudy scenes and colors. Alec thought he caught movement again, but kept it to himself.

“These are the royal apartments,” Zella said, stopping outside one of the few closed doors. It was made of polished red oak, and carved with the Skalan royal crest above that of the Hierophant.

“The governor seems to have wanted to link the histories of Skala and Kouros,” Seregil remarked.

“Toneus thought to honor the queen by including both crests, to show that she is mistress of both.” Zella took out a large key and unlocked the door. “The bedchamber is at the back of the suite, overlooking a garden.”

“Sedge, you’ll take the lead from here,” Klia ordered.

Nodding grimly, the man opened the door and led them into a large receiving room partially furnished with heavily carved pieces similar to what Alec had seen at the governor’s palace. These were pushed to the center of the room, however, and draped with paint-spattered canvas. Two walls were freshly frescoed with archaic designs of lines, circles, cross-hatching, and more of the six-pointed stars they’d seen on the statue. The other two walls were in the process of being painted in a similar fashion. The painters’ tools and buckets were neatly arranged along one wall.

“This, too, is the original style of decoration?” asked Klia. “It’s different than the rest.”

“Yes, Highness.”

“They may have symbolic, perhaps even magical significance dating from the original Hierophant’s time,” Thero mused, studying the symbols on the wall beside him with interest.

“Do you feel any magic here?” asked Alec.

“No more than I have so far. In fact, it may be weaker in here.”

“Where were you when you heard the cries?” Klia asked Sedge.

“Outside the bedchamber, Highness. The governor had dismissed the servants, so it was just him, his lady, and the two guards on duty outside.”

Two smaller rooms let off this one, and a door at the back of the room led down a short corridor to a library with empty shelves and then into a lavish and quite modern bath chamber.

Zella produced a brass key and handed it to Sedge. “Please forgive me if I do not continue with you.” She was pale, and her hands shook noticeably. “It’s just … I knew them.”

Klia nodded. “I understand. Please, go back to the front room. We’ll meet you there.”

“If I may, Highness,” said Captain Brescia. “Let me and a few of my people go in with him first and make sure it’s safe.”

Klia nodded and let the captain and her riders take the lead with Sedge.

Passing through the bath chamber, they went through another short, windowless corridor with several servants’ chambers along it and came at last to a carved door.

“I was here, near the door,” Sedge told them. “And the lieutenant was there on the other side.”

He indicated a corner flanked by bare stone wall. There were no doors or windows a person might have been pulled into or out of.

Alec noted the gore on either side of the door, thick on the walls and floor. “And that’s where the night guards were.”

Sedge nodded. “Good lads, both of them.”

Thero made a close investigation of the space, running his hands over the walls and casting an orange sigil on the air that Alec recognized as one that would lead to magical items or places. This time, however, it simply dissipated into thin air. Thero gave Klia a shrug, then nodded for Sedge to proceed.

The smell of old blood hit them as soon as the door swung open, and with it the stink of guts and shit, worse than anything Alec had encountered in some time. Trying not to gag, he covered his nose and mouth with a handkerchief. The others did the same.

Sedge and the riders stepped in, then emerged a moment later looking grim.

“No sign of danger, Highness,” Sedge reported. “But it’s bad.”

Klia stepped past him into the room with Thero. Seregil, Alec, and Micum crowded into the doorway to see.

The bedchamber was a well-appointed charnel house. Most of the furnishings were overturned, the draperies shredded, the windows smashed. The silken bed hangings hung in tattered ribbons and tangled with what could only be dried bits of intestine. This horror framed an even more horrific sight: the bedclothes had been thrown aside, and the sheet and mattress were torn to pieces and black with dried blood, or worse. Alec could make out bits of scalp with hair still attached, smears of what was probably brains, and excrement. Flies crawled over everything and buzzed thickly in the room. Something else hung from the frame above the bed: a maggot-ridden dead owl.

It was too much. Alec staggered back down the corridor into the bath chamber and was noisily sick in a marble basin. When there was nothing left to throw up, he wiped his mouth and sat back on his heels, mortified. He jumped as a hand touched his shoulder, but it was only Micum.

“You should go keep Lady Zella company,” the older man murmured.

But pride would not allow it. “I’m fine.”

Forewarned this time, he and Micum went back to the death chamber.

Thero had taken out his crystal wand and held it between his palms, eyes closed, frowning. The others were making a thorough but gingerly search of the room.

“What do you think of that?” Seregil said through his handkerchief, pointing up at the dead owl.

“Just like in my dream,” Alec replied, keeping his own handkerchief over his mouth and nose and trying hard not to think about the foulness of the air.

Thero opened his eyes and turned to Alec. “You dreamed of a hanged owl? Not Seregil?”

“That’s right.”

“Tell me the rest of it.”

Alec told him of the ghostly woman, his vision and the dream, and the sight of the dead owl hanging from the bed, just as this one was. “It’s even the same kind of owl: a bar tail.”

“So the dream had nothing to do with this place?”

“No.”

“What is the significance of a hanged owl?” asked Klia.

“My guess it’s a curse or charm against the powers of Illior.” Thero closed his eyes again. “Necromancy was used here, but there’s something else, something strong and strange that partially masks it.”

“So we are looking for a necromancer?” said Micum.

“And one who was able to get close enough to the governor to bring this down upon him,” noted Seregil.

“Yes.” Thero wove another orange sigil, and they watched it dissipate meaninglessly in the fetid air.

“No guidance there,” said Seregil.

“Not entirely true,” Thero replied, frowning. “It does show that there’s no kind of magical item or telesm in the room.”

“A locked, bolted room,” Klia reminded him. “He or she must have translocated somehow, as you do.”

“I’ve never heard of a necromancer being able to do that,” Thero replied. “He could have sent in a dra’gorgos if he had the power and skill. And yet …” He closed his eyes again. “I don’t sense any trace of one, even though the sense of destructive magic is strong.”

“Brescia, have that owl cut down and respectfully burned,” Klia ordered. “I think we’ve seen enough here for now. On to the oracle’s shrine.”

Mika took his master’s orders very seriously. As soon as Thero was gone, he located the wagon master who’d carried their baggage and talked him into bringing the wagon to the large purple tent they’d been assigned, then enlisted the aid of two passing soldiers to help unload the heavy equipment chest.

“Be very careful with that,” he cautioned. “It has things inside that will break, and Master Thero would be very angry.”

“Not to worry, boy,” the older soldier said as he and his mate heaved the chest down and carried it into the tent. They helped him with the rest of the scant baggage, just two packs of clothing and a bag of herbs, then clapped him on the shoulder and went on about their business.

The tent was large, about the size of the tower sitting room, and carpets had been laid over the grass to form a sort of floor. Two cots were prepared, as well as a washstand and a small folding desk. Lanterns hung from the roof poles, too high for Mika to reach without standing on tiptoe on a chair.

There wasn’t much to put in order, so Mika set about his next assignment: to explore the rest of the encampment.

Klia’s blue-and-gold-striped tent was the largest, and distinguished by her banners flanking the doorway. The soldiers’ tents were plain white canvas and arranged in a circle around an open central space lined with cooks’ booths. Klia’s tent faced onto this circle.

In the center of the open area were several large fire pits where whole sheep were being turned on spits by the camp cooks. Mika’s mouth watered and his belly growled. It had been a long time since breakfast in Deep Harbor.

He wandered around the cooks’ booths and soon enough a plump young servant offered him a meat pie and some pieces of dried apple. Mika thanked him and walked through the tents toward the river, looking for somewhere to sit and enjoy his meal.

He walked back down the road to where a large rock stuck up from the riverbank not far from camp. Climbing onto it, Mika sat there taking in the view of the river and road winding away below him. The sun was tipping toward the western horizon, and he imagined Rhíminee and his parents under where it would come down. He’d never been any farther away from home than the Orëska House, and he felt a little scared and homesick, all by himself in this strange place without even Master Thero or Alec for company. Suddenly the meat pie didn’t taste so savory.

Just then he heard the rattle of falling stone and turned to find a skinny young boy about his own age standing across the road from where he sat, staring at him. He was dirty and dressed in a rough tunic and sandals; the long black hair that hung past his shoulders looked like it hadn’t been combed in days.

“Who are you?” Mika asked, cheered at the prospect of a potential companion.

The other boy gave him a startled look, then crossed the road and stood at the base of the stone, looking up at Mika with his head cocked to one side. He had brown eyes, and his skin was tanned dark from being out in the sun.

“Hello. I’m Mika of Rhíminee. What’s your name?”

The boy just touched his throat and shook his head.

“You can’t talk? You’re a mute?” Mika put a hand over his own mouth.

The boy nodded and grinned, then waved for Mika to come down and join him.

Mika slid off the stone and offered the other boy a piece of dried apple. “You look hungry.”

The silent one shook his head and waved Mika toward the riverbank. Mika wanted to go, but felt a little guilty. Master Thero hadn’t exactly said he couldn’t leave the camp, just that he couldn’t go into Menosi. Promising himself he wouldn’t go very far, he followed.

They walked along the bank for a while, then squatted down by the water. The other boy began turning over stones until he found something and snatched it up with nimble fingers. Holding it in his cupped hands, he showed Mika what looked like a tiny brown lobster. Delighted, Mika took it gently between two fingers and watched it wave its tiny claws in the air. The other boy took it back and put it in the water, then showed Mika where to look for more of the creatures. There were snails, too, cruising slowly over the algae-covered river rocks, and little striped fish that evaded capture.

Mika and the boy worked their way down the riverbank, finding more and more of the lobsters, water beetles, a pair of otters, and glistening globules of frog eggs in a quiet eddy. Mika pulled off his boots and rolled up his trousers and joined the other boy wading in the shallows. He showed Mika how to catch the little fish in his hands and even ate one, giving Mika a challenging grin to do the same. He hesitated, then couldn’t bring himself to do it.

Grinning, the boy cut his hand into the water, splashing Mika from head to foot.

“That’s cold!” he cried, but repaid him in kind and soon they were both soaking wet and laughing.

Splashing turned to wrestling on the grass and soon Mika was wetter and muddier than he’d ever been in his life. Gasping with laughter, he struggled loose and ran back to the road. The day had grown overcast while they played, and Mika began to worry about how long he’d been gone. Looking back the way they’d come, he couldn’t see the stone he’d been sitting on. Guilt lanced through him. Master Thero would definitely be angry if he found out how far away he’d wandered, even though Mika hadn’t meant to. He’d just been having fun and got distracted. It was time to go back.

Just then a guttural shout stopped him in his tracks.

On the rise behind him stood a young man dressed much the same as Mika’s new friend, but this fellow wasn’t smiling. Mika could tell at once that he was angry by the way he shouted again and shook a gnarled cudgel in their direction. The sudden look of fear on the mute boy’s face confirmed it. He grabbed Mika by the hand and began pulling him back the way they’d come. Looking over his shoulder, Mika saw that the man was chasing them. Mika’s friend made a choking sound and tugged at his arm, urging him to run faster. Somehow they’d strayed away from the road. Nothing looked familiar and there were only grass and sharp stones under his bare feet.

They ran for all they were worth, rounding a bend in the river and regaining the road. Mika could see the stone where he’d sat far ahead, and blue sky. He was nearly to it when a heavy hand caught him by the shoulder and sent him tumbling to the ground. How had the man caught up with them so fast? He stood over Mika and swung that terrifying cudgel. Mika threw up his left arm to ward off the blow, and it struck his forearm. There was a sickening snap as a bone broke and a sudden numbness. Mika screamed and tried to roll away as the man brought the club up again. Before he could strike Mika a second blow, his friend tackled the man and knocked him sideways. The man slapped the boy across the face hard enough to knock him down, and swung the cudgel, catching him across the ribs.

The boy let out a choking gasp and Mika screamed again, in both fear and anger this time. For the first time since he’d become Master Thero’s apprentice, he saw the world go red, the way it had when the bully down the lane tried to beat him up, or when Mistress Swan had unfairly accused him of stealing from her apple cart and slapped him. The world went red and his body felt like it was going to catch fire. But it was the cudgel that burst into flame before the man could bring it down on the helpless boy again. The bully dropped it with a shout of fear, then aimed a kick at Mika’s friend.

“No!” Mika yelled, thrusting his hand out. The man flew through the air and landed on his back several yards away.

The silent boy scrambled up and grabbed Mika’s right hand, urging him again to run the way they’d come. The red was gone, and with it Mika’s strength. The numbness in his arm was giving way to stabbing pain, and his legs and head felt so heavy that if it hadn’t been for the glimpse he had of the man chasing them again, he would have just fallen down and curled up in a ball of misery. It was always like that, after the red.

But his friend wouldn’t let him stop. Instead he got behind Mika and pushed, hard. Mika staggered, caught his toe on something, and fell …

ACCOMPANIED by half a dozen soldiers, Klia and the others rode through the ruins of the city to the east gate and climbed into the hills just beyond, following a broad path beside a stream that flowed down toward the river.

They soon came to a rare stand of hoary oaks flanking the stream at the base of a steep cliff face. As they entered the shaded grove, they could smell fragrant smoke. At the far side of the grove lay the entrance to the oracle’s cave.

Although the oracle’s chamber was a natural cave, the area before it was paved with smooth stone and a façade had been carved into the rock face around a low doorway at its center. Two armed guards stood on duty here, and bowed to them as they approached.

A simple stone altar stood before the doorway under a silver-and-blue canopy. Piles of stone lay around the edge of the clearing, together with several large wooden wheelbarrows and a number of pickaxes, pry bars, and spades stacked neatly against a tree.

“As you can see, this site is still being reclaimed,” Zella said, gesturing at the disarray. “We’d only just found the inner chamber when Toneus died. Since then all work has stopped.”

“That’s understandable,” said Klia.

They dismounted and gathered around the altar. Two basins were carved into the top of it. One held clear water; in the other a charcoal fire burned brightly. Behind this, graceful columns topped with Illior’s crescent moon flanked a low doorway, and the wall behind them was decorated with a huge bas-relief showing processions of people in ancient dress, some carrying baskets of fruit and garlands of flowers, others with censers on chains, or with owls perched on their outstretched arms. A light breeze stirred the bright new leaves of the oaks, casting moving shadows across the figures.

“How lovely!” Klia exclaimed.

“You should have seen it a few months ago,” said Zella, looking around with satisfaction. “It was completely overgrown with brambles and vines, and there was significant damage to the stonework. The altar is new. The original had been smashed to bits, but there were enough large pieces to approximate what it had looked like. As you might imagine, the Plenimarans had little respect for the Lightbearer.”

“Toneus did a marvelous job here and in the city. We are certainly in his debt.”

“I’d like to make an offering, but didn’t think to bring anything,” said Thero.

“I took the liberty, my lord.” Zella opened her saddlebag and brought out pouches of incense and owl feathers. “The honor is yours, Highness.”

“We are all followers of Illior,” Klia replied. “Everyone, take some.”

Together they threw their offerings into the flames. A column of fragrant white smoke underscored with the acrid smell of burnt feathers rose under the branches.

Zella had brought small torches, which they lit at the altar fire. One of their escort went through the low door first, then stepped out and made way for Klia. Seregil followed her and Thero, with Alec and Micum. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust from the brightness of the day to the torchlight, but once they did he let out a startled gasp. The rough stone walls of the small cave were covered in drawings done in everything from charcoal to silver paint. Owls, eyes, clouds, moons seemed to cover every surface, overlapping like a haphazard quilt. The floor was uneven, but worn smooth by centuries of supplicants’ feet. A low, crescent-shaped wooden stool stood at the back of the chamber, next to an empty tripod brazier. Both looked new. Beside the stool was another tunnel, just tall enough for a man to stand up in.

“This is an antechamber, isn’t it?” he asked. “The real chamber is through there. Is it still passable?”

“There are two inner chambers as it turns out, only recently discovered. This tunnel here was blocked with rubble by the Plenimarans, probably when they smashed the altar. The innermost was hidden behind a stone tablet and leads down to an amazing cave. Toneus opened them both. Be careful in the third one; part of the wall fell in when the tunnel was opened.”

“We must see them,” said Klia, standing beside Seregil to look into the tunnel.

“There is always the possibility of snakes, though they’re usually very docile if left alone,” warned Zella. “The first one through should take a torch, just in case. There’s a lightstone in the inner chamber.”

“I’ll go first,” said Seregil. “We can’t take any chances with you, Highness.”

“I suppose not. Go ahead.”

Seregil entered the tunnel and held out his torch. No immediate sign of serpents, but the ceiling was very low and the way was not straight, though here, too, the floor was shiny and smooth, worn down by the thousands of people who’d visited to this sacred place before him.

The tunnel swerved this way and that, up and down several times. Seregil guessed he’d gone perhaps thirty feet or so when he saw light ahead and found himself in a chamber half the size of the antechamber, with a ceiling not much higher than his head. At the center of the room stood another small, crescent-shaped stool and brazier, but these, though similar in design to the others, were clearly ancient. The stool was black with age and the seat cracked in several places, but he could still make out the inlay of silver tracery that covered it. The brazier, like the knife in the library museum in Deep Harbor, was eroded by time and green with age. Instead of fire, a lightstone made from a large quartz crystal sat in the pitted basin, illuminating the smoke-streaked, unadorned walls. To his left, a small tunnel led away into deeper darkness, and there was stonework around this one. The center had been cut out by a skillful mason, but the outer edges remained, showing that it had been a rectangular tablet with rounded corners three feet by two.

The oracle might have fallen silent, but there was still an air of the sacred and deep secrets here. Closing his eyes, Seregil could almost hear whispering voices and ancient chants. He wondered what dreams he would have if he slept here, and felt a sudden yearning to do that. Just then, however, Klia joined him. Thero and Alec followed close behind, and the room suddenly felt crowded.

“Where’s Micum?” asked Seregil.

“Here.” The tall man had to stoop a bit so as not to hit his head.

“It smells odd in here,” said Seregil, sniffing the air. It was a flat, slightly metallic odor.

“It can’t be dangerous or Zella would have warned us,” said Klia.

Seregil sniffed some more. “It’s coming from this other tunnel, from the third chamber.”

Thero pressed a hand to the stone wall. “I feel like I’m falling into time itself,” he whispered, echoing Seregil’s thoughts. “There was great magic here once. Fair and foul. Darkness and light.”

“Foul?” asked Klia.

“From a long, long time ago. I think—I think something bad happened here.”

“Something that silenced the oracle?” Alec suggested.

“Perhaps.”

Seregil inspected the remains of the tablet more closely. The workmanship was of high quality, though there wasn’t enough left of it or any markings to tell how old it was.

“It looks like someone sealed off this tunnel on purpose,” said Micum, joining him. “Maybe to keep out the vapors?”

“Maybe.”

Klia, meanwhile, was inspecting the stool. She ran a hand reverently over the seat, tracing the silver inlay with her fingers. “Can you imagine?” she murmured. “For centuries the oracles sat here, prophesying for the great ones.”

“Very small seers,” Micum noted. “I’d have my knees up around my ears if I tried to sit on that. That’s sized more for a child.”

“A child?” Klia went suddenly pale. “Shut away in here, year after year? Illior’s—” Clapping a hand over her mouth, she ducked into the tunnel the way they’d come and they could hear her hurrying away.

Thero followed in dismay, leaving the others looking at one another in surprise.

“I’ve never seen her react to anything that way,” said Seregil.

“Could be the bad air,” Micum suggested.

Alec started toward the outer tunnel. “We’d better go see if they need help.”

But Micum put a hand on his shoulder, stopping him. “If you were Klia, would you want your friends watching you puke?”

“No, I guess not.”

Seregil stuck the end of the torch through a space in the metalwork of the brazier, pulled his tool roll from his coat, and took out the lightstone set on a knurled wooden handle. “Less likely to burn off our eyebrows with this,” he said, tucking the roll away.

“True.” Alec retrieved his.

Micum hunkered down to look into the tunnel and shook his head. “Damnation, I can’t fit through there. Guess I’ll wait up here. Holler if you need me to find someone skinny to send down to save you.”

The tunnel was much narrower and shorter, making it necessary to proceed on hands and knees. After a few feet it pitched down quite steeply. Coming back would be a bit of a scramble, but obviously people had managed it.

Seregil slid the last few feet and ended up lying on his belly in a shallow puddle of very cold water. “Less chance of snakes, at least,” he muttered, climbing to his feet just in time to get out of the way as Alec slid out of the tunnel.

“Damn!” Alec sputtered in surprise.

Seregil chuckled and offered a hand. “You looked like a calf being born.”

“Thanks for that,” Alec grumbled, taking his hand and pulling himself up. They were both soaked and dripping, and the cave was cold. “The smell is definitely stronger here.”

“There must be a natural vent letting in vapors of some sort. If you start to feel dizzy or odd, let me know, and I’ll do the same. They can be unhealthy.”

“I will. Let’s have a look around.”

They both held up their lights and gasped.

“Illior’s Light!” Alec exclaimed softly. His hushed voice echoed in sibilant whispers around the chamber, underscored by the plink plink of dripping water.

The chamber was much larger than the other two, so much so that their lights didn’t reach the far wall. What they could see, however, took their breath away. Zella’s brief description had not prepared them for this.

The walls were alive with drawings, done in charcoal, chalk, and ocher.

“I’ve never seen anything like this,” said Alec, walking farther in, light held aloft.

“Neither have I.” Seregil approached the nearest wall to examine the drawing of an elk. Beside it was a pair of lynxes with tufted ears and spots on their backs. They were walking side by side along the wall, one visible behind the other. The artist—or artists—had had a good eye and a deft hand, rendering the images with a minimum of strong, flowing lines and clever shading that made each animal look almost real. Seregil moved along the wall, wet boots forgotten, finding more and more beautifully drawn animals: deer, owls, otters, snakes, more cats, turtles, fish, eagles, hummingbirds, and gulls, even an octopus. Here and there were partial handprints, where the artist had perhaps rested a hand as he or she paused in the work. Farther on was a whole span of ocher handprints, thirty or forty at least, and all the same size. Each showed a missing ring finger; they’d all been made by the same person with his left hand. Seregil held his own hand over one of them. The print was larger and the uppermost ones were above Seregil’s reach. A tall man, this artist.

“Seregil, look at this.”

He turned to find Alec surrounded by the pale nimbus of his lightstone, fifty or so feet away, standing before a veritable forest of dripstone formations. Here was the source of the dripping water. Crenulated columns of wet, glistening limestone formations twice as tall as Alec reached up toward the long tapering fingers that hung from the ceiling. Color was hard to make out in the light, but they were striped light and dark with various minerals.

Seregil splashed across the cave to join him and their combined lights revealed more fantastical shapes—a lump on an outcropping of stone that looked like a dragon’s head; a wide, striped ribbon of stone hanging above them like a giant slice of bacon; others that looked like drapery; and tiny pale pipes like hollow wheat stalks. Many formations on the floor of the cave and up the walls had been recently broken, carried off no doubt by the workman who’d first found this place. The whole back wall of the cave was obscured by the formations, and a thin glaze of whitish stone had dripped like thin icing over the paintings on the wall there. There was also evidence of a small cave-in. Rubble still lay in a heap at the foot of the wall, though it appeared that a good amount had been removed.

“It’s beautiful!” Alec whispered. “The paintings, this. All of it.”

“It certainly is.” Seregil kept his voice low, too, out of respect for the sacredness of the chamber. “A leak must have developed, letting water in to make these formations. Judging by the size of them, and how they’re covering some of the drawings, it was a long, long time ago, but after the art was done, obviously.”

“Look at that!” Alec walked between two of the dripstone columns, beckoning Seregil to follow. Just beyond lay the strangest artifact of all. A stone pillar about three feet high protruded out of a layer of dripstone, like a candle in a pool of its own wax, and on it was a skull facing to their right, toward the part of the wall that had fallen away. Both skull and pillar were glazed with a glistening layer of the icing-like stone; tiny stalactites hung in the eye sockets like prison bars.

Seregil held out his lightstone to illuminate it better. It was definitely a real skull, and the dripstone coating was thin enough for them to make out the intricate black-and-silver designs that covered it and the blackened metal boss on the top of the head, probably capping whatever was fixing the skull to the pillar.

“What in Bilairy’s name is that?” Alec murmured.

Seregil shook his head. “Nothing I’ve ever seen.” He leaned closer, studying the face. “This was an Aurënfaie man, I think. See how the cheekbones arch, and these fine ridges above the eyes? They’d be heavier on a Tírfaie skull.”

“What’s a ’faie skull doing here?”

“It probably had some ritual function, given its placement and these markings.”

“Do you know what they are?”

“No, but Thero might. We’ll have to get him down here.” Seregil’s teeth were chattering; the chill of the cave and his soaked clothing were becoming problems.

“What was this place, and what does it have to do with the oracle?”

“I don’t know. Maybe nothing. Remember the sea temple where—” He paused and took a breath. Where Nysander died. “Where we killed Mardus? That was a Retha’noi sacred spot predating the coming of the Hierophant. Maybe this was, too, when the drawings were done. Come on, it’s—”

Suddenly they both heard a deep sigh just behind them. When they looked, however, there was no one there.

“You heard that, right?” asked Alec.

“I did.”

“The wind?”

“Down here? I don’t think so.”

They heard it again, right between them. Gooseflesh prickled on Seregil’s arms as the cool air went colder around them.

“I’d rather see a ghost than hear one,” Alec whispered.

The sigh came again, this time with a hitch at the end, as if the spirit was about to cry.

“Hello?” Seregil whispered, searching empty air. “Who are you?”

A choked sob answered, and what might have been a whisper.

“I didn’t quite get that. Can you tell us who you are? Can you show yourself?”

For a moment he was certain he saw the darkness behind Alec thicken, but nothing came of it except another ragged sigh.

“Seregil? I think maybe we should go.”

Together they splashed back across the cave, and Seregil had a very distinct feeling of being watched.

It was no easy task to get up the steep tunnel again, but they made it and found Micum waiting for them.

“Your voices echoed,” he told them. “I only heard bits and pieces, but it sounded like you found something interesting.”

“Someone,” Seregil replied, wet, shivering, and unsettled.

“A ghost?”

“Yes.”

“I think it was a man’s voice, don’t you?” asked Alec.

“I think so.”

“It wasn’t just that, though,” Alec told Micum. “The inner cave is incredible! There are ancient drawings and dripstone formations, and a skull on a post.”

“I wish I had your build. I’d like to see that,” the big man replied. “Whatever workmen were looting down there must have been built like you two.”

“It could be that larger adults aren’t supposed to go there,” said Seregil. “Given the size of this stool, maybe Klia was right. Maybe the oracles here really were children.”

“How is Klia?” asked Alec.

“I was waiting for you,” said Micum. “Let’s go see.”

They found Klia sitting under a tree at the edge of the clearing with a very concerned Thero hovering over her. The sun was sinking behind the hills, and the shadows lay long across the little courtyard around the altar. Klia’s escort stood at a distance, looking uncomfortable. Zella stood near the entrance to the cave, hands clasped under her chin and her expression a study in concern and guilt.

Alec brushed by her and went to Klia. “How are you feeling?”

“Something must have disagreed with my digestion,” Klia replied, looking pale and chagrined. “I can’t recall the last time I threw up.”

“Perhaps it was the chamber,” said Zella. “It’s known to affect some people strangely.”

“Because of the vapors?” asked Seregil.

“That, and some claim to hear voices. Some faint for no reason.”

“And you allowed the princess to go in there without warning?” Thero cried. “What were you thinking, woman?”

Zella fell to her knees, hands still clasped. “I am so sorry, Highness! Such occurrences are rare—”

“It’s all right.” Rising, Klia went to Zella and offered her hand. “I’m fine.” She cast a glance at a cluster of bushes a few yards away that were spattered with vomit. “Someone should clean this up. This grove is sacred.”

“I’ll see to it as soon as we reach the encampment,” Zella assured her.

“What did you two find, Seregil?” asked Klia.

Seregil described the cave, and the noises they’d heard there.

“I wonder if it was the voice of whoever belonged to that skull?” said Thero.

“I’d say that’s a good bet,” Seregil replied. “Whoever it was, he wasn’t much of a conversationalist.”

“I must get down there soon,” said Klia.

“Next time,” said Thero. “I’ll take you back to camp.”

To Seregil’s surprise, Klia made no objection as Thero offered his arm and walked with her to where the horses were tethered. She was still pale.

Alec watched them go, brow furrowed slightly. “I’ve never seen her like that.”

“I don’t wonder,” said Micum, looking thoughtful.

Seregil raised an eyebrow. “What?”

Micum shrugged. “I think I’ll spend the night in the palace, having a look around. You see more ghosts in the dark, right? Or have you two had your fill of spooks for one day? You came up out of that tunnel pretty fast.”

Seregil snorted. “All I need is to dry out.”

“Me, too,” said Alec. “I think I’m actually getting used to ghosts.”

They set off the way they’d come and Seregil found himself riding beside Zella, who still looked shaken by Thero’s remonstrance.

“Tell me, what was the state of the innermost cave when it was first opened?” he asked.

“Just as you saw, I suppose. I went down once, but I didn’t like the feel of the place,” she replied.

“Really? I found it very beautiful.”

“As you say, my lord.”

“There’s recent damage there. Someone’s been taking souvenirs.”

“That’s strictly forbidden. I’ll speak to the foreman.”

“There had been a stone tablet blocking the entrance to the innermost tunnel. Did Toneus break it down?”

“He had it removed. It’s stored back at the palace.”

“I’d like a look at it when we return.”

“Of course.”

“Do you know how long ago it was blocked?” asked Seregil, struck by how uninterested she seemed in the matter.

“No, my lord. The place had fallen into disuse years ago, and as you pointed out earlier, the Plenimarans had no respect for the place. I imagine they blocked it up to keep the faithful from using the caves.”

“Are there many faithful left?” asked Klia, overhearing.

“Not during the occupation, as you might imagine. The locals seem to have little use for the place.”

“If I may, Your Highness,” said Seregil, “I think it might be better if the inner caves remain off limits for now, given the damage Alec and I saw.”

“A good idea,” said Klia. “I’ll have guards posted there when we get back to camp.”

By the time they reached the gate into Menosi again Klia appeared to have fully recovered but Thero still insisted on riding back to camp with her.

“Honestly, I’m fine!” she told him. “You’re needed here.”

“They can spare me for an hour. I’ll see you back, look in on Mika, and be back here before dark.”

“Take Sedge and some of his guards with you,” Klia told Seregil and the others. “I don’t want anything happening to you.”

Micum pulled the amulet the wizard had made for him from the neck of his shirt. “No dra’gorgos will bother us so long as we keep these on, right, Thero?”

“You should be safe, but be careful all the same. I’d rather you went in there later, when I could be with you.”

“We’ll be fine,” Seregil told him.

KLIA was quiet as they rode back toward the camp and Thero left her to her thoughts, not wanting to embarrass her in front of the others by treating her like an invalid.

By the time they reached camp the sun was nearly down. Torches and braziers were already being lit. A soldier directed them to the large tent set aside for Klia, and Thero followed her inside.

A young servant woman sat by a small brazier inside, but Klia dismissed her. When the girl was gone, Thero closed the tent flap and cast a silence spell on the tent. Klia sank down on the cot and rested her head in her hands.

“Damn that woman, letting you walk into that cave without any warning!”

“No harm done, love,” she replied, voice muffled by her fingers. “No one else was affected. Although I thought Seregil looked a little odd when I joined him in the middle chamber.”

“He always looks a little odd to me.”

Klia laughed. “I’m serious. It was like he was listening to something I couldn’t hear. You know, the way he did in Sarikali?”

“I’ll ask him about it. I’m surprised he didn’t say something about it at the time.”

She sighed and looked up. “You’d better go see how Mika is getting on. You’ve been gone a long time and it’s dark.”

Thero looked into her lovely blue eyes. “Are you sure you want to be alone?”

“I told you, it was just a momentary distemper. Probably just the torch smoke in an enclosed place, or the vapors. I can’t imagine what it must have been like for the oracles …” She trailed off and Thero was amazed to see tears welling in her eyes as she whispered, “Do you think they really were children, Thero?”

“It was just a stool, love. We can’t read too much into any ancient object without other evidence. Are you sure you don’t want me to stay?”

She cupped his cheek and kissed him. “Go fetch Mika and we’ll keep each other company while you’re gone.”

“Very well.”

One of the guards on duty directed him to a large tent behind Klia’s that had been assigned to him and Mika, but when he threw back the flap he was surprised to find it dark. He snapped his fingers and a lantern overhead flickered to life. Their things had been brought in and properly arranged. Mika had even set out parchment and writing implements on the small field desk. But of the boy there was no sign. Thero’s heart skipped an uneasy beat. It wasn’t like Mika to wander off.

Thero went to the desk to see if the boy had left him a note, but there wasn’t one there, or anywhere else in the tent. He fought back his rising uneasiness as he went back to Klia’s tent. She and Zella were perusing one of the maps of the city.

“He’s not there?” said Klia. “He’s so good-natured, perhaps he’s made friends with some of the soldiers and is sharing supper with them around one of the campfires.”

That certainly seemed more plausible than Mika wandering off.

“Do you want me to help you look?” she asked.

Thero smiled at the honest offer; most royals would have sent for a guardsman or two, but Klia would have gone herself. “No, love, I’ll find him.”

He went to the open circle at the heart of the encampment but there was no sign of the boy and no one seemed to have seen him. At last he found a cook who’d given Mika a pocket meal that afternoon.

“Did you see which way he went?” asked Thero.

The cook shrugged and pointed in the general direction of the road. “Off that way, I think.”

Had Mika disobeyed and followed him into the city? Thero had never known the boy to be willful. But if not that way, then where?

Thero made his way through the east side of the camp, asking after Mika again. A sutler remembered seeing a young boy heading down to the river that afternoon.

Hours had passed since then. Mika could have fallen in the water and been swept away. Thero had no reason to think he could swim. Heart pounding, he ran back to the tent and flung open the equipment chest. He had something better than a search party.

In an upper tray was a tiny leather pouch containing a slip of linen dotted with Mika’s blood: a charm made for just such a time as this. He clenched it in his left hand and sent a wizard eye spell out into the surrounding darkness. His inner vision spiraled over the starlit camp like a bat, then swooped down to the riverbank. Almost immediately he saw a small form sprawled beside a boulder near the roadside, still in sight of the encampment. It was Mika, asleep, unconscious, or …

Thero ran for the riverbank. Mika hadn’t gone far, after all. The boulder was easily visible from the outskirts of the camp. Running to the boy, Thero cast a light orb and fell to his knees beside the still, small body.

Mika lay on his face, arms thrown over his head as if he’d fallen. Thero rolled him over and gasped. The left side of the boy’s face was dark with blood, his left eye was swollen shut, and there was a nasty gash on his forehead by his left temple. The skin not covered in blood was white as milk. Thero felt for pulse and breath. The boy was alive, at least. Thero carefully brushed the hair back from the gash and found that it had bled copiously before scabbing over; it had been hours since he’d received the wound. Blood showed dark on a stone where he must have struck his head.

He patted Mika’s blood-crusted cheek gently; the boy’s skin was frighteningly cold to the touch. “Mika, wake up.”

When there was no response Thero quickly felt his neck, chest, and limbs, looking for breaks or other wounds.

“Oh, Illior!” One of the bones in Mika’s left forearm was broken; a bone end protruded through the skin, shockingly sharp and white and bloody. Thero carefully positioned the broken limb across Mika’s chest and lifted the boy in his arms, grateful for the moment that Mika was unconscious. He hurried back to camp, bringing the light orb along to illuminate the way. People saw him by its glow and ran out to help.

“Can I carry him for you, my lord?” a soldier asked.

“I can manage, but find the drysian and send her to my tent at once!”

Klia met him crossing the circle and followed him to his tent. “By the Four! What happened to him?”

“I don’t know yet.” Ducking through the tent flap, Thero placed Mika on his cot and took a better look at him. His clothing was damp and streaked with mud, and his boots were missing. The bottoms of his feet were cut in places; he must have been running barefoot. Undressing him gently, Thero looked for other wounds, but other than bruises and scabby scrapes on his knees, there was nothing else amiss, except for the arm and the clammy paleness of his skin.

“Where’s the damn drysian?” Klia shouted out to someone outside.

“Here, Highness.” Yana stepped in, staff in one hand and a boy beside her, carrying a heavy leather pack. “If you’d move aside, please, I’ll see to him,” she said to Thero. Pulling back the blanket, she made a quick inspection, then turned to her assistant. “I’ll need a small brazier, a pot, splints and bandages, and water.”

“Yes, mistress.” He left the pack by the bed and turned to go.

Klia drew Thero over to the other bed and made him sit. Settling beside him, she took his hand in a reassuring grip, callused fingers warm against his cold ones.

They sat in tense silence as the drysian continued her examination.

“He’s had a nasty blow to the head, in addition to the broken arm,” Yana said at last. “Was he attacked?”

“He fell and struck his head on a rock,” Thero told her.

“Well, it certainly does look like a mild concussion, and he has a chill. We must get some warm stones tucked around him right away.”

“I’ll see to it.” Klia went to the door to give the order, then rejoined Thero on the bed.

The drysian’s boy arrived with the supplies, and Yana set to work. Mika let out a groan now and then as she set the bone, bathed and stitched the wound, and splinted his arm, but still didn’t wake. As she tended his head wound, a soldier returned with a bucket of warm river stones.

It seemed to take an eternity for the healer to finish and to get Mika safely into bed with his splinted arm tied across his chest. Yana brewed a strong-smelling herbal concoction on the brazier, let it cool, then fed it by drops between Mika’s lips with a spoon.

“The tisane will help dull the pain, and I’ll give him a healing blessing,” she said, motioning for Thero to join her at the bedside. “I’m going to try and wake him now. It’s best if you’re the first thing he sees. He’s had a bad shock.”

Holding her hand over Mika’s head, she murmured something in the healer’s tongue and warm yellow light glowed over his brow. He gasped in his sleep; then his right eye fluttered open. He looked up at Thero uncomprehendingly for a moment, then burst into tears.

Thero knelt and took Mika’s right hand in his. “It’s all right. You’re safe now.”

“I—I—I’m sorry, M-master!”

“Nothing to be sorry for, I’m sure. I’m just glad I found you.”

“We were only p-playing.”

“Who were you playing with?”

But Mika only cried harder. Tears ran down his pale cheeks toward his ears, and Thero used the edge of his sleeve to wipe them away. More came, and Mika’s nose began to run.

“Hold him.”

He glanced over his shoulder. The drysian and her apprentice were gone, but Klia was still seated on the other cot.

Feeling a little awkward, Thero gently got an arm under Mika’s shoulders and pulled the boy up to lean against his chest, taking care not to jostle his broken arm. Mika grabbed folds of Thero’s coat with his free hand and buried his face against it, nearly hysterical now.

“Calm down, now,” Thero said, rocking him a little. “You’re safe. I’m here. You’re not in any trouble.”

“I couldn’t help him,” Mika sobbed, voice muffled against Thero’s coat. “I tried. I really did!”

“Help who?”

“My friend. We were playing and a man came with a cudgel and—”

“You were attacked?”

“Yes. My friend tried to stop him. He hit him and he fell down.” Mika let out a shuddering sob. “I couldn’t help him. I was angry—and then the red came out, and it stopped the man and—”

After that Thero couldn’t get any sense out of him, so he held Mika until the boy cried himself to sleep, then placed him back against the pillow and pulled the blankets up to his chin. He tried to recall what he’d been like at that age. Had he been so tender, so hungry for Nysander’s approval, before his own arrogance and pride drove a wedge between them? He felt a stab of empathy with his old master, thinking how painful it would be if Mika took that path.

Sitting down by Klia on the other bed, he cradled his head in his hands. “I shouldn’t have left him. I thought he’d be fine on his own. He’s always so responsible.”

“It’s not your fault, love.”

“Of course it is. I’m his guardian. What am I to tell his parents?”

She rested her head on his shoulder. “Children have accidents. Nysander didn’t keep you wrapped in wool batting, did he?”

Thero sighed. “I was never hurt like this.”

“What do you think happened?”

“You know as much as I do. Sounds like he ran afoul of some local.” He rubbed his eyes. “Seregil and the others are waiting for me.”

“Send word to them and stay with Mika.” Klia kissed his cheek. “I’ll go see about something to eat.”

When she was gone Thero conjured up a message sphere and sent the little light speeding off to the city, then pulled the chair over to Mika’s bedside and sat down. The drysian had done her work well; the boy was breathing easily, and color had stolen into his cheeks.

The red came out. Perhaps losing control of his innate magic had saved Mika’s life this time, if not the other boy’s.

Klia returned with two servants carrying enough food for four people. She sat on the carpet with Thero and ate.

“You seem to have recovered,” Thero noted as Klia started on a second slice of bread stuffed with mutton.

“I told you, I’m fine.” She gave him a wry look. “If you’re going to fuss over me like I’m some helpless maiden, I may have to rethink our relationship.”

“You are the least helpless person I have ever—” An uncontrollable yawn took him. “Sorry. I think the day and the wine have worn me out.”

“And me. Let’s get some sleep.”

“I’m afraid this cot is too narrow for two. Go get some rest. I’ll pull my bed next to his, in case he stirs.”

“All right, then.” Klia kissed him and brushed a stray curl back from his cheek. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Klia?”

“Yes, love?”

“You are still returning to Deep Harbor tomorrow, aren’t you?”

“I’m not so sure I should.”

“Please, Klia. You brought a pack of nightrunners for a reason. This is our sort of work. I don’t like what we’ve found so far and I’ll be happier when you’re back at the governor’s villa, meting out justice in the name of the queen. Please, love?”

She sighed and nodded. “Shall I take Mika back with me?”

Thero felt Mika’s forehead. “He’s a bit feverish. I think he’ll be all right here. I’ll find someone to keep an eye on him.”

“Good night, then. Pleasant dreams.”

“I’D like to see the tablet that was removed from the second cave, Lady Zella,” Seregil said when they’d arrived back at the palace.

“Of course, my lord. There’s a treasure room and it’s kept there.”

One of the guards lit a torch for them, and she led the way down a corridor off the receiving hall. Stopping at a nondescript door, she took the heavy ring of keys from her belt and unlocked it. As they stepped inside, figures seemed to leap at them in the torchlight. Momentarily startled, Seregil laughed as he took in the collection of statuary that filled the large room. Some were whole, representations of people or animals. Others were headless or armless. Against the far wall the remains of the stone tablet were propped up on a table. As Seregil had hoped, there was writing on it.

“Can you make out what it says?” asked Zella as they gathered around it.

Seregil ran his fingers over the stark, deeply incised letters of the few words there. “It’s Konic, of course, and says ‘Here resides grief.’ ”

“That makes sense,” said Alec. “The ghost is very sad.”

“So there is a ghost there,” said Zella. “The workmen who went down there were convinced. I didn’t want to say anything to influence your first impression, but there are old, old stories of a man who haunts the oracle caves.”

Seregil exchanged a look with Alec, thinking of the drawing they’d seen in the journal at Mirror Moon.

“Is there anything else from the cave here?” he asked Zella.

“No, the rest are things salvaged from around the city.”

Thero’s messenger spell found Seregil, Micum, and Alec talking with Sedge and a few of the watch guards in front of the palace entrance. The little light hovered a few inches in front of Seregil’s face, and he heard Thero’s voice say, “Mika has had an accident. I’m going to stay with him. See you in the morning.”

“Shouldn’t we go back?” asked Alec when Seregil told them what the message was.

“No, it sounds like he has matters in hand. Let’s go to work, shall we?”

The three of them split up and interviewed various soldiers on guard duty around the grounds. From them they got solid reports of comrades who’d gone missing since Toneus’s death, and vociferous denials that their friends would have run away. A few claimed to have seen dark figures, like shadows in the night, and this gave Alec further pause, amulet or no amulet.

The braziers had been lit; shadows jumped and danced in all directions, and flashes of light flickered eerily from distant windows. Sedge and his people invited them to share their simple supper with them at their nearby encampment, and they accepted.

A circle of small tents stood a little way off from the entrance, in an open space where a building had once stood. The outline of the foundation was still visible. They sat around the fire and the cooks laid out a cold meal for them.

“Sorry about the provisions, my lord,” one of them said to Seregil. “We haven’t had supplies in a couple of days.”

“I’ll speak to Princess Klia, your new governor, about that as soon as I see her again.”

“Much obliged,” said Sedge.

“Thanks,” said Alec, accepting a thick slice of cold mutton on a slab of bread.

“I’d like to spend the night in the royal suite,” said Seregil, nibbling at the mutton.

“My lord, do you think that’s wise?” asked Sedge.

“We’ll keep him company, won’t we?” Micum gave Alec a wink. “Captain, you’d best keep an eye on things out here for us.”

Alec thought he saw a fleeting look of relief on the man’s face as Sedge nodded, and who could blame him?

Lamps had been lit in the palace corridors. In spite of all the renovations, the place still had a dead, unlived-in feel at night. As he followed Seregil and Micum back to the royal suite, Alec couldn’t help thinking of all the hundreds of unoccupied rooms stretching out around them—rooms where anything could be lurking. The memory of their nocturnal visitor at Mirror Moon sent an unwelcome chill up his spine.

“I’m sure it will work,” Seregil said as they paused outside the chamber door.

“What?” Alec realized he’d pulled the amulet from his shirt and was fingering it nervously. Tucking it away, he squared his shoulders and pushed the door open, leading the way inside.

The room beyond was dark and cold. Alec pulled the lightstone from his tool roll and found a box of slender tapers on the receiving room mantel. Micum lit one from a lamp in the corridor and soon every candle and lamp in the room was shining brightly and a cheerful fire was crackling on the hearth. They uncovered several chairs and a settee and pushed them over by the fire.

“That’s more like it!” Micum said, rubbing his hands.

“I guess we should check the rest of the rooms,” said Alec.

Seregil gave him a wry, knowing look. “If it’s any comfort, this place scares me, too.”

“You’d be touched in the head not to be,” Micum put in.

“It’s not that. I just—I don’t know.” Alec stood and settled his sword belt on his hip. “But I do know we’re not going to learn much hiding here by the fire. Shouldn’t we check out the bedchamber?”

Alec took the lead as they walked down the short passageway to the bath, coming to a stop outside the death chamber. Even with the door closed, he caught a whiff of the stench inside through the large keyhole. It was only then that they realized that Zella had locked the door again and forgotten to give them the key.

“Allow me,” said Seregil, taking out a stout lock pick.

“Alec, hold the light closer, would you?” Seregil quickly jiggered the lock. “Ready?” he asked, grasping the latch.

Alec and Micum drew their swords, more out of habit than any expectation that what might be lurking on the other side would be affected by cold steel.

Seregil swung the door open and Alec held up his light.

“Do you see that?” Micum whispered.

“See what?” asked Seregil.

“There! In the far corner.”

Alec shifted the light and then froze as it fell across a tall, black shrouded figure.

As they stood watching, it slowly turned to face them. Fathomless darkness took the place of head and face. A horrible, rasping laugh bubbled out of that darkness and in the blink of an eye it was across the room, reaching for Alec. Alec slashed at it with his sword but connected with nothing. It threw long, misjointed arms around him and for a moment he was overwhelmed by a noxious, rotting-flesh foulness and horrible coldness.

Its insidious voice tickled his ear with incomprehensible words as icy needle-tipped fingers clutched at his throat. Alec’s sword and light slipped from numbed fingers. His tongue was like wood as he tried to gasp out a plea to Illior but he could not make a sound. The world was beginning to go dark when suddenly a shriek pierced the air and the shadowy figure was gone. As his wits slowly returned, he found himself on the floor, clutching at Seregil and Micum as they supported him.

Seregil’s face was a mask of terror as he repeated “Aura Elustri!” over and over again.

“I—I’m all right,” Alec croaked, finding his voice at last. “Was that a dra’gorgos?”

Seregil let out an unsteady laugh. “It certainly was. We’ll have to thank Thero and Mika for these amulets. It appears they work, after all.”

“What was it doing here?”

“Waiting for someone to come poking around, most likely,” Micum suggested.

“More likely it was hunting, looking for more people to steal,” Seregil said, holding Alec’s hand in a hard grip a moment longer than he needed to.

Alec picked up his fallen sword and slid it into its sheath, more shaken than he wanted to admit. “Well, we came to look around, so let’s look around.”

Seregil and Micum took out lightstones and the combined glow lit the room bright as day. Someone had removed the dead owl, but otherwise the room looked just as it had. The dried blood spattered and smeared over every surface showed black in this light. The carpet was crusty with it.

They were still examining the ruined furnishings when a soft voice from the direction of the doorway said “How dare you!”

A beautiful woman in a richly embroidered Skalan nightgown stood there, staring at them with a haughty disdain. Her face was pale, her dark hair tumbled in disarray around her shoulders. “What are you three doing in here?”

“My lady, what are you doing here?” Micum asked, hurrying over to her. “Please, come away from—” He went to take her hand but his passed through hers easy as air. He pulled back a step, but remained gallant. “Who are you, my lady?”

She looked down in confusion at the hand he’d tried to touch. “What is happening?”

Seregil stepped in beside Micum and bowed. “Duchess Seria? I am Baron Seregil of Mirror Moon, at your service.”

A chill climbed Alec’s spine, stirring the short hairs on his neck. Duchess Seria had died with Toneus in this chamber.

“I have no need of your service, sir. Why are you in my chamber and where is—?” She broke off, looking momentarily confused.

“Who were you with?” asked Seregil.

She looked baffled. “He was here a moment ago.”

“Archduke Toneus, my lady?”

“Yes, that’s right.” She looked around the room, then brushed by the three of them and went to the bed. The condition of the room did not seem to appall her; she just looked pensive and lost and not in the least frightened.

“My lady, when did you last see the archduke?” he asked.

“I left him here when—” She looked around the room, increasingly distraught. “We were here, in bed. Then I met you three.” She pressed her hands to her cheeks. “What is happening? What have you done with him?”

“He wasn’t here when we arrived,” Seregil said gently. “We are looking for him, as well. What’s the last thing you remember?”

“I told you, we had retired for the night. That’s all.”

“Then we won’t disturb you any longer, my lady.” Seregil made her a graceful bow as if they were at court, extending his hand. She took it, or tried to, only to have her fingers pass through his as they had Micum’s.

“My lady,” Alec began. “My dear lady, I’m so sorry to tell you but—”

“Alec, no,” Seregil murmured.

“But what?” Seria demanded, clasping her hands under her chin as she stared down at Seregil’s in disbelief.

“The archduke stepped out for some air,” Seregil told her. “He may be some time.”

She gave him a relieved smile. “Oh, I see. Thank you, my lord. Things are so strange tonight. Please, if you see him, tell him to hurry back.” With that she lay down on what was left of the mattress and disappeared.

Micum passed a hand over his chin and shook his head. “I didn’t think they could look so real.”

“She cast no shadow,” said Seregil. “Keep that in mind. I suspect she’s not the last ghost we’ll be seeing here.”

Thero awoke with a start just after dawn to find Seregil, Alec, and Micum standing anxiously by Mika’s cot. The boy’s color had returned, but he had an impressive black eye under the head bandage. He still lay on his back, splinted arm across his chest.

“Bilairy’s Balls!” Seregil whispered, bending over Mika.

“Your message said he’d had an accident. What happened?”

Throwing back the blankets, Thero drew a cloak over his rumpled clothing and led them outside to talk. It was a cold, foggy morning, the mist so thick that they could barely see other tents nearby. There was a watch fire burning unattended, and they gathered around it for warmth.

“Apparently he met some locals and one of them attacked him,” Thero explained. “He fell and struck his head on a stone. Did you find anything?”

“Only dust and ghost stories, at first,” Alec replied. “But then we saw a dra’gorgos in the royal bedchamber. Your amulets saved us, Thero. It tried to attack me, but then it disappeared.”

“We’d hardly recovered from that when we met the shade of Duchess Seria,” said Micum. “She doesn’t know she’s dead, poor thing.”

“I see. Any sign of the archduke’s ghost?” asked Thero.

“No,” said Seregil. “We spent the rest of the night watching, but there was no sign of him, or anything else.”

“Tell me more about the dra’gorgos. What was it doing there?”

“Looking for someone to steal,” said Micum. “It nearly got Alec, but for your magic.”

“Yes, thank you,” said Seregil. “Now, are you going to tell us what exactly happened to Mika?”

Thero explained how he’d found the boy by the river.

“Did Mika say where those two came from?” asked Micum.

“I wish I knew. I haven’t had much of a chance to talk with him. He was very distraught. We don’t need that kind of trouble around camp.”

“That’s something to consider.”

“Stay with him,” Seregil advised. “We’ll go have a look around.”

The camp was quiet except for the familiar kitchen sounds. A few cooks were already up, brewing large buckets of tea and cooking ash cakes. Seregil charmed one of them out of three steaming mugs and a plate of hot cakes.

They ate quickly, then made their way through the fog to the riverbank.

“This could be the large rock Thero spoke of,” said Micum, pointing at a dark shape in the fog.

Upon closer inspection it did appear to be the right one.

“Here’s where he fell and struck his head,” Micum pointed out, nudging a smaller stone half embedded in the earth with the toe of his boot. “You can still see the blood on it. And the ground is soft enough that you can still see footprints.”

They examined the traces more closely, trying to piece together what had happened. The soft spring grass and wildflowers were pressed down where Mika had lain, and where Thero had knelt beside him; everything was covered with heavy dew, which had not been disturbed since. Small, deep toe prints that ended just short of the large stone showed where Mika had been running at the end. Tracing these back, they went about ten yards between the road and riverbank before losing the trail.

“That’s odd,” Seregil mused as they cast about, looking for more prints. “The way Thero told it, the attacker chased Mika and the younger one. There’s no sign of anyone else with him.”

“Maybe they didn’t come this far?” Micum suggested. “Or Mika made that bit up.”

Micum gave him a surprised look. “You think Mika lied? Why would he do that?”

“I don’t know. But you’re a better tracker than I am, and you don’t see signs of anyone else, do you?”

“No. Maybe he dreamed them, after he hit his head?”

“That’s more likely than him lying.” Seregil stared down at the single set of footprints. “But he was definitely running before he fell. I’m thinking you should spend the day with him, Alec. You’re closest to his age and he trusts you. Maybe you can get more out of him.”

Alec frowned. “Not go back into Menosi with you, you mean?”

“Just for today. If there’s a faction of Plenimaran sympathizers out here among the country people, they could mean to make trouble for Klia. Micum and I will keep to daylight.”

“I’ll see what I can do. But you be careful.”

Back at camp they found Klia and the camp drysian with Thero and Mika. The boy was sitting up in bed, sipping broth one-handed from a bowl under the watchful eye of the healer. Thero sat beside him, watching with apparent concern.

“I’m glad you’re safely back,” said Klia. “We had a bit of a rough night here, as you can see.”

“Did you see any ghosts?” Mika asked hopefully.

Alec glanced at Thero, who nodded slightly.

“We did, that of a very sad lady,” Alec told Mika. “But what about you? Looks like you went off and had an adventure without us. What happened?”

“He’s about to tell us,” said Thero. “Finish your medicine first, Mika.”

The boy gulped down the rest of his broth, and the drysian bowed and took her leave.

“So, what happened?” Alec prompted, sitting down on the floor by the bed. Seregil swung the desk chair over for Micum, then leaned on the tent pole.

“I went down to the river after you all went into the city—” Mika began.

“But why?” asked Klia.

Mika gave a little shrug. “I was bored, I guess. And it wasn’t very far. Master Thero isn’t angry at me for that, are you, Master?”

“No, I’m not. But we do need to hear everything that happened. Think carefully.”

Mika gave the wizard a relieved look. “Well, I was sitting on the big rock when a boy my size came by. He couldn’t talk, but we played together on the riverbank for a long time. We had fun and ran and played in the water and he even showed me how to catch fish and little lobsters with my hands.”

Thero raised an eyebrow. “Lobsters?” Micum smiled. “Crayfish, most likely. Go on, then what happened?”

“Then the other one came.” Mika grew serious. “He was mean. He had a cudgel and he chased us and hit us with it. That’s how my arm got broken. I used my magic to make him go away. My friend and I ran and then I fell and—” He paused, biting his lower lip nervously. “After that, I woke up here in the tent with Master Thero.”

“Did the mean one say anything?” asked Seregil.

“He was very angry and was yelling at us, but I couldn’t understand what he was saying.”

“He was speaking a different language?”

“I guess so. But I knew he was angry, by his face and his yelling.”

“Was your friend scared of him, too?” asked Alec.

“Yes! He tried to help me get away.” Mika was trembling and pale now, remembering.

“Where did the mean man come from?” asked Micum.

“I—I’m not sure. We were playing and then he came over a bank by the road.”

Thero put a comforting arm around the boy’s shoulders. “That’s enough for now.”

“How about I stay with you today, while Thero is gone?” asked Alec.

Mika brightened a little. “Can we play bakshi?”

“Watch out for him, Alec,” Klia said with a wink. “He’s a sharp player.”

“So is Alec.” Seregil chuckled. “If you’re very good, Mika, perhaps he’ll teach you how to cheat.”

“He’ll do no such thing!” Thero sputtered.

Seregil gave him a crooked grin. “You never know. It might come in handy someday.” He yawned and stretched. “It’s been a long night. and I should get a few hours’ sleep before we go back in. What do you say, Thero?”

“That’s fine. Come find me when you’re ready.”

“I’ll say good-bye now, then.” Klia stood and hugged them. “Zella and I are heading back to Deep Harbor this morning. I have official duties awaiting me, though I’d much rather stay here and ferret out spirits with you.”

“ARE you sure you don’t want more of an escort, Highness?” Zella fretted as they gathered with Klia’s small escort to begin the ride back to Deep Harbor later that morning. “After what happened to poor little Mika, I don’t want to take any chances with your safety.”

“If we are attacked by a few shepherds with cudgels, I’m sure twenty of my best riders can protect me,” Klia said with a chuckle. “What do you say, Captain Sedge?”

He grinned. “Oh, I think we can handle it.” The man was beaming; he was going back to Deep Harbor to be with his family.

“Captain Brescia, I’m leaving you in command until I return,” Klia told her officer.

“I’ll take care of things, Highness.” Brescia pressed her fist to her chest and bowed.

Mounting Moonshine, Klia led the way down the road.

“How are you feeling today?” Zella inquired.

“Perfectly well,” Klia assured her. “I’d much rather stay here and hunt ghosts than deal with the crowd of petitioners I’m sure are awaiting me when we get back.”

“Is this your first administrative post?”

“Yes. I’m a soldier at heart, but with the peace comes different responsibilities.”

“Would you rather be fighting?”

“I wouldn’t say that, exactly. But being governor is likely to be quite a bit tamer than the life I’m used to.”

“It has its challenges, Highness. And I am honored to serve you. Will you continue the archduke’s work here?”

“The city will have to wait until we’ve ascertained what happened to Toneus and his lady. I’m thinking of sending for Illioran priests to investigate why the oracle went silent and who the spirit in the inner chamber is. I would consider my time here well spent if it were possible to awaken the spirit of the Lightbringer here once more.”

They weren’t far beyond Mika’s stone when, ahead of them, Captain Sedge reined in and signaled the small column to a halt. Looking past him, Klia saw a tall, black-cloaked figure standing in the center of the road. It struck her at once that it was not just tall, but too tall for a man. It raised its arms as if to embrace them, and she saw with a cold, sinking feeling that the edges of the figure’s garments were wavering like smoke. It raised its head and she saw that it had no face, just a black hole where it should have been.

“Stay back!” she ordered as Sedge and the others drew their swords. “That’s no man.” Drawing out the amulet that Thero had made for her, she rode up beside Sedge and held it up. “Begone, foul demon! You can’t touch me.”

To her surprise, the thing let out a weird, hooting call, made her a chilling, misjointed bow, and disappeared into thin air.

“Quickly, Highness!” cried Zella. “We must return to camp and find Lord Thero.”

They wheeled their mounts to retreat, only to find themselves facing a crowd of the shifting, wavering phantoms. With blinding speed, they rushed the column and Klia watched in horror as each of her companions was attacked. A black figure attached itself to a person, then phantom, rider, and mount winked out of sight. In the blink of an eye, she alone was left facing at least a dozen of the foul creatures. One darted forward and disappeared up her horse’s nose in a black mist. Poor Moonshine shuddered horribly, then staggered in a drunken circle and took off at a gallop down the road away from camp. Klia dragged on the reins, then tried to turn the possessed horse, but it thundered on, and she had no choice but to hang on as best she could. The air went dreadfully cold around her. Tangled in the stallion’s white mane, Klia’s fingers went numb.

She was in serious danger of falling off, but just as she was bracing for it, Moonshine foundered and went down under her. She hit the ground hard and rolled away, narrowly missing being pinned under the horse. It knocked the breath out of her and she could only lie there helplessly and watch as gouts of black blood erupted from the stallion’s mouth and nostrils. He gave a last convulsive kick, then went limp. Black mist streamed from his bloody mouth and faded to nothing on the still air.

“Illior’s Light,” Klia gasped, making a two-fingered warding sign. Still fighting for breath, she staggered to her feet, clutching Thero’s charm and trying to get her bearings. What she saw took her breath away all over again, as powerfully as if she’d suffered another blow.

She was on a rock-strewn plain under a grey sky. All around her lay the bodies of her escort’s mounts, all with black blood staining their faces, sightless eyes staring at nothing. Horses, but no riders, dead or otherwise. She was alone.

Alec stretched out on Thero’s cot for a few hours of sleep and woke a little after midday to find Mika trying to struggle one-handed into his breeches.

“Hold on there. You’re not supposed to be out of bed, are you?” Alec asked with a yawn.

“Nobody said,” the boy replied, trying to untangle the uncooperative garment from the long tails of his shirt.

“Are you sure?” More likely no one thought he would try to get up.

“Can we play games if I stay on the cot?”

Bakshi was not the sort of game easily played in bed, so Alec fetched a deck of cards from his tent and taught Mika Blue Goose, then Bell and Trumpet, resisting all wheedling to teach him how to cheat at them. Soon, however, Mika was restless and hungry, so Alec helped him dress, settling his broken arm carefully in its sling, and they went in search of something to eat. The fog had burned off and the afternoon was clear and pleasantly warm.

“Are you sure you’re well enough to walk about?” Alec asked as they made their way to the cooking area.

“I’m all right,” Mika assured him, clearly happy to be out and about. “The drysian took good care of me. I just can’t use my arm. I know where to get food, though. One of the cooks likes me.”

Mika led him to one of the booths, where the cook made a fuss over them and saw to it that they had bowls of lamb stew and bread. Alec carried Mika’s bowl for him over to a place on the trampled grass by the large central fire. He set the bowl down in front of the boy and Mika was able to eat one-handed.

When they were finished, they found themselves at loose ends.

“How about you showing me where those people attacked you?” asked Alec.

“My friend didn’t attack me,” Mika reminded him. “He got hurt, too, but he helped me get away.” He paused, clearly conflicted. “Master Thero didn’t say whether I could leave the camp.”

Alec gave him a wink. “It’s all right if you’re with me. I have my sword, just in case.”

Together they walked down the road to the river. The sun was bright, making the snowy peak of Mount Erali glow against the blue sky.

Mika brought him back to the large rock. “This is where I met my friend.”

“Show me where you played.”

They walked down the riverbank for half a mile or so, with Mika pointing out where they’d caught crayfish, and where he and his friend had wrestled in the river.

“Are you sure you came down this far?” asked Alec. “I don’t see any footprints here and the ground is soft.”

“Yes. Maybe the river washed them away?”

Alec wondered again if Mika had dreamed the mysterious strangers. There was simply no sign of anyone having come this way.

After that they climbed the rise where the assailant had appeared and gazed out across the rolling, boulder-strewn grassland. There were no houses visible, but there was a flock of sheep a mile or so away, and beyond that the low grassy hills rose like waves above the plain. Alec stood for a moment with one arm around Mika’s thin shoulders, his other hand resting on his sword hilt, willing the bully to show himself.

“Those boys you encountered were probably shepherds from over there,” Alec said. “The younger one must have snuck away to play, and the other one came after him.”

“Maybe that’s why he was so angry.”

They returned to the tent to find Seregil had come back from Menosi alone.

“Thero and Micum are questioning more of the guards about recent ghostly activity and disappearances,” he told them. “I don’t remember Thero saying you could get out of bed, Mika.”

“I’m fine, really,” the boy assured him. “I just took Alec down to the river. He said it would be all right.”

“I did,” said Alec. “And I wouldn’t have taken him if I didn’t think he was well enough. Children heal faster than adults. I always did.”

“I don’t doubt it,” said Seregil. “What did you find?”

“Mika showed me where he thought he’d gone, but there were no footprints much beyond the rock where Thero found him. We did see some sheep off in the distance, though, which would explain where the strangers came from. It might be worth a look.”

Seregil glanced out the tent flap. “There’s daylight enough left. Mika, you’d better stay here in the tent, until we get back. I mean it, no wandering off or Master Thero will be upset with all of us.”

“I promise, Seregil.”

“Good.”

“Now, tell us all you can remember about what the boy and the man looked like.”

“The boy is about my size, with brown eyes and hair and he’s brown from the sun. The man—” Mika’s brows drew together in concentration. “I don’t remember as much about him, except he was really angry and had a cudgel. I guess he sort of looked like the boy but grown up. You’ll know my friend though; he can’t talk.”

“That will help,” Seregil replied with a smile. “Behave yourself. If you need anything, ask someone to bring it to you.”

Alec and Seregil rode out with Sergeant Oris and six soldiers, stopping first by the rock where Mika had first encountered the other boys. Seregil walked up and down the bank, looking for signs Alec might have missed, but shook his head.

“Maybe he did dream it,” said Alec.

“I don’t think so. The way he described the people he met and what he did was too detailed.” He walked down to the bank, squatted down by the water’s edge, and began turning over stones. Sure enough, after a moment he held up a little crawfish, its tiny claws flailing. “He didn’t dream these.”

He mounted Cynril again and they galloped across country toward the large flock Alec and Mika had seen.

The new spring grass and bobbing wildflowers of various shades rippled under the caress of a light breeze that carried the scent of new herbs. Bare patches and dried sheep patties showed where the sheep had already been.

Four boys and several dogs were guarding the sheep. Two shaggy island ponies were tethered to a few bushes near a fire pit.

The dogs began to bark but the shepherds called them in and came to greet Alec and the others as they reined to a halt at the edge of the flock.

The boys—all brown-eyed and tan and dressed in rough, dirty shirts and leggings—ranged from about Mika’s age to a gawky teenager with bad skin who stepped forward as the leader. The youth greeted them in Plenimaran, clearly worried at the sight of the armed soldiers.

Alec asked the youth in Plenimaran, “Are you the only …” He didn’t known the word for “shepherd.”

“Sagma,” Seregil finished for him.

“Yes, are you the only shepherds out here?”

“We are,” the youth replied. “I’m Nothir and these are my brothers. Why do you bring soldiers here?”

“We are looking for a man who attacked one of our friends, and a boy about that size,” he explained, pointing to the youngest. “The boy is a mute.”

Nothir shook his head. “No, sir. Don’t know of any mute.”

“Do you speak any other language than Plenimaran?”

The youth looked down at his feet, saying nothing, but the answer was clear.

“Please, you won’t be in any trouble,” Alec told him.

“It’s not allowed,” Nothir explained.

“By whom?”

“Them that live in Deep Harbor.”

“You mean the Plenimarans who ruled here? They’re gone now. You can speak as you like.”

“What language do you speak?” asked Seregil.

The youth shrugged. “We just call it the grandmother’s tongue.”

“Could you speak a bit of it to me, please? There’s no need to be afraid,” Seregil assured him.

“Don’t do it, Noth,” the second oldest muttered.

“Really, it’s all right,” said Alec.

Nothir let out a breath. “Very well. Saugas melistook rak solis, mekir. That means ‘It’s a nice day today, man.’ ”

Seregil raised a brow at that. “It’s some form of Middle Konic! The pronunciation is a bit blurred, but it’s unmistakable.” Turning to the youth, he said, “Eah salma wodi megak, Nothir.”

The boys went wide-eyed for a moment, then the younger ones began to laugh. Nothir quickly shushed them and said something to Seregil in his own language. Seregil laughed in turn.

“What’s going on?” Alec demanded impatiently.

“I said I was glad to meet him, and he says he’s glad to meet me, too, even if I do speak like my tongue’s been split.”

Seregil spoke at length with the boys, then looked to Alec and shrugged. “None of them recognizes my description of the boys Mika saw.”

“Ask him if there are any towns near here,” said Alec.

Seregil spoke again, and one by one the boys shook their heads. The little one said something that sounded scared and the others nodded, then the next-to-oldest added something else, to which Nothir made a cutting motion with his hand.

“There’s one near here, back in the hills east of Menosi,” Seregil explained. “This boy, Agus, says he’ll guide us there if we pay him, but he won’t go in. Nothir doesn’t want him to go.”

“Try telling him you’re a great lord and the rest of us are warriors. No harm will come to Agus,” said Alec.

Seregil translated that. Nothir and Agus turned away and spoke with their heads together. Nothir seemed angry, but the other boy carried the day, for he turned to Seregil and nodded, saying something.

“He’ll take us now, while there’s still daylight, but once he’s gotten us there, he’s coming straight back,” said Seregil.

“Fair enough. How much does he want?”

Seregil asked and the boy named his price, pointing to Nothir. Seregil took half a dozen silver sesters from his purse and gave them to the youth. “He wants to make sure his family has the money, in case he doesn’t come back.”

“Must be a rough town,” one of the soldiers said with a laugh.

“What’s it called?” asked Alec.

Agus shrugged and fetched his pony. He led the way, and they rode across the plain to the base of a rough, stony rise several miles on with a dry riverbed meandering near the bottom. The bed was filled with rounded stones covered in moss and weeds.

The boy pointed west and said something.

“He says Menosi is over this rise,” Seregil explained.

There was no sign of a path, but the bank was level and they rode upstream until they reached the crumbling remains of a good-sized town on a small rise facing over the river, its back to the ridge and Menosi.

“That’s the town?” Alec exclaimed in dismay. Some house walls were still standing among the foundations of buildings long gone. Ravens had made the place their own. Dozens of them lined the broken walls and watched their approach with wary black eyes, muttering and croaking among themselves, but didn’t take flight. It was eerie. The breeze was stronger here, and sighed through the wreckage like a mourner. It reminded him a bit of the sighs they’d heard in the lower cave.

As soon as they started up the hill toward it, Agus turned his pony and galloped off like ghosts and demons were already chasing him.

“Looks like you wasted good silver, my lord,” Oris said, shaking his head. “No one’s lived here in two hundred years!”

“More than that,” murmured Seregil.

“No wonder the other boys didn’t want him to come here,” said Alec.

They rode slowly into the ruins and fanned out to make a thorough search of the place.

Alec and Seregil made their way through what had once been narrow streets. They were little more than debris-strewn paths, now overgrown with thistles and vetch. Here and there snakes lay basking in the late-afternoon sun. There were many poisonous ones on the island, Zella had warned, and so they gave the ones they saw a wide berth. Most of the houses were little more than foundations.

“What happened to this place?” Alec wondered.

“Abandoned, and the stones most likely carried off by other builders,” Seregil noted as he dismounted and stepped into one of the foundations. “I daresay you’ll find most of them in Menosi or Deep Harbor. Builders don’t let dressed stone go to waste.” He walked around the foundation, nudging things with the toe of his boot. “This was a simple dwelling. You can still see traces of a central hearth. There must have been a smoke hole in the roof.”

“How old do you think this place is?”

“Well, it’s clearly been abandoned for centuries. No way to know how old it was before that.”

They continued on, working their way toward what proved to be an enormous open space at the west end of town, closest to the ridge. The streets and buildings simply ended around the circumference of an enormous span of barren ground. There were no foundations, no walls or broken stone, not even any weeds. Walking across it, Alec saw that it was just hard-packed clay and gravel.

“It’s round,” Seregil called to him.

Turning, Alec saw him striding around the circumference of it with his hands clasped behind his back. “I think it’s a nearly perfect circle and most of the major streets end at its edges. It must have been some sort of ritual space, or a large market.”

“No sign of any temple or altar.”

“I wonder if they played some kind of game here?” Seregil touched the ground and licked his finger. “Salt. Odd.”

Just then they heard cries from nearby and ran to see what was wrong.

Sergeant Oris and two of his riders stood over a round hole, talking excitedly.

“Fetch a rope,” Oris ordered and one of his riders ran to get it.

“What happened?” asked Alec.

“Talan fell down this dry well,” he told him. “We were walking along, then I heard the sound of cracking wood and he was gone. There must have been a cover over it that he didn’t see under the weeds.”

“Is he hurt?” asked Seregil.

“See for yourself, my lords.”

Leaning over the edge, they saw the rider looking sightlessly up at them, impaled through the back on several rusty iron spikes.

“Sakor’s Flame!” one of the female riders gasped, then began to cry. One of her fellows put an arm around her and led her aside.

“What in Bilairy’s name is this man trap doing in a deserted town?” wondered Alec.

“I suppose it must have been one of the protections of the town when it was—” Seregil began, but another scream from the direction of the tower cut him off.

Moving with considerably more caution now, they all followed the continuing sounds of the cries to where another of Oris’s men lay on the ground thrashing and crying out in agony, his face a ghastly purple and grotesquely swollen on one side. A male soldier knelt helplessly beside him while a woman struck at a nearby patch of tall weeds with her sword.

“It was some kind of huge viper, my lords,” the man said. “Matlin dropped something near those weeds and when he reached to pick it up it bit him on the face!”

With a snarl of disgust, the woman who’d been beating the weeds used the tip of her sword to lift out a long section of severed snake. More than two feet long, it was mottled red and black with a bright yellow belly. She poked into the weeds again and brought out the other half, nearly as long, but minus the head.

“The damn thing kept trying to bite me even after I cut it in half,” she said with a grimace. She flicked the tip of her sword in the weeds, and the head rolled out. The mouth was open, showing fangs nearly two inches long.

“Rock viper,” said Seregil. “It’s the largest, most dangerous serpent on the island.”

Alec looked around nervously at the piles of rocks and stands of weeds; it was perfect cover for snakes.

Matlin began to wheeze and choke. The others could only watch helplessly as he gagged up bloody foam and died.

“Maker’s Mercy!” Alec gasped. “No wonder that boy didn’t want to come in here.”

The sergeant caught up with them. “Raneus, Yola, you wrap him in his cloak and get him onto his horse. Then we have to find some way to get poor Talan out of that hole without anyone else getting killed.” He turned to Seregil. “Begging your pardon, but I think we’ve seen enough of this place, my lords. We’re losing daylight fast.”

“Yes,” said Alec. “I’m sorry about your men.”

Oris spared him a grim look, then shouted his remaining riders into formation and they galloped for the camp.

They found Mika dozing on his cot. He woke as they came in, though, and looked relieved. “I was starting to worry about you.”

Alec smiled. “Thanks for your concern, but we just had a long ride and saw the countryside, nothing more.” This was not the time to mention deaths and snakes.

“Did you find my friend?” asked Mika.

“No, we saw no sign of him.”

Tears welled in Mika’s eyes. “I hope the older boy didn’t kill him. I wish I knew his name, at least. Then we could ask after him.”

“I hope he’s well, too.” Alec ruffled the boy’s hair gently. “I suppose it’s not very interesting here for you, with no one your own age.”

“When can I go exploring with you and Master Thero? The drysian tended my arm twice today and it feels much better!”

“That’s up to Thero.”

Mika nodded, but his lower lip began to quiver. A tear slid down his cheek and he hastily dashed it away with his hand. “I’m sorry I’ve been so much trouble.”

Seregil rested a hand on Mika’s shoulder. “That’s enough now. No need for tears. Rest some more, and I’ll put in a good word for you with Thero when he gets back.”

KLIA had never been so disoriented in her life. Casting around, she could not find her way back to the river. The ground showed no hoofprints to indicate which direction she’d come from. The sky, which had been clear, was heavily veiled in grey clouds, making it impossible to say for certain where the sun was. The light had a strange dull glow, almost like a foggy day, but the air was clear—for all the good that did.

Standing among the dead horses again, she took stock of her situation. She had suffered nothing worse than a few bruises in the fall. She had her sword and dagger, and a full skin of water, together with a cloth-wrapped meat pasty and a couple of apples in her saddlebags. And something else.

Reaching into her pouch, she found the painted message sticks Thero insisted she always carry. Taking one out, she snapped it in two and waited expectantly for the little sphere of light to appear. It didn’t. Wondering if the stick had been damaged somehow in the fall, she took out another one and broke it. Again, nothing happened. That left her with just two. After a moment’s consideration, she broke a third. Still nothing. Whatever had happened to the first one seemed to have happened to them all. Saving the last one just in case, she set about gathering what supplies she had.

It took some effort to pull the saddlebags out from under Moonshine, but she managed it and gave her faithful mount a last pat on the neck. “You carried me through so much, my friend. I can’t believe Bilairy took you in such a horrible way.” Her vision suddenly blurred with stinging tears. She’d found Moonshine at the Cirna horse market the day she’d met Alec. The stallion had carried her through peace and war and peace again, never flinching.

Wiping her eyes, she studied the sky, trying to guess east from west. There was no point in remaining here among the dead. Choosing what she hoped was the way back to camp, she set out across the dry, uneven plain. It was rough walking and before long she was tired and thirsty. She stopped to drink and eat an apple, then continued on.

It was impossible to tell the hour here. She rested when she was tired, drank sparingly when she was thirsty, and ate small portions to make the food last. Night was falling when she came across a deeply rutted road fringed with dry grass. In the distance she thought she could hear the river, though it was getting too dark to see that far. With only the distant rushing sound to guide her, she set off along the road. She was thirsty and hungry again, but was down to her last apple and a bit of the pasty. Resisting the urge to finish them off, she sipped from her slack waterskin and kept going.

She hadn’t gone far when she saw a tiny point of light ahead of her, bobbing like a firefly. Hurrying toward it, she soon made out that it was a lantern.

“Hello?” she called out, breaking into a run. “Please, I need help!”

The light stopped moving and Klia soon gained on it, at last making out the form of a woman carrying a basket under one arm, with her lantern swinging from a short link pole over her shoulder.

“Who’s that?” the woman called out in heavily accented Plenimaran, raising her light.

“I mean you no harm,” Klia called breathlessly in the same tongue, stopping a few yards away so as not to scare the woman. “I’m lost. Please, can you help me?”

The woman put her basket down and raised the link pole in Klia’s direction so they could take stock of each other. She was of middling years, Klia guessed from the lines on the woman’s face, though her hair was covered by the long black shawl she wore over her head and shoulders. Her clothing showed her to be a prosperous peasant. Her skirt was clean and embroidered around the hem in a style Klia didn’t recognize. An islander, obviously. The woman was regarding Klia with some suspicion mixed with interest.

“My name is Klia,” she told her. “My horse bolted and now I don’t know where I am.”

“You’re not Island,” the woman said, coming no closer. “I can tell from your accent you’re not from here.”

“I’m Skalan.” Klia paused, debating how much to reveal. “I’m a soldier. I was heading to Deep Harbor when my horse spooked.”

“That’s a great, long sword you have there. I’m of a mind to be fearful of it.”

“You have nothing to fear from me,” Klia said, holding up both hands. “All I want is somewhere to stay the night, and then directions back to Menosi.”

“You came from Menosi?”

“Yes, I was just there.”

The woman took a step back, holding her light a little higher. “I knew there was something uncanny about you. Are you a spirit?”

Klia laughed outright at that, though there was more weariness than humor behind it. “I’m as solid as you, I promise. Here, touch my hand.”

The woman hesitated, then sidled closer and reached out to her. As their fingers brushed she gave Klia a relieved smile. “There, and just as you say. You’re mortal after all. Come along, then, my dear. You can stay at my house in Zikara tonight. It’s not far.”

“Is that a town?”

The woman nodded and continued on the way she’d been going.

“I didn’t catch your name,” Klia said as they walked along.

“Myna.” She reached into her basket and pulled out a bread roll. “You look hungry, soldier.”

“Thank you.” It was fragrant with cardamom and tasted wonderful.

The sound of the river grew louder as they went on, and the road soon dipped and ran along the bank. The clouds obscured the stars; the woman’s lantern was the only light, and it didn’t cast far.

At last the lights of Zikara came into view. It was surrounded by a wooden palisade, but the guard knew Myna and let them through.

Zikara was a poor, rustic place. A few grimy lanterns hung on hooks here and there, and even at this hour wild-looking black hogs wandered the streets. The largest structure was a squat, three-story tower that loomed over the town. Lights burned brightly in the windows, many of which were made of stained glass.

Unfriendly faces peered at them from out of the shadows of alleys and doorways as Myna led her into a twisting warren of narrow streets. Klia shrugged her saddlebags higher on her shoulder and rested her left hand on the hilt of her sword, keeping a sharp eye out for trouble as they took one turning after another.

“Is your house close by?” Klia asked at last. She was exhausted and felt like they were going in circles.

“You must see the great lady first,” Myna told her. “All strangers must present themselves to her.”

“Who is this great lady?” This hardly looked the sort of place a noblewoman would live.

“She rules over all you see,” the woman replied and said no more.

Klia’s grip tightened on her sword. Something wasn’t right. “You said nothing of her earlier. Can’t I sleep first and meet her tomorrow? Perhaps she’s asleep.”

“Oh, I’m sure she’s not.”

Around the next corner Klia found herself in a paved courtyard in front of the tower. Torches burned in brackets on either side of the huge, iron-bound doors, but there were no guards or watchmen. The hair on the back of Klia’s neck prickled as the doors swung out on creaking hinges, but she didn’t know where else to go in this cursed place. Inside was a huge, brightly lit receiving chamber. As soon as she stepped inside the doors closed with a hollow boom that echoed around the vaulted chamber, confirming her worst suspicions.

A trap.

Candles blazed in stands all around them, though there was not a stick of furniture to be seen. Or a servant. The only other way out of the room appeared to be a pair of tall oak doors framed by candle sconces at the far end opposite the main doors.

“What is this place?” Klia demanded, stopping in the middle of the chamber.

“The great lady’s house, of course,” Myna replied.

“I’m not going another step until you explain to me why you’ve brought me to an empty tower.” Dropping her saddlebags, she drew her sword.

Instead she found herself grasping a fat, hissing viper poised to strike at her face. Dropping the revolting thing, she sprang back from it and watched it slither away across the black stone floor. “What necromancy is this?”

Myna smiled at her, then changed form completely into a stunningly beautiful woman in a red velvet gown stiff with gold embroidery. She had flowing black hair that fell nearly to her waist and eyes the blue of skyflowers. Her flawless fair face was touched with rose at the cheekbones.

Klia drew her dagger—only to have the blade transform into a long black feather. “What do you want with me?”

“Why in such a hurry to leave, Highness, when you’ve only just arrived?” the woman asked, her voice kind and melodious.

A door behind the woman opened and Lady Zella stepped into the room to stand to the stranger’s left.

“Traitor!” Klia gasped.

“You mustn’t blame her, dear Princess. She’s not herself.” Her hostess seemed to glide as she came toward Klia, smiling warmly and holding out her hands. “Dearest Princess Klia, what a joy it is to meet you at last.”

Klia backed away. “I suppose you are the ‘great lady’?”

“I am indeed. I am Queen Rhazat Ikari. Welcome to my home.”

That sounded like a Plenimaran name, Klia noted, though the woman had no accent to indicate it. “There are no queens on Kouros. This is a Skalan possession, and the only queen is Queen Elani of Rhíminee.”

“We must agree to disagree on that point,” Rhazat said with a laugh. Everything about the woman was lovely, except her words.

“Are you the necromancer who brought me here and killed my escort?”

“Come, my dear, you must be famished. I’ve had the finest delicacies prepared just for you.”

“First answer my question.”

But Rhazat ignored this, too, and went out through the door Zella had come through, her hair a river of rippling obsidian down her back. Clenching her teeth in frustration, Klia followed her, keeping her distance from Zella.

They passed down a bare corridor and into another large, brilliantly lit room. Hundreds of tapers burned in stands and sconces around the room, and more in holders on the round dining table at the center of the room. A sumptuous feast had been laid out, and the table was set with gaily glazed clay goblets, plates, and many covered dishes. It seemed like humble ware for a self-proclaimed queen.

There were sideboards stocked with clay platters and plates and clay wine bottles. Though sparely furnished, the walls of the room were covered in painted designs nearly identical to those in the palace at Menosi.

Rhazat glided to the table and seated herself. Zella took the chair to their hostess’s left and Rhazat motioned for Klia to take the seat of honor at her right.

“Please, Highness, come and dine with me. I have so few visitors.”

“Are they all coerced?”

“I can make you, you know,” Rhazat said with a charming smile. “But I have no desire to harm you, or the wizard’s child you bear.”

“I’m not—” Klia’s breath locked in her throat.

“Of course you are, my dear. I can smell it, just as I can smell your noble and ancient lineage on you. It’s a girl child, barely two moons along. I see this comes as a tremendous surprise to you. However did you manage to fall pregnant by a human wizard?”

How, indeed? Klia kept stubbornly silent, hating that it was this woman who had confirmed what she’d been keeping in her heart for weeks. She hadn’t told Thero yet because she hadn’t dared believe it, but she’d missed one moon flow and another was late. As for the how, she could only imagine it had to do with the dragon bite he’d suffered in Aurënen. It had been on the scrotum, after all, and the Bash’wai spirit had told him his kind would be made whole. He still bore the lissik-stained imprint of tiny dragon teeth. It was the only explanation she could think of.

“Please, join me for dinner,” Rhazat said. “The child is no use to you before its time, is it?”

The necromancer’s voice was still sweet but something in her bright blue eyes made Klia’s skin prickle and her gut tighten. Grudgingly, she took her place at the table. The forks and spoons were made of polished wood.

“There now, that’s nice, three women together, sharing a meal,” said Rhazat. She picked up a small clay bell beside her plate and rang it.

Klia glared across at Zella. “So all the while, you were a traitor.”

“In fairness, you can’t really blame her,” said Rhazat, as an emaciated, hollow-eyed woman in an ill-fitting gown and apron entered carrying a roast suckling pig on a platter. Rhazat carved it with a long flint knife and placed the first crispy slice on Klia’s plate.

Even as her mouth watered painfully and her stomach betrayed her with a growl, Klia noted that there were no other knives on the table. “How do you mean, Zella can’t help what she did?”

“Do you really want to know, my dear?”

From behind Rhazat’s chair, the servant caught Klia’s eye and gave her a frightened, warning look.

“Yes, I do,” said Klia.

“Very well.” Rhazat drew a complex sign on the air with her finger. It winked out of existence as quickly as it had appeared, and Zella began to retch out black mist that looked like what Klia had seen escaping from Moonshine’s nostrils when he died. It swirled into a column beside Zella’s chair, then materialized into the tall, oddly proportioned figure of what she could only guess was a dra’gorgos. It was just as Karis had described: a hideous figure shrouded in black, with deeper blackness inside its hood.

The servant fell to her knees with a moan of fear as Zella—pale as chalk now—fell from her chair and scrambled backward, trying to get away from the horrid specter. She looked at Rhazat as if she’d never seen her before, then back at Klia. “Highness, what’s happening?”

Klia gripped the edge of the table, resisting the urge to recoil from the dra’gorgos. “How long has Zella been like this?” she demanded.

“Since the night Toneus died,” Rhazat replied. “Despite all that went wrong, I at least snared one useful little fly in my web.”

“That’s not possible!” Zella gasped. “I’d have known if something so horrible was in me.”

“Clearly you didn’t, or anyone else.” Rhazat raised a brow at Klia. “It was so kind of you to accept her as your secretary. I’ve learned quite a lot about you and your friends, watching through her eyes.”

Zella shuddered and sank her face in her hands. “Forgive me, Highness! I didn’t know.”

“Was it you I’ve been talking to all this time?” Klia asked Rhazat. She had ridden with Zella, talked, laughed, and eaten with her. The thought of someone else looking out of those eyes made her skin crawl.

“Sometimes yes, sometimes no,” Rhazat replied with a twinkling smile. “Aren’t I clever? Even your wizard lover doesn’t know the difference.”

“How is that possible?”

Rhazat chuckled. “Oh, I have quite a few tricks up my sleeve that he wouldn’t catch. In case you haven’t guessed yet, I’m rather powerful. To me, he’s a mere child.”

“I see. Yet you said something went wrong the night you killed Toneus.”

“That wasn’t at all what I wanted. He’d have been ever so much more useful to me than Zella. You and your troublesome hunting hounds wouldn’t be here if not for that.”

“Then why slaughter him?”

“I’m telling you, I didn’t kill him or his woman. That’s where things went wrong, you see. When my dra’gorgos poke a little hole between your world and mine, sometimes nasty things appear from whatever space lies between.”

“Demons.” Klia thought of Sedge.

“That’s as good a name as any, I suppose. They can be quite troublesome, getting in my way as they did that night. It really was quite a complication, or so I thought until I began to get to know you, my dear. Really, you’re much more than I could have hoped for.”

A nasty cold feeling swept over Klia. “What do you mean by that?”

Rhazat gave her an arch smile. “That would be telling.”

She waved another sigil on the air. As Klia watched in horror, the dra’gorgos turned to mist again and billowed toward Zella. The woman screamed and tried to get up to run but tripped over her skirts. The dra’gorgos was on her in an instant and as she screamed again it flowed into her nose and mouth. Zella blinked, then gracefully rose to her feet and curtsied to Klia. “Highness, I hope I haven’t alarmed you too badly.”

Rhazat beamed at Zella. “Isn’t she wonderful, Klia? The perfect puppet.”

Klia shook her head in disbelief. “She seems so—herself.”

“As I said, I’m very clever. You can’t possibly understand it, so don’t try. It’s bad for the digestion, and you must eat to keep up your strength.” She turned to the servant. “Phania, get up and serve my guests.”

Phania? Klia caught the servant’s eye, and she gave Klia a barely perceptible nod. This was the lieutenant Captain Sedge had seen pulled into darkness, though it was hard to imagine that this starved wreck had ever been a soldier.

One by one, Phania lifted the lids of the dishes on the table, serving Klia and the others a variety of roasted vegetables and meats. Among the latter were tiny stuffed songbirds. They had been a favorite of Klia’s since childhood, but she doubted she’d ever be able to stomach them again.

“That will do,” Rhazat said to Phania. “Back to your kitchen.”

With a last despairing look at Klia—or perhaps the food—Phania left the room.

“Is she possessed, too?”

“No, she’s just as you see her.”

“Then why keep her alive if you’re only going to starve her to death?”

“Because it amuses me,” Rhazat replied. “And I assure you, she has all she wants to eat. But time does take its toll here in my realm. Just look at poor Phania. I doubt she’ll last much longer. That’s why it’s so very important that you eat. If you don’t, you’ll waste away to nothing in no time, and your dear little girl with you.”

“How quickly you’ve found a weapon to use against me!” Klia spat.

“On the contrary, I’m trying to protect you both.”

“By killing my escort, and throwing me from my horse?”

“Who says your escort is dead? As for that handsome horse of yours, he was not meant to die, but to carry you to me. The poor creature must have had some defect. Don’t worry, though. He’ll serve me well here. Now do eat, for your daughter’s sake. And don’t worry about poison. You and she are worth far more to me alive than dead.”

The emphasis sent another nasty shiver up Klia’s spine. She took a tentative mouthful of pork, chewed carefully, trying to detect any off flavor, then swallowed and waited for ill effects. None came on, so she picked away at the meal before her.

“How like her you are,” Rhazat mused, toying with her empty wine cup. “So proud.”

“Like who?”

But Rhazat just gave a dismissive wave. “Oh, just someone I knew a long time ago. Wine?”

Klia shook her head but finished her portion, uncomfortably aware of the others watching her. When she was done she sat back and nodded to her hostess. “That was delicious, Your Majesty. So, what do you have planned for me next?”

“You must sleep, my dear, after such an eventful day. Zella, would you please show our guest to her chamber?”

“Of course.” Zella rose and bowed to Rhazat, then took a candle in a holder from the table and led Klia down a dark, bare corridor and up a long stairway to a beautifully appointed bedchamber. As Zella went around the room, lighting more candles, Klia saw that the delicate furniture was reminiscent of Aurënfaie style, but the fabrics were heavier and used darker colors. The carpets were of an unfamiliar design, as were the patterns on the long drapes covering a tall window. She threw back the drapes to get her bearings. It was dark, with no moon or stars to be seen. The only light came from a few windows in the town below. The open door of the room had no visible lock on this side and would probably be securely locked as soon as Zella left. Where were her nightrunners when she needed them?

She pushed the unworthy thought away. She’d gotten herself into this and it was up to her to get herself out.

“You think of escape, of course,” Zella said in her mistress’s voice, going to the door.

Klia hated the thought of the necromancer lurking behind Zella’s eyes, wearing the woman’s skin like a gown.

“Of course you do, my dear,” Zella went on. “I expect nothing less from a woman of your gallant character, but I must advise against it. As I told you, here in my realm you will soon starve to death. Only in this house will you find food you can eat and water you can drink.”

“What kind of hell is this?” Klia hissed.

Zella laughed Rhazat’s silvery laugh. “You haven’t guessed? I wouldn’t want to spoil the game. Good night, Highness. Sleep well.”

Zella went out, closing the door after her. Klia listened for the sound of a key turning, but heard only the other woman’s fading footsteps.

Now that no enemy was there to see, Klia pressed a protective hand to her still-flat belly. As if in answer, she thought she felt the first flutter of life, like a tiny fish swimming in her womb.

It was a girl, Rhazat had claimed. Despite her situation, Klia found herself smiling. A half-wizard daughter! What a stir she would make at court. Klia felt that tiny flutter again. “Don’t you worry, my little love. You’ll be born free in Rhíminee and know your father. I swear it on the royal blood we share.”

Klia explored the room, seeking potential weapons. A chair might be easily smashed to get a leg free to break the windows, or preferably her hostess’s pretty head. The sheets or drapes could serve as a rope, if she could find a way to cut or tear them up. The gilded wood curtain rod was too high to reach without climbing on something, perhaps the wardrobe. She tried pushing it, but it proved far too heavy. Going to the window, she tugged on one of the heavy drapes to see if the rod would pull free, but it was solidly fixed to the wall. She tried the latch on the window, and it swung out on the dead night air. Leaning out, she gauged the distance to the ground. The stonework was quite smooth, with no apparent handholds for climbing down, and the drop was at least thirty feet. Even if she managed it without breaking a leg, there was her daughter to think of. The impact might be enough to bring on a miscarriage. She’d been lucky when Moonshine went down; she wasn’t going to take any unnecessary chances now.

Closing the window, she sat on the bed and took stock of what she knew. Rhazat was a necromancer who fancied herself a queen in this strange place. What had she meant when she’d said Klia hadn’t guessed what it was?

She looked around again. No apparent metal, just like downstairs. Her sword and dagger had been taken from her, but she still had the buckles on her sword belt and uniform. The only other thing was—She raised her right hand to her throat, feeling for her golden gorget and hoping it hadn’t turned into anything unpleasant. It was still there, the smooth metal warm under her fingertips.

“Very strange,” she murmured, unhooking the chain that held it around her neck and laying the heavy crescent of precious metal on the bed in front of her. It was a bit worn at the edges, and had a few scrapes and scratches gained in combat, but the elaborate carving and silver chasing of horses and the crest of the Queen’s Horse Guard on the outer side were still intact. She reached into her tunic and pulled out the golden coin amulet Thero had given her. Even Rhazat, for all her pretensions of royalty, wore no gold, nor any other jewelry. No metal in the house, but Klia had been allowed to keep these. Why? She dropped the amulet back inside her shirt, then looked around for a hiding spot for the gorget, in case her hostess changed her mind. Under the mattress or in the clothes chest would be the first place anyone would look. Instead, she stood on the mattress, pulled herself up by one of the bedposts, and put the gorget on top of the tapestry canopy over the bed.

Climbing down again, she reached into her belt pouch for her comb and looked around for a mirror, but there wasn’t one.

No mirrors, and no metal. Or rather, no polished metal, she amended. The various buckles on her belt and sword belt were dull.

Nothing shiny, she thought, walking slowly around the room to make certain she hadn’t overlooked anything. Reaching the window, she ran a hand over a pane of glass, but it was slightly rough under her hand, rather than smooth. So, nothing shiny …

Nothing that reflects!

She retrieved the gorget and hid it away inside her shirt, then lay down in her clothes and stared at the flickering candle Zella had left on the stand near the bed.

“Thero, my love, don’t despair,” she whispered. “I’ll get back to you.”

SEREGIL checked the marks Thero had painted on the backs of his hands as he and Alec wandered around the palace together, using lightstones to guide them. Micum and a sergeant were off doing the same in a different direction. It had been a long night.

“I hope these still work,” Alec muttered, inspecting the one on his right hand more closely. “This one is starting to wear off.”

“Roll back your sleeves so they don’t rub.”

Just as they reached a T where their corridor intersected another, Alec suddenly looked sharply to the right.

“There!” he whispered, pointing down the pitch-black corridor.

“What?” Seregil whispered back, reaching for his sword. “That light! Come on.”

“What light?” But Alec was already bolting down the corridor, sword drawn. As Seregil started after him, the glow of Alec’s lightstone disappeared as suddenly as if a heavy curtain had fallen across the passageway. In fact, Seregil thought that’s what had happened until he ran to where Alec had disappeared and found nothing but more corridor stretching away into the darkness. There was no sign of Alec.

Had he gone through one of the open doorways that lined the corridor? This wing of the palace had not been refurbished. Some of the rooms didn’t even have doors, or they were broken or hanging by one hinge. One after the other proved to be dark and empty. The corridor dead-ended in a blank stone wall.

Seregil turned and looked back the way he’d come, expecting to see a glow from a doorway farther back, but all was dark.

“Alec, where in Bilairy’s name are you?” he shouted, stomach already in a knot.

An echoed are you, are you, are you was the only reply.

The light seemed to recede down the corridor as Alec ran toward it. It didn’t have the color or glow of a lightstone, or one of Thero’s orbs. It was ruddy and flickered …

Suddenly the toe of his boot caught on something and he went sprawling in what he quickly realized was fresh dung and dry grass. A small campfire burning a few feet away revealed two very startled peasant boys.

“Hello,” Alec grunted in Plenimaran.

They gaped at him, then dashed away into the darkness, leaving him alone in the muck with a flock of black-tail sheep. Climbing to his feet, Alec wiped his face on his sleeve and turned around slowly, trying to make sense of what had just happened. His lightstone was nowhere to be seen. From what he could make out in the firelight, he was in the middle of a meadow on a steep hillside. In the direction the boys had run, he could hear dogs barking in the distance, and could make out a few small cottages, firelight showing through a square window here and there. As he watched, these disappeared one by one in quick succession, as if someone had closed the shutters. Down the hillside some miles away lay a small town surrounding a squat, round tower. It looked like a rough hike, but he judged he could reach it before dawn.

The barking was getting louder and he caught sight of a pair of dark shapes running toward him. They were coming on fast, barking and snarling with their heads low and their ears laid back. Rather than run and be chased, Alec stood his ground, clutching his sword. The sheep were slow to scatter, momentarily slowing the dogs’ headlong pursuit. As they neared the edge of the firelight, snarling and slavering, Alec could see that they were a pair of starved-looking mongrels with short, mud-colored fur. He raised his left fist, first and little fingers extended, and turned it as if it were a key in a lock, performing the simple dog charm Seregil had taught him. “Peace, friend hounds.”

But the spell didn’t work. The dogs attacked, knocking him to the ground and snapping at his face and arms as he tried to fend them off. His sword useless, he drew his black-handled dagger and stabbed at them as best he could. The blade found its mark often enough to drive them back yelping, but not before he was badly bitten.

One dog lay heaving on its side by the fire. The other one stood over it, barking and growling, never taking its eyes off Alec. His fallen sword lay within reach, but he knew the moment he moved, the dog would attack again. Still he had to chance it. As his hand closed around the hilt the cur charged. He got the blade up just in time to catch it in the chest. Its own momentum drove it onto the razor-sharp blade and it staggered and fell on its side. With a final shudder, it died.

Alec pulled his blade free and staggered to the fire to check his wounds. His coat was badly torn and bloodied. He took it and his bloodstained shirt off and assessed the damage: he had deep bites on both arms and a gash across the heel of his left hand. He let them bleed for a few minutes to cleanse the wounds, then tore up his shirt and bound up the wounds as best he could. His hands were shaking and the night breeze felt colder than it had before. Grimacing, he pulled his coat over his shoulders and squatted by the fire to get warm, still trying to understand how he’d gotten here in the first place.

The flames gave off no heat.

“Illior’s Fingers,” he whispered, passing his right hand over the flames. Pain blossomed across his palm and he yanked it back. The skin tingled, like a slight burn.

Nothing made sense. He was certain he hadn’t gone through any door; one moment he was in the palace corridor with Seregil behind him, the next he was here, alone somewhere in the countryside, surrounded by sleepy sheep. He went to one of the dogs and touched its side. There was no blood.

Dogs that could bite, but not bleed.

Fire that could burn, but gave off no heat.

The sky was dark, but there were no stars or moon.

He tried to ignore the hammering of his heart as he looked around again, deciding what to do. The only direction that promised any answers was the distant town. Having his lightstone would make it a safer walk. He crawled around on his knees, finding what appeared to be it in a fresh sheep pat—shit seemed real enough here—but the magic had died; it gave off no light. Cursing under his breath, he wiped it off on the grass and stuck it in a pocket, then started toward the distant lights.

The hillside was littered with large stones and cut everywhere by gullies full of mud and reeds. He chose a large one and followed it, stumbling over rocks and rabbit holes, and falling often enough to scrape his knees and elbows and jar his throbbing wounds. He was seriously light-headed, hungry, and dreadfully thirsty but he knew better than to drink the fetid gully water.

The grey, overcast sky was beginning to brighten when he heard rushing water in the distance and followed the sound to a broad river. Falling on his bruised, bloodied knees, he washed his hands and scooped up handfuls of water. Or tried. It seemed to disappear in his mouth, leaving him parched. He tried again, then gave up. There was still dried blood on his hands.

Water that was not wet? Going by previous experience, he suspected that it would still drown a person. His stomach rumbled, cramping with hunger. His mouth felt like it was filled with dust.

He stretched out in the long, coarse grass, staring up at the misty grey sky. The light was diffuse, and it was impossible to tell east from west.

His eyelids grew heavy, and he fought off the strong urge to doze. Tired as he was, it was too dangerous to sleep in the open in what had proven so far to be hostile country. A rutted road ran along the bank and he followed it upstream toward the town, dizzy and exhausted.

A wooden palisade surrounded the town, and the road led up to a large gate framed by torches on either side. The gate was closed, and two watchmen in long tunics sat on low stools around a campfire before it, talking in low voices as they ate their breakfast.

Pulling his tattered coat around him to cover as much of his sword as he could, he approached cautiously. “Please, I need help.”

The first to notice him dropped the bread he’d been eating and he and his companion leapt to their feet and backed away.

“Please!” Alec said.

Instead the watchmen ran to a postern door beside the larger one and began hammering on it with their fists, shouting in a language Alec didn’t understand, though it was clear that they were terrified. The postern opened and they dashed through and slammed it shut behind them. Alec heard the heavy thump of a wooden bar falling into brackets. He started forward to claim the fallen bread when stones rained down around him from the top of the palisade. Alec stumbled back toward the river. Rocks struck him on the shoulders and back before he was out of range. Running as well as his wounds would allow, he reached the river road and turned upstream, hoping for something better than he’d found so far.

It was light enough now to make out farms and pastures around the base of the valley, but Alec wasn’t about to approach any of them. Fact was, he had no idea what he was going to do.

The sound of shouting woke Klia at dawn. Rolling out of bed, she padded over to the window and looked out over the dreary, drab town. Something was going on beyond the palisade but she couldn’t see what, or understand the language.

A night’s fitful sleep in her clothes hadn’t improved the situation any. She pulled on her boots and coat, checked to make certain she had her gorget, and then tried the door. As she’d thought, it was unlocked. Opening it, she stepped out in the corridor, waiting for some sort of outcry or alarm. When nothing happened she hurried downstairs. The dining room door was open, and the aromas of a hearty breakfast wafted out. She hesitated, anxious to be off, but Rhazat’s warning about going out without food decided the matter, especially since no one seemed to be about. Going to the table, she stood there and ate quickly from the serving dishes, wolfing down all the boiled eggs, bacon, smoked eel, and buttered ash cakes she could hold. It was as if her hostess knew what Klia liked best. It was an unsettling thought: a necromancer who could read minds was doubly dangerous.

Downing a cup of buttermilk, she filled several napkins with food and stuffed them into her pockets, then found her way to the receiving chamber where Rhazat had disarmed her. No torches burned there now. It was dimly lit by daylight through small windows, leaving much of the large room in shadow. She quickly searched the edges of the room looking for her weapons, but found only the long black feather that had been her dagger. She put it into her knife sheath and went to the front doors.

“They’re never locked, Highness.”

Klia whirled around, but it was only Phania, standing near the inner door.

Is it Phania or Rhazat speaking to me? Klia wondered uneasily.

“The queen doesn’t care if we go out, Highness,” she went on, voice low and hopeless. “I tried to escape. There’s nowhere to go.”

“I have to try.” Klia hesitated a moment, then said, “Quick, pack yourself food and come with me.”

“It’s no use—”

“That’s an order, Lieutenant.”

Something seemed to spark to life in the woman’s eyes. She pressed her fist to her heart in a salute, then disappeared in the direction of the dining room.

Klia went to the outer doors. They were unlocked and she pushed one open and took a cautious step outside. There were no guards, and no sign of any other people.

Phania was soon back.

“Which way should we go?” asked Klia.

“It doesn’t much matter, Highness,” Phania replied, but with more spirit now. “I tried going upriver and across country, but I always ended up collapsing from hunger and then Rhazat would come and get me. She always knew where I was.”

“What about townspeople?”

Phania let out a hollow chuckle. “No worries there. They’re just ghosts, as near as I can tell. How would anyone be alive here?”

“There have been reports of people going missing. Have you seen them?”

“There are dungeons below the tower. She keeps them there and—”

“And?”

Phania shuddered. “She feeds on them. No one lasts long down there.”

“I had an escort with me. Are they down there now? Captain Sedge was leading them.”

“Sakor’s Flame!” Phania groaned. “His face is the last thing I saw before I ended up here. If he and the others are still alive, then they’re in the dungeons below.”

“How do I get down there?”

“You don’t, Highness. I’ve tried myself, but Rhazat obscures the stairway somehow. I don’t even know where it is.”

“Why hasn’t she killed you?”

“I almost wish she had, Highness. She said the night she took me that she needed a good servant, and that it amused her to let me linger on.”

“Courage, Lieutenant. We’ll get out,” Klia told her.

With Phania in the lead, they headed for the main gate. The grey, oppressive sky was brightening, but there were no other people on the street. It was eerie, being alone in this dreary town, and she was anxious to be out of it.

“Where is everyone?”

“Sometimes they’re here, sometimes not.”

The gate was unguarded, but the bar was too heavy to lift.

“This way, Highness.” Phania went to a postern door and opened it. There were no guards outside, either.

Rather than relief, this only made Klia more uneasy. This all felt like another trap or a strange dream, although she was reasonably sure she was awake. She bit her tongue just to be sure.

Once outside, there was the matter of where to go.

“Rivers always lead somewhere, and you said you tried upstream. So we go downstream,” Klia said, setting off in that direction. “Hopefully we’ll find a town less strange than Zikara.”

Phania fell in beside her on the river road but said nothing.

They walked all morning, stopping only to rest and eat. Water was a problem, however. She hadn’t found a waterskin at Rhazat’s tower, and when she tried to drink from the river she discovered that it was some sort of illusion. It looked and sounded like rushing water, but her hands came out of the water dry and drinking it was like trying to chew air.

“How much worse can this place get?” she wondered grimly.

“How much worse could anything be than this?” Phania sighed.

“Don’t give out on me now,” Klia ordered. “Eat something and then we’ll go on. What was it like, when you were captured?”

The lieutenant shrugged as they sat on the riverbank eating. “One minute I was talking to Captain Sedge. The next something grabbed me and I was here, or in the tower, rather. My weapons were gone, and the queen gave me this dress to wear and made me a servant.”

“You do the cooking?”

“No.” The woman shivered. “I don’t know where the food comes from. It just appears.”

“Does she withhold food from you to make you obey her?”

“No, I can eat as much as I like. But no matter how much I do, I’m always hungry. You’ll see, Highness. I think maybe if you stay here too long, you starve anyway.”

“We’re going to get out.”

They moved on, and Klia began to understand Phania’s fatalistic attitude. The air was dead, the countryside dreary, and somehow it was sucking the very life out of her. At least the road was smooth down the middle, between the ruts. As long as the food lasted, she felt fine, but despite the fact that she tried to ration it to make it last, by midafternoon everything was gone. Thirst was the first to strike, a terrible dryness in her mouth and throat. Then her belly rumbled, and it felt as empty as if she’d had nothing to eat since yesterday.

“You see?” said Phania. “It’ll only get worse now. Begging your pardon, Highness, but if I die out here, I won’t be sad.”

“Keep moving, Lieutenant.”

They pressed doggedly on, since there was nothing else to do. If they didn’t find food quickly, then they really were done for.

The light was beginning to fade above the ever-present clouds when Klia finally spotted a town in the distance.

“Come on!” She took Phania’s hand and urged the woman into a stumbling run. But as they got close enough for a good look, Klia slowed to a halt and stood there with her heart in her boots.

It was either Zikara, or its exact twin. The palisade, the roof of the tower beyond, the gate and side door—it was all the same, apart from the guards visible at the gate and on the palisade above. People on foot and in carts pulled by dispirited nags were on the road.

“By the Flame, what’s going on?” she whispered in disbelief.

Phania let out a choking laugh. “This is the farthest I’ve ever made it here in this Bilairy-forsaken place, and we’ve ended up just where we started!”

Whatever doubts Klia clung to of this not being the same town were dashed when the gates opened and Rhazat rode out mounted on Moonshine. She galloped up to them and reined the stallion in sharply. Phania fell to her knees, face in her hands.

“How—?” Klia began, hope flaring in her heart at the sight of her beloved horse, but it was even more swiftly dashed as she looked into his eyes, eyes that had once been so warm and brown and wise. Now they were cloudy and white.

Rhazat stroked the horse’s neck. “Lovely, isn’t he? You’re welcome to take him out whenever you like, though I fear you’ll find him a bit harder to manage than he was.”

“Do you corrupt everything you touch?”

Rhazat laughed and offered Klia a hand up, kicking her foot out of the stirrup so Klia could mount behind her. “What a thing to say! Come, you must be starving. And perhaps a clean set of clothes. You smell like smoked eel, my dear.”

“Go to the crows,” Klia growled.

“Well, you may not be hungry, but I am.” Smiling, Rhazat crooked a finger and Phania rose in the air with a despairing cry that choked off as the necromancer’s hand closed around the back of her neck. Hanging there in that impossible grip, she closed her eyes and set her jaw, a soldier to the end.

“Let her go!” Klia shouted.

Rhazat arched a brow at Klia. “Yes, I am famished!” With that, she pressed her lips to Phania’s brow in an almost motherly kiss. Phania shuddered in her grip, then went limp. It was over in an instant and Rhazat draped the dead woman over her saddlebow like a deer. “Shall we go? Please, there’s still room for you up here.”

Klia glared up at her, silently refusing.

Rhazat nudged Moonshine into a walk. “Very well, you can walk. It’s not like you have anywhere else to go, and I believe you’re out of food. Come along, my dear princess, you must eat, if not for your own sake—”

“I know!” Klia snapped, following her toward the gate. No wonder Rhazat didn’t bother with locks. She didn’t need them; this whole horrible place—whatever it was—was a prison.

Perhaps I’m already dead and beyond Bilairy’s gate.

Klia pushed the thought away, reasoning that if she was dead, this necromancer wouldn’t be working so hard to keep her alive.

Doggedly putting one foot in front of the other, Alec followed the river up into the grassy hills. There were no birds singing, no trees, not even a breeze to stir the dead air. It was neither hot nor cold, but vaguely muggy. It was still early morning, if you could trust the light in this place, but he felt like he’d been walking for days without food or water.

“Please, Illior, don’t let me die in this awful place,” he whispered hoarsely, nearing the end of his strength. Perhaps the Lightbearer had heard him, for a few moments later he noticed something very strange ahead of him—a patch of blackness hovering in the air just off the road, rippling like a silk scarf in a breeze.

He approached it cautiously, suspicious but desperate. Could this be how he’d gotten here, through some sort of rent in the air? Stopping within arm’s reach, he stared into the center of it, but it showed only blackness. As he stood there, baffled, it rippled again, brushing his face and chest—

—no dawn sky, no rushing river. All was silent and pitch-black. Reaching out, Alec felt smooth wall under his hand. The ground was level and hard under his feet, and the air smelled of dust and fresh plaster. Completely disoriented, he reached down and felt the floor: dressed stone, no carpet. That, and the smell of plaster, gave him hope that he was back in the Hierophant’s palace. He chose a direction and felt his way along the wall until he saw light ahead, streaming in through a glazed window. Reaching it, he could make out a few newly built villas outside that looked familiar. Deciding it was safer outside than here in the dark, he opened the window and climbed painfully out onto a dewy verge next to a paved street. He was somehow back in Menosi.

Weak and in considerable pain, he still relished the chill breeze and smell of new growth as he staggered around to the front entrance where uniformed guards were standing around a brazier in front of the stairs leading up to the huge carved doors. They saw him and came running to his aid. Supporting him with their arms around his waist, two of them helped him to the brazier.

“It’s Baron Alec!” the sergeant in charge exclaimed. “Where have you been, my lord? Your companions are frantic.”

“I don’t know,” Alec gasped, shaking with hunger, thirst, and exhaustion. “Where’s Seregil?”

“Tonil, Sera, fetch Baron Seregil and the others,” the sergeant ordered. Taking off his cloak, he wrapped it around Alec and helped him sit down on the steps. Someone offered him a waterskin and he drank deeply. It was cool, sweet, and real. A few moments later the great doors swung open again and Seregil dashed down the steps to where Alec sat shivering in the borrowed cloak.

“By the Light, Alec, where have you been?” he asked breathlessly, sitting beside him and brushing loose strands of hair back from Alec’s face to look him over.

“I don’t know,” Alec told him. “I need food, and a drysian. There were dogs—”

Seregil pulled the cloak and coat away and swore as he saw the blood-soaked bandages around Alec’s arms and hand. Then he was shouting orders and Micum was there, too, bundling another cloak around him.

“Can you ride?” Seregil asked, coming back into focus.

“I think so—Yes.”

Seregil and Micum helped him up onto Windrunner’s back. Alec slumped there like a sack of grain, clinging to the saddlebow as best he could, arms and hand throbbing with pain. Mounted on Cynril, Seregil took Windrunner’s reins in hand and led the way back to the encampment.

It was a bit of a blur after that until Seregil and Micum helped him off his horse and into a tent where a warm fire was burning in a brazier. They laid him on a bed, and sometime later a drysian was bending over him, murmuring apologies as she cut away the makeshift bandages.

“How bad?” Seregil asked, leaning anxiously over her shoulder.

“Some nasty punctures, but not much tearing,” she replied. “The muscles appear to be not too badly damaged.” She held a cup to Alec’s lips and he drank, recognizing the taste of willow bark and poppy juice. Blessed numbness flowed through him as she set about washing and dressing the wounds.

“He disappeared in a dead-end corridor and showed up hours later outside the palace,” Seregil explained as Thero joined them by Alec’s cot. The drysian’s potion had done its work. Alec was deeply asleep.

Thero passed a hand over Alec’s brow, then shrugged. “I sense no sign of magic on him.”

“How is that possible?” asked Micum.

“I’m telling you, he was there, and then he just—wasn’t!” said Seregil.

Thero ran a hand over his short beard and sighed. “I have no idea how it could have happened. I suppose he can tell us when he wakes up.”

“First Mika is attacked; now this. Not a very auspicious start,” said Micum.

“No. Did you see or hear anything else of interest last night, Seregil?”

“Aside from Alec vanishing? No, but plenty of ghost stories from the guards who’ve been stationed there for weeks. There’s definitely something strange going on up here.”

Thero shook his head. “I don’t understand why I don’t feel any magic on him. It does appear that someone translocated him, but there’s no residual imprint of the one who cast the spell.”

“That’s not a common spell. I didn’t think anyone outside Nysander’s lineage could do it, especially necromancers.”

“I’ve never found any evidence that says they can in any of my research. It seems more likely a necromancer would have used a dra’gorgos to capture him, yet I feel nothing of that, either, and my charm should have protected him. I fear this is something else entirely. I need to meditate on this for a while.”

Seregil rubbed wearily at his eyes. “Mystery upon mystery. We’ve certainly got our work cut out for us.”

Alec woke in pain but thankfully in a warm bed. He could feel warm stones tucked in around him, under a pile of blankets. Looking up, he realized he was in a tent. Daylight showed through a gap in the tent flap. Hadn’t it been dark just a moment ago? Memories flooded back as he pushed back the blankets and found both arms and his hand expertly bandaged in blood-spotted linen that smelled of honey salve.

“There you are,” said Seregil with a yawn, getting up from a cot across the tent. Apparently he’d been sleeping, too.

“What’s the time?”

“Nearly dinnertime. You’ve been asleep since we got you here this morning. How are you feeling?”

Alec winced with pain as he pulled the blankets up again. “I’ve been better. I’m really hungry. And thirsty.”

Seregil stuck his head out of the tent flap, ordered someone to bring food, then returned to the bed with a waterskin and a cup.

Alec drank three cupfuls before his thirst was slaked, but that only left him hungrier.

“Are you up to telling me what happened?”

Alec frowned. “I was running down the corridor with you. I saw a light and thought it was someone with a lantern. The next thing I knew I was out in the country somewhere.”

“Ah, I thought I heard voices,” said Thero, stepping inside to join them, followed by a very worried-looking Micum and a servant with a breakfast tray. She set it on the bed by Alec and he grabbed a hunk of bread and devoured it, then started in on the sausage and cheese.

“What in Bilairy’s name happened to you, Alec?” Micum exclaimed, pulling up a stool next to the bed.

Alec swallowed and started again. “One minute I was in the corridor with Seregil. I saw a light and followed it, thinking he was right behind me. The next thing I knew I was facedown in sheep shit somewhere out in the countryside. There were young shepherds there, but not the ones we met, Thero. They ran away as soon as they saw me, in the direction of some cottages. Someone there set the dogs on me and I had to fight them off.”

“Why didn’t you use the dog charm?” asked Seregil.

“I did, but obviously it didn’t work. Still—” He held up his arms. “If it wasn’t for this, I’d think I’d dreamed it all.”

“So would I,” said Seregil, looking thoughtful.

“I thought I killed the dogs. They had wounds and they looked dead, but they didn’t bleed, though I certainly did.”

“Indeed?” murmured the wizard. “But you didn’t feel any moment of disorientation as you passed from one place to another?”

“Not that I noticed.”

“Go on.”

“After that I saw a town in the distance and made my way there, along a river. I tried to wash my hands and drink, but the water wasn’t wet.”

“How do you mean?” asked Thero.

“It looked like water and sounded like water, but when I tried to drink it wasn’t really there. I couldn’t wash my hands, either.” He shrugged. “That’s the only way to explain it.”

“Dogs that don’t bleed. Water that isn’t wet,” mused Seregil.

“And fire that didn’t give off heat, but burned,” Alec told them, and saw Seregil and Thero exchange a glance. “What?” he asked.

Thero shook his head. “I’m not sure yet. What happened next?”

“I made it to the town, which was walled. There were watchmen outside, but once again, as soon as they saw me they couldn’t get away fast enough, shouting something I didn’t understand. It could have been that island language. Once they were gone, someone on the wall threw rocks at me. I ran and then I was back in here in the palace, as suddenly as I had gone.”

Just then Mika peeked around the tent flap. “May I come see Alec?”

“Of course you can,” said Alec, motioning him in.

The boy’s head was freshly bandaged, his left arm splinted in a colorful silk sling. The swelling around his eye had gone down a bit, but the bruises were a nasty purple and green. “Did the man with the cudgel hurt you too, Alec?”

“No, I ran into some unfriendly dogs.”

“I thought you could charm dogs.”

Alec gave him a rueful look. “So did I—Wait! Seregil, look for my lightstone in my coat pocket.”

Seregil rifled through the ruined garment and pulled out the lightstone. It glowed as it always had.

Thero took it and examined it closely. “What?”

“It didn’t work there,” Alec told him.

“And the dog charm didn’t work, either?” Thero rested a forefinger against his lips for a moment, thinking.

“So wherever I was, something affected the magic of the stone and the charm?” asked Alec.

“So it would appear.” Thero handed the stone back to him. “Or someone.”

Alec looked up at the wizard. “I can’t help thinking of what Sedge told us about the night Phania disappeared. He said it looked like she was pulled. I didn’t feel that; I just was one place one moment and somewhere else the next. And I got back through this wavery black place in the air.”

“A what?”

Alec searched for words. “It was like looking at dark water rippling, only it was hanging in the air. It touched me while I was trying to figure out what it was and I ended up back here.”

“So you got back on your own,” mused Thero, looking Alec over thoughtfully, as if he had some markings to tell the story. “Give me your hand.”

Alec held it out and Thero clasped it, then shook his head. “I don’t understand. How can there be no trace of magic on you after all that? If you’ll excuse me, I must meditate on this. Will you keep an eye on Mika for me?”

“I could use some company,” Alec said, giving the boy a wink. “I think we left the cards in your tent.”

“I’ll go get them.” Mika ducked out through the tent flap.

“And he can keep an eye on you,” Seregil said, kissing Alec and stroking the hair back from his lover’s brow. “I want to examine that corridor where you disappeared—in daylight.”

“I think I’m up to going,” Alec said, but Seregil placed a gentle hand on his chest when he tried to get up.

“No, talí. Micum and I can handle this. I need you rested and healed.”

Micum rose and settled his sword on his hip. “Don’t worry, Alec. I’ll look after him for you.”

“You have your amulets, don’t you?” asked Alec.

Seregil and Micum both held theirs up.

“Good. Don’t ever take them off.”

“After what we’ve seen and heard?” Micum scoffed. “Just try to get it away from me!”

THE approach to the palace through Menosi looked no different early the next morning than any other time Seregil had seen it, but now he was on guard. Micum was quiet beside him as they walked through the silent streets to the palace.

“How is Baron Alec?” asked one of the young guards as they reached the front door.

“He’s safe back in camp,” Seregil replied, feeling a twinge of unease. Alec was certainly safer there than here, but Seregil was strangely unsettled at being separated though he was in the more dangerous spot.

Retracing their steps last night, Seregil led Micum through a succession of turns, stopping by the royal chamber on the way. There was no sign of supernatural activity in the morning light, no dark figures.

Moving on, they finally came to the long corridor where Alec had disappeared. It was perfectly ordinary looking, but the sight of it sent another uneasy twinge through his belly. As he’d noted the night before, it hadn’t yet been repaired. It was lined on one side by rooms—some with the remains of broken doors hanging on sprung hinges or no doors at all—and on the other with small round windows set high overhead, and dead-ended at a stone wall. Traces of painted plaster still clung to walls here and there, their colors leached by time to faded pastels.

“Where did Alec disappear?” asked Micum.

“It’s hard to say, exactly. It was dark and we couldn’t see how long the corridor was. We’d just reached the turning here when he took off on his own. And then he was just gone. I checked every room from top to bottom, looking for hidden doors and secret passages. I was still at it when the guard brought word that Alec had turned up out front.” He paused, not liking the memory. “I want another look at the wall at the end. It was as if he ran right through it.”

“Two sets of eyes are better than one.”

The wall was made of large blocks of finished stone fitted together with thin seams of mortar that appeared to have stood the test of time. As Seregil approached it, the uneasy feeling that had been plaguing him grew stronger.

“What’s wrong?” asked Micum.

“I’m not sure.” Seregil reached out and pressed his palms against the wall. “There’s just something …”

Suddenly he was overwhelmed with images: visions of Alec fading away through walls and forests and around corners; mud that caught his feet; locks that bit his fingers …

Gasping, Seregil pressed himself against the cold stone, resting his cheek against it as if he were leaking dreams through his skin. As the visions faded back to wherever they’d come from, he felt Micum’s hand gripping his shoulder.

“Seregil? Seregil, where are you?”

“My dreams,” he whispered. “I think I just remembered what they were. But he came back!” Micum kept a hold on his shoulder as Seregil passed a hand over his eyes, caught between dread and giddy relief.

“Last night they came true, when he disappeared and I couldn’t get to him,” he told Micum. “But he came back.”

“You’re saying he ran through a wall?”

“Well, he didn’t go out a window. Not even he would fit out one of them.”

Micum began inspecting the wall on his own, using a lightstone. “There could be a mechanism, something that swung part of this like a door, or made a section of it pivot. We’ve found things like that plenty of times.”

“I know, and I looked for any sort of device that would operate such a thing, but couldn’t find one.”

“Let’s see what a pair of fresh eyes can find.” Micum joined him and together they made a methodical search of the wall, pressing on every block, running their fingers along every seam.

“I guess Thero better have a look,” Seregil said, giving up at last. “Either it’s magic, or someone opened it from the other side.”

“Or something pulled him away through thin air, like Sedge’s corporal was.”

“Or that.” Seregil shuddered at the idea of something otherworldly touching Alec. “It couldn’t have been a dra’gorgos. He was wearing his amulet.”

“Then let’s go with the theory that someone made of flesh and blood got up to mischief. Any idea what’s on the other side?”

“This place is a labyrinth, but we can try our luck.”

Marking off paces and counting turnings, they did their best to find their way around the other side of the wall, but it soon proved impossible to keep track. Hours passed and they found many new wings and rooms but not the place they were looking for. Coming out at last in a corridor with windows, they saw that the sun was nearly down.

“I say we get some workmen in to knock through the wall,” Micum said after they’d managed to get lost yet again, this time in a dusty, cobweb-festooned passageway.

“That sounds like a fine idea, my friend. Let’s go back and see if Thero has had any inspirations.”

“And tell him about your dreams.”

“That, too.”

They had almost reached the junction of the passageway with another corridor when a dark figure glided across the opening in front of them in the gloom.

“Hello?” Micum called out, but there was no reply.

He and Seregil got to the turning in time to catch sight of the figure disappearing into the darkness beyond their lights’ glow. They hurried after it, only to have it suddenly turn to face them. They skidded to a halt, confronted by a pale man with his eyes gouged out. The blood staining his cheeks like tears looked black in the lightstones’ glow. So did his thin lips as he held out a hand, showing them the missing eyeballs.

“Milia trona?” The thing’s voice was like the whisper of dead leaves.

“Haln,” Seregil replied.

The specter grimaced, then threw the eyes at them. Seregil and Micum flinched back and when they looked again, the corridor was empty.

“I’m certainly getting my wish to see ghosts,” said Micum, looking around for the eyes. “Guess they went with him. What did he say to you? And what language was that?”

Seregil smiled humorlessly as they started off again. “He asked ‘Can you see?’ I said yes, which must have been the wrong answer, given his reaction. It was Middle Konic again, interestingly enough.”

“What’s so interesting about it? It was spoken here. It still is.”

“In a corrupted form. The ghosts speak it perfectly as it was during that period, a long time ago. Odd when there are so many other possibilities from other times, considering this is the place in the Three Lands that has been inhabited for the longest time.”

“Well, we haven’t met many. At least it wasn’t a dra’gorgos.”

Seregil arched a brow at him. “We have protection from those, not from ghosts.”

“Most ghosts aren’t likely to do us any harm.”

“It’s the exceptions that get you.”

“Any way to tell the difference?” asked Micum.

“Not that I know of, until it’s too late.” Seregil strode ahead into the darkness.

Thero was still in his tent when Seregil and Micum returned. Alec and Mika sat outside by a watch fire, eating something from bowls. Alec was wearing a loose tunic under his cloak; only a fresh bandage on his left hand was visible.

“You must be feeling better, talí,” said Seregil, bending down to kiss him on the top of the head.

“I am, considerably.”

“What’s for supper?” asked Micum.

Mika made a face. “Bean soup. I hate bean soup!” Then with a giggle, “It makes me fart.”

Micum ruffled the boy’s hair. “Me, too. Could be a noisy night.”

Seregil smirked. “You know, Mika, I don’t think I’ve ever known your Master Thero to fart.”

The others dissolved into laughter at that.

“The level of discourse seems to have devolved considerably today,” Thero observed dryly, pushing back the tent flap.

“Sorry,” Alec said, then broke out laughing again.

It was music to Seregil’s ears, after the condition he’d found the younger man in yesterday.

Thero sighed and waved them inside. “I shouldn’t complain, I suppose. There was a time when Seregil would have made several comments on the condition of my sphincter by now.”

“ ‘Better up than down. Saves wear and tear on the—’ Well, on the sphincter, my old gran used to say,” Micum offered, sending Alec into another fit of laughter.

“What’s a sphincter?” Mika wanted to know.

“Where the farts come out,” Thero replied crisply. “Now, can we please get to the business at hand?”

“Me, too, Master Thero?” asked Mika.

“You, too.”

Seregil and Alec took one cot, so Mika shared the other with Thero. Micum took the chair by the desk.

“How did the meditation go?” Seregil asked.

“You first,” said Thero. “Did you find anything?”

“An empty corridor, a solid stone wall, and a blind ghost who threw his eyeballs at us,” Seregil replied.

“That sounds unpleasant.”

“Did you catch the eyes?” asked Mika.

“I’m afraid not,” said Micum. “Otherwise I’d have brought them back for you to play marbles with.”

“Ghost eyeballs! I wish you could have gotten them. And I’d like to see a ghost.”

“Be careful what you wish for,” warned Alec.

“The corridor?” Thero prompted impatiently.

“There was no sign of how Alec could have gotten out of the palace past the wall at the end of the corridor, and we couldn’t find any sort of device,” said Seregil.

“Might be worth knocking through it to see what’s on the other side,” said Micum. “If we can get any workmen to come back, that is.”

“I sent a messenger to Deep Harbor while you were gone, asking for a party of workmen to be sent up,” said Thero. “I expect we’ll hear back from Klia in the morning. In the meantime, I have a theory about what happened to you, Alec. At first I thought it was a translocation magic of some sort, something I hadn’t heard of. But then I had to consider your report that the dogs didn’t bleed and the water wasn’t wet. That suggests you may have been somehow pulled into another plane.”

“A what?” asked Micum.

“That’s not easy to explain.” Thero paused, then held up his hands, palms facing each other a few inches apart. “Imagine that my right hand is our plane, where we exist. My left hand is a different plane, where we do not exist, but other people or creatures do, who do not exist in our world. Certain kinds of very difficult magic can build a sort of bridge between the two, and beings can cross from one place to the other.” He touched the tips of his forefingers together.

“Like Seregil did to himself,” Alec said.

Seregil looked at him in surprise. “How do you know about that? I’ve never mentioned it to anyone.”

“Nysander told me. It was that first time we went to the Orëska House, when you were so sick.”

All eyes turned to Seregil.

“When was this?” asked Micum.

“A very long time ago. I was trying to do some spell, and it went badly wrong, as most magic does with me.”

“What was it like?”

“I don’t remember much about it, except that it was the thing that ended my apprenticeship with Nysander.” He shrugged, then added pointedly, “That’s why I don’t talk about it.”

Thero graciously changed the subject. “There are planes without number, or so Nysander believed.”

“Have you ever crossed over?” asked Seregil.

“No. He refused to teach me how to work with them.”

“So if I understand you correctly our plane and some other one touched long enough for me to cross over?” said Alec. “How is that even possible?”

Thero shrugged. “I wish I knew. Given the presence of dra’gorgos, though, and whatever that was that attacked me when I cleansed Sedge, I do believe a necromancer is somehow involved.”

“What’s your opinion on Doctor Kordira these days?” asked Seregil.

“I don’t know. If she is one, then she’s powerful enough to cloak her magic, which does not bode well for us. She is charming, though, and that puts me on my guard.”

“She could just be charming,” said Micum. “Not that I’m defending her, but I have a pretty good sense for people and she struck me as being just what she appears to be.”

“When it comes to this sort of creature, it’s best not to be too trusting.”

“Assuming that you’re right about this plane thing, Thero, what do we do now?” asked Alec.

“I’ll investigate the corridor where you disappeared.”

“The question is, why did I pass over, and not Seregil? Or he and Micum today? And how did I get back?”

“That’s what I’m hoping to learn. Can you describe where you went again, in all the detail you can recall?”

Alec shrugged. “It looked like Kouros. The sky was clouded over so I couldn’t see the stars, or the sun when it came up. I had a hard time getting my bearings. Other than that, and the language, everything was like here—cottages, dogs, people, the town, the river …” He thought for a moment. “Let’s see, what else? Just what I told you about the dogs and water, and the fire. It was all like a nightmare.”

“Speaking of nightmares, Seregil, tell them what you told me,” said Micum.

He sighed. “Seeing the corridor where Alec disappeared in daylight today must have shaken something loose in my brain. I think I remembered what my nightmares have been about, or at least enough pieces to know that they were about losing you, Alec. I have fragmented flashes of you walking away ahead of me, always out of reach, and disappearing. Just like you did last night.”

“Interesting,” mused Thero. “I don’t recall you saying anything about dreams when you two were enslaved in Plenimar, or before Alec died.”

“Not this kind of dream,” Seregil said, tapping his lower lip with a finger thoughtfully. “They were more …” He stopped, staring at Alec.

“What?”

“Remember what the ghost at Mirror Moon said to you?”

Comprehension dawned on Alec’s face. “The same thing that the demon in Sedge said to you. Only the dead can walk with the—”

“Dead,” Seregil finished for him. “You’re the only one here who died and came back. Thero, could that be the key?”

Thero considered it. “It’s possible. It fits. There’s only one way to test it, I’m afraid.”

“I have to go back, don’t I?” said Alec.

“No!” Seregil rose to his feet. “What if he’s not so lucky this time? What if he doesn’t come back? That’s what my dreams were telling me.”

“Couldn’t we take some sort of precautions?” asked Alec. “Like the dra’gorgos charm?”

“That’s the question, isn’t it?” Thero murmured.

“You’d better meditate damn hard on that one!” Seregil growled.

“I’ve never encountered anything quite like this,” the wizard told him. “I’m afraid it will have to be trial and error.”

“Trial and—”

“It’s all right, Seregil,” said Alec. “If I go in the same way, I should be able to get out the same way, too. Thero?”

“Plausible, but not proven.”

“Exactly,” said Seregil. “In those dreams, I couldn’t get to you, no matter what I did.”

“You didn’t need to, apparently,” Alec pointed out. “I got back on my own. And this may be the key to finding out what happened to Toneus and the duchess. That’s why we’re here, right?”

“We don’t know what we’re dealing with.”

“We can begin by knocking down that wall, whenever the workmen get here,” said Micum.

“I might be able to do something about that in the meantime,” said Thero.

“I’m going with you.” Alec was not about to take no for an answer.

“You’re not even healed up yet,” said Seregil, but he knew it was a losing battle.

“I’ll be fine as long as I don’t go down the corridor.”

“That’s certainly a precaution we need to take,” the wizard replied.

“What about tying a rope around him and one of us, just to be sure?” asked Micum.

“Also a good idea.”

“What about me?” asked Mika, who’d been silently taking all this in. “Please, Master Thero, can’t I come with you this time?”

Seregil could see the boy holding his breath as Thero considered the request.

At last the wizard gave a grudging nod. “I suppose so, as long as you stay close by me. No wandering off this time.”

Solemnly Mika covered his heart with his left hand. “By Illior’s Light, I promise. Thank you, Master.”

“We’ll see if you feel so thankful once a ghost starts chucking eyeballs at you,” Micum said with a grin.

“We’ll go tomorrow morning,” said Thero.

Mika looked crestfallen. “But there won’t be any ghosts then.”

“There could be,” Alec told him. “And you’ll be able to see them better in daylight.”

“Really?”

“Tomorrow,” Thero said, settling the matter.

Neither Rhazat or Lady Zella appeared at breakfast the following morning, but the table was set and delicious smells rose from the covered dishes arranged there. The food was again to Klia’s taste, as if Rhazat had once more pulled that knowledge from her mind.

Left to her own devices through the morning, Klia reconnoitered at will and soon knew every inch of the tower’s three floors. Apart from her bedchamber and the dining room, the first two floors were empty. She met no other servants or prisoners and couldn’t find a way down to the cellars.

Climbing to the third floor, she discovered what looked very much like Thero’s tower workshop. It was a spacious curved room with a row of windows on the outer side. Astrolabes, crucibles, and mortars stood in a row on one long table. Another was covered with huge tomes and scrolls, but she didn’t recognize the language, or most of the writing. More books and scrolls filled bookcases on three walls, together with chests of all sizes and several cabinets with many drawers. Moving on, she opened a door and discovered an airy, sumptuous silk-bedecked bedchamber. Rhazat was there, gazing out one of the windows.

“Didn’t your mother teach you to knock, Highness?” the necromancer said with a chuckle.

“I’m afraid your hospitality hasn’t improved my manners.” Klia looked around. It was a chamber worthy of a queen, apart from the lack of metals and mirrors. Her golden gorget lay warm against her ribs inside her shirt.

She walked slowly around the room as if admiring the furnishings. “How long have you lived here, Your Majesty?”

“For a very long time, my dear,” Rhazat said, turning back to the window.

“With no servants or tiring women?”

The other woman smiled. “As you saw with poor Phania, it’s hard to keep good help here.”

“Who does the cooking?”

“It’s taken care of.”

Klia walked to the window next to the one Rhazat stood at. “Another grey day. Why aren’t there any birds?”

Rhazat smiled as she gazed up at the sullen sky. “Such fragile creatures, birds.”

Seizing the opportunity, Klia pulled the gorget out and held it so she could see Rhazat’s reflection in it. It was an imperfect mirror but what Klia could make out sent a blade of ice through her heart.

Rather than a woman, a horrid, wizened corpse with long black hair stood by the window, dressed in a tattered cape. As Klia stared, trying to make sense of what she was seeing, Rhazat turned and smiled at her. “I wondered when you would think to use that.”

Klia clutched the gorget to her heart and looked up. The necromancer was a young, beautiful woman.

“What in Bilairy’s name are you?”

Rhazat smiled her beautiful smile, making it hard to believe what Klia had just seen.

“I’m a very old necromancer, my dear, called in the parlance of my kind a dyrmagnos.”

“As powerful as you are, your magic can’t hide from a mirror.”

“No. My, but you are like her.”

“This person I remind you of?”

“An ancestor of yours. Not that you look like her—she was beautiful—but you have the same unbending spirit. It was the death of her, in the end. Let that be a cautionary tale.”

“Who was she?”

“Have you never heard of Nhandi the Wise?”

“No.”

“She was the last Hierophant, my dear, and the one who condemned me to this place, along with a good many of her own people.”

“The townsfolk here?”

“Yes, and many others in the surrounding area. You have figured out by now that they’re all dead? She condemned them all, just to keep me here. How could a leader called Wise be so heartless?”

“How did you survive for a thousand years?”

“Has it really been that long? Dear me. As to how, my kind are tenacious, and very, very patient. I had a lovely nap, then your predecessor, Governor Toneus, was kind enough to make a start on my release.”

“You can get out?”

“Not yet, but you are going to help me with that.”

“Never.”

“Oh, you will. But now it’s time for lunch, then I think we’ll take a ride. Wouldn’t you like a change of clothing? You’re looking very rumpled.”

“I’m fine as I am.”

“As you wish. Come along.”

“Perhaps you should have this.” Moving swiftly, Klia pressed the gorget to Rhazat’s smooth cheek. At once a tendril of fetid smoke rose up from it.

The dyrmagnos knocked her hand away and the gorget clattered to the floor. “That was most unkind,” she chided, as if Klia had merely said something hurtful.

Klia snatched up the gorget and tucked it away again. “Just trying to live up to my heritage.”

Rhazat smiled, composed as ever. “I very much hope you will. Would you like to hear her story? Come, I’ll entertain you while we eat.”

The table was set, as always, and roast pork and pears were the centerpiece, another favorite.

“Where does the food come from?” Klia couldn’t help asking. “Does Zella somehow bring it in for you?”

“There’s that curiosity again, my dear. You must allow me a few secrets. Now, eat up for that sweet baby and I shall tell you a very sad story. I came to Kouros a long time ago, as you might imagine. It was the center of the western world in those days.”

“Wait,” said Klia. “If you came here that long ago and have been imprisoned here for a thousand years, then how is it you speak Plenimaran?”

“I don’t,” Rhazat said with a laugh. “Magic, my dear! Isn’t it a useful thing? Now, as I was saying, I was drawn here from far away over the sea by tales of wonder. Menosi was a great city, and the wizards, both Aurënfaie and human, were at the height of their power. Fertile ground for me. All that delicious life to offer to my master.”

“You have a master?” Klia asked incredulously.

“Don’t we all? You follow the Four, no doubt. I follow the One.”

“The—” Klia’s mouth went dry as she put the pieces together. “Seriamaius.”

“Clever girl. Yes, I brought his worship here to Kouros, and I found many who wished to learn his art.”

“You taught wizards necromancy.”

“You might say that I am the mother of necromancy in your part of the world.”

“And yet you ended up here.”

“This tower is my home and was for many years before some of my followers became too arrogant and brought ruin on their mother.”

“So my ancestor, Nhandi, trapped you here?”

“Yes. We had quite a battle, but she managed in the end to exile me and a good many innocents here in this plane of existence.”

“How?”

“When the time comes, my dear, you shall know. And you will help me.” Klia laughed. “That’s unlikely.”

Rhazat gave her a lovely smile. “Do have some more of the pork, my dear. It’s so succulent today.”

“Where is Lady Zella?”

“Taking care of some business for me. I doubt you’ll be seeing her again.”

When they had finished Rhazat led her to a ramshackle stable at the back of the tower, where four horses, including Moonshine, were tethered.

“Would you care to have your old friend carry you?” asked Rhazat, stroking Moonshine’s rump.

“Are they all dead?”

“Of course, my dear.”

“Then I’ll take one of the others.” She didn’t want the last memories of Moonshine to be what it felt like to ride his corpse. Instead, she took a white mare with the same dead white eyes. Its flanks felt cold as she climbed into the saddle and she suppressed a shudder of revulsion, concentrating instead on the fact that there were horses to be had for another escape attempt.

Klia had assumed they’d go to the main gate, but instead Rhazat led her in the opposite direction, to a smaller gate and a winding road that led up into the hills behind the town.

Rhazat kicked Moonshine into a gallop and Klia’s horse followed without any urging. They hadn’t gone far when Rhazat turned off the road down a wide path into a stand of dead trees. On the far side was a grotesque mockery of the oracle’s cave. Instead of a beautifully carved façade, a huge horrid face had been carved into the hillside, with the cave opening as a square mouth. A black stone altar stood before it, heaped with clods of dung and dead doves, owls, seagulls, and hawks—each bird symbolizing one of the Four.

“Where did you find birds to kill here?” Klia asked, disgusted by the obvious perversion of the offerings.

“Where did I find you, my dear?” Rhazat dismounted and led her into the cave.

Only it wasn’t a cave, but an arched tunnel of dressed stone. Rhazat flicked a finger and small torches in brackets along the walls flared to life to guide them.

The tunnel ran level at first, then canted more sharply down, coming out at last in a cave that looked very much like the one that Alec and Seregil had described, the day she’d gotten sick, including the paintings of animals. Only, as she looked more closely, she saw that the animals here were killing one another, eating their own young, or being ridden by hideous figures. The cave floor was dry, and there were no dripstone formations.

“This way.” Rhazat linked arms with her and led her through the echoing space toward something that glowed in the torchlight.

As they drew near, Klia saw that it was a black opal the size of a small apricot, carved with intricate symbols and set into the wall in a round boss shaped a bit like a flower.

“Isn’t it lovely?” said Rhazat, looking up at it.

It was, thought Klia, and totally out of keeping with the horrors that surrounded it.

“Touch the stone, Klia.”

Klia looked at her in disbelief. “Why would I do anything for you?”

“Because I will let you die if you don’t,” Rhazat replied sweetly. “Come now, it’s not such a chore.”

“This is what keeps you here, isn’t it? This is what my ancestor Nhandi did to you.”

“Yes, it is and you, being of her bloodline, can free me. Come now, it’s not difficult. Just a fingertip will do.”

“Do it yourself!”

Rhazat sighed.

“Then smash it.”

“Anyone could do that, but it would not break the magic as long as the seal remains in place.”

“I will never do what you ask.”

“Really? You would let your child die?”

Klia raised her chin. “I am of the royal house of Skala, and a general. It is my duty to protect the people of Skala. If I must sacrifice my life and my child’s to do that, then I will.”

“You surprise me, my dear,” Rhazat said, clearly displeased. “And suppose I were to cut off your hand?”

Klia pulled the padded glove from her maimed left hand. “You can start with this one.”

Rhazat sighed again. “Very well, not today.”

“Not ever.”

The dyrmagnos merely smiled.

Alec glanced sidelong at Seregil as they rode with the others into Menosi early the next morning. Seregil hadn’t slept well and his mood had not improved when Alec had strapped on his quiver and slung the Radly over his shoulder.

“What do you need that for?” he’d asked.

“Better to have it and not need it,” Alec replied with a shrug, and strode from the tent before Seregil could put up an argument.

As they approached the palace, he could tell that Seregil was more than just out of sorts. A hank of rope hung from Cynril’s saddlebow; apparently he meant to use it. Ahead of them, Mika was chattering excitedly to Thero and Micum about the ghosts he hoped to see.

“Look, I promise I’ll hang back,” Alec murmured.

Seregil said nothing, just set his thin lips in a grim line that never boded well.

Alec reined Windrunner in, letting Thero and the others go on ahead. Seregil turned Cynril and sidled in beside him with a questioning look.

Alec caught Seregil’s gaze and held it. “I worry about you, too, talí, but I’m not constantly second-guessing you.”

“I don’t—”

“Yes, you do. You are now. You’re the one who made me a nightrunner, Seregil. It’s a dangerous life. We both know that, but I don’t hear you constantly fussing over Micum or Thero.”

“Because they’re not my talímenios!” Seregil said softly.

“I’m also your partner, and I thought you considered me an equal.”

“Of course I do.”

“No, not if you’re constantly worrying about letting me out of your sight.” Seregil started to speak but Alec cut him off. “Yes, I know—your dreams. So what do you want, Seregil? For me to sit home like Kari Cavish, waiting and praying you come back alive? Because if that’s the case, then we’ve got a problem.”

“She never had to watch Micum die.” Seregil closed his eyes, brows drawn together as if he were in pain. At last he sighed and said, “But you’re right, talí, and I’m sorry. You are my equal and I have no right or reason to make you feel anything less. From now on I’ll hold my tongue.”

“Never mind that, I just want you to stop worrying about me so much. Will you do that?”

Seregil’s grin was crooked but his eyes were sad. “I’d be lying if I said yes, Alec, and I don’t lie to you. So for now that’s going to have to be good enough.”

Alec nodded and nudged Windrunner into a walk. “You’re not tying a rope to me.”

“No rope.”

In daylight the corridor looked perfectly drab and ordinary and no different from any of the others around it in this disused section of the palace. All the same, Thero chalked a line back from where Seregil thought Alec had disappeared and Alec stayed behind it, as agreed. He leaned the Radly against the wall and folded his arms, trying not to look as frustrated as he felt.

The others reached the wall at the end of the corridor, and Thero drew a line around one of the stone blocks. Mika stood next to him and together he and Thero pressed a hand to the block. An instant later it turned to sand and poured out around their feet.

“Did you feel that, Mika?” asked Thero.

“Yes, Master Thero. The power went right up my arm.”

“A transformation?” Alec called.

“A sort of transmogrification, actually,” Thero replied, looking into the square hole where the block had been.

“What do you see?” asked Micum.

“More stone,” Thero replied. Reaching in, he cast the spell again and more sand spilled out. “And more stone,” he said, shaking his head. “There’s no way to have a hidden door this thick.” He cast the orange sigil on the air, but it simply dissipated. “And no sign of magic.”

Thero and the others walked back to where Alec was standing.

“Then what in Bilairy’s name happened to me?” Alec exclaimed. “How did I see a light through a stone wall? How did I get to another plane without there being any magic?”

Thero shrugged. “I didn’t say there wasn’t any, only that I can’t detect it. I’m sorry to say it, Seregil, but the only way we are going to know what’s actually happening is if Alec goes through again.”

Alec looked at Seregil, who managed a smile, though Alec could tell that it cost him. “Do you feel up to it, Alec, with your wounds?”

Alec flexed his arms. “I can certainly swing a sword if I need to.” He slung the Radly over his shoulder and walked down to join them.

“Wait a moment,” said Thero. “Does anyone have any food?”

“Are you hungry, Master Thero?” asked Mika. “I can go get something from camp.”

“Not for me, Mika. For Alec to take with him.”

Micum produced two small turnips from a pocket and tossed them to Alec.

“Good,” said Thero. “I’m curious as to whether it will be edible on the other side, given your experience with the river and fire.”

Alec tucked the turnips away and took a deep breath. “All right then.”

Drawing his sword, he walked slowly to the wall, bracing for some sort of shock of transition, though he hadn’t felt anything unusual before. By the time he reached the wall he was holding his breath, but nothing happened. Sand gritted under his boots as he touched the wall beside the hole Thero had made.

Nothing happened.

He turned back to the others. “I don’t understand. This is where it happened.”

Thero walked down to join him. “Interesting. So it’s not a permanent bridge.”

“You mean I just happened to be in the right place at the right time?”

“So it would seem.”

Alec touched the wall again, surprisingly disappointed, then looked back at Seregil, Micum, and—“Where’s Mika?”

“He’s right here,” said Micum, pointing down the other corridor to his left. Then he frowned. “Or he was. Mika, lad, where are you?”

The others joined him, but there was no sign of the boy.

Seregil and Micum took off at a run, calling Mika’s name.

“Oh, no,” Alec gasped, putting aside his bow and quiver and hurrying back up the corridor with Thero.

“No no no no …” Thero dug into his pocket, coming up with a bit of linen with what looked like blood on it. “Please, Lightbearer, no …” Clutching it, he whispered a brief spell, then staggered, catching himself with one hand against the wall. “I—I can’t see him, Alec. He’s gone.”

“Gone like I was gone?”

Thero nodded, pale and horrified. “Yes, I think so.”

Alec reached the juncture where the others had disappeared and sucked in a startled breath. Just down the corridor Seregil had taken, the passageway was gone—or rather, it appeared to open onto a dun-colored landscape beyond. In the distance he saw a flock of sheep. The edges of the portal—if that’s what it was—were hazy, and rippled like gauzy curtains in a breeze, blending stone wall with dull sky and grass.

The wizard ran up behind him. “What is it? Did Seregil find him?”

“Thero, don’t you see that?”

“See what?” Clearly the wizard did not, since he was looking straight at the scene.

“Don’t worry. I’ll find him. You look after Seregil.” Alec clutched his sword and ran for the portal.

“What are you doing?” Thero called after him.

The scene was beginning to fade, the gauzy edges closing in. Instinctively Alec ducked his head as he reached it and leapt through.

MIKA squatted on the dry brown grass with his good arm wrapped around his knees, too scared to move. He hadn’t meant to go anywhere. One minute he was standing behind Master Micum, the next he was here in this strange place, all alone. He was smart enough to guess that this was probably where Alec had gone when he disappeared.

And Alec found his way out.

Mika clung to that thought as he slowly looked around. There were sheep nearby, and he saw two boys on the far side of the flock. They hadn’t noticed him yet, so Mika rose on shaky legs and hurried away in the opposite direction before anyone set the dogs on him. Seregil had taught him the dog charm, too, but it hadn’t worked for Alec and Mika was terrified at the thought of it not working for him if he needed it. Even if he didn’t have a broken arm, he’d be no match for them.

He kept glancing back over his shoulder to make sure he hadn’t been seen. Fortunately the direction he’d taken was downhill and soon he was safely out of sight. A long way down the hill he saw a river and the town Alec had described, or one just like it. It had some kind of wall around it, and a tower in the middle. It was risky to go there, after what had happened to Alec, but he had no choice but to follow the river past it. That’s what Alec had done to get back to their own plane and Mika didn’t know what else to do. He just hoped it was the same town.

The hillside was rocky and uneven, and cut with little rills. His broken arm ached as he jolted over the rough ground. The grass was brown and the sky was cloudy, just as Alec had described. By the time Mika finally reached the river road he was tired, hungry, and very thirsty. The town was still a long way off and even though the road that ran along the riverbank was smooth, he felt like he was walking up a steep hill. It grew harder and harder to keep putting one foot in front of another. He fell and cried out in pain as his arm jerked in the sling. He managed to get up after a moment, though it was an effort, went a little farther, only to fall again. His stomach cramped, his tongue felt swollen in his mouth, and he hurt all over as he forced himself up again. How many times had he told his mother he was so hungry he could die, when all he’d wanted was a sweet? He wondered if this was what it really felt like.

I could die.

The thought brought him to his knees again, wishing with all his heart that his mama was there. Or better yet, Master Thero, who’d saved him from magic once before. Tears ran into the corners of his mouth and he licked at them in desperation, but they were salty and only inflamed his terrible thirst. Try as he might, he couldn’t get up, or keep his eyes open any longer. With a choked sob, he curled up in the dust to die alone and far from home.

Thero and Seregil watched in disbelief from different ends of the corridor as Alec disappeared into thin air. Seregil went white, but before Thero could say anything something horrible oozed into being where Alec had disappeared. Made of smoke and as large as a dog, it floated in midair, wisps of it curling on the air like sea grass. It hung there for a moment, then flew at Seregil too quickly for him to avoid it and wrapped itself around his head and chest, bearing him to the ground. Seregil struggled, screaming; Thero had never heard him scream before, not like this.

“Avah! Aravah! Arasaaavah tula reso!” Thero shouted, frantically searching his pockets for something to bind it to, all too aware that he had no protection this time. He found a small red river stone Mika had given him and held it up. “Avah! Aravah! Arasaaavah tula reso!”

The black cloud lifted from Seregil’s motionless body and was on Thero with impossible speed. It lifted him into the air and blood flew from the wizard’s arms and chest as invisible blades or claws raked him, cross-hatching the healing marks of the last attack, for this certainly was the same monstrous thing he’d released from Sedge back at Mirror Moon. Searing pain blossomed across his left cheek and his forehead.

“Avah! Aravah! Arasaaavah tula reso!” he shouted a third time, trying to shield his eyes with one arm as he held the stone up.

The floor came up to meet him, hard, and it was a moment before Thero realized that the binding had worked. The stone clutched in his right hand burned like a live coal and vibrated with evil presence. The binding was fragile; he could feel that. Finding his chalk, he willed his hand to stop shaking enough to inscribe the holding symbol on the stone. It went cool, leaving only blisters on Thero’s palm and fingers.

“Thero, Seregil!” Micum shouted, running back to join them. “By the Four, what happened to you?”

“I’m fine. See to Seregil.” The ’faie lay silent and motionless now.

Micum went to him and Thero heard him cursing under his breath as he knelt by their friend.

Thero pushed himself up enough to get out his wand. Blinking blood out of his eyes, he wove an invisible cocoon of magic around the stone to preserve the chalk markings until he could get it into a proper container. “How is he, Micum?”

“You’d best come see for yourself.”

Thero’s legs wouldn’t support him. He crawled down the corridor, leaving a blood trail on the dusty stone.

Maker’s Mercy, his back is broken! Thero thought as he reached them, seeing how twisted Seregil’s body was. He’d apparently gotten his arms over his face to shield it, but his scalp was lacerated in two places and his dark hair was sodden with blood. A small corona of it was spreading around his head. His coat and shirt were slashed to pieces. His upper body, covered with welts and cuts, looked like he’d been flogged.

Micum felt Seregil’s throat for a pulse and let out a hoarse cry of relief. “Thank the Maker, he’s alive. We need help, and fast. Send word to the camp. Hurry!”

It took every bit of Thero’s remaining strength to summon the tiny message sphere and send it streaking off to the drysian. With a mumbled apology, he fainted.

Alec burst through the portal onto a dreary plain. It looked very much like the place he’d fallen in sheep shit, though it was hard to be sure in daylight. There were sheep nearby, though, with boys watching over them, and to his left he saw a cluster of cottages. In daylight they were mere tumbledown hovels. Of Mika there was no sign.

Putting himself into Mika’s shoes, he tried to imagine what direction the boy would have chosen. He’d listened carefully to Alec when he’d told of his adventure here, so it seemed unlikely that Mika would approach anyone, or look to the householders for help.

“So that only leaves the rest of the world,” he muttered. But Mika was a smart lad. Chances were he’d try to get out the same way Alec had, since there was no other known way. Alec looked around again, getting his bearings. The land sloped away in the distance; that should be the direction for the river.

He suddenly heard shouting from the direction of the flock. The shepherds had caught sight of him. Hoping that the dogs were safely tied up at some cottage, he ran for the river. As he hoped, he soon reached the lip of the hill and saw the river in the distance. It was farther away than he recalled, but then, he’d entered this world from a different place, so perhaps it made sense.

The going was easier in daylight. He loped and slid down the hill, then paused halfway to scan the landscape again, surprised at how suddenly tired he felt. Shaking that off, and trying to ignore how thirsty he was, he scanned the road below. There, perhaps half a mile away, not far from the town gate, something small lay in the road.

“Mika!” Alec set off again, more slowly this time. The last time he’d been here he’d blamed the dog attack for his exhaustion, but he felt it again now. His legs grew heavy and his breath came in hollow gasps.

Never mind, he told himself as he struggled on. Mika’s there and I’ll get him out.

He hadn’t gone far, however, when the gates opened and a woman in a flowing red gown rode out on a black horse with a white mane, like Klia’s Moonshine. She cantered to where Mika lay and Alec watched in horror as she waved a hand, levitating the boy’s limp form up into her arms. Even if he’d had his bow—now lying uselessly in that corridor in Menosi—it would have been too long a shot to chance. Wheeling her horse, the woman galloped back into the town, hair streaming like a black banner on the wind, and the gates closed after her.

Alec fell to his knees. He didn’t know if Mika was alive or dead but now he was beyond reach and Alec felt too weak to go after him.

It’s this place! he thought. It’s sucking the life out of me. The thirst was unbearable and his belly felt like it was wrapped around his backbone. Groping in his pocket, he pulled out one of the turnips Micum had given him and took a bite. The sharp taste and moisture made his entire mouth ache and brought tears to his eyes. The intensity of the flavor and texture surpassed anything he’d ever experienced. He looked at the turnip, then took another bite. His stomach unknotted. His thirst was slaked. The sweetness seemed to flow through his very veins. A lightstone might not fare well here, but the humblest of vegetables was apparently unaffected. Tempted as he was to eat the whole thing, he saved half and the other one for later. He felt reinvigorated, but there was no telling how long it would last. As much as he’d have preferred to wait for dark, he was going to have to find his way into the town now.

The first thing Seregil had taught Alec about nightrunning in the daytime was to blend in. Assuming it was his clothing that had given him away last time, he took off his coat and tossed it into a ditch well before he reached the town. There was no hiding his weapons, but he wasn’t about to let go of those.

Avoiding the road, he approached across the grassy plain, praying there were no guards on the top of the palisade to spy him. At the back he found another road leading to a smaller gate, where a line of people and wagons were going in and out past a pair of inattentive guards. Hoping for the best, Alec joined the throng on the road and mingled in with them, doing his best to look nondescript. He listened to the voices around him, but didn’t understand a word. A young woman with dust-brown hair caught his eye and said something, but Alec just shrugged and looked away, losing himself in the crowd. Fortunately there were other swordsmen around, but he did catch a few more people stealing curious glances at him. All the same, he made it inside the palisade and quickly dodged down an empty side street. It was a modest neighborhood of tenements, patchy, sickly-looking garden plots and—as he’d hoped—clotheslines. There didn’t seem to be anyone around, so he grabbed a tunic and some breeches off a line and put them on in an alleyway, then ate the remaining half of the first turnip. Feeling considerably less conspicuous, he went back to the busy street and began his search.

The town was a mean, dispirited-looking place, and the grey light from the clouded-over sky cast a sickly pall over the faces of the people around him. Passing through a market square he saw farmers selling chickens, and wagons with gibbets from which swung dead, gutted pigs, skinned rabbits, and cats, all for sale, though no one seemed to be buying. Alec hurried on toward the tower at the center of town. There had been no sign of any rich merchants or nobles so far. The woman who’d taken Mika had been on a fine horse, dressed in a vividly dyed gown. That all said wealth.

The town was not a large one. By nightfall Alec had familiarized himself with the major streets and squares, and had seen no dwelling that would suit a wealthy woman except for the tower at the center of town. Under different circumstances he’d have made inquiries, but that wasn’t an option here so he instead made a slow circuit of the tower, studying it from all angles. The only entrance was a pair of heavy oak doors overlooking a cobbled courtyard. There were only a few windows on the ground floor, and they were barred on the outside, and dark, besides. Lights showed at two of the upper windows, however, which appeared to be bedchambers, going by what he could see of the draperies. Just then a woman appeared at the left-hand window. She wore a scarlet gown and her long, thick black hair fell in lush waves to her waist. She looked down at him and Alec walked slowly away, as if he were just out for an evening stroll, but he could swear he felt her watching him. At least he knew where Mika was, but how in Bilairy’s name was he going to get to him?

His stomach growled loudly as a wave of dizziness threatened to overwhelm him. Taking shelter in an alleyway, he squatted down with his back to the wall and ate half the remaining turnip. Feeling a bit better, he started back for the tower when a tall woman stepped from the shadows and held out her arms to block his way. The alley was dark, but he could make out the pale oval of her face and her silhouette against the brighter street beyond. She was slender, wearing a gown, and a cascade of dark hair fell in waves to her waist.

The woman from the tower window.

“Who are you?” he whispered, reaching for his sword.

She stayed his hand with gentle fingers and said something unintelligible.

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand you. I need to go.” When he tried to push past her, however, she gripped his arm with unexpected strength and before he could pull away, she raised her other hand to his cheek.

Wait, friend.

He heard it in his mind, rather than his ears. “Who are you? What are you?” he whispered.

The grip on his arm tightened, but the touch on his face remained light and cool. Come with me.

“Will you take me to my friend, the little boy you took?”

The child is beyond your reach, man of two bloods and two lives.

Alec’s heart missed a beat. She was not the first to call him that.

Only the dead can walk with the dead, she whispered in his mind.

Alec reached out and steadied himself against the alley wall. “How do you know those words?”

I know what you are. Come away. You must see.

“Not until you tell me who you are and where you want me to go.”

You must see what must not be seen.

“Not until you give me the child.”

The tips of her fingers dug into his muscles like talons. He reached for his dagger but suddenly he was in cold darkness. He couldn’t see the woman, but he could still feel her painful grip biting into his forearm.

You must see.

“I can’t see a damn thing! Where are we?” His voice reverberated eerily around him.

And suddenly there was light, soft and bright as a lightstone, but much wider in range. He blinked in the sudden glow, then looked around. “Illior’s Light!”

He was in the third cave—no, that wasn’t right. The stone floor under his boots was dry, and he couldn’t hear any water dripping. The most telling differences, however, were the paintings on the wall, distasteful and perverse parodies of the wonders of the oracle’s cave.

She stood beside him, glowing brightly. She was beautiful, fair-skinned and blue-eyed, with hair the color of night. And she looked inexpressibly sad.

You must see.

He looked back at her and she was pointing to the far wall. There was something there—something round about eye level that shone softly in the pale light.

She followed him as he walked across the echoing cave. The glow came from a large, glittering black opal about the size of a small apricot fixed to the wall in a heavy golden boss. The stone was carved with a web of symbols that looked strangely familiar. As he reached out to touch it, the woman whispered something to him. It didn’t sound like a warning, but before he could touch the stone, everything went black.

Mika floated in the dark, formless, voiceless void of the sleeping death. There was nothing to touch, no sense of up or down. He didn’t feel cold. He didn’t feel anything at all.

Child.

Mika strained to hear the faint voice. Was it Master Thero, saving him again from this terrible place?

Child, open your eyes.

He smelled dead leaves and incense. Something scratchy and cold as a dead leaf stroked his cheek. He could feel! Slowly he came back into his body. He was warm, and lying on something very soft. Something wet and delicious flowed over his tongue. He swallowed, choked, and opened his eyes.

He was in a fancy bedchamber lit by lots of candles. A beautiful lady in a red velvet gown sat on the edge of the bed where he lay, smiling down at him and holding a clay cup and small wooden spoon. She had thick, wavy black hair so long it almost touched the counterpane where she sat. He resisted the urge to reach out and touch it; he’d never seen hair like this before.

“There you are, child,” she said. “I was so worried about you! Here, have some more cider. It’s nice and cool.”

She dipped the spoon in the cup and gave him another sip.

“More, please,” he whispered with dry, cracked lips.

“Of course, my dear, but not too much at first.” She gave him a few more spoonfuls, and each one made him feel better and better. He still felt terribly weak, as he had out on the road, but he wasn’t thirsty anymore, and that was a blessing. His arm didn’t hurt, either.

“Where am I?” he croaked.

“You are in my castle, my dear.”

“Castle?”

She laughed softly. “You may not think so much of it, when you are up and about, but someday I will have a proper castle again. My name is Queen Rhazat. What’s yours?”

“Mika of Rhíminee, Your Majesty.”

“Ah, Rhíminee. And where is that?”

“In Skala, my lady. It’s the greatest city in the Three Lands.”

“I see.” She offered him another spoonful of cider, and he swallowed it gratefully. “Do you want to sleep some more, my dear?”

“No, I was having a bad dream.”

She gave him a sympathetic look as she stroked his cheek with cool fingers. “I have those, too.”

He sat up and looked around. He was in a big fancy bed in a large bedchamber with lots of silk hangings and lady furniture. It was a nice room, with pretty hangings. A tall window across from the bed showed nothing but darkness.

“Where am I, Majesty?” he asked. Had the place of dead grass and grey sky been part of his bad dream?

“You are in my tower, as I told you. There’s a bathing tub in the next room, and some clothes laid out for you. A big boy like you doesn’t need help washing, does he?”

“No, Majesty!” Mika replied, blushing.

“Very well, then. Take your bath, then come downstairs, all the way to the bottom. Just follow the corridor to the second room on the right and we’ll have a lovely supper.” With that she kissed him on the brow and swept out of the room.

Mika threw back the down-filled comforter and discovered that all his clothes were gone. He was naked except for the golden amulet he and Master Thero had made and a fresh, clean sling on his arm. He looked around, but there was no sign of his clothes, no clothes chest or wardrobe, either. Crossing the room to the door she’d pointed out, he opened it a crack and peeked through into a small bathing chamber with a fancy wooden tub. A red velvet coat and breeches hung on a rack, with linen drawers and a shirt. It all looked just his size, though he would feel a little silly in velvet. It matched Queen Rhazat’s gown.

The bath felt wonderful. Remembering what Alec had said, he sipped a little of the bathwater from his cupped hand. It was wet, and when he was done scrubbing with the washcloth he was clean. Once again, he wondered if the dark place of thirst and weariness had been a bad dream. But if so, then where was he and how had he gotten here? Queen Rhazat hadn’t really answered his question. When he was dressed he went out the door she’d used and found himself in a workroom sort of like those of Master Thero and their other wizard friends, but this one was dark and cold. There was a stairway on the other side, and light showed up it. He went down two sets of poorly lit stairs through spooky, empty corridors full of shadows and was relieved to at last find the dining room where Lady Rhazat was waiting for him at a round table full of dishes of food. The mingled aromas made his mouth water and he hurried to join her. To his surprise, the different dishes were all favorites of his: spiced carrots, yellow cheese, brown bread with butter, hard-boiled eggs, watercress, and slices of cold ham and beef on a platter, just like his mother served on special feast days. Despite his hunger, however, he remembered his mother’s lessons and sat with his hands folded until bidden to start.

“What a polite boy.” She served him first, then sat back and nodded for him to begin.

“But you don’t have any food, my lady,” he said. There was only one place set at the table.

“I ate while you slept, Mika. Please, have as much as you like.”

Mika took her at her word and had two helpings from every dish and three of bread.

“Where are we, Your Majesty?” he asked when he could eat no more. “I got lost, and then I woke up here.”

“Not far from Menosi. Were you out walking all by yourself?”

“No, my lady. I was in the palace, and then I wasn’t, just like—” He stopped himself. Master Thero had taught him not to speak of Seregil, Alec, or Micum to strangers on account of their secret work.

“Just like who?” asked Lady Rhazat.

“Just like walking from one room into another. What is this place?”

“I told you, dear boy, it’s my home.” She smiled sweetly and took his hand. “And now it’s yours, too.”

Mika stared at her, expecting her to laugh like it was a joke. But she didn’t, just smiled like she was his mother. He pulled his hand away and stood up. “I’m sorry, Majesty. I appreciate your hospitality, but I must get back to Master Thero. He’ll be worried about me.”

“Master Thero?”

“The wizard I’m apprenticed to.” The words slipped out before he thought better of it.

“You’re a wizard’s apprentice?” she exclaimed in delight. “Come, show me a trick.”

Master Thero hated it when anyone said that, but Mika didn’t want to be rude. Besides, he reasoned, if he did as she asked, she’d be more likely to let him go, wouldn’t she?

He looked around, then tried to levitate his wooden fork. Nothing happened. He tried again, then gave up, perplexed. “I can usually do that spell.”

“Perhaps you’re too tired!” she said with a fond, kind smile. “Would you like to see a trick I can do?”

“Yes, please,” he replied meekly.

At a flick of her finger, a great whirlwind roared into being around them, whipping their hair around, knocking dishes from the table, and blowing out all the candles around the room. Plunged into darkness, Mika clung to the seat of his chair, very frightened now.

“Can you light the candles again, dear Mika?” Lady Rhazat asked as the wind died down as suddenly as it had come.

Mika whispered the spell and snapped his fingers, but again, nothing. “I’m sorry, Your Majesty—”

“No matter, my dear.” The candles flared to life around the room and he saw Rhazat sitting where she had been, as if nothing had happened.

“You’re a wizard, too?”

“I am. What fun I’ll have, teaching you all I know! I can tell you’re going to be a very powerful wizard when you grow up—with the right training, of course.”

Mika blinked back tears. “But I want to go back to my master. I want to go home.”

She shook her head sadly. “I’m afraid that’s not possible, my love. Once you come to this place, you cannot leave it. If you run away, you’ll die of hunger and thirst, just as you almost did before I found you and took you in. I wish you could go home, my dear, but alas, that’s how things are.”

She’s lying, Mika realized. Alec had gotten out. So would he, somehow. For now, though, he’d have to be a nightrunner himself, and play the part, as Seregil said.

“Thank you for taking me in, Your Majesty,” he said, wiping his eyes on his sleeve. “I guess I’m your apprentice now.”

She knelt by his chair and hugged him close. “My very first in such a long time! What fun we’ll have, you and I.”

“Mika, get away from her!” Princess Klia strode into the room and pulled him from Queen Rhazat’s arms. Holding him tight, Klia moved to put the table between them and the queen. Klia smelled sort of bad, but he was too glad to see a familiar face to care.

“I hoped you’d join us, Klia,” said Rhazat, taking her seat again.

“What are you doing here?” asked Mika, clinging to her.

Klia appeared to be very angry with the queen. “She brought me here.”

“Don’t be rude, Klia,” Queen Rhazat chided. “Let the poor child eat, and you as well. I know you’re famished.”

“Why did you bring him here?” Klia asked.

“I didn’t. He just showed up. Isn’t that right, Mika? People do sometimes.”

Mika nodded.

“I see,” Klia said, giving him a tight smile. “She’s right, though. We have to eat to keep up our strength.”

“Here, my love, have some of these.” Lady Rhazat uncovered a dish he hadn’t noticed before. It was a plate of honey cakes, his favorite.

“I think it’s time you went to bed now, Mika,” Rhazat said when he’d halfheartedly nibbled most of a cake.

Mika gave Klia a frightened look. “I don’t want to.”

“May he stay in my room?” asked Klia.

“Of course, my dear,” Rhazat answered with her sweetest smile. “Go ahead, child. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“I’ll take him up,” said Klia, rising from her chair.

“Oh, do stay. I’d like to speak with you first,” Rhazat purred. Picking up the clay bell by her plate, she rang it and Phania came in, dressed in her uniform and looking the picture of health. “Mika, this is one of Princess Klia’s soldiers. I don’t believe you’ve met Lieutenant Phania.”

A look of relief spread across the boy’s face. “No. Hello, Lieutenant.”

Phania smiled at him as he took her hand, then saluted Klia. For an instant her eyes were the same dead white that Moonshine’s had been.

“Phania will watch over him for you, Klia dear,” Rhazat assured her. “Wait a moment, Mika.” She presented her cheek to be kissed.

Klia caught his eye and gave him a slight nod. Mika returned to the table and dutifully kissed Rhazat on the cheek. She gathered the boy in her arms and Klia’s heart missed a beat as Rhazat kissed his brow and both cheeks, then let him go unharmed. “Off with you now, my love. Tomorrow I have a lovely surprise for you!”

Phania took his hand again and led him from the room.

“He is an adorable boy,” said Rhazat. “It’s so lovely, how fully he trusts you.”

“What did you want to say to me?” Klia demanded, anxious to get Mika away from the dra’gorgos-possessed husk or ghost Phania had become.

“Oh, just something I wanted to show you.” Rhazat waved her hand and a dra’gorgos materialized beside her. It smelled of rotting flesh, and coldness emanated from it.

“It can’t—” Klia began.

The dra’gorgos reached out and ripped the amulet from her neck, then placed it on the table before Rhazat.

“Ah yes, a pity about your pretty bauble, my dear,” said Rhazat, feigning concern as she lifted it up by the broken cord to admire it. “I’m afraid such things don’t work in my realm.”

The dra’gorgos came back and wrapped what passed for a hand around Klia’s throat, squeezing just enough to cut off her breath. The stink and chill of it were horrible; where it touched her felt like someone holding ice to her skin. As she struggled to pull away it reached inside her chest and imprisoned her beating heart in icicle fingers, slowing its rhythm and driving pain through her chest like a sword thrust.

“Shall I have it squeeze harder?” asked Rhazat.

Unable to get the breath to speak, Klia could barely manage to shake her head. It was useless to die like this.

Rhazat broke the spell and the horrific creature disappeared. Klia fell to her knees, hands pressed to her chest, where it still felt like a blade of ice had pierced her heart, which was beating as erratically as a wild thing in a trap now.

“Poor dear. Come, have some tea to warm you up.”

Daring not to try the dyrmagnos’s patience any further, Klia dragged herself back into her chair and sat very still, willing her heartbeat to return to normal. Rhazat poured her a dish of tea and she took it with shaking hands, glad of the warmth regardless of who had served it.

“I’m so glad we had this cozy chat, Klia,” Rhazat said. Sweeping from the room, she called back over her shoulder, “Do give Mika a good-night kiss for me.”

Klia sat alone until the pain passed, then climbed the stairs to her room. Several candles had been lit and Mika sat in the middle of the bed with his knees pulled up under his chin watching Phania, who sat by the bed, apparently telling him a story.

“Leave us,” Klia ordered.

The dead woman rose and saluted her, then gave Mika a parting grin as she went out. Klia joined him on the bed, sitting close together so they could talk in whispers.

“Lieutenant Phania says this is a good place to live, but I don’t like it,” he whispered, pulling at the neck of his red velvet jacket.

“Neither do I, Mika.” Klia stroked the boy’s hair. “Now tell me, how did you get here? Did something bring you?”

“No, I was at the palace with Master Thero and the others, looking for where Alec went into here. We couldn’t find it, not even Alec. I was with Micum, around the corner, and all of a sudden I was in this plane, out in the countryside.”

“Wait, Alec came here?”

“Yes. Right after you left the camp to go back to Deep Harbor. He got in by accident, like me, and got chased and bitten by dogs.”

“But he got out? By himself?”

“Yes. He got chased away from this town and went upriver.”

Phania had steered her away from that direction. Had it been on purpose or just bad odds that they’d gone the wrong way?

“That’s where I was trying to go when Queen Rhazat found me,” Mika explained.

“You mustn’t call her that, Mika. She’s no queen. She’s a—” What to tell a child? “She’s a very wicked necromancer, the worst kind. Don’t let her manner fool you; she’s not your friend.”

“I know. She’s a liar.”

“Yes, she is. Now tell me more about how you came here. Did you feel pulled when you came here?”

Mika shook his head. “I didn’t feel anything. I think I sort of fell through into this plane like Alec did.”

“What did you mean by ‘plane’?”

“That’s what Master Thero said.” He held up his hands, palms facing. “He said they’re two different worlds, close together like this, and sometimes they touch. He thinks that’s how Alec got here, when they touched. Is that how you got here, Klia?”

“She brought me.” Klia left it at that. The boy was scared enough as it was, without tales of dra’gorgos. “Do you still have the amulet you and Thero made?”

He pulled it from the neck of his jacket and showed it to her.

Klia closed her hand around his. “Don’t lose this, Mika, but I have some bad news. These don’t work here.”

“I thought so,” Mika said, surprising her. “Alec had a lightstone with him and said it didn’t work here. And when I tried to show Rhazat some spells, they wouldn’t work, either.”

“I see,” she said, impressed with the boy’s insight. “Then we’ll have to be extra careful.”

“Will she let us leave this place?”

“No, but she thinks we can’t get out. I tried and couldn’t, but if Alec did, then hopefully we can escape the same way he did.”

“Can we go now?”

“Let’s wait a little while. We’ll need food. Do you know how far upriver Alec had to go?”

“Not very far, I think.”

“Good. Now listen carefully. It’s very important that we tell Thero and the others about Rhazat, what she is, and describe her place here, and that your magic doesn’t work. And you need to remember this, too: Rhazat talked about an ancestor of mine, the Hierophant Nhandi. Rhazat said that it was Nhandi who trapped her here. And—this is very important, Mika—” There was no help for it, in case only the boy got out. “Rhazat is really a dyrmagnos.”

“A what?”

“It’s a kind of very bad necromancer. Thero will know. She doesn’t have any mirrors because they show her true appearance. Lady Zella isn’t as she appears, either, if you see her again. She has a dra’gorgos in her, controlling her.”

“I liked her!” Mika whispered.

“So did I. Let’s see, what else?” Klia thought carefully. “Rhazat kills by kissing her victims, she may have prisoners here in dungeons under the tower, and she can’t touch gold, which may be why she didn’t take our amulets. This town is called Zikara.”

“Can we help the prisoners and take them with us?”

“The stairway is hidden. I couldn’t find it. Right now it’s very important to get word out to Thero.”

Mika gave her a considering look. “You think one of us might not get out, don’t you?”

Klia nodded; Thero had chosen his apprentice wisely. “I’m a general, Mika, and a good general always tries to think of all the things that might happen so she can prepare for them. That’s all I’m doing. We’re going to get out together if we can, thanks to you. But if you have a chance to get out without me, go. Do you understand? That’s an order.”

“But—”

“It’s all right. She won’t kill me. She needs me to help her get out. Tell me what we know, what I just told you.”

“The town is Zikara and Rhazat isn’t a queen, she’s a dyrmagnos. Mirrors show what she really looks like. She can’t touch gold. She kills with a kiss. Magic doesn’t work here. She won’t kill you, because she needs you.” He paused, brow furrowed. “And you were pulled in somehow, instead of coming by yourself.”

“Good! Now remember this: Rhazat took me to a cave in the hills behind this tower that looks like the oracle’s cave. There is a golden seal on the wall, set with a black opal. It’s what’s keeping her imprisoned here. Tell him that first, before anything else.”

“I will. But I don’t want to go if you can’t come with me. I don’t want to leave you here!”

Klia took him by the shoulders. “It’s your duty to Skala, Mika. I’m sorry you have to learn this while you’re still so young, but duty comes first, over friendship or even love. That’s how it has to be. If you don’t leave when you can, even if I can’t go with you, then you’re failing in your duty and that’s a very bad thing. I need for you to give me your most sacred oath that you will obey me.”

Mika pressed his left hand to his heart. “By the Light, by my heart, head, and hands, I swear I will obey you.”

“Good boy,” Klia said, relieved. “One last thing. If I don’t get out with you, tell Thero that I love him and always will, no matter what.”

Mika nodded solemnly.

She hugged him. “Good. Now let’s go see if there’s any supper left.”

She put on her coat and belts, noting the black feather in her dagger sheath. Perhaps Thero could learn something from it.

Rather than skulk and give their intentions away, Klia and Mika walked downstairs as naturally as if they were just looking for a snack. But the candles were out and the table was bare.

“Can’t we get food from the kitchen?” asked Mika, keeping close beside her.

“I haven’t found it yet. Perhaps it’s under the tower, too. Let’s look for the stairs again, shall we?”

They searched the entire ground floor, but found no staircase.

“What are we going to do? We can’t go without food,” Mika whispered.

“We’re going to be very brave and see what happens tomorrow. Eat all you can at breakfast, just in case.”

Later, as they lay curled together in Klia’s bed, she felt that tiny little flicker of movement in her womb again and wondered if she should tell Mika that, too. Tears stung her eyes as she decided not to. If she got out of this place alive, she would tell Thero herself. If only Mika did, then it was kinder for Thero not to know all he’d lost.

LOST in pitch-black darkness, Alec guessed where he was by the chill, the dank air, and the plink plink sound of dripping water. The portal hadn’t been where he’d expected, and now he’d come out in the lowest of the three caves.

The hair on the back of his neck stood up and his heart knocked against his breastbone. He was in the oracle’s innermost cave, the one on his own plane, he guessed by his sodden boots. The dripping water was at the side of the large chamber more or less opposite the tunnel opening, but the way the sound of it echoed, he couldn’t get his bearings. He’d just have to find a wall and follow it. He splashed through the dark, concentrating on keeping his balance and trying hard not to think about the ghost they’d heard when he was last down here, when a sudden cry of anguish froze him in his tracks—a man’s voice. Once again, the echoing chamber made it impossible to tell where the cry was coming from; it seemed to be everywhere at once.

“Who’s there? What’s wrong?” Alec called out.

Another cry echoed around the cave, trailing off into broken sobs.

“Please, let me help you. Where are you?”

The sobbing choked off, then a broken whisper—“Aura Elustri málroni, talía!”

Alec blinked in surprise. That meant “Aura Lightbringer, protect you from evil, my beloved woman” in Aurënfaie; málroni was the feminine form of “protect you.”

“Ysanti bëk kir,” Alec called softly. “Greetings, my friend.”

The weeping abruptly stopped. The sound of dripping water was all Alec could hear.

“Ysanti?” Alec called again.

A voice whispered right next to his ear, “Nölienai, talía.”

He reached out, but there was no one there and no sound of anyone moving or breathing. Aurënfaie spirit it might be, but that didn’t change the fact that Alec was alone underground in the dark with a ghost.

Panicking, he blundered slipping and splashing through the darkness until he ran into a wall. It was rough under his hand and he groped along it to the left, hoping he was oriented the way he thought he was. A sob echoed behind him.

“Aura Elustri málrei!” Alec whispered, calling down protection for himself.

A stir of air against his face spooked him until he realized that it must be coming from the tunnel. Flailing about, he finally found it and went up it like a scalded cat, expecting any moment to feel ghostly hands grasping at his ankles.

At last he saw light ahead of him and crawled the last few yards to the second chamber of the oracle’s cave, where the lightstone glowed in its ancient brazier. Scrambling to his feet, he whirled around, expecting to see a ghostly face leering at him from the darkness of the tunnel, but it was empty and this chamber was silent as the grave. It was then that he noticed the state of his borrowed clothing; the tunic and breeches were little more than tattered rags, faded and worn through with time.

He hurried out through the opposite tunnel to the outer chamber. Ducking out into the cold night air, he was grateful beyond words to see a fire burning on the altar of Illior and the familiar stars in the sky. His elation lasted only an instant, however, when he thought of Mika, still trapped in that dreary plane.

What was he going to tell Thero? That he’d been led astray by the very woman who’d taken Mika? That right now there was no way in all the hells there might be that he could force himself back down to that innermost cave alone to see if he could get back into that other plane the way he’d apparently gotten out of it? Turning to face the dark mouth of the outer cave, he stood frozen, hating himself for the fear that held him fast. Another faint, anguished cry echoed up from the bowels of the earth.

Cursing himself for his cowardice, he ran for the camp, sodden boots squelching with every step and shame burning his cheeks. All he could do now was get back to the palace and find another portal. Apparently they moved about.

He stumbled through the grove in darkness, then followed the distant light of campfires across country. Hunger and thirst reasserted themselves and suddenly he was dreadfully tired. Reaching camp at last, he headed straight for Thero’s tent, but as he crossed the cooking circle one of Klia’s riders caught him by the arm.

“Thank Sakor you’re back!” the man exclaimed, taking in the sight of him. “By the Flame, my lord, what happened to you and your clothes?”

“I don’t have time.”

“Lord Thero is half out of his mind, what with you and Mika gone and Baron Seregil as he is.”

“What do you mean, ‘as he is’?”

“Some kind of demon attack, Lord Micum said. They’re with him now in Lord Thero’s tent. You’d best get to them.”

Feeling punched in the gut by this whole awful day, Alec dashed to the tent.

Micum sat by Seregil’s cot with his head in his hands. Thero stood on the other side, arms crossed, and bandages on his face and neck. Both men looked up as Alec burst in and their eyes widened in surprise. Alec went to the bedside and looked down speechlessly at his lover. Seregil’s neck, arms, and chest were swathed in linen bandages. Patches of his long, blood-stiff hair had been shaved away from two long cuts in his scalp, which had been expertly sewn up by the neat-handed healer with black thread. As Alec fell to his knees beside Micum, Seregil opened his eyes, glassy from some soporific draught, and managed a smile. “Good to see you again, talí, but what happened to you?”

“Me? What happened to you?”

“It’s not as bad as it looks. Just tangled with a demon.”

Alec looked to Micum.

“It came out of the portal you went in,” he explained. “Thero drove it off before Seregil was too badly hurt, though it made a mess of him. But seriously, what happened to you?”

Micum found a hand mirror and held it up before Alec: his eyes were sunken and his face was gaunt and grey.

“You need something to eat.” Micum went and spoke to someone outside, then came back and sat on the foot of Seregil’s bed.

“Where is Mika?” asked Thero.

Alec swallowed hard, fighting back tears of shame and rage and frustration. “I tried, Thero, but he had a head start on me somehow. By the time I spotted him, he was too far away to get to before a woman rode out from the town and took him inside, into the tower there. She must be the necromancer. She lifted Mika by magic.”

“And you just left him there?” Thero gasped.

“Let him speak.” Seregil reached for Alec’s hand. “What happened?”

Clutching Seregil’s hand like a lifeline, Alec told them what had happened—the tower, the strange woman who’d shown him the vision of the cave on the other plane, the ghost in the oracle’s cave on this side, what the rags he had on had looked like on the other plane, all of it.

“I tried to get to Mika, Thero, I swear. But the necromancer spirited me off to that cave before I knew what was happening. I was out of food and I couldn’t find a way in—I’ve got to go back to the palace and find a way through to him again.”

“Wait,” said Seregil. “This woman—this necromancer, let’s assume—knew that you were ya’shel, and that you came back from the dead. Even more reason for her to capture or kill you.”

“And why show Alec ‘that which must not be seen’?” said Micum. “It doesn’t make any sense.”

“Tell me more about the thing you saw on the cave wall,” Thero ordered, still very angry.

Alec described the golden rosette and the inscribed stone it held.

“Can you draw it for me?”

Alec reluctantly left Seregil’s bedside and went to the field desk. Parchment and ink lay ready. He dipped the quill pen in the inkwell and drew the rosette and black opal as best he could. His fingers were trembling, making it hard to be as exact as he wanted to be. Underneath that he drew the symbols on the stone as well as he could remember them. When he was done he blew on the ink to dry it and handed the parchment to Thero.

The wizard studied it for a moment, his mouth set in a grim line. “Are you sure these symbols are correct?”

“I only saw it for a moment,” he told Thero. “So, no, I’m not sure. You can’t tell what it is?”

“Actually, I can. I just can’t believe it.”

A servant came in with a tray and a jug. Thero gestured for her to leave them on the floor by the bed and go.

The aromas of soup, mince pie, and bread were too much to resist in his current state and Alec started in on the soup. The jug contained water and he drank directly from it, trying to assuage his terrible thirst.

“What do you think it is?” Micum demanded.

“It’s a Great Seal,” Thero replied.

“That’s all?”

Thero shook his head. “No, Micum, not the kind on a document. These symbols are used to seal away horrors. They come from the most ancient of Aurënfaie wizards’ practice, and the knowledge of them was passed down to some who became part of the Second Orëska, and through them to the Third.”

“Why would a necromancer want me to know about something like that?” Alec wondered, sopping up the last of the soup with a piece of bread.

“A very good question.”

“And what about whoever put it there, on that other plane?” asked Micum.

“They would have been trapped there,” Thero replied.

“An Aurënfaie gave his life to set the seal,” murmured Seregil.

“Not necessarily a ’faie. There were human wizards on Kouros once the Aurënfaie mingled with the Hierophantic people.”

“Let me see,” said Seregil. Thero held the parchment down. “I don’t recognize the symbols, but the rosette—I’ve seen that style back home, on very old furniture and jewelry. If it wasn’t made by a ’faie, it was made by someone who knew our art.”

“If the seal is so powerful, then how did Alec and Mika get in, and demons and dra’gorgos get out?” asked Micum.

“Maybe that’s not what the seal was designed to protect against,” said Alec, starting in on a wedge of pie.

“Clearly,” said Seregil. “But as far as we know, the necromancer can’t get out.”

“With a seal that potent, I’m surprised anything could,” said Thero.

“And yet Alec is able to get in and out at will.”

“Could something be wrong with the magic?” Alec asked, finishing off the pie and licking his fingers. “I mean, couldn’t a really old magic get weak over time?”

“Not this kind,” said Thero.

“Obviously something is awry,” Seregil rasped.

Thero plucked at his beard a moment in thought. “In a case like this, the Great Seal inside the plane could have been paired with another on this side.”

“To keep things on this side from getting in?” asked Alec. “I mean, you wouldn’t want anyone accidentally going in there with a necromancer. And what kind of necromancer gets sealed away by magic that powerful?”

“A very powerful one,” said Thero. “But you may be on to something.”

“I still don’t understand why a nasty, powerful necromancer would show Alec that seal, and help him get out,” said Micum.

“A nasty, powerful necromancer probably wouldn’t,” said Seregil. “Which begs the question, is the woman who Alec interacted with a necromancer at all?”

“She’s the one who I saw pick up Mika, and I saw her in the tower before she got to me.”

“You saw a woman with some powers in a red dress,” Seregil replied. “That doesn’t make her a necromancer. Perhaps she’s the one who put the seal there.”

“Wouldn’t she be dead after all these years?” said Micum. “For that matter, wouldn’t the necromancer?”

“Not if she’s a dyrmagnos,” said Thero, sending a chill through all of them. “Which would explain the lengths taken to contain her.”

“By the Flame, I hope not.” Micum rubbed absently at the scars left on his leg by Irtuk Beshar, the dyrmagnos they’d destroyed on that lonely stretch of Plenimaran shoreline. The most powerful necromancers sometimes lived on for centuries as gruesome animated husks, growing more powerful with time.

“She didn’t look like one,” said Alec, emptying the last of the water into his cup. “Irtuk Beshar was a dried-up, leathery corpse. This woman is young and beautiful.”

“And how would she live there, if she was human?” asked Seregil. “The place saps the strength out of you every time you go in, and I’m reasonably sure that you would have died of hunger and thirst if you’d stayed any longer than you did.”

“Could a dyrmagnos survive there?” asked Micum. “Do they eat?”

“I’m not sure,” Thero replied. “They’re so rare that not a lot is known about them, apart from their powers and how difficult it is to kill them.”

“But we know how to kill one,” Micum pointed out. “You know the magic Nysander used on Alec’s arrows, don’t you?”

“Yes, in theory at least.” He thought a moment. “Whether she’s a dyrmagnos or necromancer or whatever else she might be, apparently something is sustaining her.”

“Do you remember anything else about her, Alec?” asked Seregil.

He thought a moment, picturing her in his mind. “She was the only one wearing fine clothing. I don’t remember seeing any other bright colors but that of her gown. When we were in the cave, she gave off light. That’s when I got a good look at her. Like I said, she was beautiful, and not frightening, either. She made me go where she wanted me to go, but she didn’t hurt me. Whatever the case, I have to get back there and find Mika.”

He rose to look for new clothes, but it was Thero who put a hand on his arm to stop him. His pale green-grey eyes were bleak as he said, “Either Mika is already dead, or she’s keeping him alive somehow. You rushing in there on your own and getting killed isn’t going to do anybody any good, since you’re the only one of us who can, as far as we know. And we’ve got to be ready to confront her. That will take some time.”

“Fine, did anyone bring my Radly out of the palace, and my quiver?”

“Yes. They’re in your tent,” said Micum.

“I’ll get them and Thero can put the magic on them or whatever it is you need to do.”

“You can’t go in alone,” said Seregil.

“You can’t go in at all!”

“Shut up, both of you!” Thero snapped. “Alec, the magic we’re going to need may not work there, like the dog charm and the lightstone. We need more information and an actual plan. We don’t even know how Mika got over to the other side—whether he was pulled or somehow got in by accident as you did.”

“I’ve been thinking about that,” said Seregil. “Mika’s soul was stolen out of his body for nearly a week back in Rhíminee. If you hadn’t called it back into his body, he’d have died then. Maybe he was dead in a way, before you saved him, even though his body was still alive. That would explain his ability to ‘walk with the dead.’ ”

“Fine,” said Alec, more frustrated by the minute. “So he and I died and can get past whatever the seal does to the other plane, but where does that get us?”

“Seregil is right about not going in alone,” said Thero. “If you get yourself killed then we may not be able to do anything for Mika. Please, be patient so we can figure things out. The first order of business is to ascertain whether or not Micum or I can cross the barrier.”

“Or me,” said Seregil, grimacing as he pushed back the blankets and tried to sit up.

“Not you,” said Thero. “That demon almost broke your spine and the drysian only just sewed you up.”

“What do you mean ‘broke his spine’?” asked Alec, going ashen.

“Almost, talí, only almost.” But Seregil grunted painfully as he sank back against the bloodstained pillow. “I’ll be fine—It’s just a few sore muscles. After I rest, and by that I mean a good night’s sleep, then tomorrow—”

“Sore muscles, eh? Don’t be a stubborn fool for once,” said Micum, tucking the blankets around him again. “We’ll have the drysian look at you again tomorrow, but I suspect you won’t be up and dancing anytime soon.”

Thero pulled off his boots and began rummaging in a clothes chest. He soon came up with a pair of leather shoes and put them on.

“What are you doing?” asked Alec.

“As I said, Great Seals almost always operate as pairs. I’m going back to that cave to look for an outer seal.”

“I’ll go with you.”

Thero gave him a curt nod and turned to an equipment chest, thrusting things into a leather bag.

“What if there’s a portal there now?” asked Micum. “If you get in by way of the cave, how will you know where to get out again? If she spirited you away to it, then you don’t even know where it is.”

Alec shrugged. “We’ll just have to take what the Lightbearer sends, I guess. I got back here by touching the seal on that side. At least I think I touched it. I was reaching for it when I ended up in the other cave. If that doesn’t work this time, then I’ll try to find the river and follow it, as I did before. All I need is a good stock of food and water.” He paused. “All those people in the town. If they’ve been in that place with the necromancer for as long as you seem to think, then how have they stayed alive without real water? And food. The only livestock I saw were the sheep. How would they survive? And now that I think of it, I only saw the one flock. That wouldn’t be enough to feed a town that size even if you slaughtered them all at once.”

Thero pulled the bag shut and slipped his arm through the strap. “And what do you deduce from all this?”

Alec frowned as something began to take form at the back of his mind. “I was in the town all day and after sunset, but I never smelled a cooking fire, or bread baking, or anything else like it. There were no street vendors, either, or food stalls in the marketplace. I didn’t see a single person eating anything.” He turned to the others as a nasty chill ran up his spine. “Their clothing and language … If that seal created a plane to imprison the necromancer in, then maybe those people were caught in there, too, and after all this time … Could they all be ghosts?”

“That would explain a lot of what you observed,” Seregil replied. His eyes were closed now and his brows were drawn together in pain, but he was still in the conversation. “And what happened to your clothing that you stole there—these rags—this has something to do with time.”

“What if the necromancer is dead, too?”

“You saw her perform a spell on Mika. That seems unlikely for a dead woman,” said Thero.

“I’ll carry food this time, just in case.”

“Wait here. I’ll go get some together for you.” Micum went out.

“If I do go through, I’ll be careful and I won’t let her fool me again, I promise, Seregil.”

Seregil reached out and gave his disheveled braid a light tug. “It may not be your choice, given her apparent powers.”

“Tell me about the cave again while we wait,” said Thero with thinly disguised impatience.

“The one she took me to looked similar to the innermost one Seregil and I saw, except there was no water, no dripstone, and the pictures of the animals were evil. At the back was the black opal set in gold and it glowed. When I reached out to touch it, I didn’t feel anything but suddenly I was in the other cave, the one with the water. There was a ghost who spoke Aurënfaie. He was terribly sad, weeping and calling out.”

“What did he call out?”

Alec sighed. “As I told you, he called on Aura to protect a woman.”

“But he didn’t say who?” asked Thero.

“No—No, wait, he did say something else. ‘Nölienai talía.’ Something beloved.”

“Beloved Black Pearl,” said Seregil.

“But it wasn’t a pearl, it was an opal.”

Seregil gave his braid another tug. “It’s a term of endearment for a women. A darkly favored one, I’d say.”

“The necromancer?”

“Possibly,” said Thero.

“Then the ghost is evil, too.”

“Let’s not jump to conclusions.” Seregil yawned. “We might speculate, however, that it is his skull bolted to that pillar, since he’s haunting the cave. I think I’ll have another look there, tomorrow.”

“I don’t think you’ll be in any shape for exploring.” Alec looked at the stitches in Seregil’s scalp. “The drysian did a good job but you must have lost a lot of blood.”

“Head wounds always bleed a lot. It looks worse than it is, I’m sure. I’m just hoping I can get the blood out of the hair that’s left. I’m in no hurry to be bald.”

“Come along, Alec,” said Thero. “Seregil, if we don’t get back tonight, tell Micum to keep an eye out for Klia’s messenger tomorrow for me.”

The pack of food Micum had readied for them was heavy, but this time they were taking horses as far as the grove. When they arrived at the oracle’s precinct, Thero silently handed his bag to Alec to carry and shouldered the heavier load.

Thero cast a moving light and they followed it from chamber to chamber and down to the innermost cave. It was steep as Alec had described and Thero slid the last few yards into cold water, barely managing to stay on his feet. Alec slid out after him with the pack and bag. Thero enlarged the light to illuminate the whole cave and what he saw amazed him, even though he’d already heard it described.

The artwork was stunning, as were the dripstone formations. There was no time to admire them, however, as Alec splashed across the chamber and showed him the stone-encrusted skull surrounded by stalagmites.

“Do you know what the symbols painted on the skull say?” asked Alec.

Thero leaned over it, studying the markings. “They’re hard to make out, but it looks like it might be some sort of curse, although the boss holding the skull to the pillar appears to be made of silver, which doesn’t make any sense, magically.”

Alec was still showing the effects of the other plane, despite the food he’d had. His face looked skull-like as he turned to face Thero. It was a bit unsettling. “What kind of curse?”

“Parts of the pattern are too obscured to make out. Given the placement, though, the spirit attached to this skull may have been condemned to stay near it, which would explain the ghost.”

As if on cue, a deep sigh echoed around the chamber, followed by the sound of whispering, though Thero could not make out the words.

“That’s him,” whispered Alec, looking around nervously.

It was strange to see Alec looking frightened of anything, but Thero remembered what Seregil had once told him of Alec’s fears: heights and ghosts. “Are you with me, Alec?”

Alec nodded. “Let’s find that seal. Move the light in front of the skull.”

“Why?” Thero asked as he did so.

“Because it’s not facing the entrance of the cave, the way you’d expect. I want to see what it’s looking at,” Alec replied, sighting over the top of the skull’s head.

“Ah, of course.” Thero stepped in beside him and found himself looking at the section of wall that had fallen away. In the eye line of the skull, something glinted with the unmistakable color of gold against the naked stone. Threading his way through the formations, Thero brought the light to bear on the rock face and saw what appeared to be the remains of a rod of gold set into the stone. Something made of gold had been affixed to the wall long before the dripstone formed, then had apparently been dislodged in the rockslide. Reaching up, he pressed his fingers to the rough surface of the metal and gasped at the rich echo of Aurënfaie magic still contained there. With it came the hazy vision of two people, a man and a woman, standing exactly where he was. There was no dripstone around them, just the deeper darkness of the cave. He could not make out their faces or who they had been, but the impression of their presence was clear. He pressed his hands to the damp stone on either side of it.

“A Great Seal was here!” he said. “It must have sheared off when the rock face fell. Help me look through this broken pile of stone.”

“Thero.” Alec’s voice was low, but charged with emotion.

The wizard turned and found Alec facing a tall, amorphous black figure. It was only a few feet from his friend, but it was not a dra’gorgos, though he guessed Alec wasn’t so certain, given the way he was clutching his amulet. As the three of them stood there, the deep, troubled sigh echoed around the chamber again, and seemed to emanate from the very stones themselves.

Thero pointed to the skull and asked in Aurënfaie, “Is this yours?”

The dark figure wavered a moment, then faded away. “What was that?” Alec managed, and Thero could hear his voice shaking. “I believe that may have been your sad ghost.”

“That’s what I think, too.”

“If he meant to harm you, he’s certainly had adequate chances to do so.”

“So what does that mean? He didn’t claim the skull.”

“I don’t know. Some ghosts communicate with the living, while others ignore them.”

“This one spoke right next to my ear last time, so I think he was trying to communicate something.”

“Ah yes. His ‘Nölienai talía’—”

A sudden raw scream echoed horribly around the cave, and with it a sudden gust of wind that buffeted their faces.

“Aura Elustri málreil!” shouted Alec.

The wind stopped, and in the silence that followed they heard a muttering just below the threshold of hearing, then the words “Nölienai talía.”

Thero’s sphere of light went out, plunging them into darkness.

“Thero?” whispered Alec.

“That shouldn’t have happened.” Thero cast another ball of light and found Alec looking wide-eyed and nervous.

“Should we get out of here?”

Thero shook his head. “I don’t feel any evil here.”

“What about the curse on the skull?”

“First the seal.”

Together they sorted through all the stone lying on the cave floor at the base of the wall, but there was no sign of the golden seal or its gem.

“A workman could have taken it,” said Alec.

“That’s quite likely.” Thero sighed. “Of course it couldn’t be this easy. Remind me, what did the tablet that sealed this cave say?”

“ ‘Grief resides here.’ That’s all.”

“I wonder if the tablet and the seal were somehow linked? If so, then when the tablet was removed, it might have triggered the rockslide. I can only imagine that very complex magic had been set in place to guard the lower cave, magic that might well have faded over the years.”

“All right. So someone probably stole the seal after the wall fell. A workman sent in to clear the rubble, wouldn’t you say?”

“Yes, that seems likely.”

“So we need to find the person and get it back. Now, what about the skull?”

“What, indeed?” Thero made his way back to the skull and bent over it for a moment. There was nothing obvious emanating from it. He held a hand over it, but there was still nothing. “I’d have to touch bone to get anything from it, if that’s even possible, and that would mean removing the stone coating it.”

“What about the eye sockets?” asked Alec.

“Ah, good observation.” Thero touched the delicate stalactites that veiled the left eye; they fell away with a tiny tinkling sound. Reaching in with one finger, he felt for bare bone and found it at the top of the socket …

A tall, handsome ’faie man with flowing dark brown hair stood here with a beautiful black-haired woman. They were both naked and had just made hurried love on the cave floor surrounded by the whispering spirits of the ancients who’d made this place a sanctuary. She wore only a familiar-looking golden arm ring and now she took it off and gave it to him. He pressed it to his lips as a tear slid down his cheek—

“Thero! Thero, are you all right? Say something.”

The wizard opened his eyes slowly to find himself sitting on the uneven ground next to the pillar, with Alec gripping him by the shoulders. “What’s wrong?”

“You fell over.”

“How long after I touched the skull?”

“About half a second.”

“Interesting. I had an extended vision just now. I think I saw our ghost, and a woman with him.” Thero explained the vision. “The golden arm ring she wore—I think it was the same one Lady Zella showed us at the governor’s house. I must have another look at it, and see if any impressions remain as to who the woman was. She was black-haired, like the one you described. May I?”

Alec nodded. Thero brushed his mind and saw the same woman he’d just witnessed in his vision, though in Alec’s mind she was clothed in a red gown. “Yes, it was her.”

Alec frowned. “The necromancer was the ’faie man’s lover?”

“That’s how it appeared, but it was a very brief vision.”

“Does that make any sense to you? I mean, did she help him seal her in?”

“It’s more likely he tricked her.”

“That doesn’t explain who set the seal on the other side.”

“No, it doesn’t.” Thero stood and approached the skull again. Reaching into the eye socket, he closed his eyes …

He was looking down into her eyes. Deep blue eyes the color of the summer sky. She was clearly Tírfaie, but she spoke Aurënfaie as she looked up at him and said, “I love you, Khazireen. Watch over them.” With that she took off the arm ring and Thero felt it placed in his hand, the gold still warm from her body …

This time he found himself in Alec’s arms. Regaining his footing, he stepped back. “How long that time?”

“About the same. You touch it and your legs go out from under you. I managed to catch you.”

“Thank you. I saw her more closely this time. It’s most certainly the same woman. She called the man Khazireen and asked him to watch over someone.”

“Well, that’s a start if she’s his beloved Black Pearl. But who would a necromancer want him to look after?”

“I can’t imagine.” He looked up at the gold embedded in stone. “The seal you saw brought you here, right?”

“I guess so.”

“Well, nothing bad happened when I touched this, assuming it is part of the other seal. I need you to try, Alec.”

“All right, but I’d better hang on to you, in case I do get across. You probably won’t be able to go through without me.”

“Or even with you, I suspect.”

Shouldering the pack and giving Alec the bag again, Thero joined hands with him and Alec touched the gold.

Nothing happened. Alec pulled his hand away and tried again. He did not disappear.

“Maybe it’s like the portal that appeared at the palace,” said Thero. “Do you see anything around the chamber?”

“No, but maybe we should walk around in case I have to be near it to see it.”

After considerable splashing around, Alec shook his head. “I don’t see anything. I’m going back to the palace.”

With some magical assistance they got their baggage back up the tunnel and rode back toward the palace. Judging by the stars, it was after midnight.

“Are you sure you’re up to this?” asked Thero.

The younger man’s face was hidden in shadow, but his voice carried pain as he replied, “What would I do, sleep? Not with Mika gone.”

Thero rode silently along for a long moment, then sighed. “I’m sorry I shouted at you. I realize you did all you could before she bewitched you. I doubt Seregil would have fared any differently.”

“But you would have?”

“I would have known what she was, yes, and that might have changed things. We have to find a way to get me into that place.”

“The lightstone didn’t work there. What makes you think your magic will?”

“It does for the woman, obviously, since you witnessed her levitating Mika.”

“Maybe only her magic works there.”

“There’s only one way to find out.”

At the palace Alec and Thero revisited the two places he’d found portals, but there was nothing there now. They tried the surrounding corridors, but with no luck.

“How does something like that move?” Alec wondered as dawn light seeped in the windows of the first corridor he’d disappeared in.

“This plane is in some contact with ours, but it’s likely not solid, like two walls meeting at a corner. It may be more like a curtain waving in the breeze. That’s more like what you described, the first time you came back.”

“Then there’s no way to know where it’s going to be?”

Thero shook his head grimly. “No.”

SEREGIL was awake in bed when Alec returned to their tent.

“Well?”

Alec sat down on the edge of the cot and told him of the skull and Thero’s visions.

“Khazireen, eh?” said Seregil. “That was a good night’s work, Alec. It’s good to have a name, at least.”

“How are you?”

Seregil grinned his crooked grin. “Oh, I’ve been better and worse. So I’d say middling. You’re not looking too chipper yourself. Get some rest. Daylight will be here soon.”

Alec stretched out on the other cot, not expecting to sleep after all he’d seen tonight. But he did, and dreamed of trying and failing to get to Mika. Sometimes it was Seregil he was trying to save, only to find him in a pool of blood, head split open.

The sun was just up when he was shaken awake and opened his eyes to find Thero kneeling beside him, looking frantic.

“What is it?” Alec mumbled, sitting up and pushing his hair out of his eyes.

“Klia is missing!”

That knocked the sleep out of Alec’s head. “When?”

“She never made it to Deep Harbor. She’s been missing for two days and no one knew!”

“Who brought word?” asked Seregil from his cot.

“I did.”

Looking past Thero, Alec saw a beautiful, raven-haired woman in a simple brown gown and green silk scarf standing by the tent door. For an instant his belly clenched; she didn’t really look like the woman he’d seen yesterday—for one thing, her eyes were so dark they were nearly black, rather than blue—but there were enough common features of color and build to make him look twice.

“Who are you?” It came out more rudely than he’d intended, but the shock of Klia’s loss blasted everything else from his mind.

“I’m Doctor Kordira. I examined Lady Zella and thought you’d like a report firsthand.” She looked past him to Seregil. “Perhaps my skills are needed, as well?”

“What about Lady Zella and Klia?” asked Seregil.

“Zella was found lying by the bridge on the highroad below Mirror Moon. She was taken to your estate and I was sent for. I haven’t been able to get much sense out of her, except her claim that she was attacked by demons.”

“What sort of demons?” asked Thero, who’d gone deathly pale.

“She raved of shadows and no faces and being surrounded by them.”

“Shadows with no faces,” Thero groaned as he took out a blood-spotted linen handkerchief and clutched it. He saw Alec’s questioning look. “Klia.” He performed the spell and his whole body sagged. “She’s gone.”

“What do you mean, gone?” asked Seregil.

“There’s no sign of her, which means—” He stopped himself from speaking in front of Kordira, but Alec guessed that he was thinking she was either dead or in the same place that Mika was. If either of them was dead on this side, Thero would know it.

“The dra’gorgos must have taken her and her escort,” said Alec.

“But not Zella,” Seregil noted with icy calm.

“Dra’gorgos? Forgive me, my lords, but I don’t understand,” said Kordira.

Seregil managed to sit up and swing his legs over the side of the bed, blankets wadded across his lap. “Hand me my breeches, Alec.”

“No.”

Kordira looked around at them, perhaps gauging the sudden increase in tension, then said, “I think I’ll go find something to drink. Send for me if you need me.”

“I said give me my breeches,” Seregil said again as soon as she was gone.

Alec locked eyes with him. “No. You’re not up to it yet.”

Seregil gave him a disbelieving look. “I’m going with you.”

“No, you’re not. I’m in good shape and I could have died in there if I didn’t have a little food with me. The state you’re in, I don’t think we could carry enough to keep you going, and we’d probably end up having to carry you, too. I’m sorry, Seregil, but you’d be a liability right now.”

Anger flared in Seregil’s grey eyes, but only for an instant. “You’re probably right.”

“You know I am, talí.” Alec pulled on his boots and stood up, looking for his sword belt and bow.

“Nobody is going anywhere yet,” Thero told them with an obvious effort. “There are preparations we must make.”

Micum stepped in through the tent flap, still tucking in his shirt. “I just met Doctor Kordira and she told me what happened. Tell me what you want me to do, Thero.”

“As I was just telling them, there are preparations to be made. If we are dealing with a dyrmagnos, then we have to be ready, although I’m concerned about that, given what happened to Alec’s lightstone there.”

“You mean your magic might not work there, either,” said Seregil.

“Precisely. But we won’t know that unless I can find a way in with Alec’s help. That’s the first thing we must ascertain.”

“And I’m just going to lie here and worry, apparently,” Seregil growled.

“Can you ride?” asked Thero.

“I can manage.”

“Good. Go speak with Zella and learn all you can from her about the ambush. Also, I need that gold arm ring she showed us that first night. See if you can find out who the workmen were who went into that cave. I think one of them may have the Great Seal.”

“If it’s there I’ll find it,” he replied, looking much happier now that he had something to do. “I better get cleaned up. Help me over to my tent, will you, Micum? And I think I’d like to speak with the good doctor, too.”

Micum got him into his breeches and helped him to his tent.

“Do you want to go to the bathing tent?” asked Micum as he eased Seregil down to sit on his own bed.

“Later,” said Seregil. “Please send in the doctor and then go keep Thero company. He’s more brokenhearted than he’s letting on.”

“What about you?”

“I could ask you the same,” Seregil replied. “We’re going to find her and bring her back. That’s all I want to think about right now.”

Micum clasped his hand, then went out.

There was no question of going into Deep Harbor the way he looked, Seregil thought glumly, grimacing into the small mirror someone had left near the bed. The skin around the stitches in his scalp was a healthy-looking pink, but the hair he had left was a stiff, tangled mess. Between that and the bloodstained bandages swathing his chest, he was a sight to scare small children.

Kordira stepped in and caught him shaking his head at his less-than-pleasing reflection. “May I examine you?”

“I’d appreciate it.”

She came and looked him over, touching his head here and there with gentle fingers. “I’m so sorry about Princess Klia.”

“Thank you, but we don’t know yet if she’s dead or not.”

“True.” She felt through his hair. “There’s no infection here. We’ll have to get those bandages off before I can tell you any more. Might I suggest a bath?”

“You certainly may.” Leaving Kordira in the tent, he enlisted the help of a couple of soldiers to get him to the bathing tent. His back hurt a great deal from the wrenching it had taken, but he was able to walk, if slowly.

It took three tubs of water to remove the crusted bandages and soak the blood from his hair. Swathed in flannels, with one wrapped around his head, he hobbled back to the tent without help. Kordira was waiting with fresh bandages and a fragrant honey salve.

“Riding is a very bad idea, Baron,” she said, inspecting the wounds on his chest and neck. “You’ll open up these cuts again if you’re not careful.”

“Please, call me Seregil. We don’t stand on ceremony here.” The truth was, riding a horse was looking less and less attractive. The bath had taken most of his energy, and his various wounds were burning like fire in spite of the salve. Even so, he let a young servant boy help him into fresh clothing while Kordira waited outside, then looked around for his sword belt. That, too, was covered in blood—his own, this time.

“I’ll find you a new one, my lord,” the boy offered.

“Thank you.” Seregil lowered himself carefully down on the edge of the cot. “Now where are my extra boots?”

The boy found them and helped him into them. “Anything else, my lord?”

“Please send the lady in.”

“Well, you look a bit better,” Kordira observed with a wry look as she entered. “It’s a bit belated at this point, but it is good to finally meet you.”

“Likewise, Doctor.” Seregil passed a hand ruefully across the two bare patches on his scalp. “I don’t usually look this piebald. You wouldn’t happen to have a comb?”

Smiling, she produced a wooden comb from the purse at her belt. “May I?”

“Please do. After all, we’ve only just met.”

She chuckled as she sat next to him on the bed and draped a dry flannel over his shoulders to catch the water still dripping from his wet hair. With incredible gentleness, she worked through the tangles until the long locks were smooth. “Come out and sit in the sun to dry.”

Seregil took her advice, settling on a stool in front of the tent. Her horse was tethered nearby, and Seregil saw that there were large leather panniers behind the saddle. “You came prepared.”

“Always. I never know when I’ll have to deliver a baby or stitch up a gut. I have a few things that might help you, as well, if you’re willing to let a Plenimaran physician minister to you.”

“Well, you did comb my hair, after all.”

She went to the panniers and pulled out a few parcels and jars, then disappeared in the direction of the kitchens.

As he waited for her to return, Seregil considered his situation. Find artifacts and bring the arm ring, Thero had said. Surely he could do a bit more than that.

Kordira returned with a man carrying a tray.

“Just set it here on the grass, please,” she told the man. He put it down at Seregil’s feet and she knelt beside it, heedless of her gown. It was of fine cloth but simply cut, as was the silk scarf around her shoulders, and she wore no jewelry. Her nails were short and stained from her work. And, he had to admit, she was very lovely. There had been a time, under better circumstances, when he’d already have been making plans to seduce such a beauty. He touched his scalp again; he wasn’t at his most attractive.

She noticed. “It won’t do, you getting your head sunburned.” She untied her scarf and fashioned a headdress for him, then took a small silver mirror from her purse and let him look.

The way she’d wrapped it resembled an Aurënfaie sen’gai, covering his head and twisted about the brow, with tails hanging over his left shoulder. “You know how to tie a sen’gai?”

“I’ve seen ’faie wearing them.”

“Slaves?”

“Slaves aren’t allowed to wear them, as you no doubt know. No, free people, traders and the like. I traveled awhile before settling here.”

“What brought you to Kouros?”

“I came to see the oracle’s site and fell in love with the island and the people. And yes, there was slavery, but as I told your friends I hate it as much as any Skalan.”

“Or Aurënfaie?”

“I doubt I can match any ’faie’s hatred of slavery. I would never claim it.”

Seregil gave her a crooked smile. “It’s very kind of you to say so.”

“I know you don’t trust me,” she replied, busying herself with the bowls and cups on the tray. “Your friends don’t, either. It’s quite understandable. I just prefer to have it out in the open.”

“Thank you.”

She lifted a steaming mug from the tray and handed it to him. “This is marrow broth, with brandy, ironwort for strength, and a dash of sticky rush for the pain.” She took a clean cloth from a dish, showing him a helping of cold venison pie and two apples cut in quarters. “Drink the broth and eat as much as you’re able. Can you send someone to commandeer us a small cart? I don’t think you’re in any shape to ride.”

Seregil sipped at the rich broth, then nodded. “I’m sure we can find something. How did you get here?”

“I rode.”

“Alone?”

She looked amused. “I can take care of myself.”

“With your charm to protect you?”

“Oh, yes—and this.” She pulled her skirt up to her knee and showed him a shapely leg and the poniard in her boot.

Seregil chuckled, showing her the poniard he carried in the same manner. “They do come in handy, don’t they?”

“Since I’ve been on the island, I’ve never had to use it.”

“But before?”

“As I said, I traveled. You don’t always get a hospitable welcome, especially if you’re a woman.”

That had certainly been his experience when he traveled or worked dressed as a woman, but he couldn’t really tell her that.

She cocked her head slightly, which made her look that much more fetching. “I suppose it would be rude of me to wonder why a rich Skalan baron is getting himself into scrapes with ghosts and acting as a wizard’s scent hound.”

“Some might say so,” Seregil replied and left it at that. Was it her charm and beauty, or blood loss that was making him feel so reckless?

A cart was found. Seregil tied Windrunner on behind, with Kordira’s bay gelding, and struggled to pull himself up to the seat beside her as every cut and stitch on his body cried out with the effort. Kordira caught his elbow as he began to fall back. Gritting his teeth, he made it and sat very still, trying to get his breath back.

“You really should stay in bed for another day or two,” she noted.

“You’re absolutely right, Doctor, but I’m not going to.” He gripped the edge of the wooden seat. “Let’s get on with it, shall we?”

She shook the reins over the cart horse’s back and they rattled off down the road toward Mirror Moon. They hadn’t gone more than half a mile when she reined the horse in. “You’re in too much pain, aren’t you?”

It would have taken strength Seregil was using to stay upright to argue the matter.

She produced a clay jar from under the seat and handed it to him. “This will help.”

He shook his head. Out here alone, she could easily poison him.

“Suit yourself,” she said. “Let’s see if we can get to Mirror Moon without you screaming.”

“Thanks for the thought. Tell me about Lady Zella.”

“As I told Thero, she was in and out of consciousness when I left her. Physically she wasn’t seriously harmed, but something of the madness you saw in Captain Sedge is in her. It might just be fear and shock. I’ll be able to tell better when I see her today, now that she’s safe and has had a chance to rest.”

“Indeed?” As far as he knew, Kordira knew nothing of Sedge being cleansed of a demon. If Zella was possessed, they were going to need Thero’s help to get much out of her. “So someone from Mirror Moon came to fetch you?”

“Yes, one of the young men who tends your horses. I attended to her, spent the night, and rode out to inform you and your friends this morning. I thought it would be better, hearing the news from me, since I’m better able to convey her condition.”

“I see.” Pain was not improving his manners. “What exactly did Zella say?”

“Most of it made little sense. She talked about a shadow, and a madness coming over the horses.”

“But she didn’t say why she alone was spared?”

“I asked her about that but she wasn’t lucid enough to understand the question.”

“Hopefully she’ll be of sounder mind today.”

“I wouldn’t count on it.”

“Who found her?”

“A young man in your employ, I believe. He was on his way to the city for something and noticed her lying under the bridge.

“The bridge? That’s on the far side of the estate.”

“Does that matter?”

“I thought Klia might stop in at the house on her way by, that’s all.”

Vhadä was the first to meet them at Mirror Moon as they came up the lane by the pool. Jumping up from his frog catching, he trotted along beside the cart. “Welcome back, Baron. Are you hurt, too?”

“I did get into a bit of a scrape,” Seregil replied. “Run ahead and let the housekeeper know we’ve returned.”

Vhadä nodded and ran ahead.

“I made a much more impressive entrance last time I was here,” Seregil managed grimly as they came to a halt in the courtyard.

Dorin and an Aurënfaie man who looked familiar helped him into the house and upstairs to the chamber where Lady Zella lay, the one Sedge had occupied. Kordira came up with them and helped them settle Seregil into an armchair by the bed, then sent them out.

Zella lay motionless under the coverlet, hair loose over the pillow, her plain face pinched and pale. There were several livid bruises on her face.

Seregil watched as Kordira felt the woman’s brow and pulse and smelled her breath. “How is she?”

“A bit better, I think. I left the same decoction that I made for Sedge here, to be given to her by your housekeeper. Mistress Khiria is very kind.” She stroked Zella’s cheek. “Wake up, my dear.”

Zella’s eyes fluttered open, and she looked up at the doctor with recognition and relief. “There you are! Oh, Doctor, I’ve had the vilest dreams.”

“It’s all right. You’re perfectly safe here.”

Zella looked around in confusion. “Where am I?”

“At Mirror Moon,” Seregil told her. “You don’t remember coming here?”

She shook her head. “I don’t understand. Why am I here?”

“Baron Seregil has come to see how you are and discuss what happened to you,” Kordira explained.

“Happened?” Zella looked from her to Seregil. “Please, my lord, what do you mean?”

“Do you remember leaving the encampment with Princess Klia to go to Deep Harbor?”

“Yes.”

“What happened on the road? Where are Princess Klia and her escort?”

Zella looked at him with mute horror.

“They’re gone,” Seregil told her. “It appears that only you were spared. Don’t you remember telling the doctor about demons? Shadows, with no faces?”

She shook her head, clutching the edge of the coverlet with trembling fingers. “But that was just a dream.”

“No, my lady. Something happened, something very bad, and I need you to remember. When you were brought here yesterday you told Kordira that you’d seen demons.”

Zella looked up at him in horror. “No! That was a nightmare. Tell him, Doctor, please!”

“Something bad happened on the road between here and Menosi,” Seregil pressed. “Only you can tell me what that was.”

Zella burst into tears. “If it wasn’t a dream—By the Maker, how can such things be?”

“Did you see the demons take the others?” asked Seregil.

“No, my lord, in my dream—That is, what I saw—”

Kordira took her hand and gave Seregil a warning look. “You’re doing very well, Zella. Can you tell the baron what you did see in your dream?”

Zella shuddered and covered her eyes. “Black evil things with long arms and no faces. They appeared on the hill by the road.”

That certainly sounded like dra’gorgos, but how had they taken Klia while she was wearing Thero’s amulet, thought Seregil. “Can you tell me anything else? There must be something.”

“That’s all I remember, my lord. I swear by the Four!” Zella sobbed. “Please, that’s all I can tell you!”

“That’s quite enough for now, Seregil,” Kordira said firmly. “Perhaps you should speak with the man who found her?”

Seregil didn’t appreciate being ordered about in his own home, but it was clear that Zella was useless to him as she was now.

“Very well.” He rose painfully from the chair and limped from the room.

Dorin was in the corridor and offered his arm at once. “My lord, tell me what I can do for you!”

“I think I need to lie down.”

“Your things are in the purple suite.”

Seregil shook his head and crossed to the room where he and Alec had seen the ghost woman. “This will do.” It was closer to Zella.

He made it inside. “Thank you. I’ll take it from here.”

“Let me help you.”

“No. Go fetch me some tea, please. I can manage. Oh, and send up whoever it was who found her.”

As soon as the door was closed, he leaned against it with a hiss of pain. He wasn’t quite sure why he’d sent Dorin away like that except for the underlying dislike he had for the man. He took a deep breath, knowing that if he didn’t get to the bed now, he was going to be sleeping on the floor. He set a course and unbuckled his belts as he went, letting them fall behind him. Kicking off his boots was agony but he managed it, then lay back on the bed with a sigh of relief.

“May I come in?” asked Kordira through the door.

“Yes,” Seregil rasped.

Vhadä opened the door for her, and she came in with two mugs of tea. “I thought you could use this,” she said, taking the chair by the bed and passing him a mug. “And no poison, I promise,” she added with a wry smile.

“Isn’t that what a poisoner would say?” asked Seregil. The tea was just what he did need and he sipped it gratefully. “Do you think Zella is telling the truth?”

“Why in the world would she lie?”

“That’s what I’m wondering.”

“I don’t think she’s clear enough in her mind to lie. May I check your dressings?”

“Later, thank you.”

A knock came at the door and a young ’faie man with dark, short-cropped hair stepped in. “You sent for me, my lord?”

Seregil let the title pass. “I don’t think we’ve met.”

“I arrived after you and Baron Alec left for Menosi, my lord. My name’s Syrel. You took in my brother, Anri the weaver.”

“Ah yes. So, tell me about finding Zella.”

“I was riding to Deep Harbor to fetch some friends of mine back to Mirror Moon. I was coming down off the bridge when I noticed her lying on the riverbank below.”

“She was on the far side of the bridge?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Go on.”

“I went down to her and found she was alive. I got her up on my horse and brought her back, then Steward Dorin sent me for the doctor.”

“Did Zella say anything when you found her?”

“No, not a word. She was unconscious.”

“And what was her appearance? Was she bloody? Were her clothes torn?”

“She had bruises on her face, and she was muddy from where she lay in the mud and reeds, but that’s all. Oh, and she was missing a shoe.”

“Has that been found?”

Syrel looked surprised. “No one thought to look, I guess.”

“Did anyone look for signs of what had happened?”

Syrel shook his head.

Seregil suppressed a growl of annoyance. Two days lost for tracking. He’d be lucky to find any useful signs. “Thank you. You may go.” He managed a smile. “Oh, and welcome to Mirror Moon.”

“Thank you, my lord. I’m glad to be here.” The young man bowed and went out.

“Is there anything I can do for you?” asked Kordira, rising to go.

“Thank you, but I think I just need to rest.”

“Very well. I have a room down the corridor if you need me.”

“Thank you.” Seregil was asleep before the door closed behind her.

IT was dark when Seregil woke, except for a crackling fire on the hearth. Grateful as he was for the warmth, he always disliked sleeping so deeply that someone could come and go without him waking. The small window was open, but the room was not unusually cold or damp. Perhaps the drowned lady had taken his advice.

Getting out of bed was a challenge. The bandages were stuck to his skin in places and pulled painfully as he moved. His back was getting better, but he still felt like he’d been beaten with fuller’s bats.

Not bothering with boots, he found the pot under the bed and used it, then went to the door in his stocking feet and opened it. Vhadä, who’d been sitting just outside, jumped up and made him an awkward bow.

“Hello, Seregil. Mistress Khiria sent me to watch for you. She says you’re to stay in bed and she’ll have Mistress Sabriel send up some supper for you. I’m to take word of what you want.”

“Did she now? Well, I think I’ll do just that. Please tell Sabriel that I would like meat and lots of it, any fruit she might have, and very strong tea.”

“She has some honey cakes, too,” Vhadä informed him, looking rather hopeful.

“Well, then, I guess we better have some of those. Ask her to send up enough for two. And if you see the good doctor, please tell her I’m in need of her.”

He found some thin wax tapers in a cup on the mantel and used one to light the candles nearest the bed. As he settled in the armchair, he noticed that Alec had left the journal on the table. Opening it, he turned to the page with the portrait of the ’faie ghost the journal’s owner claimed to have seen at the oracle’s cave. Could this be Khazireen, Alec’s ghost in the dark? And if so, who was he?

A knock came at the door, and Kordira entered with a mug and her simples bag. Willow followed bearing a steaming basin and a pile of flannels over her arm.

“Will you let me change those bandages now?” Kordira asked.

Seregil nodded and accepted the mug. The contents smelled of brandy and herbs this time. He took a sip and made a face.

“It is bitter,” Kordira said with a laugh, “but it will make you feel better much more quickly than willow bark.”

Seregil gulped down half of it and felt the warmth of the brandy course through him. It took the edge off the nasty taste. With Willow’s blushing assistance, the doctor soaked off his stained bandages, sponged away the dried blood and salve, and checked his wounds. “Yes, you’re starting to heal nicely except for the wounds you’ve pulled open today. If you can manage to stay put here for another day, you might find you’ll be of more use to the others than if you keep pushing yourself.”

“Yes, Doctor.” Seregil winced as she worked on his chest. Soon he was cleaned up, swathed in clean linen, and lying back in bed divested of coat and breeches thanks to Kordira’s assistance. Willow had been far too modest and fled the room.

They were just finishing when Vhadä and Oria, the chambermaid, came in with two heavily laden trays.

“Sabriel took you at your word,” Vhadä said with a grin. Lifting the cloth covering the tray, he showed Seregil eight glistening honey cakes, a plate laden with sliced mutton and mint jelly, and three baked apples redolent with spices and swimming in cream.

“Doctor, you’ll have to stay and help us eat all this,” said Seregil.

“It does smell good,” she replied. “Vhadä, you and I are going to need chairs.”

The boy dragged two to the bedside and sat down, eyeing the cakes as avidly as Mika would have. That thought came like a slap in the face. Seregil wasn’t about to lie here at ease for another day while the boy and Klia were missing.

“I want Zella to show me where things happened,” he told Kordira. “Do you think she’ll be up to it tomorrow?”

“We shall have to see. She had no serious physical injuries, apart from being thrown from her horse and perhaps dragged. Her mind does seem clearer today, which is a hopeful sign. She’s sleeping now, and so should you.”

“I just woke up.”

“You’ll need your strength tomorrow, won’t you?”

“Do you boss all your patients around this way?”

She raised an elegant brow. “Only the stubborn ones who won’t listen to reason.”

Kordira’s decoction worked well. Seregil slept deeply the rest of the night without dreams and woke just after dawn feeling considerably better, though his back was still painfully stiff and one leg felt a little numb.

Easing out of bed, he stretched this way and that, trying to loosen strained muscles without opening up any stitches, then gave himself a cold basin bath, hazarding a look in the mirror as he washed. It wasn’t a pretty sight. At least the bandages weren’t soaked through anywhere today. He slowly dressed himself for the city in a fine coat and boots, slipped his tool roll inside his shirt, and buckled on his sword. As he stood before the looking glass again, he was acutely aware of the empty space behind him. Where was Alec and what was he up to?

Seregil ran a comb carefully through his butchered hair and skillfully tied on the silk headscarf Kordira had given him. His fingers remembered the necessary tasks; the scarf did make a passable sen’gai. It was even almost the right color for Bôkthersa. He closed his eyes a moment, considering, then took it off and tied it more simply over his head. He looked like a corsair now, not an Aurënfaie clan member. He had no right to claim that anymore.

Clean and dressed, he decided to see if he could make it downstairs on his own. It was slow going. Kordira had been right when she said he needed another day’s rest, but that was not an option. And, he reasoned, perhaps he could pry something more out of Zella on the journey.

He made it to the kitchen, surprising Sabriel and Khiria.

“Good morning!” the cook exclaimed, coming around the kneading bench to look him over. “You’re a sight, my dear. Should you be up?”

“I’m up, and I’ll be leaving today for Deep Harbor. Khiria, I’ll need a small clothes chest packed and loaded into the carriage I saw in the barn last time I was here. Do I have a coachman?”

“Yes, Erian is one of those who came back here,” the housekeeper told him. “I’ll see to all that. Is there anything else before I go?”

“Have any more ’faie come here for shelter?”

“Seventeen since you were last here,” Khiria replied. “We’ve had to start putting them up in the empty cottages.”

“Build more if you have to. Make them comfortable, too. Cost is no matter. I’ll greet the newcomers when I pass through again.”

“There’s a few like me among them, if you take my meaning,” said Sabriel.

Seregil raised a brow. “Magic? That does bear looking into. Thank you for telling me. Please let them know that I value their talents. Lady Zella will be accompanying me, and the doctor. Have they eaten?”

“They’re in the dining room now,” said Khiria. “Breakfast is laid out there.”

Seregil found Zella still pale and bruised, but dressed and looking considerably better.

“How are you today, my lady?” he asked, taking a seat and gratefully letting Kordira fix a plate of eggs, fish, roasted turnips, and bacon for him. He was famished.

Zella gave him a hopeless look. “I’m not sure what to say, my lord. Kordira has been explaining to me all that happened, that my nightmare really happened.” Her lips trembled and she dabbed at her eyes with her napkin. “I failed again in my duty, didn’t I? First the archduke, and now the princess!”

“You can’t be blamed for either, my dear,” Seregil replied, seeing where kindness would get him. “Have you recalled anything else?”

“Let her eat,” said Kordira.

“No, it’s all right, Doctor.” Zella wiped her eyes again. “We were on the road, almost here, when the demons came out of nowhere. That’s truly all I recall.”

“I see.”

“I don’t know why I was spared, my lord. I wish I hadn’t been!”

“There now, don’t say that.” He reached across and patted her hand. “We’ll go back to Deep Harbor today, but before we do, I’d like for you to show me where the demons appeared. Can you do that?”

Zella nodded bravely. “Yes, of course.”

When they were finished eating Seregil had Vhadä fetch Syrel, then went to the front court with Kordira and Zella and found the carriage ready and waiting. Windrunner and Kordira’s horse were tied to the back. Erian, a ya’shel with hair paler than Alec’s, jumped down from the driver’s seat and held the door open for them. The carriage was fine enough for the Street of Lights, with crystal lamps by the driver’s seat and gilt decorating the handsome polished wood exterior. Inside were well-padded seats of tufted green velvet and a clever rack holding a small silver brandy service.

Sabriel came out with a wicker hamper and handed it to the coachman. “Here’s a meal for you all, my lord. I tucked in some honey cakes. Vhadä says you’re partial to them.”

“Give him my thanks,” Seregil said with a wan smile. “Take care.”

Zella took a seat on the left side of the carriage and gazed out the window, studying the scenery as they slowly rolled up the road toward Menosi. They’d gone no more than half a mile when she said, “Stop! It was here, I’m certain.”

They all climbed out and Zella pointed to a steep rise above the road. “There, they came down from there.”

Seregil studied the ground and road, but came up with nothing. With Syrel’s help, he made it up the rise, checking for any sign of foot- or hoofprints as he went, but there was nothing. Even Micum wouldn’t have had much to work with here. The grass was unmarked. There was no sign of Zella’s shoe.

By the time he got back to the carriage he was sweating and in considerable pain, but kept it to himself, unwilling to give the good doctor the advantage of being right. He was going to Deep Harbor, even if he had to do it lying down on the seat.

“Are you certain this was the spot?” he asked Zella, who was standing with Kordira by the carriage.

“Yes, Baron. It was here.”

“Very well. We’ll go to the bridge next.”

Erian turned the carriage around and they drove to the bridge where Zella had been spotted. Climbing down the bank with Syrel, he found where Zella had lain among the rushes growing there, and her footprints in the grass and mud, leading down from the road, but there the trail grew cold. He backtracked for some distance, casting back and forth along the road for any sign of where she might have crossed it, but there was nothing that he could see. He finally gave up and stood in thought. Zella had been spared in the attack, apart from the shock and bruises, and somehow wandered nearly a mile down the road in daylight without being seen, then lain by the river for a day until Syrel found her. Or had she lain at the site of the ambush and wandered down the road later?

Leaving Syrel to walk back to the estate, Seregil took the seat opposite the women. “I’m not finding much to go on, Lady Zella.”

“That’s hardly her fault,” Kordira said, holding Zella’s hand.

Zella said nothing, and remained quiet as they rolled along the highroad. Clinging to the leather hand strap by the window, she gazed out at the countryside.

“You look very pensive, my lady,” said Seregil.

With a forlorn sigh, Zella replied, “I’m well enough, my lord, but I’m so worried about Princess Klia!”

“I don’t suppose you’ve remembered anything else? Perhaps how you were spared when all the others were taken?”

Fear was clear on her face as she turned to him. “I told you, my lord, I don’t know why. By the Four, I’d have taken her place if I could have!”

“Taken her place?”

“Whatever happened, my lord!”

“I see.” Seregil gazed at her until she looked away. “How is it, I wonder, that whoever took Klia in such a dramatic fashion would have left a survivor to tell the tale?”

“My lord?”

“It just seems to me, Lady Zella, that your employers often come to bad ends.”

She burst into tears at that, weeping into her hands. “How can you be so cruel? I—”

“You loved the archduke, I presume.”

“Really, Baron, I think that’s enough!” Kordira exclaimed, even as Zella looked up in astonishment and managed a meek nod.

“And yet both he and Her Highness have run afoul of something unsavory,” Seregil continued.

“How can I be blamed for that?” Zella whimpered. “Put me to any test! It will only prove my innocence.”

“I’ll see what I can do about that, my lady. I think you’d best keep to your rooms at the governor’s palace once we arrive.”

“Whatever you think best, my lord,” she replied, then buried her face in her hands again.

Seregil pulled out a clean handkerchief and handed it to her. She took it and her fingers brushed his in the exchange. They were dry though her face was tearstained.

“My lady, forgive me.”

She looked up from the handkerchief. “For what, my lord?”

“For this.” Reaching across, he wiped a thumb across her tearstained cheek. It came away dry. He pulled the poniard from his boot and leveled the needle-sharp tip at her heart. “Suppose you tell me just what you are and what you’re up to?”

“I don’t know what you mean!”

“What are you saying, Baron?” asked Kordira, putting a protective arm around Zella. The other woman shrank against her, pressing her face to the doctor’s shoulder.

“Tears that aren’t wet,” Seregil replied, rubbing his fingers together. “Things not as we’re meant to believe they are.” With that he grabbed Zella by the arm, pulled her forward, away from Kordira, and plunged his poniard into her shoulder. Both women shrieked, but then Zella lunged at him with incredible strength.

Only then did it occur to Seregil to wonder what would happen if you killed the body inhabited by a demon or dra’gorgos.

She tore at his face and clothing with fingers bent like claws, pulling off his headscarf and tearing his coat open. Sunlight flashed off the golden amulet around his neck just as her hand fell on it and she lurched back, uttering a cry that could have come from no human throat. As she slumped to the floor a dark miasma filled the carriage. It swirled around them for a moment, then disappeared. Seregil fell back on the seat, gasping in pain.

“By the Mother!” Kordira cried, kneeling beside Zella and wrapping her handkerchief around the wound.

“Is she alive?”

Kordira touched Zella’s throat, then shook her head. “No, though she shouldn’t have died from this wound.”

“Can you say how long she’s been dead?”

“She was as alive as you or I until just now. She was living with that thing in her. What was it?”

“A dra’gorgos. Apparently whoever put it in her made certain she wouldn’t survive it being found out.”

“Demons? Dra’gorgos? What is happening?”

“I’d say we’re under attack and Zella was set up to spy on us.”

“But she seemed perfectly herself!”

“She wouldn’t have been much good to whoever is doing this if she didn’t.”

The carriage driver had stopped sometime during the fight. “What is it, my lord?” he asked, appearing at the carriage window.

“There’s been an accident,” Seregil replied, climbing down from the carriage. “Bring me my horse, then take Lady Zella and Lady Kordira to the governor’s house.”

“You’re in no condition to ride,” said Kordira. “Erian, fetch the panniers from my horse.”

He did as she asked and they set off for Deep Harbor again, sitting side by side, with Zella’s corpse laid out on the opposite seat.

“You look worse than ever, Seregil,” Kordira noted with concern.

Indeed, Zella had shredded some of his bandages and he was bleeding from several long scratches and opened wounds.

“I’m fine,” he gritted out. Now that the excitement was over his wounds—old and new—were making themselves known.

“Liar.” Kordira reached into one of the panniers and took out a length of bandage. “Here, staunch the bleeding with this.” Reaching in again, she produced a long clay bottle.

“Will brandy help?”

“It can’t hurt.” Seregil took the bottle, pulled out the cork, and took a long swig, then another. “Much obliged. You’re a useful woman to have around in a crisis.”

She laughed at that and held out her hand for the bottle. “Thank you. That’s enough now. A little brandy is medicinal; too much isn’t.”

“At least I wouldn’t feel anything,” he said, relinquishing it with some regret. It was excellent brandy.

Leaning down, she picked up the silk head scarf and smoothed it out before handing it to him. “We don’t want you scaring small children and old women. Are you going to tell me what just happened?”

“It appears that Lady Zella hasn’t been herself for some time,” Seregil replied as he wrapped the scarf around his head again. “The question is, for how long?”

“I’ve heard of necromancers animating the dead, but never the living.”

“Me, neither.”

“What made the dra’gorgos come out of her?”

“This.” Seregil held up the bloodied amulet. “I’m just glad it didn’t turn on you.”

“But how could it attack you at all if you were wearing that?”

“Perhaps being in a body protected it up to a point. Now that I think of it, it’s odd the thing didn’t turn on you.”

She raised an elegantly arched brow at him. “If I was a necromancer, wouldn’t Thero have ferreted me out by now? Besides, I could have killed you ten times over before breakfast.”

Seregil chuckled at that. “Unless you had a good reason for keeping me alive.”

At the governor’s palace they had Zella’s body laid out in her chamber under guard, in case the necromancer decided to use her again.

Seregil leaned over her and reached under the collar of the dead woman’s dress. Finding the chain that held the key to the box in the library, he slipped it off over her head.

“Princess Klia’s orders,” he told the guard. “Kordira, I don’t think there’s much more you can do for her. Thank you for all your help.”

She gave him a surprised, almost hurt look, then took her leave.

Seregil felt a pang of guilt as he watched her go; she’d helped him a great deal, and kept her head when others might have jumped screaming from the carriage. Against his better judgment, he was beginning to trust her, but not enough to reveal what he was up to now.

Key in hand, he made his way up to the anteroom of the library, praying the wooden box was still there. It was, with the heavy golden arm ring still in it.

But this was only the beginning of the thread he meant to follow. Asking around among the servants, he learned that the arm ring had been brought to Toneus by a workman named Lemiel, who’d supposedly found it somewhere in the old palace. Thero’s vision in the lower cave and the traces of dripstone still clinging to it said otherwise.

THEIR chance came two days after Mika had come to this plane. Rhazat had kept the boy with her most of the previous day, showing him a few spells and treating him like a little doll, something to be played with for her amusement. She was cordial to Klia, but there was a coldness in those blue eyes when their gazes met that boded ill.

The following morning Klia woke before dawn and gently shook Mika awake. “Let’s see if our hostess has served breakfast yet.”

They pulled on their boots and made sure they weren’t leaving anything behind, then went down to the dining room. Food was laid out, as usual, but there was no sign of Rhazat.

They ate quickly, taking in all their bellies could hold and drinking a pitcher of cider between the two of them. Then, with pockets stuffed with more food, they set off, as she and Phania had a few days earlier. This time the streets were busy with people going about their dreary business, but Klia sometimes felt someone looking at her just a little too long.

“Come on,” she said, taking Mika’s hand and hoping to blend into the crowd of townspeople and traders. They hurried to the gates, which stood open, and no one challenged them as they went through with the crowd. As soon as they were outside they followed the river road upstream. Mika pulled his hand from Klia’s, clearly too old for such indignities out in the open.

There were fewer people here, just farmers, carters, and a few boys driving a small flock of sheep up the road ahead of them. As Klia and Mika overtook them, the boy suddenly ran up to one of the shepherds, a boy about his age. Klia strode after him to see what the distraction was.

“This is my friend!” Mika exclaimed, hugging the dirty, starved-looking boy with his good arm. “He saved me from the man with the cudgel.”

The boy seemed just as happy to see Mika, though he said nothing.

“He can’t talk,” Mika explained. “He’s the one I played with down by the river that day.”

Klia extended her hand, but the boy shyly hung back. “How did you get here?” she asked. “Can you point and show me?”

The boy stared at her, hands at his sides.

“It’s all right, she’s my friend, too,” Mika told him, but the boy still did not respond. One of the older boys came over and pulled the mute one away from Mika, saying something incomprehensible that sounded defensive.

“I wasn’t making fun,” Klia told him. “I just want to know where he came from.”

The other boy said something that sounded angry. He picked up a stone from beside the road and cocked his arm threateningly. Some of the other shepherds had slings and stones ready.

Klia raised her hands and stepped back. “Come on, Mika, they aren’t going to help us. Your friend has to stay with these boys.”

They hurried on, Mika looking sorrowfully over his shoulder. “He was nice to me.”

“I’m sorry, Mika, but we can’t help him. He’s where he belongs.”

“If he came from this plane, then he must be able to get in and out like I can,” Mika pointed out.

Klia looked down at the boy. “Or that’s the first time you went here.”

“But the water was wet when we looked for crayfish,” Mika told her. He thought a moment, brow furrowed. “But after a while, when the man found us, I couldn’t find the road and the sky was like this.”

“Perhaps the separation of the two planes isn’t always so clear-cut.”

They forged on, Mika keeping an eye out for anything that looked like a way out. The grey day dragged on. They stopped only to rest and eat. Both of them were tired and footsore when Mika suddenly pointed across the river. “There, do you see it?”

Klia looked but saw only more drab grassland. “No, what do you see?”

“A sort of hole, right over there, hanging in the air,” Mika exclaimed. “I can see green grass and blue sky. We have to get across!”

Wet or not, however, the river was deep and had a strong current. They were going to have to find a bridge or ford. Eating as they went, they hurried on, weariness forgotten as hope grew.

“Can you still see it?” asked Klia.

Mika looked back. “Yes. I—Oh no! Klia, run!”

She looked back and saw four dra’gorgos bearing down on them, mounted on ghostly horses. She knew it was probably hopeless, but instinctively grabbed Mika’s hand and began to run. In an instant, however, a reeking blackness overcame them and she felt herself swept off her feet into the air, though she couldn’t see a thing. Mika was calling her name, but she no longer had hold of his hand.

“I’m here, Mika!” she shouted back. “Be brave.”

Blinded and chilled to the bone, Klia could still feel that they were moving at a great speed, though she could not tell the direction.

“Klia!”

“I’m still here, Mika.”

Their strange journey was a brief one. The dra’gorgos set her on her feet and disappeared. She was in the cave again, facing the seal, and the dyrmagnos.

“Welcome, Highness. And you, too, child,” Rhazat said.

Mika was a few yards away, and Klia ran to him and put an arm around his shoulders. “Leaving was my idea. He only went with me because I made him go. You don’t need to punish him.”

“Punish him?” Rhazat laughed. “Why would I do that? You know I don’t begrudge you your little walks around my domain. I can always find you when I need you. And I need you now. You know why.”

Klia clutched Mika’s hand harder as a wave of despair rolled over her; it was clear enough what Rhazat’s plan was. Her worst fears were realized when a dra’gorgos suddenly appeared and snatched Mika away, holding him in an inexorable grip as it drifted across the cave to Rhazat. She grasped Mika’s left hand and twisted. Mika’s scream of pain drowned out the sound of barely mending bones snapping.

“No, please!” Klia cried out as the dra’gorgos caught her and kept her from leaping to the boy’s defense.

Rhazat laughed her silvery laugh.

“Klia, help!” Mika sobbed, struggling to escape, left arm flopping horribly.

“Illior!” Klia cried in anguish.

“The Four have no hold here,” sneered the dyrmagnos.

“Please, please stop. I—” She caught the words behind her teeth, sick at heart beyond telling.

Es rili … a voice—a woman’s voice—suddenly whispered in Klia’s mind.

Es rili …

“Klia!” Mika cried. “Please, help me!”

“Yes, help him,” Rhazat gave her a soulless smile that contrasted horribly with her sweet voice. “You would die to deny me, and let your unborn child die with you. But can you bear this?”

At a wave of her hand, another dra’gorgos took filmy shape before Mika. Slowly, sinuously, it extended a finger of mist toward Mika’s face and Klia saw a wisp tickle its way into Mika’s nostrils as the child’s cries rose to shrieks of terror.

ES RILI!

“Sakor help us!” Klia screamed.

And suddenly everything went red.

WITH the workmen still on strike against working at Menosi, it was an easy matter to track down Master Lemiel. After some asking around and a coin here and there, Seregil was directed to the White Crow, a decent tavern near one of the refineries frequented by Aurënfaie and ya’shel freedmen. The acrid smell of the refinery smoke hung over the area, but the little cottages that lined the street were neat and well kept.

Dressed in his second-best coat and boots, with a red silk scarf tied rakishly over his head, Seregil charmed the ya’shel serving girl and she blushingly pointed out a paunchy, grizzled ya’shel with a drinker’s nose and once fair hands coarsened by years of hard labor. He and his cronies were drinking and playing bakshi at a table in the back corner of the room. One thing was already apparent: Lemiel couldn’t have fit down the tunnel to the innermost cave, so he was not the one who’d stolen the arm ring. Time to find out who had.

Sauntering up to the table, Seregil looked the game board over, then held up a golden sester. “You don’t mind if I make a little money off your luck, do you?” he asked with a grin.

“We don’t take gold off your kind,” Lemiel’s opponent growled, and several other workmen closed in around Seregil.

“My kind?” Seregil said, a bit baffled. There were enough of them to take him in the shape he was in without his sword, which hadn’t figured into tonight’s performance.

“You’re the one who’s been taking in strays,” Lemiel sneered. “Like we can’t take care of ourselves once we’re not slaves anymore. Sounds to me like those out at Mirror Moon have just traded one master for another—you and your yellow-haired half-breed.”

Seregil knew he was in the soup now, but pressed on. “Well, not every ’faie on the island is as fortunate as you lot, especially those who were in service,” he said with a smile. “And my talímenios and I are no one’s masters. They’re free to do as they like and those who choose to work for me are paid a fair wage.”

“A friend of mine, Anri the weaver, is out there,” a red-haired ya’shel told the others. “He speaks well of the barons, Lemiel. You’ve got no cause to insult him.”

“Please, titles are for Tírfaie,” said Seregil. “I’m just Seregil, a foolish man exiled from his clan.”

“You’re teth’brimash?” one of the others said in disbelief.

“Why do you think I’m in Skala? You’d never take this for a sen’gai, would you?” Seregil asked, pointing out his scarf. “Come now, are you telling me you won’t take gold off a silly man with more money than sense? Really, I can’t resist a wager.”

This admission of his own disgrace had a slight thawing effect on the others, or perhaps it was the gold coin he was still holding. Even Lemiel warmed a bit, though he wasn’t calling Seregil cousin by any means.

With a quick sleight of hand, Seregil held up two golden sesters. “I’ll split my winnings with you, of course.” He flicked his hand again and suddenly there were three coins balanced between his fingers. “I don’t know about you gentlemen, but I could do with a mug of whatever it is you’re drinking.” He waved over the serving girl with his free hand. “A round for the table, my dear.”

Liberal applications of coin and ale thawed the other men’s animosity enough for them to allow him a seat at the table but it was clear that they felt no real solidarity. They’d been slaves when he’d been free, and it grated on them.

Soon all of them were betting with his money even as they liberally cast around slurs on his ancestry. Seregil took it all with vapid, self-deprecating good humor, hoping the money didn’t give out before they did. The hour grew late and the gamblers began to drift away. Lemiel, who was well into his cups, started to go and Seregil pulled a deck of cards from his pocket.

“I haven’t had much luck tonight with bakshi, but I’d love to try my hand at some Blue Goose,” he wheedled. “Do people play that here?”

“Women do,” Lemiel scoffed, taking the cards and riffling them with an expert hand. “Do you know Beggar’s Get?”

“I do, and agree that it is a superior game.”

Despite being drunk, the other man shuffled and dealt skillfully. They looked over their hands, discarded, and placed their bets. Seregil was careful to lose three games in succession, and finally protested an empty purse.

Lemiel grinned as he swept up his winnings. “I guess that finishes you for the night then, doesn’t it?”

“Not quite,” Seregil replied. Shifting seats so that the few remaining patrons in the tavern couldn’t see, he took the golden arm ring from his pocket and placed it on the table between them.

Lemiel’s bloodshot eyes widened at the sight of it. He reached for it but Seregil moved it back out of reach.

“I thought you might recognize it,” he said, keeping his voice low.

“What are you doing with that?” Lemiel asked. “I brought it to the governor and he gave me a reward for turning it in.”

“I’m a very close friend of the new governor and she gave it to me.” He winked and stuck the tip of his tongue out the left corner of his mouth in a crude intimation of just how close he and the new governor were.

“You lie!” Lemiel laughed. “You’re a bum boy if I ever saw one.”

“Looks can be deceiving. Now, shall we discuss where you got this, and if there’s any more where it came from?”

“What makes you think there’s any more?” Lemiel asked, but his gaze slewed away to the left for an instant—a liar’s tell.

“Because you’re a man who knows how to keep something back for himself if I ever saw one.” Seregil winked again. “Why, what do I have in my pocket?” He felt around for a moment. “Well, look at this! I have another purse I forgot all about.” He tossed the leather money bag onto the table next to the arm ring. The coins inside clinked alluringly.

Lemiel eyed it like a dog at a butcher’s booth. “Guess there’s no harm in telling. I inherited it from my brother.”

“I see. And how did he come by it?”

“Can’t rightly say.” Lemiel’s eyes flicked sidelong in the tell again.

“He wouldn’t perhaps have been a workman at the oracle’s cave site?”

The other man pursed his lips, still staring at the money bag. “He was, but he never said where he found those things. I didn’t have anything to do with it.”

“You can’t possibly be blamed. So, there were other items?”

“A few. Just bits and pieces, really.”

Seregil picked up the money bag and rattled the coins. “I’d really like to have a look at those ‘bits and pieces.’ I can make it worth your while.”

“I don’t have them with me.”

Seregil pocketed the money bag and started to rise.

“Hold on now,” Lemiel said. “I never said I wouldn’t show you. I just don’t carry them around. You’ll have to come back to my house.”

Wandering off into the night with a stranger armed with nothing more than his poniard was a risk, but Seregil figured he could take Lemiel if he needed to, drunk as the man was. His sense was, though, that the promise of more gold was his new friend’s main motivation.

Lemiel’s little cottage was only a few streets away. Taking a key from around his neck, he let Seregil in and struck a light. As the lamp flickered to life Seregil was surprised at how clean and tidy the place was. The ground level was all one room, with a ladder leading up to a loft.

“Very cozy,” Seregil said.

“Governor Toneus gave all his workmen proper homes,” Lemiel replied as he climbed the ladder to the loft. “Sit yourself down at the table there. I’ll only be a moment.”

As ’faie hospitality went, it wasn’t a welcome of any sort, but perhaps the man had never experienced it himself. Seregil took a seat and listened as Lemiel moved something heavy, then climbed back down with a small flannel bag.

Sitting down opposite Seregil, he unwrapped his treasure and showed him a single golden earring shaped like a bumblebee, a clay votive figure of a horse, most likely also from the lower cave, and finally, a hacked, distorted fragment of the gold rosette.

Seregil casually poked at it as if uninterested, then picked up the earring. “This is your great secret? These little things?”

“You’re the one so anxious to see them!”

“I had the impression your collection would be more than this.” He picked up the votive. “This is interesting, I suppose. I’ll give you a silver sester for it.”

“You don’t want the gold?”

“I was hoping for something a bit more impressive.” He picked up the piece of the rosette and looked it over with disappointment. “Now, if this setting was whole I might be interested. What was it?”

“I don’t know. Markis—my brother—had the whole thing, and it was pretty, but all he cared about was the gold. He hacked it up to hawk when he needed a bit extra.”

Seregil turned it over in his fingers. “It looks like something that once held a gem. Did he have that?”

“If he did, he didn’t let on to me about it. But he died right after he st—found these things.”

“Of what?”

“A flux of the gut.”

Seregil looked bored, but his heart skipped a beat. “Really? Was it the bloat?”

“Don’t think so.” Lemiel shook his head sadly. “Markis was a good boy, ’cept for the stealing. Guess Bilairy finally caught up with him. One day he felt fine, the next he was bringing up black blood and passing it. Doctor Kordira couldn’t make any sense of it. By nightfall he was gone.”

“I’m sorry for your loss. When did he pass?”

“Right before the old governor, not more than a couple of days.”

“May gentle winds carry his ashes.”

Lemiel snorted. “We don’t burn our people like garbage here on the island. He’s buried out on the point, right and proper. So, what do you say? Do you want any of this or not?”

“This for the lot of it.” Seregil opened his purse and slid four gold sesters over to him. “What do you say? That’s more gold than any of this is worth, and you can spend it without anyone asking questions.”

Lemiel nodded and scooped up the coins. “Much obliged.”

Seregil rattled the purse thoughtfully. “I certainly would have liked to see the gem that came out of such a pretty setting.”

“If I had it I’d part with it,” Lemiel said with what appeared to be genuine regret. “Markis didn’t say anything about a stone. Didn’t say anything about any of it ’til he was on his deathbed. Then he gave me what he had in the world. We didn’t have any family but each other. Never did.”

Seregil gathered up the spoils of the night and rose. “If you come into any other interesting articles, send word to me at Mirror Moon. And if you ever need anything …”

Lemiel held out his coarse, scarred hand. “Much obliged, but I get on fine.”

Seregil shook with him, touched by the former slave’s pride.

Exhaustion rolled over him as he walked back to the tavern for Cynril. Everything hurt as he climbed into the saddle. He definitely wasn’t up to grave robbing on his own tonight. Fixing his mind on a hot bath and a soft bed, he kicked Cynril into a gallop and headed back to the governor’s house.

Mika thought he was awake, but he couldn’t see anything. He was cold and wet and scared and very much in pain. The last thing he remembered before the red came was the beautiful lady breaking his arm again and the dra’gorgos that almost entered his body.

He was lying on his back in water and when he tried to sit up his arm hurt so much he screamed, then bit his cheek to keep from crying.

“Hello?” he quavered. “Klia, are you here?”

But all he could hear was water dripping. No one was there to help him, so he had to help himself. With his good hand, he pulled his broken arm across his chest, crying out with the effort, and managed to sit up. Pain and the red had taken away most of his strength, but he concentrated very hard on the illumination spell Master Thero had taught him and slowly a tiny orb of light grew into being in front of him; by its light he saw that his fine velvet clothing was nothing but faded scraps and rags. He concentrated harder and the light got to be the size of a wren’s egg, the best he could do. Right in front of him was a stone post and on it was a sparkling skull. That told him where he was—in the haunted cave.

It was hard to get to his feet without using his hands but he managed it, every move jarring fresh pain through his arm and shoulder. Imagining the light tethered to the top of his head by a silver cord as Master Thero had taught him to do, he managed to control it as he turned around to see where he could get out. The cave was very large, though, and he was going to have to walk around to find the tunnel exit. Under different circumstances he would have been entranced by the glimpses he got of animals drawn on the walls, but all he could think of was a ghost—or worse yet, a dra’gorgos—jumping at him out of the surrounding darkness.

He found the opening at last, and the dauntingly steep tunnel up. It wasn’t very big. He could stand in it, but only with his head down. Since he had to hold his broken arm to his chest with his good hand, he had to use a shoulder to brace himself against the side of the tunnel as he started the painful climb. He had no idea how far it was to the upper chamber. Before long, his light started to shrink. He just didn’t have the strength to keep it alive. With no choice, he kept going in the darkness, so black that soon he began to see colored stars whirling in front of him. He’d have been scared if it wasn’t for Master Thero telling him it was just a trick the eyes played in the dark.

Just when he thought he couldn’t go any farther the way became less steep and he felt a whisper of breeze against his face. Then he saw light ahead. That gave him the last burst of strength he needed to reach a chamber where a large lightstone glowed in a brazier. There was an old black stool there, too, and he sat on it, waiting for his legs to stop shaking before he went into the next tunnel. He’d just sit here a moment, then get out of here and find Master Thero and the others and tell them all that Klia had told him to remember. He felt better sitting down, even though his arm still hurt terribly. The longer he sat, though, the harder it was to think of getting up. Leaning back against the cave wall behind the stool, he felt more tired than he could ever remember. But he had to go on …

He was in Menosi, and it was full of life and color. There were people in old-fashioned clothing in the streets, and flags and banners on poles everywhere, like it was a festival day. He could see the palace down a nearby street and walked toward it, since it was the only place in the city that he really knew. He was almost there when the great doors opened and Rhazat and a handsome Aurënfaie man came out. She looked younger, and even more pretty, and was wearing a blue gown, not red, with a golden coronet on her brow.

A great cheer went up and she and the man smiled and waved at everyone, then mounted two white horses and headed toward the city gate. The people started chanting something that Mika couldn’t understand. As the woman and man came abreast of where he stood, Rhazat smiled down at him and said something that sounded like what the voice in his head had said just before the red came out.

Eshrlee.

It had taken two days for Alec to find a portal in the palace again. As Thero had surmised, the things moved, coming and going like mirages and only Alec could see them. Like a stalking hound, he led Thero and Micum down one corridor after another for hours, returning frequently to the corridor where he’d first gone through to the other side.

They were there again as the sunlight was fading outside when a flicker of motion caught Alec’s eye as they passed the corridor where Mika had disappeared.

“There!” Alec said, pointing to the wavering image of grey grass and distant hills. “Can you see it?”

“All I see is corridor,” said Micum.

“Me, too,” Thero agreed. “Give me your hand and see if you can lead me through.”

They both shouldered the packs of food and water they’d brought, and Alec took the wizard’s hand and hurried toward the portal. Reaching it, he stepped through as easily as always, but suddenly he wasn’t holding Thero’s hand. Turning around, he saw nothing but rolling grassland. This time he was on the far side of the river, across from the town.

“Bilairy’s Balls,” he muttered in exasperation. Not only couldn’t Thero get in, Alec was on the wrong side of the river, there was no bridge in sight, and there wasn’t much daylight—if you could call it that here—left. With a sigh, he started walking upriver, hoping something would present itself before he ran out of daylight or food.

He’d gone perhaps half a mile when he caught sight of a darker patch against the evening gloom, surrounding what looked like the flicker of a fire. Gripping the pack straps, he started for it at a run. He hadn’t gone far, though, when he heard the unmistakable sound of a horse galloping behind him. Turning, he saw a woman on a black horse coming down the road toward him. Glad to have the river between them, he hurried on. But suddenly the hoofbeats were much, much closer. Glancing back, he saw that she’d somehow gotten across and was gaining on him, accompanied by two large dark shapes loping along ahead of her. A quavering, hooting call went up—one Alec recognized with horror. He’d heard just such a call the night Thero had been hunted by a dra’gorgos. He ran for his life. The cries grew louder and he thought he could hear hollow, crazed laughter.

He was within a few yards of the portal when he felt a terrible chill at his back. Something clutched at his neck but he reached the dark, wavering portal and threw himself through. Before he could get up the dra’gorgos was on him, reaching for his heart. Instead, it found his amulet and silently disintegrated into nothingness before his eyes. Another distant, hooting hunting cry drifted to him on the breeze. Rolling to his feet, he kept running until the ground went out from under him and he was falling, tumbling, rolling over rocks.

He came to rest on his back, a bit stunned but alive. As he lay there he suddenly realized that he was looking up at stars in a clear night sky. The dra’gorgos was gone, and there was no sound of hooves pursuing him. Gravel crunched under him as he climbed to his feet and looked around. He’d somehow fallen into a dry riverbed. He hadn’t broken anything, fortunately, though he was certain he’d be sporting some new bruises tomorrow.

At least I’ll live to see tomorrow, he thought with a grin of profound relief.

The riverbank wasn’t very steep, and he climbed up without too much trouble. As he reached the top, he looked up and saw a town nearby. Or rather, the ruins of a town—broken walls, scattered stone. This was the place the shepherd boy had led them to, where those soldiers had died horrible, unexpected deaths.

He stood a moment, staring at it, then slowly turned around full circle.

The dry river.

The town clustered around the edge of a circular barren spot where the tower he’d seen on the other plane would fit nicely. Imagining a wooden palisade around it, Alec finally put the pieces together. He walked up to where the main gate would have been and found the remains of a street leading in. Keeping to it to avoid snakes and other dangers, he slowly walked to the open space and paced the periphery. It seemed about right. This was the mysterious woman’s town. On the other side, he’d seen it as it looked in the distant past, with the tower in place. How was it possible?

With the threat of snakes and man traps fresh in his mind, he left it with its secrets for now and started the long walk back to camp.

“There’s no use waiting here,” Micum called as Thero stood looking back at the spot where Alec had vanished. One moment he and Alec had been running full-tilt down the corridor; the next Alec had disappeared into thin air again and Thero had kept going on his own for a few yards before he slowed to a halt and turned around.

“It was just the same when he went in after Mika,” Micum explained as Thero walked back to join him. “Who knows where he’ll turn up this time? It’s never been in the same place twice.”

“What do we do?”

Micum had never seen Thero at such a loss. Resting a hand on the wizard’s shoulder, he guided him back the way they’d come. “Wherever Alec ends up, he’ll head back to camp for sure. We might as well wait for him there.”

“If we’ve lost him—lost them—”

“They’re no more lost than they were, Thero. You’ve got to hang on to hope.”

Thero looked up at him. “Is that what you do? Just hope?”

“It’s gotten me through some rough times.”

Thero said nothing more as they left the palace and rode back to the camp, taking Windrunner with them.

When they got there Thero started for his tent but Micum steered him instead to the camp circle, sat him next to the fire, and went in search of food and ale. He soon found it and carried a hard sausage and a chunk of white cheese balanced on a flat round loaf of bread and a large tankard of ale back to where the wizard sat cross-legged on the grass, hands resting on his knees, just as Micum had left him. There were soldiers and servants around the fire but they were giving Thero space.

Micum placed the food and drink in front of him and took out a knife. Cutting a slice from the sausage, he held it out to Thero on the blade. He took it and ate with no apparent interest and ate and drank more only at Micum’s insistence.

They were still there when they heard galloping hoofbeats on the road from Menosi and a man shouting, asking for Lord Thero.

Thero sprang to his feet and ran for the road. Micum followed and saw a horseman in uniform rein in, holding something in his arms. Thero reached up and carefully took the large bundle. Micum reached him and saw that it was Mika, white-faced and unconscious, but breathing.

“Found him in the oracle’s cave, my lord,” the horseman told Thero. “Watch his arm, it’s broken.”

“Illior’s Light, again?” Thero gasped as he and Micum strode for Thero’s tent. “He’s in shock. We’ve got to get him warm. Micum, would you bring the healer?”

“Of course!”

By the time he returned with the drysian and her assistant, Thero had Mika laid out on one of the cots, his broken arm positioned on a pillow at his side.

“Maker’s Mercy, what’s happened to him this time?” the drysian exclaimed, kneeling by the bed to examine Mika’s arm. “This is a worse break than last time. Both bones are snapped.”

“Can you set it?” asked Thero.

“Of course, my lord, but the one that was broken before may not ever be quite straight. I’ll do my best.”

Micum stood with Thero on the other side of the cot while she went about setting the bones. As she pulled and twisted to join them, however, Mika woke with a scream of pain and tried to struggle away. Micum caught the boy by the shoulders and held him down. Thero got Mika’s thrashing head between his hands and murmured a spell. The boy’s eyes fluttered closed and he went still, but as he went to sleep, he mumbled something.

“What did he say?” asked Micum.

Thero looked up with new, fierce hope in his eyes. “He said ‘Klia is alive.’ ”

MICUM and Thero stayed by Mika’s bed through the night.

“What do you think happened to his other one?” whispered Micum as he watched the wizard make another amulet for the boy. “I can’t imagine he’d take it off willingly.”

“I’m sure he wouldn’t.” Thero let the metal cool, then tied it securely around Mika’s neck.

The boy woke just before dawn. “Master!” Mika whispered, looking up at Thero with relief and adoration that made Micum’s heart ache.

“I’m so glad you’re back,” said Thero, and Micum was sure he saw the glitter of tears in the wizard’s eyes.

“I was with Klia and she said she loves you and I was to run away if only one of us could get out,” said Mika, clutching Thero’s sleeve. “She said it was my duty to Skala. I have so much to tell you, Master, and I had a dream—”

“Slow down,” Thero soothed, stroking the boy’s forehead. “One thing at a time. Klia’s alive?”

“Yes, she’s with a lady dyrmagnos named Rhazat.”

Micum rested a hand on the hilt of his sword; this confirmed their worst fears, and now she had a name.

“Is Klia hurt?” asked Thero.

Mika shook his head. “She said Rhazat can’t kill her because she needs her to break the thing in the cave.”

“What sort of thing?”

“It’s gold with a stone in the middle that glows.”

“You were right,” Micum murmured.

“That’s a Great Seal, Mika. Why did she think Klia could break it?” asked Thero.

“I think because Klia’s related to the last Hierophant, a woman called Nhandi. Klia thinks that’s who made the seal and put the dyrmagnos in the other place.”

“Illior’s Light! But Klia didn’t break the seal.”

Mika’s lips trembled. “She wouldn’t because it was her duty to Skala. So she had to let—” Tears slid down both cheeks. “Rhazat broke my arm again, to make her, and was going to put a dra’gorgos in me.”

“But she didn’t. What happened?”

“Because the red came, Master,” Mika whispered, as if expecting a remonstrance. “It was a bad red, and I woke up in the deep, wet cave Seregil and Alec told us about and crawled up out of it to the next one. Did you find me?”

“No. One of the guards there brought you to me. You said you have a lot to tell me?”

Mika nodded. “Klia told me things to tell you. We were in a town with a tower, called Zikara. Rhazat claims she’s a queen but she’s really a dyrmagnos who kisses people to kill them.”

“Kisses them?”

“That’s what Klia said. Rhazat doesn’t look how she really is but mirrors show what she looks like. I didn’t get pulled into the other plane, either, I just was there all of a sudden. Our amulets didn’t work there, because a dra’gorgos took mine, and later another one caught us and carried us to the cave, the one on her side.” He frowned, trying to remember more. “She can’t touch gold and Lady Zella has a dra’gorgos in her.”

“Damnation, Seregil is with her!” Micum exclaimed. “I’ve got to go let him know.”

“A moment,” said Thero, laying a hand on his arm. “Let’s hear what else Mika can tell us, then you can carry the news to Seregil. Mika, is there anything else you remember?”

“Yes, Master. When Klia and I were in that other cave with Rhazat, I heard a voice in my head, just before the red came. It said something like ‘eshrlee.’ ”

“Are you sure that’s what it was?”

“No, Master, but it was like that, I’m sure.”

“Does that mean something?” asked Micum.

Thero shook his head.

“Anyway,” Mika went on, “when I was in the oracle’s caves on this plane I was really, really tired so I sat on a little stool in the cave with the light and I had a dream. I saw Menosi the way it was when people lived here. It was a festival day and Rhazat and an Aurënfaie man were coming out of the palace and people were cheering. I don’t know why, since she’s a bad person, but the people seemed to love her. She and the Aurënfaie man rode away on white horses and Rhazat said that word to me again—‘Eshrlee.’ ”

“Did you hear anyone say the name Khazireen?” asked Thero.

“No, Master. I couldn’t understand what anyone was saying. It was just a lot of yelling.”

“May I touch your mind?”

“Of course, Master.” Mika closed his eyes.

Thero gently touched the boy’s brow and his face lit up. “It’s him. You saw Khazireen and the dyrmagnos. Well done, Mika! You’ve brought us very important information. It’s going to help us save Klia. Did she say what the dyrmagnos really looks like?”

“Just that she’s very ugly.”

“That pretty much defines a dyrmagnos,” said Micum. “Is there anything else, Mika?”

“I don’t think so.”

Micum patted the boy’s knee through the blanket. “Well done, indeed. You’re a nightrunner now, the youngest one ever.”

“We’ll see about that later,” said Thero. “One last thing, Mika. You said the amulets didn’t work, but your magic did?”

“Sort of, Master. I tried to do a few spells to show the dyrmagnos when she told me to, but I couldn’t. It was just the red that came out at the end, and you know I can’t make that happen. It just does.”

“I know, and that’s also very important information. You may well have done something that I can’t. And it may be how you got back here. Are you hungry?”

Mika nodded.

“I’ll send for some food. Micum, come out with me?”

Micum gave Mika a parting smile and followed the wizard outside.

“We have to tell Seregil about Zella quickly,” said Micum. “Are you going to contact him?”

“Yes.” Thero summoned a tiny blue message sphere on the tip of his index finger and spoke to it. “Seregil, Mika is back with information. Have you found what I sent you for? Beware of Lady Zella. She’s possessed by a dra’gorgos.” He flicked his finger and the light whizzed away. A moment later it reappeared, floating in front of Thero’s face. He touched it and listened to something Micum couldn’t hear.

“He has the arm ring, and Zella’s dead,” said Thero, looking grim. “He says he needs you to meet him at the governor’s house as soon as you can.”

“Good. Now we just need for Alec to show up. Then the four of us—” He paused a moment. “Thero, does it strike you at all that there are four of us working together on this?”

“Not really. Why?”

Micum smoothed his thumb and forefinger over his long moustache. “When we went up against Seria—”

Thero held up a hand in a warding sign.

“The one we called the Eater of Death, then. Nysander told us the prophecy of the Four: the Unseen Guide, which was Seregil; the Vanguard, which was me; the Shaft—Alec; and the Guardian—Nysander. And here we are, Seregil, Alec, me, and Nysander’s successor, about to fight a dyrmagnos, like we did then.”

“Hmm. Interesting, but I don’t think we’re in any shape to take on a god again.”

“Who’s taking on a god?” Alec asked, striding out from between two tents.

“There you are!” Thero greeted him with obvious relief. “It looks like you managed not to get yourself hurt for once. Where did you come out this time?”

Alec gave him a weary nod. “At the ruins over the ridge. It’s the same town as on the other plane, Thero. The river, the way the town’s laid out—it has to be the same, except that the river is dry now and there’s that round bare spot where the tower should be.”

“How is that possible for it to be two places at once?” asked Micum. “And why would the tower be gone on this side?”

“I don’t know, but I’m certain it is,” Alec replied. “On the other side it’s still intact and people live there, or at least ghosts do. And the woman in red.”

“Her name is Rhazat, and she’s a dyrmagnos, as we feared. And the town is called Zikara.”

“How do you know that?”

“Mika came back last night, too,” Thero explained. “Klia is alive and sent him back with some important information.”

“Thank the Light! We’ll get to her somehow, Thero.”

“Master!” Mika called from the tent.

Thero and the others ducked inside.

“Alec!” Mika exclaimed happily.

“Hello!” He knelt and took the boy’s hand. “How did you get yourself back?”

“I’ll explain later,” Thero said. “Mika, what is it?”

“I remembered something else, something Rhazat said to Klia just before she tried to put a dra’gorgos in me. She was doing it to scare Klia into helping her because I guess Klia had said that Rhazat could kill her but she wouldn’t do what the dyrmagnos wanted. I was really scared and Rhazat had already broken my arm, but she said to Klia, ‘You and your unborn child.’ Is Klia going to have a baby?”

There was a shocked silence, then Thero asked in an unsteady voice, “Are—are you certain that’s what she said, Mika?”

“Yes, Master, on account of I was really surprised. Klia didn’t tell me that when she gave me all the other things to remember. You didn’t know, either?”

“No, I didn’t,” Thero replied faintly, turning away with a hand to his forehead. “How is that possible?”

“Here, before you faint.” Micum drew Thero over to the other cot and sat down beside him.

Thero looked poleaxed. “It’s not possible!”

“Remember what happened to you in Aurënen?” asked Alec. “The dragon bite? Maybe that has something to do with it.”

“Illior’s Light!” Thero murmured. “The Bash’wai—” He was silent for a moment, then said, “The Bash’wai woman told me that my kind would be made whole.”

Micum rested a hand on Thero’s shoulder. “I didn’t want to say anything, since Klia hadn’t, but I thought as much, on the ship, and that day she got sick at the cave.”

“How could you know?” asked Thero.

Micum smiled. “My old gran and auntie were the midwives back in Cavish, so I was around a lot of pregnant women. And I saw Kari through four of her own times, of course. Even a man gets to know the signs. I’ve been thinking Klia has a look about her. Maker’s blessings, Thero.”

“I hope so,” the wizard murmured.

That could be taken a couple of different ways, thought Micum, and left it at that. “I think I’d best go see what Seregil wants.”

“Seregil’s not back yet?” asked Alec.

“He’s still in Deep Harbor,” Micum told him. “He’s fine, but he needs me to meet him there.”

“I’ll go.”

“I’ll need your help today, Alec,” said Thero, sounding a little more like himself. “You know what the town is like in the other plane. Perhaps that can help us find something there as it is now. I’ll explain all that Mika told us on the way.”

“What was that you were saying when I got here about fighting a god?” asked Alec.

“I’ll explain that, too.”

Doctor Kordira was mixing herbs in her dispensary when Seregil stepped in.

“Good morning!” she said with a smile. “How are you doing today?”

“Better, but still sore and in need of some doctoring. Do you have any more of that excellent brandy?”

She laughed. “I do, but it’s a bit early in the day for that.” She took a cup from a shelf, poured something from a large glass jug, and tapped some powder into it, then whisked it together. Coming around the table, she handed it to him. “This should get you back to Menosi with your wits about you.”

“Much obliged.”

He downed the bitter concoction and reached for his purse, but she shook her head. “No need. Consider it a favor for a friend. You did save my life, after all, when Zella—” She shook her head sadly. “I’m still trying to understand that. Come into the back room and let me change your bandages and look at your wounds. With all the traipsing around you’ve insisted on, I want to make certain there’s no infection.”

“I’d appreciate that.”

The back room looked rather like a simple, sparely furnished bedchamber, with a cot and table, several stools, and a chest with many small drawers. From it she took out the materials she needed and saw to his wounds as he sat on one of the stools, stripped to the waist.

“You’ve scabbed up nicely,” she noted as she sponged the scratches on his neck and chest. “I’ll bind you up, but I think after this you can do without the bandages. Now let’s have a look at your poor head.”

Seregil took off the head scarf and let her examine the stitches in his scalp.

“You’re healing well. I’d say your drysian can take the stitches out in a week’s time.” She took a small jar from a shelf. “Here’s a salve that will help you heal faster. Just keep your head covered until then.”

“That was my intention.” Seregil chuckled. “You have no idea how vain I am.”

Bidding her good-bye, he rode off to take a look at “the Point”—which, according to the girl who’d served him breakfast this morning, was one of the local burial grounds. Located on a promontory just east of Deep Harbor, it had been an Aurënfaie slave graveyard; apparently the islanders maintained their own neighborhoods even in death. Asking directions as he went along the harbor road, Seregil found the place: a low spit of land jutting into the sea.

The burial ground was a lonely, untended place. Most of the grave markers were little more than boards with names carved on them, stuck into the ground. He had the place to himself, apart from the gulls circling overhead and a flock of ravens strutting through the long grass between the markers, no doubt hunting for well-fed beetles and worms. It was a large burial ground, and an old one. In places there were no markers at all, but there were long depressions in the ground where the graves had sunk.

Among the newest markers there was a handful of fresh graves and Seregil soon located Markis the workman. Noting the spot, he whispered, “I’ll be back to see you again, tonight, my thieving cousin. Your brother sends his regards.”

He rode back to the governor’s house and found Micum waiting for him in the dining room, having a meal and flirting with the maid.

“Would you like luncheon, Baron?” she asked.

“I would. Whatever Lord Micum is having will be fine.”

Micum watched her go, then raised an eyebrow at Seregil over his plate of roasted vegetables, marrow pudding, and mutton. “You’re looking better.”

“I am, thanks in good measure to our friend the doctor. What news do you have for me?”

“Mika came back last night, and Alec, too.” He told Seregil about Klia and the dyrmagnos, the boy’s dream, and the strange word.

“Eshrlee?”

“He wasn’t certain, but said it sounded like that.”

Seregil thought a moment. “Could it be ‘es rili,’ I wonder?”

“What does that mean?”

“It’s old-dialect Aurënfaie for ‘my skin.’ ”

“What in Bilairy’s name kind of sense does that make?”

“I don’t know, but something in that cave wanted Mika to hear it, something that spoke Aurënfaie. Did he say if it was a man or woman’s voice?”

“No.”

“Hmm. Well, at least we have some actual information to work with. It looks like Nhandi was the one who set the inner seal. Interesting.” He took the arm ring from an inside pocket and handed it to Micum. “This belonged to our dyrmagnos, who was lovers with the Aurënfaie man, Khazireen, and apparently they ruled Menosi at some point, if Mika had a true dream. You know, I’m thinking that maybe the cataclysm that struck Kouros was the dyrmagnos. Didn’t Zella say that Kordira knew something of the island’s history? Perhaps she can fill in a few gaps for us.”

“What’s your opinion of the doctor these days?”

“She’s a very good physician and levelheaded in a crisis. We had a bit of excitement on the way here from Mirror Moon with Lady Zella.”

“So I heard. What happened?”

“From the moment Kordira told me that only Zella had escaped when Klia was taken, I was suspicious.”

“Why leave a witness, unless you wanted the story told?”

“Exactly. And Zella told quite the story, only I couldn’t find a single trace on the road to verify it. Also, why would she go past Mirror Moon afterward and end up under the bridge when she could have found help at the estate? Her tears finally gave her away, though.”

“Her tears?”

“She wept a great deal, especially when I pressed her in the carriage after I’d searched for tracks and didn’t find any. When I handed her a handkerchief, I discovered that her fingers weren’t wet, as they should have been. Considering what Alec told us about the river in the other plane, I had my proof that things weren’t as they should be.”

“What happened?”

“She attacked me, but as soon as she touched the amulet it drove the dra’gorgos from her. Sadly, she didn’t survive the shock of it.”

“That’s a pity, to be sure. What else have you been up to?”

“I talked to a fellow last night whose brother stole this arm ring from the lower cave, and these.” Seregil showed Micum the other pieces he’d gotten from Lemiel. Micum immediately picked out the piece of the rosette.

“This is the seal?”

“What’s left of it. My informant claimed his brother hacked it up for trade, but since he died soon after the theft, I suspect it was the surviving brother who did that. He claimed to know nothing about the black opal. But guess what the younger brother died of—a ‘flux of the gut,’ complete with bloody black vomit and shit.”

Micum sighed and pushed his plate away. “So would it be fair to say that you invited me down here for a little grave robbing?”

Seregil gave him that familiar crooked grin that seldom boded well. “If you found the greatest treasure you could imagine, a beautiful glowing precious stone, where on your person would you hide it in case you were searched?”

“I can only think of two sure places.”

“And I daresay he’d have shat it out, but it might have stayed in his belly.”

“When did he die?”

“Shortly after Toneus.”

Micum grimaced. “We’d better bring along some vinegar and handkerchiefs in that case.”

“First we’ll speak with Kordira.”

Kordira’s assistant directed them upstairs, where they found the doctor working at the tea table, sewing herbs into little muslin bundles.

“Hello, Micum. Back so soon, Seregil?” she said, setting her work aside. She seemed to have recovered from the shock of Zella’s death. “Do you need another draught?”

“No, just some conversation, if you have a moment.”

“Of course. Please, take a seat. I’ll call for tea.”

“That’s not necessary. We won’t keep you long,” said Seregil.

“Well then, what can I do for you?”

“When we first came to Kouros, Lady Zella mentioned that you’ve made a study of the island’s history.”

“Yes, back in Plenimar, in the archives at Benshâl, and what I could glean from legends here. What would you like to know?”

“Do you know anything about Nhandi the Wise?”

“Ah, the last of her line. Rather a tragic story, that, though there’s not much to it. It’s said she had an Aurënfaie wizard as her lover, who betrayed her and was executed.”

“A man named Khazireen?”

“I don’t know his name. It’s possible it was struck from the records due to his crime.”

“How did he betray her? Was it with another woman?”

She shook her head. “I’m sorry, but that’s all I know.”

“Could Nhandi have been a wizard?”

“I found no evidence of that, though there certainly were human wizards by then.”

“What about the event that struck the island, the cataclysm?”

“There is one eyewitness account in the archives that tells of a black wave that rolled over Kouros from out of the sky about the same time that Nhandi disappeared. Thousands died, apparently. I think it must have been a massive tidal wave.”

“I’ve never heard of any grave for the Hierophant.”

“Nor would you, as there isn’t one.”

“Her body wasn’t found?”

She spread her hands. “That’s all I know.”

“Do you know what she looked like?” asked Micum.

Kordira smiled. “In the early records, she’s referred to as Nhandi the Lovely. Supposedly she had black hair and blue eyes and was very beautiful.”

“Black hair?”

“I’d be surprised if she didn’t. We Plenimarans didn’t intermarry much with other peoples, the way the Skalans and Mycenians have over the years. If you want to know what the Hierophants and their people looked like, look to us.”

“What about tales of a dyrmagnos?” asked Micum.

Kordira raised a brow at that. “You know of such things?”

“Sadly, yes.”

“Well, there aren’t any tales of them here, just a few witches. One of them was said to have been the first to bring the worship of the Dark One to these lands.” She paused and made a warding sign.

“The singular god?” asked Seregil. “The one known sometimes as the Eater of Death?”

“Yes, that’s the one,” she replied, making the sign again. “May we speak of something else? That’s a sore topic for us Plenimarans, a burden we bear.”

“Of course,” said Seregil. “Do you know where the witch came from?”

“From ‘across the water,’ according to the account I read. She was not referred to by name, probably to avoid bad luck. Supposedly she trained some of the local wizards in necromancy, though.”

“What happened to her?” asked Micum.

Kordira shrugged. “I don’t know. She’s best forgotten, wouldn’t you say? Kouros is peaceful and beautiful. No witches here anymore.”

“Let’s hope not,” said Seregil. “I was wondering, what do you make of people disappearing around Menosi since the death of the previous governor?”

“I’d say that’s fairly obvious,” she replied.

“How so?”

“It’s what everyone in Deep Harbor believes: whatever killed Toneus and Seria is still there, taking more lives. Think of poor Lady Zella. What became of her remains, Seregil?”

“I had them burned, and they’ll be sent back to her family in Skala.”

“I’m glad. She was a dear friend and deserved a far better end than she got in life.”

“She certainly did,” said Seregil.

“And poor Princess Klia, too,” Kordira said, and suddenly Seregil realized she was measuring his response. As far as she knew, Klia was dead.

He dropped his face into his hands and let out a shuddering breath. “Yes. Klia.”

He felt Micum’s big hand on his shoulder as his friend said, “There now, Seregil. We may find her yet. Don’t despair.”

Seregil rose to go. “Thank you, Kordira. You’ve been very helpful.”

“I’m not sure how. That’s all just ancient history.”

“You never know what will prove useful,” said Micum.

Leaving Kordira’s shop, Seregil went into a nearby jeweler’s shop and asked after local goldsmiths.

“There are quite a lot of them,” the shopkeeper replied. “But if you want the best, I’d say it would be Mistress Gora.” He lifted a golden necklace from a velvet pillow on a shelf behind the counter. “This is her work.”

“Very nice,” said Seregil.

“Her shop is in Gate House Street, next to the Red Cloud refinery. That’s the one closest to here.”

That was the one near Lemiel’s cottage and the White Crow. He and Micum rode to Gate House Street, which was lined with artisans’ shops. Most of the work on display in the shop windows was second-rate, but Mistress Gora’s wares showed passable skill. Stepping inside, Seregil glanced over the trays of jewelry and nodded. This would have to do. The workshop was behind the shop, and through a curtained doorway they could hear the musical rhythm of tiny hammers on precious metals and a woman singing.

“How do you do, gentlemen?” said a buxom blond woman. Her face was ruddy, and a black patch covered her left eye. The leather apron over her plain woolen gown was spattered with traces of gold. “Baron Seregil of Mirror Moon, isn’t it?”

“My fame precedes me,” he said with a self-deprecating smile.

“There’s only one Aurënfaie lord on the island that I know of,” she replied, with no trace of ire. “Are you looking for something in particular?”

“I am. I have a custom piece I need to have made and you were highly recommended, Mistress Gora.”

“Well, that’s nice to hear! What did you have in mind?”

Seregil took out a folded parchment and smoothed it out on the countertop. Using the fragment of the rosette he’d gotten from Lemiel, he’d drawn up what it had looked like, including the indentation in which the black opal would fit. The side view showed the spike of gold that would be fixed in stone.

“Interesting,” she said, studying it. “You’re a good draftsman, my lord, but what is this supposed to be?”

“A decoration for a piece of furniture. It’s a family heirloom and the decoration was pried off while it was being transported here. Only a small piece was recovered.” He took out the fragment and placed it on the drawing. “I thought this would give you a clearer idea of the design. Also, I’d like to have this melted and used to make the new one. It’s sentimental of me, I know, but I’d like to think it will make the replacement more authentic.”

“Not a problem, my lord. How soon do you need it?”

“First thing tomorrow morning,” he replied.

“Tomorrow? I don’t know—”

Seregil took out a fat purse of gold and dropped it on the counter. “I realize it’s an imposition, but it’s quite crucial that I have it by then. I’ll pay for the inconvenience, of course.”

“Fair enough. Where’s the stone that goes in it?”

“Stolen as well. I’ve sent to Aurënen for a replacement. I’ll bring it back to you as soon as it gets here.”

“Then why do you need the setting so soon, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“That’s a private matter. May I count on your discretion?”

“Of course, my lord. Come back in the morning and I’ll have it ready for you.”

“What now?” asked Micum when they were in the street again.

“We’ll ride for the camp at first light.”

Micum said nothing during the ride back to the governor’s house, but Seregil could tell that something was brewing in his friend’s head. It wasn’t until they were sorting through the items in the museum room again that he finally spoke his mind.

“Supposing Thero can put the seal together with the stone and this new gold piece, I can’t see any use for it but sealing up the other plane again. And if we can’t get Klia out, then she’ll be shut away forever.”

“You heard what Mika said. Duty is all to her, and it has to be for us, too. Klia made that very clear. Whatever this Rhazat is, we can’t unleash her on the world again.”

“So you’re all right with that? Sealing Klia away with her forever?”

“No, I’m not! Which is why we’re going to do whatever it takes to get her back.”

“I know that. But if it does come to that, do you think Thero is capable of sealing her in?”

“I honestly don’t know, Micum. I really don’t. What if it’s Alec in there, in the end? What if it was your Beka?” He reached to run his fingers back through his hair and stopped himself just in time. Instead he slammed his fist against the wall beside him, making the objects on the shelf below jump. “We’ve just got to keep going, don’t we?”

Alec and Thero rode for Zikara with Captain Brescia and a decuria of riders for support. Everyone had been duly warned about the dangers there, although word had already spread after the last disastrous visit. Ravens still ruled there, croaking and watching them with avid black eyes from the rubble.

“Show me how you entered the town,” said Thero as they sat their horses beside the dry riverbed.

“This way.” Alec led him and the riders around the town to where the back gate of the palisade had been, then dismounted. There were faint traces of a street and he followed it, leading the others carefully as he looked for familiar landmarks among the rubble. He could just make out a marketplace, and imagined houses and tenements standing where their foundations still could be seen.

Following a street that looked familiar, he came to the edge of the bare stretch of ground and could make out some of the paving stones of the courtyard sticking out of the ground at its edge.

“How can this be the same place, but the tower not be here, Thero?”

“You’re sure it is the same place?”

“Yes.”

Thero stood in thought for some time while Alec waited, listening to the ravens muttering among themselves.

“Perhaps I’ve been wrong calling the other place a plane,” Thero said at last. “Maybe it’s more about time—a shard of time split off from the world and caught like a leaf in an eddy.”

“Except for the tower.”

“Yes, except for that.”

“You mean when I go there, I’m somehow going back to the time when this place was inhabited and the tower was here?”

“You’re the one who’s been there. What do you think?”

Alec turned slowly, looking around. “It’s the same place, that’s certain. But it’s so different on the other side. There’s day and night, but no sun or stars there that you can see. The sky is always grey. And like I told you, the people must be ghosts. There was no sign of food, little color. It’s all drab and—it’s like the life has been sucked out of everything.”

“Interesting. According to what Mika told us, the dyrmagnos extracts the life essence of her victims with a kiss. If the people who lived here were sealed away with her, then she must have fed on them until there was no one left to devour.”

“And when everyone was dead? How could she live?”

“I don’t know, but it seems she did.” Thero plucked absently at his beard. “A thousand years. Perhaps she slept, like a caterpillar in a cocoon or a frog in winter mud, and woke when the outer seal was disturbed. That’s when people started going missing. If she’s feeding again, then she’s growing stronger.”

“But all those centuries she couldn’t feed, wouldn’t she have grown weak?”

“That’s a possibility. Which means the longer it takes for us to confront her, the stronger she becomes.” He looked around, then walked to the center of the barren ground and sat down there. Taking out a familiar linen handkerchief, he held it and closed his eyes and sat motionless for some time. After a few minutes he put it away and lay down on his back with his arms outstretched.

Alec sat on a block of stone, watching over him and listening to the ravens. At last the wizard rose, dusted himself off, and motioned for Alec to join him.

“Anything?” asked Alec.

Thero turned so the soldiers couldn’t see his face and said softly, “No, and that’s interesting.”

“Oh?”

“I’m not surprised that I couldn’t feel any sign of Klia. But when I lay on the ground and tried to absorb impressions of what had been there in the past, there was nothing.”

“The tower’s gone.”

“No, I mean there was no trace of anything ever been here. It’s like someone tore the tower out of time like a rotten tooth and nothing has been here since.”

“But the town is on the other side, too. How can it be both places?”

“I don’t know, Alec. On the other plane the tower and town are both intact, perhaps just as they were the day they were sealed away. Only the tower really moved, if that’s an accurate description of what happened. There is food and water there, according to Mika. Only there, not in the town, as far as you saw?”

“That’s right. Like I said, I didn’t so much as smell a cooking fire.”

“Very strange. It’s like a memory, or a ghost, of the town exists over there, together with the ghosts of its inhabitants.”

“Where did they die, then? Here or there?”

“If that many people perished at once, there would be at least some traces of their bones among the rubble. I did a seeking for those, as well. They’re not here. Only a few animal bones, and not as many of those as you’d expect.”

“Even so, other things must have happened here since that you could feel?”

“Apparently not. The land here is just—dead. Which is significant. Something is still at work here, after all these centuries.”

“If Klia did break the seal on her side, do you think the tower would come back?”

“Perhaps, and if so, then nobody better get in the way of it.”

Alec looked around the desolate town, thinking. “Thero, if that other place is in another time, rather than another plane, then why doesn’t your magic work there and the dyrmagnos’s does?”

“An excellent question. The only thing I can think of right now is that the place is both a different plane and a different time, one that predates Third Orëska magic. In that time and place, my magic did not exist, but hers did and does.”

“But you’re not certain of that.”

“How can I be?”

Alec rubbed his forehead. “All this is giving me a headache.”

Thero sighed. “Me, too.”

Seregil and Micum waited until well after sundown, then changed into dark clothing and found a spade. The governor’s watchmen were not paid to question noble guests and gave them no more challenge than some curious stares after Micum asked them for directions to a good whorehouse.

There was a half-moon in the sky and it lit their way as they rode along the waterfront and out to the burial ground.

“I’ve never liked these places,” Micum said as they dismounted on the edge of it. “How do the souls get free if you don’t burn the bodies?”

Seregil shouldered the spade. “Apparently they do. Come on, our thief is over this way.”

“I just hope you’re right. This is my least favorite sort of work.”

At the grave they both tied vinegar-soaked cloths across their noses and mouth and Micum took charge of the spade and started digging. The sandy soil moved easily, and fortunately for them the sexton here didn’t bother to bury his charges very deep. A few feet down the stench of decay wafted up and grew stronger as Micum unearthed the shroud-wrapped body. Even the vinegar masks didn’t help much.

“There you go,” Micum grunted, climbing out of the grave. “He’s all yours from here.”

Seregil stepped gingerly down, careful not to tread on the putrid body. The handkerchief was definitely nowhere near enough under these circumstances, and he held his breath as he cut through the cheap muslin with a dagger and exposed the bloated belly of the corpse.

He stood up and caught a fresh breath. “You’d better stand back,” he warned.

Bending down again, he inserted the tip of the dagger just below the breastbone, keeping as far back as he could while doing so, and punctured the corpse. As expected, foul gases and matter shot up.

“Bilairy’s Balls, that’s vile!” Micum swore.

Seregil wasn’t about to open his mouth to agree and risk breathing in any more than he had to of the stench. As he’d hoped, however, the dead man’s belly slowly deflated as the fetid humors escaped.

With that precaution out of the way, Seregil began the equally unpleasant task of finding and cutting open the stomach. It was a nasty, slimy, noxious job, but in the end he had his reward. A soft glow was visible through the rotted viscera and he used the dagger to lift it out—it was the black opal, crosshatched with incised spells, just as Alec had described.

Wrapping it thickly in a square of chamois, he pocketed it then wiped his hands and knife on the grass. Micum reburied the body.

“That was a good night’s work,” Micum said when he was done.

“If I don’t wash my hands and face I’m going to die,” Seregil said, trying not to gag.

They walked down to the water and Seregil stripped off coat and shirt and washed his arms up to the shoulder with handfuls of wet gravel, then dunked his head in the water, heedless of the stitches. When he was reasonably sure that he’d taken care of any nastiness he squeezed the water from his hair, lay back on the gravel above the waterline, and tried not to think about anything but the stars overhead.

“Are you not going to die now?” Micum asked, scrubbing his hands in the water.

“I think so, but I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to eat again.”

Micum regarded him with a grin. “That hairstyle of yours reminds me of some of the rough characters we fought up in the Wolf Fang Pass years back. Remember them? They carried off that look well, but you don’t.”

Seregil flipped him a rude gesture, then accepted Micum’s hand and let him help him onto his feet.

“What about the stone?” asked Micum. “Are you going to wash it?”

“No, I’m not touching it again, after what happened to that poor bastard I just cut it from. Thero will know what to do with it. I hope.”

RHAZAT’S patience and hospitality had worn thin after Mika disappeared in a blaze of red light and force that had knocked both of them across the cave. Rhazat had been the first to recover. Pulling Klia up by her hair, she’d screamed at her, demanding to know what magic she’d used to make the child disappear.

“Illior’s love, I expect.” Klia laughed, relieved beyond measure. Either Mika had gone back to their own plane, or he was dead and beyond the dyrmagnos’s torments.

Rhazat dragged her back to the glowing stone. “Break it!” she hissed, showing her true colors at last, if not her true face. “Break it or I will have my monsters tear the child from your womb.”

“That won’t make me comply,” Klia replied, fighting down her terror at the prospect. “Kill us both now and be done with it. Stay here forever and rot!”

With a snarl of rage, the dyrmagnos summoned a single dra’gorgos, which bore Klia back to the tower and dumped her at Rhazat’s feet outside the dining room. The dyrmagnos pointed down the corridor.

“I think, my dear, that it’s time you did a bit of cooking.”

She pushed Klia, propelling her down the corridor to a door she hadn’t seen before, one that hadn’t been there when she’d searched, she was certain. Throwing it open, Rhazat shoved her in and slammed it shut behind her, leaving Klia alone in an archaic kitchen—a small, windowless room with a single table and a green fire leaping on the hearth of a huge stone fireplace. As Klia’s eyes adjusted to the dimness, she saw that there were haunches of meat hanging from hooks in the ceiling beams. But there was something odd about them: the shapes.

Klia staggered back until she slammed into the door. The haunches were arms and legs. Sedge’s head regarded her with dead eyes from a trencher on the table.

Falling to her hands and knees, Klia vomited up everything left in her stomach, then kept retching until there was nothing but bile to come up. “Illior—Sakor—”

How could she pray with human meat stuck in her teeth?

A nasty chuckle came from the shadows of a corner. Rhazat stepped out into the unnatural light. “Would you like me to tell you who you had for breakfast, my dear?”

“No—please, no.” Klia crawled away from the mess and pulled herself up by the table.

“You’re alive and well fed. Didn’t I serve you your favorite dishes, the ones you wished to see? Wishes are powerful things.”

“Why?”

“What else was I supposed to do, send Zella into Deep Harbor with a market basket? I only eat their lives. I have no use for the bodies. But waste not, want not, eh?”

Klia stood gripping the edge of the table, rocked and sickened by this revelation.

“I’ve been simply aching to eat your life, Klia,” Rhazat said, advancing on her. “How sweet it will taste, so wonderfully tainted. However will you live with the knowledge?”

“You’ve sealed my fate, you know. And your own,” Klia gritted out. “I’ll never eat another mouthful in this place.”

Rhazat laughed merrily at that, the mask firmly back in place. “You are dramatic, and so easily gulled. Look again, Klia, at our larder.”

The arms and legs were haunches of meat again, sheep by the look of them, and a skinned sheep’s head lay in the trencher where Sedge’s head had been.

“You must allow me my little amusements. Of course, it’s a riddle. Which illusion is the real one?” Rhazat opened the kitchen door and let her back into the corridor, then slipped her arm through Klia’s and led her upstairs to Klia’s bedchamber.

“Good night, my dear,” Rhazat said, all sweetness now. “Pleasant dreams.”

Klia went into her room and closed the door, then stood there with a hand over her mouth, trying to blot out the memory of that kitchen. Which is the real one?

She went to the bed and lay down for no better reason than she couldn’t think of anything else to do. Something was different here, too, though it took a moment to figure it out. The drapery at the window was faded, and she could see where bits of it had rotted away in the sun. The coverlet she lay on was threadbare, the sheets full of holes. The carpet was missing, the stone floor bare.

Is this an illusion, too? she wondered. Was she being punished with poor accommodations? It seemed petty and halfhearted revenge at best.

She and Mika had taken everything with them when they’d tried to escape. There was no sign that he’d ever been here. For the first time since she’d been trapped in this hell, Klia felt truly alone. She gave way to despair for a brief moment, then sat up and wiped her eyes. It didn’t matter if she was alone or not; she still had a duty to destroy her enemy.

She hadn’t taken off her gorget since the day she’d used it as a mirror to see Rhazat’s true form. Unhooking the chain, she turned it over in her hands: carved side, smooth side, carved side, smooth side … She ran a thumb along its curved edges. Rhazat couldn’t touch it. If a harmless gold object caused her distress, then what would a golden blade do to her?

Going to the window, she opened it and began rubbing the curved outer edge of the gorget on the angle of the stone sill, using it like a whetstone. If it didn’t work on Rhazat, she could always use it on herself.

Seregil and Micum arrived two days after Micum had gone, riding into camp as the sun was dipping behind the glistening peak of Mount Erali.

“Where have you been?” Alec demanded, walking with them to Thero’s tent.

“I’m feeling much better, thank you.” Seregil threw an arm around Alec’s shoulders. He was sporting another green head scarf today. With that covering his shaved pate, he looked quite well.

“Any news here?” Micum asked.

“Mika’s doing well, and we’ve been busy.” Alec told them of the fruitless search in the palace, and what they’d discovered in Zikara.

Thero was sitting at the desk when they came in, and Mika was leaning on it, watching his master work on another amulet.

Seregil took out the golden seal Gora had made and placed it on the desk in front of Thero, then put the rolled chamois containing the stone beside it.

“Oh, and this, too.” Seregil presented him with the golden arm ring.

Thero unwrapped the black opal and just sat there staring at it for a moment. “How?”

“We’re on an island, and Deep Harbor is the only city. I took my chances there and it paid off. The workman who stole the seal swallowed the stone to conceal it, and it killed him. Most of the gold part had been hacked away to pawn, but there was a piece left and I had the goldsmith incorporate it in this new casting. I thought it might help.”

“You are brilliant, both of you.”

“It was Seregil who figured it out. I just did the digging,” said Micum.

Mika reached for the stone, but Thero caught his hand. “It’s dangerous,” he warned. “Fetch me the medium-sized toolbox, please.”

Mika opened one of the large chests Thero had brought and returned with what looked like a workman’s caddy. Thero took out a large forceps and carefully picked up the stone to examine it. “Should I ask what this dark matter is caught in the carving?”

“Let’s just say it needs a good wash,” said Micum.

Thero rinsed it in a bowl of water, then picked up the rosette and set the stone into the space at the center. It fit. Thero covered it with his hand for a moment, and when he took it away the stone was perfectly beveled into the gold. He set it down and regarded it pensively. “Thank you both. This is incredibly powerful. But—”

“But what?” asked Micum.

“Mika, please go to the fire circle and have your supper. Stay there until I send for you.”

“But Master—”

“Go on now.”

As soon as Mika was gone, Thero cast a silencing spell on the tent, so that no one outside could hear their conversation.

“So what’s the ‘but’?” asked Seregil.

“Alec and I have done some research while you were gone, and have been talking things over. The boundary between our plane and Rhazat’s is permeable in a very limited way. Alec and Mika can get through, but I can’t. We tried and failed. As I told you earlier, Nysander refused to teach me any magic that would allow me to cross. Klia and Rhazat’s other prisoners were brought through by dra’gorgos controlled by the dyrmagnos.”

“She possessed Zella with one, as well,” said Seregil. “The poor woman was a puppet, for all intents and purposes, and a spy.”

He explained what had happened in the carriage.

“Are you sure it was a dra’gorgos and not a demon?” asked Alec.

“If it had been a demon I wouldn’t be standing here now. She attacked me, but when she touched the amulet Thero made, it drove the dra’gorgos from her and it disappeared.”

“And Kordira witnessed all this?” said Thero.

“Yes. It couldn’t be helped. For what it’s worth, she kept a remarkably cool head about it, and was very helpful.”

“I see. How much did you tell her?”

“Nothing, really. She already knew what a dra’gorgos was. I did get some history from her, though. Nhandi was the last Hierophant, and supposedly the island was struck with a huge black wave that killed thousands. Kordira’s theory is that it was a gigantic tidal wave. Anyway, Nhandi had an Aurënfaie lover, a wizard, who somehow betrayed her and was executed. Which may explain the skull in the cave.”

“But not the vision I had,” said Thero. “I saw Rhazat with the man she called Khazireen in the cave where the seal was. If he was her accomplice, then why wasn’t he sealed up with her?”

“Maybe someone killed him before they sealed her in,” said Alec.

Thero nodded. “Punishment for his perfidy. Mika had a vision of the two of them being celebrated in Menosi. It seems she might have ruled for some time with him as consort.”

“And now he’s caught yearning for his lost Black Pearl for all eternity,” said Micum.

“His lost Black Pearl—Black Pearl, Black Pearl.” Seregil paced across the tent and back. “I asked Kordira what Nhandi had looked like. She was also called Nhandi the Lovely and Kordira’s theory is that Nhandi would have looked like our modern-day Plenimarans, since they are direct descendants who didn’t mix blood much. Her exact words were, ‘If you want to know what the Hierophants and their people looked like, look to us.’ ”

“Rhazat looks a lot like Kordira,” said Alec.

“Either of whom would be worthy of the love name Black Pearl,” Seregil pointed out. “Micum told me about the strange word Mika heard in the cave when Rhazat was torturing him.”

“Eshrlee,” said Thero.

“No, Thero, it’s es rili, old Aurënfaie for ‘my skin.’ ”

“What does that mean?” asked Alec.

“I don’t know.” Thero picked up the golden arm ring. “I’m hoping this can tell us something, if anything is left after so many years.”

He sat down cross-legged on the carpet and took out his crystal wand. Holding it and the arm ring between his joined palms, he closed his eyes and went completely still. Seregil could hardly see him breathe.

The arm ring was made from gold mined in the north of Kouros and cast by an Aurënfaie woman with grey eyes and silver hair. It was given to Nhandi, daughter of Kala, by her lover, Khazireen í Alos, on the occasion of her twentieth birthday. Nhandi was a beautiful young woman with black hair and eyes the color of the evening sky. She wore it for 414 days.

She took it off and gave it to Khazireen after they made love in the Cave of the Pictures, after they’d discovered Rhazat’s tunnel into the fourth cave, the way she’d been coming and going to ravage the populace of Menosi. The entrance of the tunnel had been cloaked with magic, but Khazireen had discovered and unmasked it. It was a remarkable work of engineering, running under the ridge to the hillside overlooking Zikara.

Khazireen embraced her desperately and gave her the last of a thousand kisses. Holding the arm ring to his heart with his right hand, weeping, he stood facing his beloved as she stood in the mouth of the fourth cave, facing him. They both raised their left hands, each holding a Seal of Holding, each of which was mounted on a golden spike. Together they recited the spell—Saka dosthey arnatha somay—then touched the ends of the golden spikes together. Khazireen watched in despair as the cave behind Nhandi disappeared, replaced by an opening into a dead, grey vista.

The island shook to its very foundations, knocking him to his knees. Even here, deep in the ground, he could hear thunder rending the fabric of the world. It went on and on, then suddenly—silence.

He stood alone, facing the stone wall of the cave, where the Stone of Holding glowed in its golden setting among the archaic dancing figures in black. Khazireen screamed his agony, then called out “Erísmai, Nhandi, Nölienai talía!” Still clutching the arm ring, he knelt before the seal, drew a silver dagger, and slit his throat. The arm ring slipped from his fingers as he died …

Thero let out a bloodcurdling scream and cried out “Erísmai, Nhandi, Nölienai talía!” then curled in on himself and began to sob, horrible, raw, ragged cries, as if grief were ripping out his very soul. The arm ring fell from his fingers to the carpet.

As the others stood in shocked silence, Seregil knelt beside Thero and put an arm around the wizard’s heaving shoulders. No one said a word, and in time the sobs tapered off to choking gasps.

“What did you see?” asked Seregil.

Thero wiped his face on his sleeve, fighting for self-control. “I—I can’t, not all of it.” Alec offered him a cup of water and Thero downed it in two gulps and held out the cup for more. Gulping that down, he rested his head in his hands.

“The woman you saw, Alec—I believe it was the spirit of Hierophant Nhandi. The dyrmagnos has taken on her appearance.”

Seregil remained by Thero. “ ‘My skin,’ she said to Mika. What if it wasn’t Rhazat who showed Alec the seal? What if it was Nhandi, trying to make herself known?”

“What’s skin got to do with it, though?” asked Alec.

“The dyrmagnos may be wearing Nhandi’s skin to alter her appearance,” rasped Thero. “That would explain why she can’t allow her reflection to be seen. You can’t deceive a mirror.”

“So the person Mika heard say ‘es rili’ must have been Nhandi,” said Micum.

Seregil nodded. “Still fighting after all these centuries, any way she can. What an incredible woman she must have been in life.”

“So whose lover was Khazireen?” asked Alec.

Thero shuddered again and wiped his eyes. “Khazireen was Nhandi’s lover, not Rhazat’s. There’s a fourth cave, or rather, a cave and a tunnel from the other side of the ridge. She stood in the fourth cave, and he in the third—he and Nhandi performed the spell of sealing that created the plane to trap the dyrmagnos. He—he had to seal her in.” He drew a shuddering breath. “I heard and felt the cataclysm as the plane came into being. She went willingly, and Khazireen killed himself as soon as it was done.”

“That explains why he’s still there. But how did his skull end up on that pillar?” asked Alec.

“I don’t know. Perhaps whoever sealed the tunnel with the tablet performed that final rite for him.”

“She and all those people were trapped,” said Micum. “Such a tragic sacrifice. How powerful must this Rhazat woman have been for them to go to such lengths?”

“Could you tell where the tunnel went?” asked Seregil.

“No, but it must come out somewhere on the far side of the ridge, near the ruins,” said Thero.

“I’ll ride over there tomorrow and see what I can find,” said Micum.

“I’ve got to get Klia out of there before we use this seal!” said Alec.

“Yes, and you’re the only one who can do it,” said Seregil. “Now that we know the amulets don’t work, though, what protection do you have?”

“Nightrunning, I guess. But I’ve been thinking. It’s not just ghosts we’ve come up against. Besides the dra’gorgos, there are the things that attacked you and Sedge—the demons. What I mean is, the ghosts come from dead people and dra’gorgos come from magic. So where do the demons come from, and why haven’t we ever encountered them before?

Why only here?”

“Perhaps they come from that other plane,” said Micum.

“And yet Alec hasn’t encountered any there,” Thero pointed out. “They have only appeared when a portal appears. I wonder if there’s someplace in between our plane and the other, a sort of middle space that gets opened, as well, and lets them through?”

“What can we do about that?” asked Seregil. “If any of us runs into another one without you there, we’re dead.”

“I can try making a charm against them. I can’t guarantee it will work, but it’s better than nothing. Would someone go and fetch Mika, please?”

Alec nodded and went out.

Thero delved into one of his equipment trunks and returned to the desk with a leather envelope and a stylus made from a small feather. He carefully extracted a thin sheet of silver from the envelope and smoothed it on the surface of the desk. Using the stylus, he inscribed line after line of tiny characters on it, murmuring to himself. When he had filled the sheet, he drew his wand and rolled the foil around it, whispering more magic.

“This is a combination of the protective binding spell and a ward,” he explained as he unrolled it and cut the foil into five narrow strips. “Let me see your amulet, Micum.”

He pulled it from the neck of his coat, and Thero wrapped the foil tightly around the string above the golden amulet. “This should ward off demons.”

“Should,” muttered Seregil as Thero did the same with everyone’s amulet. “I’ve never liked that word.”

“It’s the best I can do.”

Alec returned with the boy, and Thero fixed charms to their amulets.

“Are you sad, Master?” asked Mika as Thero hung the amulet around his neck. “Your eyes are red.”

“I’m worried about Klia,” Thero replied.

“I am, too,” Mika said, and hugged Thero.

The wizard still did not seem completely comfortable with being hugged, but he smiled and patted Mika’s back. “Thank you.”

“We’ll save her, Master.”

“Yes, we will,” he replied, but Seregil heard the doubt and concern in his voice. “Alec, are you up to going in now?”

“Of course. All I need is some food and my sword. I’ll put on those rags I got on the other side and hope they turn back into clothing. If not, I know where to find more.”

“Do you need me to come with you?” asked Mika.

“Not this time,” said Alec. “If I can’t get back then you’ll have to come find me, right?”

Mika nodded.

“Good. You’re very valuable, you know.”

“I just want Klia back.”

“We all do,” Alec replied with a smile. “Look after everyone for me while I’m gone.”

“I will.”

“And I think I’ll try my luck down by the river, where you went through, this time.”

“Just go to the rock,” Mika advised. “That’s where I saw the boy and after that I guess we just got in without me noticing until later.”

Thero and Seregil walked with Alec to the cook’s area and watched as he put a few turnips, some hard-boiled eggs, a loaf of bread, and a skin of water into a sack.

Thero stepped away and returned a moment later with a live chicken flapping as he held it by the legs.

“What’s that for?” asked Alec.

“You couldn’t walk through with me in the palace. I’m curious as to what would happen if you carry something living with you.”

“And if it works, do I have to carry all of you in on my back?”

“One step at a time.” Thero handed Alec the chicken, and he settled it under his arm.

Seregil walked with Alec down to Mika’s rock. From there they wandered up and down the road and riverbank as Alec looked for a portal in the gathering gloom. The first stars were pricking the sky overhead, and the edge of the moon was peeking over the eastern sea.

“Mika got in and out at the same place,” noted Alec as he climbed the small rise overlooking the river.

“You haven’t so far.” Seregil climbed up after him. Far in the distance they could see the twinkle of a watch fire.

“I wonder if those shepherd boys could tell us more about the city?”

“I’ll ride out tomorrow and talk with them again,” said Seregil.

Alec stood atop the ridge, looking around. “I don’t see anything up here. I’m going to try following the riverbank like Mika says he did and then I’m going to go give Thero back his chicken.” The unlucky hen struggled, then tucked her head under her wing.

Seregil chuckled. “You’re an unlikely-looking explorer.”

Alec walked to the riverbank and started downstream. Seregil remained at his side.

“You think you can get in this way?” asked Alec.

“It seems to be different from the portals in the palace. Just thought I’d give it a try.”

Alec shrugged and ambled along the bank beside him. “That was something, wasn’t it, the way Thero reacted to whatever it was that the arm ring showed him? I’ve never seen him like that.”

“I hope we never do again, talí,” Seregil said, putting an arm around Alec’s waist.

“Me, too. And thank you.”

“What for?”

“For not making a fuss about me going back in.”

Seregil just tightened his arm around Alec. Alec didn’t need to know what it cost him to watch him disappear time and again where Seregil could not follow.

Encumbered as he was with bag and bird, Alec leaned his head against Seregil’s for a moment, murmuring, “Aishutal, Seregil talí.”

“I love you, too, beloved Alec.” Seregil was surprised at how tight his throat suddenly felt.

They continued on in silence until the moment when the curve of Seregil’s arm was suddenly empty. Thrown off balance by Alec’s sudden disappearance, he staggered a little, almost tripping over the startled chicken, which hadn’t made the journey after all.

“Damnation!” he snarled, chasing it down the bank as it flapped away. He caught it at last and tucked it under his arm, then went back to Mika’s rock and sat down to keep watch for Alec.

Alec turned around to find Seregil—and the chicken—gone. The road was nothing more than a grassy track along the bank and the stars were gone. He walked up the rise again and looked out over the landscape. In this light it didn’t look much different than it had a few minutes ago with Seregil. Mika’s mute little friend was probably out there, tending his ghostly sheep.

It was too far to walk to Zikara from here, but perhaps he could get a look at Menosi as it had been. He started up the river trail toward where the camp would be, but he hadn’t gone far when the stars were back and Seregil was waving to him from atop the rock. The chicken was on the ground in front of him, head tucked under her wing, apparently unharmed.

“I don’t understand,” said Alec, walking up to join Seregil. “Why is it different here than in the palace?”

“That’s a question for Thero.” Seregil scooped up the sleepy hen and they walked back to camp and Thero’s tent. Micum and Mika were there with the wizard and looked up in surprise as Seregil and Alec came in.

“It didn’t work,” Seregil said, handing Thero the hen. “Alec got in and out like Mika did, but the chicken didn’t.”

“So I see.” Thero examined the bird closely, then gave it to Mika to carry back to the poulterer. “Well, that answers that question. Only a dra’gorgos can drag another living thing across.”

“That doesn’t do us much good,” said Micum, lighting his pipe from the lantern. “If we wear our amulets they can’t touch us, and if we take them off, the monsters kill us.”

“Precisely.” Thero sighed. “So there is a portal by the river.”

“There is, but it’s different,” Alec told him. “I didn’t see a portal, I was just suddenly on the other side, and it was the same place, rather than transporting me like the portals in the palace do. I just walked in and back out again. I wanted to go up to the city but I came out by the river before I could get there.”

“Very strange.” Thero went to the desk and unrolled a map he’d made of the palace and surrounding area. He’d marked portals found around the palace in blue ink. Now he dipped his pen and made a wavy blue line beside the river. “What Alec has found so far are like rents in time. But this? Perhaps it’s more a thin place in the fabric, as it were?” He looked down at it for a moment, then found a caliper and used it to draw a circle on the map with the town at the center and the farthest portal at the palace marking the circumference. The others gathered around to watch. The place by the river was outside the circle.

“What does that tell you?” asked Micum, puffing away on his pipe.

“I’m not sure, because my measurements are not precise.”

“May I?” Seregil took the caliper and used it to draw another circle with the oracle’s cave as the center. This time the circle encompassed the palace, the river, and the tower with room to spare all around. “This is where the seals would have been. It seems more likely they’d be at the center of things.”

“You’re right,” said Thero. “And the river is quite far away, compared with the palace. It’s as if the other plane overlays our own, like a veil, only we can’t see it.”

“And yet the tower is completely gone,” Alec pointed out. “Everything else is sort of mirrored, but the tower is gone.”

“That must have been the point,” said Seregil. “The rest of the countryside got caught in the storm, but the tower was the crucial part that had to be locked completely away. It’s the dyrmagnos’s retreat. Maybe that’s where she holed up when Nhandi found out what she really was. Nhandi and her army—if she had one—couldn’t get in, so she and Khazireen did the only thing they could.”

“Got rid of her, tower and all,” said Micum. “That was quite a trick. Too bad they had to destroy the countryside along with it.”

“Trapped, not destroyed,” said Thero. “I’m sure it would have been kinder if they’d just killed all those people, rather than condemning them to that place with her.”

“What about the palace, though?” asked Alec. “It wasn’t destroyed, or transported or whatever you want to call it. But there are still portals there that carry me off to the area around the town.”

“Perhaps Nhandi and Khazireen protected it from the worst of things,” said Thero.

“It seems Rhazat had her revenge on Nhandi if she’s wearing her enemy’s skin,” Seregil noted with distaste. “Have you ever heard of any necromancy like that, Thero?”

The wizard nodded grimly. “Yes.”

“And?”

Thero glanced out the tent flap to make sure Mika wasn’t listening outside. “She must have skinned Nhandi—alive.”

Micum lowered his pipe. “Maker’s Mercy. Do you think she and Khazireen knew what the dyrmagnos might do?”

“Why do you think he killed himself?” said Seregil. “The way the skull is positioned—it’s like he’s keeping watch for her even now. Perhaps that’s what the ghost is doing there.”

“For a thousand years,” Thero said softly.

RHAZAT seemed to be biding her time, and that worried Klia. She was allowed to wander at will, so she filled her pockets with food every morning and set off in a different direction. She’d briefly considered stealing a horse from the stable, but when she went to lead one out of the stall, it hissed at her in a horrid, unnatural way that made the hairs on her arms rise. She’d backed hastily away and struck off on foot.

Over the next week she chose a new direction and followed it until half of her carefully rationed food was gone, then returned by a slightly different route. If more food was available, she’d repeat the reconnoiter until the light failed. Some paths brought her full-circle back to Zikara before she had changed direction. Others stretched on, past the point she could go with the amount of food she could carry. It was very disconcerting, but underscored the magical nature of the place.

Although her days seemed to revolve around food and its rationing, it was only with an effort that she could eat at all, given the awful doubt Rhazat had planted in her mind. She wasn’t ready to die yet, though, so she did her best not to think about it, and ate as sparingly as she could and still keep up her strength. She was losing weight quickly. Her clothes were loose on her already slim frame, and she’d taken her belt in two notches.

She’d easily found her way back to the cave with the mysterious stone; the dyrmagnos had no reason to hide it, since apparently only Klia could disturb it. She avoided it at first, but as day bled into indistinguishable grey day, she found herself there studying the cave drawings, hideous as they were, for some sort of guidance. There didn’t seem to be any pattern, just the work of a dark mind.

The glowing black opal enticed her with its offer of possible escape. It would be easy. She folded her arms tightly across her chest, so strong was the pull. Suddenly the light blurred as the tears came. Sinking to her knees, she buried her face in her hands and wept—for Thero, for her unborn daughter, for herself, and for sheer despair and frustration and the oppressive uncertainty of what the dyrmagnos meant to do with her. How long had she been here? A week? Two? She’d lost all track.

“Please Illior, patron of Kouros and nightrunners; please Sakor of the Flame and battle—help me. I wasn’t meant to die like this!” Reaching into her coat, she took out the sharpened gorget and knelt there in the black opal’s light, testing the sharp edge with her thumb. The shining golden blade was shaped like Illior’s Moon. With her other hand she found the large artery that ran beside her throat. The pulse throbbed solidly against her fingers, proof that she was not yet a ghost in this awful landscape.

It would be so easy.

Eia nyis, ashkira, a woman’s voice whispered to her, and Klia felt a hand cover hers holding the blade. Eia nistha. The accent was strange but Klia recognized the Aurënfaie words: Not today, warrior. Not today. It was the same voice that had screamed something about “skin” the day Rhazat had tortured Mika here.

“Nhandi?” Who else could it be, in this place?

Kamar yosi eyír, ashkira. I am with you, warrior.

“Eyíra rili?” she whispered.

Es rili. Kamar sika es rili … It tapered off in a sigh.

“You want your skin?” Klia shivered at the implication of that. “Aubus ei nathama, Khirsalä!” Tell me what to do, Honored Ancestor.

No reply came, but the touch on her hand lingered a moment longer. Klia put the blade away and wiped her eyes.

Not today.

Trudging from the cave, she struck out upriver again, hoping to stumble across the portal that Mika had found, when she suddenly had the distinct impression of someone looking at her. Turning, she saw someone following her at a distance from the direction of the town. It appeared to be a man, and she breathed a sigh of relief that it wasn’t a dra’gorgos on the hunt for her. Just a townsperson.

She continued on for a few yards, then felt that warning prickle between her shoulder blades. Looking back again, she saw that the man was coming after her at a run. She’d never seen any local person running. He was dressed in the usual drab clothing and a head rag, but as he came closer, she recognized his long, loping gait.

It was Alec.

Praying it wasn’t one of Rhazat’s cruel illusions, Klia ran to meet him and they fell into each other’s arms and clung to each other for a moment. Klia was the first to step back. Alec’s eyes were the same clear, dark blue as ever, and he was carrying a pack that probably held food, but she couldn’t afford to rule out dra’gorgos possession just yet. Zella had taught her that.

“Thank the Maker, I didn’t think I’d ever find you!” he exclaimed. “I’ve been skulking around the town and tower almost every day for a week—anytime I could find my way in. You’re a hard person to track down.”

She let out a shaky laugh, thinking of how close she’d just come to cutting her throat. “I’ve been exploring, too. How is Mika? Did he find his way back?”

“He did, and he brought back word from you about Zella and magic and the dyrmagnos. He’s safe in camp with Thero and the others.”

“His arm?”

“Mending again. He’s a tough little fellow.”

“And intelligent. But it’s not safe for you to be here,” Klia told him, continuing on the way she’d been going. “He told you that the amulets Thero made don’t work here, didn’t he? Rhazat is likely to send her creatures hunting me at any moment.”

“I know. I’ve had a few close calls but I’ve had Illior’s luck.”

“Is that food in that bag?”

“Yes.”

“Please, I need to eat something that doesn’t come from here.”

Alec glanced nervously in the direction of the town as he opened the pack. Inside were fresh bread, venison jerky, turnips, and cheese. She ripped a chunk from the bread and took a piece of jerky.

“Bilairy’s Balls, that tastes good!” she said through a mouthful. Alec offered her a slice of turnip and she bit into it. Sweet earthy juices bathed her tongue. Rhazat hadn’t offered her anything so humble, or so welcome.

“You’re thinner,” Alec noted. “How do you feel?”

“Trapped,” she replied honestly. She’d looked at her reflection in the gorget; she knew she was slowly starving to death. Alec was showing signs of wear, too. His body was thinner, the bones in his face more prominent.

“Do you know how to get to the cave where the Great Seal is?” he asked.

“Is that what it is? Yes, up in the hills behind the tower. There’s a road and a side trail. It’s not hidden.”

“Is it guarded?”

“It doesn’t appear to be. I’ve been there on my own and no one tried to stop me.”

“That’s good to know.”

“What are you and the others planning?”

“To get you out of here and seal up the other side again.”

“How?”

“Thero said I’m not to say more than I have to, in case Rhazat catches you talking to me. You can’t tell her what you don’t know.”

Klia nodded. It was a good decision.

“We need to go,” said Alec. “You can eat as we walk.”

Sharing cheese and bread as they went, they continued upriver.

“It can’t be far now,” he told her, but he looked oddly apprehensive.

“What is it, Alec?”

“I’ve got to warn you: I tried to bring Thero in and it didn’t work.”

Klia’s heart sank. “Does he know why?”

“We think Mika and I can pass through because we both died and came back. It’s like the demon in Sedge said to Seregil: only the dead can walk with the dead.”

“I understand. Let’s just take it one step at a time.” She ate another slice of turnip.

He looked sidelong at her, clearly uncomfortable, then asked, “Are you really pregnant with Thero’s child?”

She choked and spat out a mouthful of turnip. “How do you know that?”

“Mika heard Rhazat say so.”

“Damnation! So Thero knows, too?”

“Yes.”

Klia rubbed her eyes. “I didn’t want him to. It will only make it harder if I can’t get back to him.”

“You are going to get back to him. We’re going to find a way. Please, don’t give up hope.”

“I think the ghost of the Hierophant Nhandi just told me the same.”

“Mika heard someone in his head crying out about skin.”

“That was her. What do you think it means?”

“Thero thinks—well, that the dyrmagnos is wearing Nhandi’s skin as a disguise.”

The turnip she was chewing lost its savor. “Sakor’s Flame.”

Like a hound seeking a scent, Alec intently scanned the landscape around them as they went along and at last took her hand. “There, just off the road. Hold tight and stay with me. If—”

“If it doesn’t work?”

“I’ll come back for you as many times as it takes.”

“It was hard enough for you to find me this time. Listen, I’ll go to the cave each day if I can. Look for me there.”

“I will. Now hurry!”

“Alec, wait. I have to say something, in case you don’t find me again. Let me speak.” Klia took a deep breath. “If this doesn’t work, if you can’t get me out, know that I will never give Rhazat what she wants. Never. Tell Thero that, and that I love him.” She showed him the sharpened gorget. “Tell him I won’t suffer.”

Alec nodded solemnly. “I will. Now come on!”

Just as with Mika, Klia couldn’t see the opening, but trusted Alec to guide her.

“Now!” he shouted as he tightened his grip on her hand.

And then he was gone and Klia was alone by the river.

Hope, Alec had said. As she turned and began the long walk back to the tower, she had a hard time conjuring any of that.

Alec came out once again in the long corridor in the palace. He could still feel the warmth of Klia’s palm on his skin, but he was alone. It hadn’t worked. He leaned against the wall in a shaft of waning sunlight, feeling sick in the pit of his stomach. It wasn’t nausea; it was dread.

Know that I will never give Rhazat what she wants. Never.

Alec knew she’d make good on that, too.

At camp Thero’s tent was empty, and so was his own. Asking after the others, a woman pointed him down to the river, where Micum and Mika were fishing with borrowed poles. They were laughing together, and half a dozen sleek trout lay shining on the grass behind them.

Alec’s face must have told the tale; Micum took one look at him and the merriment fled from his eyes.

“You didn’t find Klia again, did you?” asked Mika.

“Where are Thero and Seregil?” Alec asked, avoiding the question for now.

“They’re up at the oracle’s cave,” said Micum. “Thero’s working out how to set the seal on this side.”

“Guess I’ll go see how they’re making out.”

“Tell them we’re having fish for supper!” Mika called after him.

Alec rode to the caves and found Cynril and Thero’s horse still tethered at the edge of the grove. Handing Windrunner’s reins to one of the guards, he made his way through the chambers to the third cave.

He found Seregil and Thero among the dripstone formations, looking at Khazireen’s skull by the light of one of Thero’s hovering orbs. Alec splashed across to join them.

Thero looked up expectantly, then his face fell. “You found her, didn’t you?”

“She’s alive, Thero.”

“But you can’t get her out.”

“No. It was just like when I tried to take you in.”

“I see.” For the briefest of instants Thero’s face was suffused with desperation, but immediately his expression hardened back into the usual mask of scholarly concentration.

“She told me to tell you that she’ll never give in to Rhazat. She said that—” Alec paused, thinking of the sharpened gorget. “She said to tell you that.”

“Of course she won’t give in,” said Thero.

“But she’s well?” asked Seregil.

Alec swallowed, wanting badly to lie. “She’s thin, and she’s hungry. She ate most of what I brought in with me. But she wouldn’t have lasted this long if she didn’t have something to eat there.”

“What, I wonder?” said Seregil. “Do you suppose Rhazat sends the dra’gorgos out to market?”

“It’s possible,” said Thero. “They are able to come out and take things back with them. Of course, Klia’s escort disappeared when she did, horses and all. Maybe they’re eating horsemeat.”

“Micum said you were looking for how to use the new seal,” said Alec.

“Yes.” Thero held it up. “I think I can fuse it to what’s left of the original gold spike—” He faltered, then covered his eyes with his hand.

“We can’t seal Klia in there, Thero.”

“Do you think I want to? If you could have just gotten her out—!”

Alec kept silent: the pain in the wizard’s voice verged on the emotion he’d shown after reading the arm ring. And there the wizard stood, beside Khazireen as it were, the man who’d done exactly what Thero most dreaded: sealed away the great love of his life. If it came to that, Alec had no doubt that Thero would take his own life, just as Khazireen had.

“I’ll try again, as often as it takes,” he said softly.

Pocketing the seal, Thero crossed the chamber and went into the tunnel, leaving the light for them.

“Bilairy’s Balls,” murmured Seregil.

“He won’t survive sealing her in.”

“In his place, I wouldn’t, either,” Seregil said softly.

“Me, neither.” Alec put an arm around Seregil’s waist, but it was the skull he was looking at. “Khazireen and Nhandi—they did their duty, and Klia will, too. She told me she’ll never break the seal on that side.”

“Honorable to the end,” murmured Seregil, returning the embrace and pulling Alec closer.

“She’s made herself a knife out of her gorget and wanted me to tell Thero that she won’t suffer. I couldn’t do that. Not yet.”

“Plenty of time for that.”

They stood there in silence, side by side with the dead lover, and Alec listened to the now familiar sound of dripping water.

Plink plink

Plink plink

“The crack that lets the water in. That probably happened when they set the seals, right? Thero talked about the earth shaking and Kordira told you about the huge black wave that struck the island. So the arm ring, the skull, and probably the seal were covered with dripstone over the years after that.”

“Probably.”

“When the seal broke away on this side, Rhazat’s influence started to leak back into our world, too. She can send out dra’gorgos anytime she wants, possess people, drag them into her plane.”

“Restoring the seal on this side will stop that, Alec. What’s your point?”

“Until something happens to the new seal. Obviously they’re not invulnerable. And when that happens, Rhazat will still be there, and maybe she’ll find someone to break the seal on her side. Then what? She’s loosed on the world again and no one is prepared to deal with her.”

“Prepared.” Seregil raised an eyebrow. “So you’re suggesting that we—”

“Let her out, yes, and be ready to deal with her. We’ve killed one dyrmagnos. I’m game for another. The only thing is, what do you think would happen if Klia did break the seal on the other side? Another cataclysm?”

Seregil shrugged. “Only one way to find out.”

Rhazat watched with silent amusement as Klia picked at her dinner, trying to pretend she was hungry after a long day’s walk. But Rhazat smelled other food on Klia, and hadn’t missed the hint of color in her wan cheeks. She also detected the touch of something else, though she could not make out who or what it had been—neither ghost nor living. It was so pleasant to be surprised after a life as long as hers.

“How was your hike today, my dear?” she asked.

Klia glanced up at her, eyes devoid of anything but loathing. “The same as any other day, I suppose.”

“Oh, I doubt that. You’ve dined at someone else’s table. No wonder you have no appetite for my humble fare.”

The woman shrugged and ate a spoonful of what she believed to be lentil porridge. It had chunks of turnip floating in it, Rhazat noted. Interesting that she’d imagine such humble fare, except that she still reeked of fresh turnip, together with bread and dried venison.

“I believe you’ve had a visitor today.”

Klia didn’t bother to look up.

“Really now, it is quite an exceptional event. I think it wasn’t sweet little Mika, but another of your friends, perhaps the one who has eluded my stalkers on several occasions.”

Klia shrugged again and reached for the loaf of bread in front of her. Striking as swiftly as a rock adder, Rhazat pulled out the flint knife she’d used to carve the roast fowl and slammed the tip down through the back of Klia’s right hand. The woman screamed in pain, or perhaps outrage, then something very unexpected happened.

It happened so quickly that Klia barely had time to register the pain in her pierced right hand before she instinctively snatched the knife out with her left, threw herself across the table, and buried the blade in the dyrmagnos’s chest, then pulled it free and slashed at her neck. Rhazat had somehow moved out of reach, however, and Klia found herself once again in the repellent grasp of a dra’gorgos. It closed icy fingers around her wounded right hand in a crushing grip and the flint blade fell from her grip.

“That was most unwise,” Rhazat gasped.

Thick black blood welled slowly out of the wound on her chest, yet it did not stain the front of her gown as it ran down between her breasts. More of the black, oily-looking liquid stained the flint blade, now tauntingly just out of reach near Klia’s feet. Held fast, in danger of losing her right hand, she refused to struggle.

Looking up at Rhazat again, Klia noticed something else: the skin around the wound sagged slightly, like pierced tent canvas, and a hint of something dry and brown showed through, like the cast skin of a snake.

Before Klia could make out any more than that Rhazat pressed a hand to the wound. When she removed it there was no sign of it or any of the black blood.

“I’m not so easily killed,” she said with a smile that promised bad things to come. “You do try my patience, my dear.”

Walking back to where the dra’gorgos still held Klia, gripping her waist and bloody outstretched hand in a hideous parody of a dancing figure, Rhazat picked up the knife, cocked her head as she inspected the glistening blade, then plunged it into Klia’s side just below her ribs. Klia gritted her teeth and swallowed a cry of pain as the dyrmagnos gave the crude blade a slight twist and yanked it out.

“So you’re finally going to kill me,” Klia gasped. “Go on, then. Don’t make a meal of it.”

“Oh, but I would make a meal of it, if that’s what I chose to do with you, and your death would take a day or more.” She covered the rent in Klia’s coat with her hand and suddenly the pain ceased as if it had never happened. “Even Nhandi screamed in the end, as I flayed the last of her skin from the bottoms of her feet. But we both know I’m not going to kill you.”

The dra’gorgos, responding to some unspoken command, slid its icy grip from Klia’s hand to her forearm. Rhazat took the hand between her own, and the pain stopped there, as well. When she let go, Klia saw that nothing but the pale, slightly raised line of a well-healed scar remained, paralleling the delicate bones in the back of her hand.

“Shall we agree to play nicely?” asked Rhazat, lazily waving the blade inches from Klia’s eyes. “Some things are harder to heal than others. Now, who brought you the food?”

Klia stared her down, saying nothing. It had been easier to stand up to the dyrmagnos when she had no hope of rescue. Now the will to live reasserted itself, yet she could not betray Alec.

“Very well,” said Rhazat. “Since you’re not hungry, I certainly won’t force you.”

At another unspoken command the dra’gorgos bore Klia at dizzying speed up to her bedchamber and left her there, slamming the door closed and disappearing. Klia went to the door and tried the latch. For the first time since she’d come here, it was locked. She went to the window and found that it still opened. Instinct dictated that she use any means necessary to get down to the ground and run. Logic overrode it with the knowledge that there was no place to go.

That night around the fire outside Thero’s tent Micum fried up the fish he and Mika had caught and everyone did their best to eat for the boy’s sake. Thero mostly just dissected his with his fork, Seregil noticed, as if it were a mildly interesting specimen in his workshop.

No one had said anything to Mika about Klia’s predicament; as far as the boy knew Alec was still trying to get her out, but Seregil caught him stealing worried glances at Alec and Thero. It was hard to keep secrets from a child as smart and intuitive as Mika had turned out to be. Perhaps because of that the boy didn’t protest when Thero sent him to bed earlier than usual.

“Can we speak in your tent?” Thero asked.

The four of them went there and Thero once again cast a protective silence and stood in the middle of the tent, facing them. “I think it’s time to talk of very serious things.”

“Alec and I have been doing some thinking of our own,” said Seregil. “Sit down and hear us out.”

Surprised, Thero settled stiffly on the edge of Alec’s narrow cot.

“We talked in the cave after you left,” Alec began. “Sealing Klia in there is a death sentence, but there’s another way that gives her a chance at least. What if we let Rhazat out?”

Thero stared at them in disbelief. “Are you insane?”

“Think about it,” said Seregil. “Things as they are now are untenable, since she can reach out by way of her dra’gorgos. Sealing Klia in solves the problem for a while, until something happens to one of the seals again. If Rhazat gets her hands on someone else to break the seal, then she’s loosed on an unsuspecting world and Klia’s death will have been in vain.”

“But we can defeat her,” said Alec. “We killed Irtuk Beshar, and we can kill this one.”

Thero shook his head. “Can you imagine how powerful she must be for Nhandi and her lover to have gone to such extreme measures to contain her?”

“But when we were in Zikara you said yourself that she will have gotten weaker after so many centuries with no living people to feed on,” Alec reminded him.

“I said it was a possibility. And she’s been feeding again.”

“All the more reason to strike now, before she gets any stronger,” urged Seregil. “She’s only had a few months of a soldier here and a peasant there. That can’t have made up for centuries of starvation yet.”

“And how do you propose we release her without wreaking havoc on the world?” asked Thero.

“We’d have to catch her by surprise,” said Micum, stroking his moustache thoughtfully. “Which means we’ll have to figure out where she’ll be when Klia breaks the seal.”

“That depends on when Klia breaks the seal,” said Alec. “If Rhazat is with Klia when she does it, then the fourth cave will open on our side and we can attack her then.”

“That would be better than letting her reach her tower,” said Seregil. “I can only imagine what sort of wards she has on it. And of course there’s the matter of the dra’gorgos.”

“Once the seal is broken, her plane will be broken, too, won’t it, Thero?” asked Alec. “Then your magic should work against her, and the dra’gorgos.”

“Hopefully that will be the case. We don’t know what the effect of breaking the inner seal will be, though,” said Thero. “There could be another cataclysm—earthquakes, black waves from the sky, the deaths of thousands, including us, probably.”

“Or it will simply be like opening a door,” said Seregil. “Isn’t it worth finding out? Otherwise we leave things as they are, and let Rhazat devour the island a few people at a time with the help of her dra’gorgos until maybe she’s strong enough to break free anyway. Or we seal Klia in, and I for one am not willing to do that. Please, Thero, we’ve got to try!”

Thero closed his eyes, and Alec could see his hands trembling. Yet his voice was steady, his gaze determined as he opened his eyes and said, “I suppose we should get started.”

“First things first,” said Seregil. “We need to send all the soldiers and servants at the encampment, palace, and shrine away. They’re a potential food supply. Besides, there’s no point in endangering them needlessly when there’s nothing they can really do to help. Also, I can’t help wondering if there are more like Zella around us. You didn’t detect her, Thero. Who knows how many other spies there might be?”

“I didn’t detect her because I didn’t know to look,” the wizard replied. “Since then I’ve been more careful. So far I haven’t found any spies. I’ll keep looking, of course.”

“How can we order them to leave?” asked Alec. “We don’t have any authority over them.”

“No, but Klia does,” Seregil said with a wink.

It was a simple matter for Seregil to forge an order from Klia; he’d known her—and her handwriting—all her life. In it, he instructed the soldiers to move the camp to the base of Mount Erali and wait for her there. If he sent them back to Deep Harbor it wouldn’t be long before it became clear that Klia had never made it there, and that was the last thing they wanted. There hadn’t been any serious unrest since Klia had arrived, and Seregil meant to keep it that way.

So he and the others made a show of packing up and moving back down the road to Mirror Moon as the soldiers moved out. Once at the estate, however, they gathered what they needed and prepared to steal back to Menosi.

“I have to stay here?” Mika asked in disbelief as he watched Thero rearrange the materials in a trunk that night.

“I’m not leaving until tomorrow.”

“Master, what if you need me?”

“Then I will send for you,” the wizard replied. “We’re going to be doing something dangerous and beyond your skills. This is not a punishment, Mika. You simply have to accept that even though you are my apprentice and I trust you implicitly, there will be times when you can’t come with me, and times like this when I can’t tell you why, for your safety and ours. That is my wish now, and my order to you: stay here until I return.”

Mika nodded, picking unhappily at the linen binding the splints on his broken arm. “I understand, Master. I just wish—”

Thero patted his shoulder. “It was the same with my master when I was your age, Mika. When you’re older you’ll understand better, and by then you’ll be powerful enough to come with me. In the meantime, I need you to heal and be well. I shouldn’t be away more than a few days, and Klia will be with me.”

“If anything happens to Alec, you won’t be able to get to Klia.”

“That’s right. And if that’s the case, I will send for you. But not before.”

“Yes, Master Thero.”

“I need you to make fresh arrows with shafts that haven’t been used,” Thero told Alec that night as they sat by the fire in the empty library with Seregil and Micum. “Do you have any white fletching?”

“No, only red. But Nysander used white that day, didn’t he?”

“You’re in luck,” said Micum. “I saw a brace of swans hanging in the kitchen. I’ll go get what you need.”

“I’ve got the tack, but I’ll need some fresh shafts,” said Alec, rising to follow him. “I’ll go ask Dorin.”

Thero fought off another crushing wave of fear as he laid out the materials he needed on the table: a blue inkstone, brushes, water, a handful of golden sesters, and the precious silver foil. Not fear of what lay ahead, but that it wouldn’t be enough.

“We’ll get her back,” Seregil said from the chair by the fireplace.

Thero nodded grimly.

“You know how to bespell Alec’s arrows the way Nysander did? How confident are you?”

“I know the spells. I just haven’t had occasion to use them.”

“So you’re saying Alec might go up against our enemy with no advantage? An ordinary arrow won’t stop a dyrmagnos, assuming we manage to lure her out. We know a sword doesn’t. Even if you dismember them, the parts will reunite.”

“I know that! We’re just going to have to hope for the best, and that Illior is on our side again.”

Seregil said quietly, “It isn’t easy, is it, when the one you love most is beyond your reach?”

“How did you stand it, when Alec died?” Thero asked, laying out golden sesters on the table.

“Sebrahn brought him back quickly. Otherwise I wouldn’t be sitting here.”

Thero turned to him. “You’d have chosen to die, too, wouldn’t you?”

Seregil nodded.

“What I saw when I held Nhandi’s arm ring. What I felt—” Thero picked up a pair of coins, held them in trembling fingers, set them down again. “I experienced the grief that destroyed Khazireen. I feel a kinship to him. I will be in the same impossible position he was in, if in the end we have to seal Klia in with that monster. I keep thinking about the skin magic Rhazat is using, and how she must have gotten it …”

“So do I. Klia showed Alec a blade she made of her gorget. It’s sharp and it’s gold, so Rhazat can’t touch it. Klia will use it if she has to.”

“Illior’s Light.” Thero rested his arms on the table and cradled his head in his hands. “What if we can’t do this? What if it doesn’t work?”

“Well, if things go seriously wrong then none of us will have to live with our mistakes, since we’ll all be dead. So that’s taken care of.”

“You’re such a comfort.”

Seregil chuckled darkly. “Alec had a talk with me on the way to the palace, the day you first examined the corridor where he disappeared. He told me in no uncertain terms that I was being overprotective, which he interpreted as my not considering him a capable equal.”

“Yes?”

“Klia survived a war, Thero. She’s as intelligent as you are, and twice as brave as the rest of us put together, not some damsel in distress. She just needs our help.” Seregil paused. “Every time Alec and I go out on a job for you, I have to accept that he might not come back with me. But if he dies a hero’s death, it’s his choice and his right.”

Thero turned to him, pale green eyes hard and angry. “If it was Alec trapped there, would you say the same?”

Seregil met his gaze steadily, grim as death. “No, I’d be the one sitting over there with my head in my hands, and you’d be saying those words to me.”

Micum returned with a handful of swan wing feathers. Alec followed with a bundle of new arrow shafts, his leather tack bag, a glue pot, and a small length of board. He laid out his materials on the floor by the fire and sat down to begin on the arrows. Laying out the swan feathers, he took out a small fletcher’s knife from his tack and began splitting and shaping them on the board.

“Micum, collect the swords,” said Thero. “Here on the table, please.”

Micum laid them there, and Thero worked up some ink using a metal scraper and water on the inkstone. When he had enough, he chose a fine brush and began inscribing the spell on the blade of Micum’s sword, concentrating on the words, seeing them in silver script in his mind’s eye.

He did the same with Alec’s sword and Seregil’s. It took several hours to get it right. When he finished he looked around and found Seregil and Micum snoring softly in their chairs. Alec, however, had been busy. A considerable number of freshly fletched arrows lay on the floor in front of him.

“These just have to cure. Should I do more?” Alec asked.

“How many do you have?”

Alec counted them. “Sixteen.” He looked up at Thero. “I wasn’t really counting as I worked, but that’s four times four.”

“Yes, that does seem like an auspicious sign. Leave it at that, Alec. If I know you, you’ll only need one to do the job anyway. In the heart, remember?”

“I remember.”

“You should sleep now. It will take me some time to put the magic on them.”

When the others woke at dawn, Thero was still painting symbols on a white-fletched arrow. The table was piled with others, most of the shafts covered in the same intricate symbols. They’d all been fitted with arrowheads made of gold.

Alec picked one up and inspected it more closely. The barbed arrowhead was covered in a fine tracery of silver symbols, and the edges were razor-sharp. “Did you make this, Thero?”

“Yes, using coin gold. If these don’t stop her, then I don’t know what will.”

Seregil went to one of the tall windows and looked out over the sea, where whitecaps were rolling across the grey-green water under a lowering sky. “Looks like a perfect day to go kill a dyrmagnos, eh? How shall we go about it?”

“It all depends on me getting to Klia,” said Alec. “We have to be ready for when she breaks the seal.”

“Hold on,” said Seregil. He left the room, returning quickly with parchment, pen, and ink. “We need to know exactly how things are laid out in the caves, Alec.”

Alec took pen in hand and sketched out the large cave on the other plane, the spot where the seal was, and the tunnel that led outside. “It’s about thirty or so feet from the opening.”

“You’ll have to be inside the tunnel to see what’s at the end of it, with the light behind you.”

“Which means he’ll be visible,” said Thero.

“Not if I’m on my belly until the last minute,” said Alec. “Besides, the dyrmagnos will probably be too occupied with Klia and the seal to notice me.”

“You can’t count on that,” Thero warned. Taking the pen, he drew the third cave just touching the one Alec had drawn. “Assuming that they are joined, as they were in my vision, then we should be nose-to-nose with Rhazat and Klia when the seal is broken and our plane opens to the other. And our cave here …” He drew in the narrow tunnel that connected the third cave to the second. “The only ways out are back through this bottleneck, or forward, charging her.”

“Or rather, driving her,” said Seregil. “Alec is our first line of attack. Until he weakens her with the arrows, we may not be much good against her.”

“If I manage to hit her heart, that should be pretty much the end of her,” said Alec.

“It didn’t work that way last time,” Micum reminded them. “We still had to hack Irtuk Beshar to pieces. That’s a rotten business and if you don’t remember, I’ll show you the scars on my leg.”

“I’ll aim for her heart,” Alec assured him. “I’ve got sixteen arrows and if I can, I’ll put every damn one of them into that bitch.”

“We’re still assuming that Klia will agree to break the seal,” Micum reminded them. “Who’s to say she won’t order us to leave her there and reseal the plane?”

“I’ll just have to convince her,” said Alec.

“You might need help doing that.” Seregil turned to Thero. “Perhaps a letter from you?”

“I composed one last night.” He took a wax-sealed letter from his coat pocket and gave it to Alec. “Whatever happens, she must have this.”

Alec tucked it away in his coat. “The only problem is, I can’t guarantee when I’ll find her again. She said she’d go to the cave every day, but who knows if she’ll be able to or not?”

“That means we’ll have to be ready and waiting, no matter what,” said Micum. “Once we’re in place, we’ll stay there until you and Klia come through. Only problem is, I don’t fit down the tunnel to the painted cave.”

“That’s easily fixed,” said Thero.

“Yes, but then what?” asked Alec. “We’re assuming that the magic on the arrows won’t work until the other plane is breached—”

“And I sincerely hope we’re right about that,” said Seregil.

“Even if it’s instant, the portal between her plane and ours will be open before I can get off a shot, leaving the three of you to face her unprotected.”

“I took that into consideration.” Thero took up the pen again and drew a wavering line between the two caves, and another at the mouth of the tunnel leading up from the painted cave to the second. “Here, and here, I plan to lay down a defensive magic she shouldn’t be able to cross, or at least not without expending a significant amount of her strength. If she recognizes what it is, she’s more likely to turn and run toward you, Alec.”

“Making her a better target,” he replied with a dark grin.

“Timing is everything in love and war,” said Seregil. “Either you stop her or she’ll fly straight for her tower. The last thing I want to do is have to hunt her in there, on her own ground. Not to mention the fact that if she gets that far, Alec will most likely be dead.”

“What do we do with the parts of her?” asked Micum.

“We must contain the head and hands. I’ll bring containers for them. The rest I’ll try to burn,” Thero replied.

“Ah, you and fire,” Seregil said with a chuckle.

Thero smiled. “You get ready. I need a few hours to prepare and sleep, then we’ll go.”

Seregil sat on the bed, watching as Alec unlocked the ferrule in the handgrip of the Radly and pulled the two halves apart. He wrapped them with a well-waxed bowstring, then laid them and his quiver in the center of a small blanket and rolled them up into what appeared to be a traveler’s bundle secured with twine. Dressed in his rags again, Alec wrapped his sword belt around his slim hips, put on a cloak to hide the blade, and slung the bundle over his shoulder.

“Do I look sufficiently harmless?” he asked, striking a stooped pose.

Seregil smiled. “The real question, I suppose, is do you look sufficiently ghostly?”

“I must. No one has bothered me there except for the occasional dra’gorgos since that first night.”

“Doesn’t that strike you as odd?”

“A little,” Alec admitted. “I don’t think the ghosts really notice me.”

“It just makes me wonder how much control the dyrmagnos has over her realm. Or is it you? Can’t she see you?”

“Why wouldn’t she be able to? She saw Mika well enough.”

“Yes, but he didn’t die completely the way you did.” Alec raised a brow. “He didn’t die enough?”

“You know what I mean. There’s something not right about this.”

“What choice do we have, though?”

“Not one I dislike any less than this.”

Micum and Thero were waiting for them downstairs, dressed like Seregil in plain clothing borrowed from among the other ’faie living at Mirror Moon. A laden cart stood outside the front door, and Alec climbed in and took the reins. The others mounted their horses, and together they set off for the oracle’s cave.

They stopped outside the sacred grove. Alec went ahead to make sure they were alone.

“I’ll go see to the tunnel while you bring the supplies up,” said Thero.

By the time the others had emptied the wagon of a week’s worth of food and other supplies and carried them to the first cave, Thero had widened the tunnel for Micum and there was a considerable pile of new sand in the painted cave. Alec helped move the supplies down there, then bid them farewell. Seregil followed him up to the outer cave, wrapped his arms around him, and held him tight.

“Take care, talí.”

Alec hugged him back, breathing in the clean smell of his lover as he committed that and the feeling of their bodies pressed together to memory. There was no way of telling when they would be together again.

Or if.

That possibility hung unspoken around them as they shared a kiss.

Seregil stepped back, holding Alec by the shoulders for a moment. “Shoot straight, talí.”

A shiver went up Alec’s spine. Seregil had said those same words to him the first time they’d fought a dyrmagnos. “I will.”

“Luck in the shadows, Alec.”

“And in the Light.”

Alec’s heart ached as he shouldered his heavy pack of food and set off for the palace. He didn’t let himself look back.

Mika couldn’t sleep the night Master Thero went away with the others. He hadn’t wanted to stay alone in the big room without Master Thero, so the housekeeper let him sleep with Vhadä in his little room upstairs. Vhadä wanted to talk and joke around, but Mika’s heart wasn’t in it.

“Why are you so worried about your master and his friends?” asked Vhadä. “They’re just up there exploring the caves, right?”

“I guess so,” Mika replied. He didn’t like lying to his friend.

“What’s it like in Rhíminee, living with the wizards?”

Mika described what it was like, leaving home and living in Thero’s tower, but soon realized that Vhadä had gone to sleep while he was talking.

So he lay in bed, counting his breaths, counting Vhadä’s, counting stars outside the window, until he finally fell into a restless doze.

Something cold fell on his cheek and he started awake. A woman was leaning over him, and her wet, tangled hair was dripping on him. The night lamp was still burning and he could see she had sea snails for eyes. Little crabs hung from her hair. It was the woman Alec had seen! He wanted to pull the covers over his head, but he couldn’t move, he was so scared. She raised her hand and pointed toward the window then whispered words he didn’t understand. She looked down at him with her seashell eyes, then pointed to the window again, then disappeared. Mika raised a trembling hand to his cheek and felt the wetness there. This wasn’t a dream.

He waited for a while to make sure she wasn’t coming back, then stole to the window and looked out. From here he could see the round pond and the road. Was there something she wanted him to see?

After some internal debate, curiosity got the best of him. He pulled on his breeches and slipped out of the bedroom. It was dark in the corridor except for a few night lamps. He looked up and down it for some sign of the ghost, but she was nowhere to be seen. He went downstairs and out to the pond.

The moon and stars were bright as gems out here in the country. Little peeper frogs, deep-voiced bullfrogs, and sawing crickets filled the air with their songs. Every once in a while he heard the plop of a frog jumping into the water, or the flop of a fish, or the flitter of a bat overhead. Out in the darkness a fox made the sound like a woman screaming that had scared him at the camp until Micum explained what it was. Now he just pictured the fox, wishing it was close enough for him to see it and what it looked like when it made that strange sound.

Mika had never been outside all alone in the country before. He sat by the water’s edge, hugging his knees and feeling the grass under his bare toes.

A bullfrog croaked right in front of him and he started, surprised. The frog splashed away, sprinkling his toes with water. When he looked up again, there was someone standing in the road, clearly visible to Mika. It was the mute ghost boy he’d met by the river. Happy and relieved to see him, Mika waved. The boy waved back. No, he was waving for Mika to come over. Mika had no reason to be afraid of him, so he walked down to the road to see what he wanted.

“I know you’re a ghost, but I don’t mind,” Mika told him. He wasn’t sure if the boy ghost understood him, though. He tried to take Mika’s hand, but his fingers went through Mika’s like a faint breeze. In the other plane they’d played and wrestled, but here he really was a ghost. Mika still wasn’t scared, though, just a little disappointed. It would make it harder to play.

“Come see the pond and the frogs,” he said, but the boy shook his head and pointed up the road, toward Menosi.

“I can’t go with you tonight,” Mika explained. “Master Thero wants me to stay here, and besides it’s too far.”

The boy looked impatient, and pointed again.

“Who are you talking to, Mika?”

Startled again, Mika turned to find Vhadä at the edge of the pond in his nightshirt. When Mika turned to introduce the mute boy, he was gone.

He walked back to join his alive friend. “You didn’t see the ghost?”

“She’s never out here,” Vhadä replied.

“No, not the ghost lady in the house. My friend I met—” It occurred to Mika that the planes and ghosts at Menosi were really a secret. So once again, he had to lie. “I saw a ghost boy by the road just now but he’s disappeared.”

“You were talking like you knew him.”

“Well, yes. I met him when we were at the camp. I found him by the river.”

“And you can talk to him? Does he answer you?”

“He can’t talk.”

“But he came all the way down here to find you? I guess you must be friends.” Vhadä sounded a little jealous.

“Do you ever see the drowned lady ghost?” Mika asked, more anxious to change the subject than curious.

“Sometimes. I saw her one night in the kitchen after everyone had gone to bed. She’s scary looking but she didn’t hurt me. Is your friend scary?”

“No, he’s nice. But he’s gone now.”

“Oh,” said Vhadä, clearly disappointed. “Hey, since we’re out here do you want to see a big owl?”

“Yes!”

They walked to an oak tree in a field behind the house and saw two white owls as big as Seregil’s cat sitting on a branch, with huge eyes like shiny gold coins. Vhadä taught Mika how to hoot so that they would answer, and Mika taught Vhadä the polite, reverent way to speak to an owl, hand on heart. Vhadä liked that, and Mika was surprised to learn that the boy knew almost nothing about Illior, even that the owl was Illior’s bird.

They went back to bed after that and Mika tried to go to sleep, but it was a long time coming.

“You’re looking peaked, Mika,” Sabriel said when he and Vhadä came into the kitchen in search of breakfast. “Come sit by the fire and I’ll warm some milk and honey for you.”

“I’m all right,” Mika replied, not wanting to be babied.

“Well, come and have some oatcakes and milk, then, and I won’t take no for an answer. I have some boiled eggs, too.”

“I like those!” said Vhadä.

She fixed plates for the two of them and watched fondly as they ate. Mika could tell she still thought he might be sick. The truth was, he didn’t feel just right. He was worried.

RHAZAT’S rage had been short-lived. The following morning she’d released Klia from her chamber and invited her down to breakfast. Nothing more was said of strange visitors, and by that Klia knew that the dyrmagnos would most likely keep a closer eye on her.

For the next two days Klia went to the cave by a different way and waited there for as long as she dared, but there’d been no sign of Alec. Even though he hadn’t been able to get her out, talking with him, knowing the others were at work on their side to figure out a way to save her, gave her the strength and hope to go on. Even so, she kept a fine edge on the gorget blade. She would wait as long as she could, but every day she grew thinner, and tired more easily.

The kitchen portal brought Alec out in the hills above Zikara. Camouflaged well in his drab clothing, he worked his way down, finally coming across a dirt road. He followed this until he reached a side path, which took him up to a grotesque mockery of the oracle’s precinct. The grove was dead, and beyond it a black altar held a stinking mess of rotting birds and offal; the entrance was through the mouth of a hideous stone head. Alec half expected the jaws to snap shut on him as he ducked inside. Inside was the tunnel Klia had told him of. It ran back into the hillside and was lined with unlit torches. Taking one down, he tried to light it with flint and steel, but after considerable effort and muttering under his breath, he gave up. There was no choice but to go into the darkness. He took off his shoes and padded forward in silence. By the time he’d left the reach of daylight behind, however, he could see a soft glow framed by the end of the tunnel and guessed it was about fifty feet in length. It ran fairly straight. He crept forward cautiously to the mouth of the cave. It was empty except for the unpleasant drawings on the wall. Directly across from the tunnels the black opal glowed in its golden setting, an almost perfect match to the one Seregil had had made.

He went back up the tunnel and looked for a place to watch for Klia without being seen. He found a depression in the rocky hillside overlooking the site where he could lie down and settled in to wait.

Lying still like this he didn’t get hungry quite as fast as he did when he was hiking around, but he’d still eaten twice before he saw Klia coming up the trail. He waited until she’d reached the entrance, making sure no one was following her, then whistled to catch her attention. She looked around quickly, then gave him a relieved grin as he scrambled and slid down to join her.

“She may be watching.” She waved him into the shelter of the tunnel but pulled back from his touch. “Don’t. She smelled you on me last time.”

“Of course. Klia, we’ve figured out a way to free you.”

“Thank Sakor and Illior! How?”

“Well, you’re going to open the seal.”

She gave him an incredulous look. “You can’t be serious.”

“I am. It’s the only way.”

“I won’t do it! What is my life compared with the risk of letting her back into the world? We have no idea what she’s capable of. I don’t believe she’s shown me more than a particle of her power.”

“We’re ready, Klia. We’ve killed a dyrmagnos before. All we need is for you to open the seal.”

“Alec, it’s insane!”

“That’s what Thero said, until we convinced him that it’s the best thing to do.”

“No, I—”

Alec took Thero’s sealed letter from his tunic and handed it to her. “He said you should read this before you make up your mind.”

Klia broke the familiar wax seal and turned away to read it in the light from the mouth of the tunnel.

My beautiful, beloved Klia, I have no doubt that you have refused to do as we ask. Please reconsider. If we do not destroy Rhazat now, there will always be the chance that the Great Seals will be broken again, when there is no one there to stop her from ravaging the island and the lands beyond. I believe she is weaker than she once was, after being imprisoned and without a food source for so long. We have the magic and the means to destroy her and we must. But more than that, I cannot bear to take your life and the life of our child by leaving you there and setting the seal. If you refuse to help us, then know that I will be dead a moment after Alec brings word of your answer. I do not mean that as a threat, my love, but tell you so you will know the truth. I cannot, will not live without you, though our spirits are forever apart, just as Khazireen and Nhandi are separated. He has mourned her for a thousand years and I suppose I will join him there. There is a role in this for you, Klia. You must help us. I know you have the means to do so. Rhazat must be with you when you do break the seal. You must, if you can, snatch away the false skin—Nhandi’s, we believe—that she wears and whatever power that it lends her. And you are armed. Beyond that, you must trust us and the Four. The fate of future generations lies in your hands. I do not have the words to encompass my love for you, except to say that my heart beats with the same rhythm for you as yours does for me, and I know your love for me is boundless. Please, my love, do as I ask. With all my heart I implore you. Thero

Klia read it over twice, feeling every impassioned word strike at her heart and her resolve. She rubbed her eyes and turned back to Alec. “Do you really think we can destroy her?”

“Yes, but not without you.”

She pressed a hand to her brow, torn between hope and resolution.

“Every Mourning Night, I watch you and the rest of your family make a sacred vow to protect Skala any way you can,” Alec said softly. “That’s what’s being asked of you now. We have to end her.”

“I need time …”

“We don’t have time.” He pointed at the cave. “The others are there in the darkness on the other side, waiting for you to do the one thing none of the rest of us can do. You have to bring her here and break the seal.”

“And you?”

“I’ll be working from this side. Another reason for you to hurry. I’ve only got so much food and I have to be strong enough to pull a bow. Once the seal is broken, magic should work here.”

“So you believe she wears Nhandi’s skin as a disguise?”

“Yes. Perhaps it even lends her some kind of power.”

“That explains what I saw when I looked at her reflection and when I stabbed her.”

“You stabbed her and she didn’t kill you?”

“She won’t kill me as long as there’s any chance that I’ll do as she asks.” Klia kept the new scars on her hand and side to herself. “So, I’ll get her here as soon as I can.”

Alec let out a pent-up breath. “You’ll do it?”

“Yes. Keep yourself safe until I return.”

“Eat first, before you go back.”

Klia shook her head. “She can smell that, too. Besides, you’ll need every mouthful. Illior’s Luck to you, Alec.”

“Sakor’s Flame to you.”

Klia nodded and strode away up the tunnel. Skirting the town, she walked up the riverbank for a while, then turned and let herself fall to the ground as if in a faint.

And then she waited.

Rhazat descended the hidden stair that led from her chamber to the tower cellars to see to her remaining prisoners. There were only two now; she’d made them last as long as she could, like a child hoarding sweets, but she could feel herself beginning to fade. It was time to send out her hunters, and for that she’d have to fortify herself. It took food to get food. If noble Klia refused to comply for much longer, she would make a meal of her, too, before the precious life force left the woman’s body. Then she’d continue to bide her time; if a royal princess disappeared, others would surely come, or the hold of the seal would continue to weaken. As long as there were people on the island, she would not starve.

Reaching the base of the stairs, she conjured a light and made her way through the echoing darkness to the chamber of cages. Fetid air greeted her as she opened the heavy door, and she breathed it in with pleasure. Decay and excrement were like perfume in her nostrils, rich and sensuous.

Nine cage doors stood open, each with the rotting remains of a soldier she’d fed upon. The last two precious meals, a bearded male and a blond female, blinked in the glow of her light as she approached them. Rhazat stood a moment, trying to decide which sort of life she was in the mood for. Then the female began to cry and that decided her.

“Poor dear,” Rhazat said with mock concern as she touched the lock on her cage. “The strain is too much for you, isn’t it? Come, let me grant you peace.”

“Leave her alone!” the male snarled, reaching through the bars, clawing the air in her direction. “Take me, you bitch.”

“Are you in such a hurry to die?”

“No, Captain,” the female said, fighting to regain control of herself. “It’s my turn and I’m ready. I can’t stand another moment in this cursed place.”

She walked out of the cage to stand at attention before Rhazat, who laughed merrily at such posturing.

“Really, my dear, does it matter so much if you die with your head held high?”

“It does to me.”

“As you wish.” Rhazat grasped the woman’s head between her hands and pressed her lips to her brow, gasping with pleasure as the life force flowed into her. When it was done, she dumped the carcass back into the cage and licked her lips.

“You might as well eat me, too,” the male said, bravado spent. It sounded quite dispirited.

“I shall. Your friend wasn’t nearly as filling as I’d hoped.”

As she’d anticipated, he came out fighting, but she still had enough strength to hold him by the throat and kiss away his life.

She climbed the stairs to her chamber feeling positively spritely, then made her way down the main stair to the receiving hall, calling for Klia. “Come, my dear. Time for your luncheon!”

When no answer came, Rhazat shrugged and went to the kitchen. If Klia was in the tower, she would have answered. She made no attempt to hide from her.

In the kitchen she carved the remaining meat from the arm of the male she’d dined on two days before and transformed it into acceptable fare for her guest. Not so nourishing as it would have been as a direct source, but she could hardly expect Klia to willingly dine on her own people. Drawing the essence of the meat forth, Rhazat molded it into a sparrow pudding and a quince tart.

When Klia still had not returned in time for the evening meal, Rhazat sent out a dra’gorgos, which soon returned with the limp body of the princess in its arms. She appeared to be in a faint. At Rhazat’s gesture, the dra’gorgos placed Klia on the floor of the receiving chamber and disappeared.

Kneeling beside Klia, Rhazat gently patted her thin, pale cheeks. She was growing very thin. “Come, you must eat.”

Klia’s eyes fluttered open, and she lay there looking up at Rhazat. “I’m not hungry.”

“Of course you are. Why deny it?”

She pulled Klia up and slipped an arm around her, guiding her back to the dining room and into a chair. “Just a simple meal, my dear, but you may have as much as you like.”

Klia watched, listless as a doll, while Rhazat filled a plate and set it before her. She sat there, hands limp in her lap. A tear ran down her cheek, and more followed. She did not sob or wail, simply sat there in silent despair so sweet Rhazat was tempted to devour her on the spot.

“What is wrong, my dear?”

Klia kept her gaze on the plate and shook her head.

“What’s that? I don’t understand.”

Then, so softly Rhazat almost didn’t hear it, “I want to leave.”

“Why the sudden change of heart?” she asked.

Klia placed her hands over her belly where the child was stirring, and more tears rolled down her cheeks.

“Ah, I see.”

“Will you let me go, if I do what you want?”

“Of course! I wouldn’t be so ungrateful not to. Are you saying you wish to break the seal?”

Klia just sat there for another long moment, then gave an almost imperceptible nod.

“Was that a yes?” Klia nodded slightly, but Rhazat wanted to savor her victory. “Say the words, my dear, so I can be certain we understand each other.”

Klia closed her eyes, and more tears spilled from between her lashes. “I will break the seal. I will free you, if you promise to let my child and me live and go our own way, free of you forever. Swear you’ll have no further hold on us and I’ll do as you ask.”

“Princess, you fill me with joy. All I ask is that you break the seal. Then you will indeed be free to go. I swear it by Seriamaius, whom I worship and hold most dear.” Never mind that the Eater of Death was the patron of liars and murderers, she thought with an inward smile. It was such a pleasure to see the first, cautious glimmer of hope in those tear-filled blue eyes.

“Now eat, my darling, and then you must rest. Tomorrow is soon enough. I shall miss you, you know, although I liked you better when your pride had not been broken. Such a shame that it had to come to this, eh?”

Klia sank her head in her hands. “Must you mock my shame?”

“Where are my manners! I beg your pardon, my dear, only I am so pleased with your decision that I neglected to dissemble my true feelings toward you. Now eat.”

Klia ate in grim silence. When her plate was empty she sat back and looked at Rhazat.

“Please,” she whispered, blinking away more tears. “Can’t we just get it over with now?”

“Tomorrow, my dear. Who would have thought you’d be in such a rush to betray your people?”

The following morning Klia looked more dispirited than ever, but she ate heartily without being coaxed and rose as soon as she was finished. “I’m ready.”

“Come along, then. Would you care to ride your horse one last time?”

That struck a spark of feeling. “No,” Klia muttered, and said no more.

Thero’s first act of preparation the previous day, after casting another light, had been to dry the floor of the cave. He sealed the cracks where water was leaking through, then translocated the water.

“That was a necessary risk.” He sat down on a bedroll. “I mustn’t do anything else that uses a significant amount of my strength, apart from setting the wards, and that won’t take much.”

He set out a large crystal box he’d summoned from his workroom, and two smaller ones he’d brought with him. Without head or hands, the rest of the dyrmagnos’s body would be little more than a useless revenant, incapable of much harm. Next, he took out two sacks, one containing gold dust, the other salt. With these he laid out the lines and patterns of the threshold spell. Even if Rhazat broke through the one at the wall, it might wound her so much that she would not be able to break through the one blocking the mouth of the tunnel.

The rest of the salt and gold he sprinkled over their heads. It clung glittering in Seregil’s hair that hung beneath the head scarf and sparkled in Micum’s bushy eyebrows and moustache. He could only imagine what he looked like.

“What does this do?” asked Micum.

“I don’t know how much it takes to affect her, but this can’t hurt.”

“I’ll take all the protection I can get.” Micum looked around the cave. “It’s bigger than I thought, but still close quarters.”

Seregil’s dark laugh echoed among the dripstone formations. “All the more reason to make it a short battle.”

They took watches after that. Micum went first and though Seregil tried to sleep, too many thoughts were racing through his mind as he tried to mentally prepare for the battle ahead. It was difficult to do, since no one knew what would happen when Klia broke the seal; perhaps they’d all end up crushed by a cave-in. When he finally did go to sleep, he dreamed of Alec, lost in darkness and calling his name. Seregil felt his way down an endless tunnel until he stumbled over something large and soft. Reaching down, he felt a head and a long braid, sticky with blood.

He started awake, knowing he wasn’t going to sleep again until this was over. Micum was standing by the skull, yawning.

“You were whimpering in your sleep, Seregil. Anything I should know about?”

“Just a bad dream. Get some rest. I’ll take over now.”

Micum went to the wall near Thero, rested his sword across his knees, and closed his eyes. It was only a moment before he was snoring softly.

Seregil’s watch was uneventful. Micum woke and went above to see what time of day it was.

Tonight it had been Vhadä who wasn’t ready to go to sleep. “Tell me more about your ghost, Mika,” he asked.

“He’s nice. There was another one who broke my arm, though.”

“So that’s what happened!” Vhadä’s eyes widened in the light from the night lamp. “I didn’t think ghosts could really hurt anyone.”

“This one did. But all the others I’ve seen didn’t pay much attention to me.”

“Others? How many have you seen?”

Mika realized he’d probably said too much again.

“Come on, Mika, we’re friends, too, aren’t we?”

“Yes.”

“Can’t you tell me about the other ghosts? I promise I won’t tell.”

Mika still hesitated, but he didn’t want to hurt his friend’s feelings. “Well, I guess you know that the old governor was killed by ghosts.”

“Everyone knows that.”

“So that’s why my master came here: to try and find out how it all happened.”

“What about the barons? Why did they go with him, and that big fellow with the red-and-silver moustache?”

“They’re helping my master, but that’s all I can say.”

“Are they really going to the oracle’s cave? What does that have to do with the ghost at the palace?”

Mika had really talked himself into a corner now. “Can you really keep a secret?”

Vhadä put his hand on his heart. “I swear by Illior’s owls.”

“You just found out about them.”

“Yes, but you said they’re sacred to the Immortal who watches over my people, so that’s a very serious oath. Come on, Mika, you’re making me itch I’m so curious.”

“You really, really can’t tell anyone. There’s a bad thing at the palace, a sort of monster, and my master and his friends are going to kill it. But they have to go to the cave to do it.”

“What kind of monster?”

Mika shook his head. “I’ve already said too much. But they are very brave, and …” To his horror, his lower lip began to tremble as he thought of Princess Klia still caught in that bad place. “They’re very brave.”

Vhadä patted his shoulder. “Don’t cry. Are you scared they’ll get hurt?”

Mika wiped his nose on his arm and nodded. “But they’ve had lots of dangerous adventures and always come home. So I know my master will come back.”

“Unless the monster kills him,” Vhadä observed, which only made Mika want to cry again. Embarrassed, he turned on his side and pretended to go to sleep. Worry was making him feel sick in his stomach.

“I’m sorry, Mika,” his friend whispered. “I won’t ask any more questions. Good night.”

Mika really tried to go to sleep, but he couldn’t after talking to Vhadä. At last he got up and got dressed as quietly as he could, then stole downstairs, keeping a sharp eye out for the ghostly woman. He didn’t see her, though, and made it outside to see if his ghost friend was there.

He was, only this time he was up by the pond. Mika ran to join him. “Is my master safe? And the others?”

The ghost boy didn’t seem to understand. Instead, he pointed urgently up the road again, just like the night before, and finally stamped his foot in frustration.

“You really think I need to go back, don’t you?” Even though the boy didn’t really answer him, Mika had the strongest feeling that he was trying to warn him about something. “Is it about Rhazat?”

The ghost understood that. He nodded and disappeared as if the very sound of her name had scared him away. Mika stood there, biting his lip as he tried to decide what to do. Master Thero had told him to stay here; there was no arguing that. He said he’d send for him if he needed him. But what if he couldn’t? What if Rhazat had caught him and was torturing him like she had Mika? Then his master couldn’t send for him, because his magic wouldn’t work!

That and the bad feeling in his stomach decided him. He went back to the house and crept into the kitchen pantry, where he found a sack and put in as much food as he could carry. Then he hurried up to the barn for his pony, Little Star. She nickered sleepily as he put on the saddle and tightened the girth the way Klia had taught him when she gave the little mare to him. Looping the knotted neck of the sack over the pommel, he pulled himself up and set off for Menosi at a canter.

Darkness fell while Alec lay in the little hollow he’d used before, the black Radly and his quiver on the cloak beside him. Without any other form of light, it was like being blind, and that made Alec uneasy. The only creatures he had to fear here were dra’gorgos and the dyrmagnos herself, and he had no doubt that either of them could find him easily enough and that he wouldn’t have any warning before anything grabbed him. At least it wasn’t cold or damp.

The mute boy had appeared as Mika rode up the river road, and ran along beside Little Star. As they neared the stone where they’d first met he got in front of the pony, motioning for Mika to stop.

He reined in, trying to figure out what was wrong.

The boy pointed to Little Star and shook his head, then to the sack of food, and then Mika.

“My pony can’t go in?” Then he remembered the chicken Alec had tried to carry into the other plane. He dismounted and untied the sack of food. It seemed he’d have to go on foot from here. His friend motioned for him to follow him. Mika walked beside him toward the rise leading up to the plain, where the man who’d broken his arm had come from. As they neared the top, the ghost took his hand, pulling him along into the darkness.

“Bilairy’s Balls, Seregil, will you quit pacing and sit down?” Micum murmured as he came back into the cave. “We’re all on edge.”

“Sorry.” Seregil stopped next to Khazireen’s skull. He knew how it felt, waiting and staring at that damn wall. Between the tension, the cold and damp of the cave, and the smell of piss from the far side of it, he was having a hard time not climbing out of his own skin. It had been far too long; Alec’s food would be running low by now, and who knew what being there for so long would do to him?

“What’s the hour?”

“Just at dawn.”

“Bilairy’s Balls! Alec must be low on food by now. Thero, you awake?” he asked. The wizard was sitting against the wall near the tunnel entrance, head back, eyes closed.

Thero opened his eyes. “Yes. I take it nothing’s happened?”

“That’s right,” Seregil muttered, staring at the wall again where the Great Seal had once been. This was where something would begin.

Micum came over and rested his hand on Seregil’s shoulder. “You’re as jumpy as a cat on a griddle. That’s not like you. You’re not doing anyone any good by wearing yourself out.”

“I’m fine,” Seregil said, sighing. “It’s just the waiting.”

“We need to eat,” said Thero, standing and stretching.

Seregil forced himself to eat because he had to, but the thought of Alec possibly starving as he waited turned the bread to ashes in his mouth.

Somehow the night passed and Alec was glad for once to see the grey sky as what passed for dawn brought back the light. When he sat up to check the landscape, however, a wave of dizziness swept over him, stirring nausea in his empty stomach. Digging into his pack, he found half a turnip from the night before and ate it in thick slices. There was a little jerky left, as well, and he ate a strip, washing it down with a sparing swig from his waterskin. Even after that, he was still hungry, but he didn’t dare eat any more, not knowing when Klia could entice the dyrmagnos here. He thought he’d packed enough for at least two days, but he’d eaten more in the night than he’d intended. This was the longest he’d been in this plane, and it was sapping his strength faster than he’d anticipated. He ate another strip of jerky, the last one. That left him with a turnip and a little water left in the waterskin. Between that and lack of sleep, if things didn’t come to a head soon he would be too weak to pull the bow.

He lay down to conserve his strength. The day grew brighter, if you could call it that, and at last he heard the sound of horses from the road below. Flattening himself in the hollow, he kept his head down and listened as two riders came up the path.

“Come along, my dear, don’t hold back now,” said a woman.

“What difference does it make?” Klia replied, her voice bleak and dispirited in a way Alec had never imagined her capable of.

He heard them walking toward the tunnel and chanced a quick peek over the lip of the hollow. The beautiful woman in red had her hand under Klia’s arm, as if supporting her. Klia nodded and walked slowly through the gaping mouth of the tunnel.

It was a long and weary walk to Zikara. Mika had never come to it from this direction. The night passed and the grey sky began to lighten as he and his friend reached the city gate. Mika was footsore, hungry, and frightened. He should have listened to his master, not the ghost.

There were lots of ghost people around today, going in through the open gate with wagons and carts.

The mute boy took Mika’s hand again and urged him through the twisting streets toward the tower. They were in sight of it when the great doors opened and Rhazat and Klia came out. Klia was thin and pale and looked very scared and sad. The two of them disappeared around the side of the tower and a moment later he saw them ride away in the opposite direction, the dyrmagnos mounted on Klia’s Moonshine.

“Where are they going?” Mika whispered, then realized no one was holding his hand. The ghost was gone.

Exhausted, Mika hurried after them.

They went out a gate he hadn’t seen before, and rode into the hills behind the town. They were walking their horses, so Mika hung back as far as he could and still keep them in sight, following them up a dirt road. They turned aside and disappeared behind a rise. Hurrying after them, he came across a path and followed it. At the end was a frightening, ugly face carved into a cliff. Its open mouth was the opening into a tunnel, and the two horses had been left outside, untethered. There was no sign of Klia or Rhazat. They must have gone inside.

As Mika approached the face, meaning to follow them, he heard a low whistle behind him and looked up to see Alec gesturing angrily for him to come to him. Mika scrambled up and found Alec lying in a hollowed-out place in the ground. He was pale and looked like he hadn’t eaten in days.

He pulled Mika down and hissed, “What in Bilairy’s name are you doing here?”

“That ghost boy brought me here to help.” It sounded weak. “I brought food.”

Alec didn’t look much less angry as he yanked open the food sack and wolfed down a handful of Sabriel’s brown bread, then broke a piece from what was left of the cheese and crammed that in his mouth. He found a piece of summer sausage and put it inside his shirt. Mika had never seen him like this.

“Now stay here!” Alec ordered. “Do you understand? Don’t move.”

“I promise,” Mika whispered back.

“I mean it, stay here.”

“I will, Alec.”

Shaking his head, Alec slung on his quiver and his black bow, then went down the hillside and disappeared into the tunnel.

Mika was miserable, awash in shame and disappointment. Why had the ghost brought him here? Why had he disobeyed Master Thero and followed the ghost? It had seemed like the right thing to do at the time, but now he wished he’d never left Mirror Moon.

Rhazat lit the torches down the corridor and followed Klia to the cave. Klia had no reason to believe that the dyrmagnos could read her mind, but she concentrated on the task ahead as single-pointedly as she could, just in case. The gorget rested warm and sharp against her forearm up her right sleeve.

In the cave the Great Seal was bathed in its own soft glow. In this light the dyrmagnos appeared lovely and pure. Klia shivered. It was as if she was seeing the image of her ancestor, who had been called Wise. Had Nhandi looked like this, after she’d set the seal? Had she wept, or met her chosen fate dispassionately?

It was now her turn to live up to that sacrifice and make sure it had not been in vain.

“What will happen when I break the seal?” she asked.

“Won’t it be delicious to find out?” said Rhazat, smiling through Nhandi’s lips and eyes. “And I am so looking forward to meeting your friends in person—your wizard lover, Seregil of the beautiful eyes, golden Alec, and handsome Micum. They’re just on the other side, I know. Let’s not keep them waiting.”

Klia approached the seal. It was very beautiful, and she thought of Nhandi holding it in her hand a thousand years ago.

Kamar yosi eyír, ashkira, Nhandi whispered to her. Samat ei. Kill her.

“Get on with it,” Rhazat snapped. “Don’t just stand there, break the seal!”

Illior protect them and me, she thought, reaching for the stone. Protect us who serve you today.

It was cool and smooth except for the tiny lines of the magical inscription. As she brushed her finger over it, it came loose from the mounting and fell to the ground at her feet.

She braced for she knew not what, yet nothing happened.

“Destroy it!” Rhazat ordered. “Now!”

Raising her foot, Klia stomped on the stone with the heel of her boot. It did not shatter as she’d expected but instead broke in two. The light died inside it and the ground began to shake as the cave wall in front of them suddenly flickered, giving her tantalizing glimpses of Seregil and Micum poised on the other side, swords drawn. Thero stood just behind them, palms pressed together in front of his heart. The sight of him held her attention the slightest moment too long. Rhazat pulled her up by her hair and got a hand around her throat.

“It’s begun. Let them watch,” she gloated, leaning in to press her lips to Klia’s brow.

Klia shook the golden blade from her sleeve and brought it up under Rhazat’s chin, slashing at the dyrmagnos’s throat as her own was being slowly crushed. Rhazat pulled back and grabbed Klia’s wrist. Caught in that double grip, Klia tried to twist away, but couldn’t get loose. The slash across Rhazat’s throat was not bleeding. The skin had simply parted, revealing more of the dry brown hide underneath. Klia clung to the blade as she felt the bones in her right wrist grind together.

Es rili!

Nhandi! Hoping she understood the ghost’s intent, Klia grabbed a handful of Rhazat’s thick black hair with her gloved left hand and pulled with all her might.

Mika’s unexpected and unwelcome appearance had rattled Alec. He had no choice but to leave the child out there by himself.

He crept down the tunnel, bow held low, arrow nocked ready on the string. He could hear Rhazat’s voice, and Klia’s echoing back to him.

“What will happen when I break the seal?” That was Klia.

“Won’t it be delicious to find out?” replied Rhazat. “I am so looking forward to meeting your friends in person—your wizard lover, Seregil of the beautiful eyes, golden Alec, and handsome Micum. They’re just on the other side, I know. Let’s not keep them waiting.”

Oh, Illior, she knows they’re there! he thought, alarmed. He crept forward until he could see the two women standing on either side of the glowing seal. He watched as Klia touched the stone and it fell to the ground. At Rhazat’s command Klia stomped on it.

The ground lurched under his feet, throwing him backward to land on his quiver. He heard at least one of the arrows snap. The light around him began to roil and curdle like milk in vinegar, and a deafening roar shuddered through the rock above and below him.

He lurched up to his feet in time to see Klia, caught in the dyrmagnos’s grip, grab Rhazat by the hair with her free hand and rip off the stolen skin. The skin and luxurious hair came away like a tattered cloak that had been draped over the dyrmagnos’s head, revealing Rhazat’s true form. Like Irtuk Beshar—who’d held him in a horrid embrace more than once—she was a weathered, withered husk with the flaccid remains of wrinkled dugs hanging against protruding ribs and leathery skin close on the bone. A few wisps of grey hair hung from her scabrous scalp, but her eyes were young and cruel and full of hatred as she lifted Klia off her feet, still clinging to the skin. Behind them the cave wall was slowly fading away like frost melting down a windowpane, revealing Seregil and the others.

Alec raised the Radly, trying to keep his feet and draw steady. It would be hard enough to hit his target; he had almost the same chance of hitting Klia. And would the magic even work yet?

Shoot true, talí.

“Aura Elustri málreil, talí.” Alec drew the string to his ear and released it.

And missed.

The shaft flew by Rhazat and narrowly missed Seregil. The dyrmagnos whirled to face him, holding Klia between them like a shield. Klia had her back to him and he was glad not to see her face.

He had already set another arrow to the bowstring. Instinct overrode fear or doubt; he drew and released again. This time the arrow found a mark; it pierced Klia’s left shoulder and went through, into Rhazat’s chest just shy of her heart. Throwing Klia aside, the dyrmagnos extended her hand toward Alec. The magic hadn’t worked.

A dark form took shape by her side and a huge dra’gorgos came hurtling at him. Alec turned and ran.

“Why is it taking so long?” Seregil shouted over the rumbling and roaring. He’d expected the cave wall to disappear or explode or anything but flash before them like sunlight through leaves in a high wind. The dripstone disappeared on their side, reappeared, disappeared as the two planes began to mingle. And they could only watch helplessly as the dyrmagnos throttled Klia even as she ripped away Rhazat’s false skin, revealing a horrible naked body that belonged in a tomb, not here fighting with hideous strength.

And where was Alec?

Then the wall began to melt and an arrow suddenly buzzed by Seregil’s cheek, narrowly missing both him and Thero behind him.

“That’s Alec!” Thero shouted back to him, just as Rhazat staggered and tossed Klia aside like a rag doll. She pointed down the tunnel and Seregil saw a hulking dra’gorgos take shape and advance on Alec. Before Seregil could do anything, Rhazat turned to face him.

Suddenly the horrifying figure of a flayed woman was standing next to Rhazat. The tattered fallen skin and hair whirled up from the ground and wrapped around the bloody figure, rapidly taking shape, healing, smoothing until a woman he could only guess was Hierophant Nhandi stood revealed, lovely in red velvet. The two women faced each other for an instant, then Nhandi flew at the dyrmagnos and got her hands around Rhazat’s throat. Klia dashed in beside her, striking at Rhazat with something that glinted gold in the double glow of Thero’s light and the torch burning in the other cave. Then the wall was gone completely and the world blurred as time flowed into time.

Everything went wobbly and weird around Mika. The ground melted away under him and he fell tumbling down the hillside. As he rolled to a stop he looked up in time to see the cliff and the face carved into the rock disappearing in little specks and sparks flying up in the air. Overhead, the grey clouds were shredding and roiling to reveal streaks of blue.

As the cliff and tunnel disappeared like a snowbank in spring, Mika saw a horrible black dra’gorgos pounce on Alec. Alec’s bow lay out of reach behind him and his arrows were scattered on the ground. Forgetting all about his promise, Mika ran toward him as he felt the red rising in him. Before it could explode he raised his hand and pointed a finger at the monster, at the same time concentrating the way Master Thero had taught him. The raw, screaming energy burned down his arm and out his finger and struck the dra’gorgos. It disappeared like smoke on the wind.

Instead of collapsing like he usually did after the red came, Mika ran to Alec.

“Thank you,” Alec gasped. “Fetch me my bow.”

As the other cave and the surrounding hillside dissolved and Nhandi’s ghost and Klia attacked the dyrmagnos, Seregil and the others found themselves exposed in the remnant of their cave, which now stood open overlooking the ruins of Zikara.

“Klia, get away!” Thero shouted, shouldering past Seregil and Micum and crossing the line of gold and salt to confront the dyrmagnos. Klia retreated, stumbling over the suddenly unfamiliar ground, and Nhandi went with her, catching her as she almost fell down a newly revealed slope.

Thero shouted a command and thrust his palm against Rhazat’s chest. There was a crack like thunder and she staggered back with a hiss of rage, then flew at him, pulling him into her arms for the fatal kiss. Instead she found herself gripping a column of blue fire that singed away the scant remains of her hair and blackened her face, chest, and belly. With a scream, she waved her arm and Thero was sent flying back to collide with Seregil and Micum; the three of them went down. The next thing Seregil knew there was another crack of thunder, then a leathery hand had him by the throat and he was looking the dyrmagnos in the face at dangerously close range. A paralyzing coldness suffused his body as she leaned in to kiss him. He couldn’t move, couldn’t even close his eyes.

Alec, talí, I’m so sorry—

Then he was falling, still choking in the dyrmagnos’s grip and looking up as Micum swung his sword at Rhazat again, aiming to cut off her other arm. Before he could, she screamed at him, and the blast of it knocked Micum flying and spun Seregil across the ground, grappling with the severed arm that was still doing its best to strangle him.

Thero leapt at her again and stabbed her in the eye with his crystal wand. She yanked it out and a foul black mist rushed from her mouth and enveloped Thero, throwing him violently backward.

Tearing the arm from his throat, Seregil surged up and ran the dyrmagnos through with his sword, laden with all the wards and charms Thero had painted on it. She twisted away and the blade slid from her body, but not before tearing a hole in her belly. Lashing out, she knocked him across the cave. Half stunned, he saw her coming for him again, then someone was in the way.

It was Thero.

It was a melee around Rhazat, with first Klia, then Thero, Seregil, and Micum getting in the way of Alec’s shot.

“Get away from her!” he yelled but no one seemed to hear. His chance came when she blew the others away from her with some sort of blast that knocked them and Alec down. Still clutching the Radly, he rose on one knee and sent an arrow speeding up toward her. This one struck home, piercing her through the belly, next to a sword wound. The next shaft struck her in the chest but not, apparently, in the heart. Snarling in rage or agony she staggered, then ripped the arrow from her chest and flung out her hand, conjuring another huge dra’gorgos, which flew at him too fast to evade. The moment it touched him, however, it exploded in a puff of noxious black smoke.

They must be back in their own time, if Thero’s amulet had worked. But there was still the dyrmagnos to contend with. He barely had time to let fly another shaft before she bore him to the ground and he felt the shaft he’d lodged in her belly jabbing him. Even with one arm gone and an arrow in her, she was incredibly strong.

“At last,” she snarled. “It was you coming to Klia all along, Alec Two Lives. What a sneaky fellow you are!”

As she bent to kiss him with her cracked black lips, he drove the arrow he’d been clutching into her left temple. It sank in as easily as piercing a baked gourd. She reared back, clawing at it. Alec kicked her off, grabbed up his bow and the two arrows in reach, and scrambled to his feet. Raising the Radly, he let fly once, twice, burying both shafts to the vanes in her heart as she rose to her feet. Shrieking, she clawed at the feathered shafts with her remaining hand.

Alec’s heart sank. They had wounded but not destroyed her. Thero must have underestimated her power.

Somewhere nearby Seregil was calling his name.

At least let him see me go down fighting. Dropping the bow, Alec drew his sword, gripped the hilt with both hands, and swung with all his might. The blade caught her below her left ear, slicing off the top of her head below the eyes. Black fluid spewed from the crater of her skull, spattering his hand with something that reeked of death. He staggered back and saw the dyrmagnos coming after him again. Then Seregil was on her, chopping her apart with vicious swings of his sword. He sent the remains of her head flying—still cursing him—then brought his blade down on the stump of her neck, cleaving her to the breastbone. Pulling the sword free, he raised it for another swing but the headless body turned and caught him by the shoulder with its remaining hand. Alec cut off the arm at the elbow and pulled at the forearm until it let go of Seregil, leaving deep tears in his coat. Alec threw the arm as far away as he could, then turned to find Seregil hacking the legs off Rhazat’s body. The cloven torso tumbled to the ground but the severed arm was crawling back toward it, trying to reunite with the body.

“Where is Thero?” Alec shouted, hacking the hand away at the wrist.

“He’s down,” Seregil panted as Micum ran up holding the large crystal box and two smaller ones.

“Down?”

Seregil just shook his head as he scooped the two halves of Rhazat’s head into the crystal box and pressed the lid down on top of it. The eyes in the upper half of the head glared up at them with naked hatred as the mouth in the lower part spat curses at them. Alec and Micum found the hands and shut them in the other boxes.

“Mika, come here!” Seregil called.

Alec had almost forgotten about the boy. Looking back, he saw Mika running toward them.

“Where’s Master Thero?” Mika asked.

“He’s with Klia,” Micum told him, and Alec was amazed to hear the big man’s voice shaking. “He wants you to seal the box the way he taught you. Can you do that, Mika?”

“I’ll try.” He knelt by the boxes while Seregil held the lid down on the one containing the head. Closing his eyes, Mika ran his finger around the edge of the lid, joining it with the box. It was not as clean and seamless as Thero would have done, but it worked. He sealed the other two, then fainted.

Micum checked the boy’s pulse and lifted him in his arms. “That’s good, Mika. Well done. What about the rest of this creature?”

Seregil looked around at the twitching remains scattered down the slope. “We’ll burn them.”

“What about Thero?” asked Alec.

“Not good,” Micum told him.

Alec ran back up the newly made slope to what was left of the painted cave. Klia and Thero were beside the skull. He lay sprawled on the ground and she was on her knees beside him, cradling his bloody head. Her tunic was soaked with blood from the arrow wound and that running from Thero’s ears and nose. Alec knelt beside her and felt Thero’s wrist for a pulse.

“Oh, Illior,” he groaned.

“Thero, open your eyes,” Klia pleaded. “Please my darling, don’t leave me! Don’t leave our child!”

Seregil knelt beside her and put an arm around her shoulders. “Klia, love, I have to dress your wound.”

“No!” she screamed, crouching lower over Thero’s body. “No! He’s not dead! He’s not!”

Alec felt Thero’s throat. No pulse there, either.

“He took the full force of the dyrmagnos’s attack,” Seregil said in a broken voice. “He protected me.”

Micum joined them, cradling Mika in his arms. “Astellus carry—”

“No!” Klia said, glaring up at him. Something behind Seregil caught her attention and she held out her hand. “Help us, please!”

Turning, Alec saw Nhandi standing arm in arm with a tall, handsome ’faie man in a dark robe—unmistakably the “prince” from the journal at Mirror Moon. He and Nhandi looked solid and real, except that they cast no shadow. Behind them, in Zikara, stood the ruins of a tower where the strange round area had been.

Seregil bowed to them and said in Aurënfaie, “Honored Hierophant and you, my cousin, Khazireen, welcome.”

They bowed to him, then approached Thero and Klia. Nhandi knelt and laid her hand on Klia’s and disappeared. Khazireen touched Thero’s brow; then he disappeared, as well. Thero’s eyes flew open and he sat up, coughing blood, then embraced Klia and kissed her with more passion than Seregil had ever witnessed between them.

“Nölienai talía!” he breathed in a voice not his own, touching her face, her hair, her throat like a blind man. “Nölienai talía.”

“Altari talí!” Klia replied, tears coursing down her face as she gazed into his eyes.

“That’s not Thero, is it?” Alec asked softly. “Or Klia.”

Seregil gave him the silent sign wait.

The couple kissed once more, then Thero fell back and Klia slumped forward across his body, both white as chalk.

“Master?” Mika rasped, struggling out of Micum’s arms. “Master! Klia!” He crouched down beside them and took Thero’s hand. “Master? Master Thero?” His face crumpled as he began to cry.

“Not both of them!” Micum groaned. He gently lifted Klia across his lap and stroked the unwashed brown hair back from her brow, laying bare the widow’s peak. “How could they—”

Klia’s blue eyes fluttered open and she looked up uncomprehendingly at him. “Micum? I—” Then the grief-stricken expression returned as she pushed away from him and knelt beside Thero again. “Oh, my love.”

“He’s not dead!” Mika told her, holding Thero’s hand in both of his.

“I’m sorry, Mika.” Alec tried to get his arms around the boy.

But Mika clung to Thero’s hand and shook his head, shouting. “He’s not! He’s not! Klia, he’s not dead!”

Alec felt for a pulse in Thero’s throat again. There, in the artery close by the windpipe, he felt something twitch under his fingertip. No, not a twitch; a pulse! It was faint and thready, but there was no mistaking it. “By the Light! Fetch a cloak or blanket. And water! Hurry!”

Klia brought Thero’s hand to her lips as tears rolled down her cheeks. “Is it really him, and not the ghost?”

“I don’t know.”

Seregil brought a cloak from the cave and draped it over Thero. Micum found a waterskin and carefully let a few drops fall between Thero’s waxen lips while Klia and Mika held his hands and chafed his wrists.

“He needs a healer!” said Micum.

Klia nodded, and the steel was back in her voice. “We have to get him to Mirror Moon. Tell me you have horses.”

“We left horses and a wagon in the sacred grove,” Micum told her. “But it might not be good to move him as he is now.”

“I don’t see what choice we have,” said Seregil.

“I can’t lose him again,” Klia whispered.

Alec found another blanket. “We can carry him with this.”

“Dragging him through the tunnels will probably do more harm than good,” Seregil replied. “I’ll go for help.”

Klia looked down at Thero. “Hurry!”

Seregil squeezed her shoulder. “As fast as the wind. Let Alec and Micum bind your wound now, otherwise we’ll have to carry you out as well.” He ran into the cave and disappeared up the tunnel.

“How long do you think it will take?” asked Mika.

Alec hugged the boy. “He’ll be back before you know it.” Illior’s Light, he hoped he was right.

“Please, Illior,” Klia murmured.

Micum gently cut the tunic and shirt away from the wound on her shoulder and tore his own shirt to make bandages. The arrow had struck just under her arm, missing bone. When he was done he draped the second blanket around her. She gathered Mika closer and clung to Thero’s hand, as if the two of them could will him to live.

“When he was poisoned, he healed himself,” offered Alec. “He forced the poison out of his body. Maybe he’s doing that now.”

“I hope so,” Mika whimpered.

Alec kept an eye on the sun’s transit, trying to figure how long it would take for Seregil to ride to Mirror Moon and back. And that was assuming that the horses hadn’t run off during the earthquake. He exchanged a look with Micum and suspected his friend was doing the same arithmetic.

Far sooner than expected, however, they heard someone coming back down the tunnel. And not just one person.

Alec rose and drew his sword, but it was Seregil who slid out into the cave first, followed by old Sabriel, of all people, then Vhadä and five more ’faie—two men and three women—Alec hadn’t seen before, two of them carrying large baskets.

Without a word, Sabriel and the others knelt around Thero, placing their hands on his chest, shoulders, and brow.

“You, too, child,” Sabriel said, giving Mika a kindly smile. “Your master needs you. Imagine him alive and happy. Let him feel how much you love him.”

No one said another word. A soft glow slowly enveloped them and Thero, and with it came a scent like lilies.

“What’s happening?” asked Klia, still holding Thero’s hand.

Seregil smiled. “Sabriel told me last time I was at Mirror Moon that a few other ’faie with a little magic had come there. Sabriel was the first to reveal herself to me. None of them is very strong, but together they may be able to help sustain him.”

“Like the wizards who joined together to help Tamír the Great win her war,” Klia murmured.

“Yes, just like that. There’s more help coming, too. Some of the men are bringing a wagon across the plain, and Kordira’s been sent for.”

“But how did you get to Mirror Moon and back so quickly?” asked Micum.

“I didn’t. I wasn’t much past Menosi when I met Sabriel and the others on the road. We have Mika and Vhadä’s inability to keep a secret to thank for that, don’t we, boys?”

“I’m sorry, Mika,” said Vhadä, who’d hung back all this time. “When you were gone in the morning without a word the whole house was in an uproar. Then the ground shook. I was so worried about you and your friends that I told Mama and she told Khiria and Dorin. Everyone said we had to come help you and the barons, who’d helped us so much. I’m sorry I didn’t keep your secret.”

“Don’t worry about that,” said Seregil. “Between the two of you, you’ve saved a life or two.”

Thero remained pale and motionless as the sun passed noon, hardly appearing to breathe. The women had brought food and water in their baskets, as well as healing simples, and Sabriel saw to it that Alec, Klia, and Mika ate and drank all they could hold. Klia and Mika still had a haunted, starved look and Alec guessed he probably didn’t look much better.

Not long after, the wagon and several horsemen arrived. Micum and Seregil lifted Thero in a blanket and picked their way down the strange new terrain to the wagon. Alec followed, supporting Klia, who was finally feeling the effects of the fight and blood loss. He helped her into the back of the wagon and she lay down on the thick pad of blankets next to Thero, one hand protectively across her belly, the other holding Thero’s. Sabriel climbed in to look after them.

“It’s going to be all right now, my dears,” she told Klia, spreading a blanket over the two of them.

Alec hoped she was right.

The men from Mirror Moon had brought horses for them all. Once the loathsome remains of Rhazat’s body had been deeply and separately buried until someone could come back and burn them, Seregil had a quiet word with Micum, then laid a hand on Alec’s arm. They watched Micum and the others ride away across the plain, then Seregil took Alec by the hand and led him back toward the cave.

“We should get back and see how Thero is,” said Alec.

“There’s nothing you or I can do for him right now,” Seregil replied. “I just want a bit of time with you before we go back.”

Alec followed him up to the painted cave and they used the leftover water and the bandages from one of the baskets to clean each other’s wounds. They were both badly scraped and bruised but Seregil was more concerned at how thin Alec was. He used a wad of linen to sponge Rhazat’s dried black blood from Alec’s face and hands, then handed him a lump of cheese and tore a chunk of bread from one of the loaves the ’faie women had brought. “Eat.”

Alec made short work of the food, and drank deeply from a waterskin. Satisfied, Seregil unbound Alec’s soft blond hair and combed it smooth with his fingers. Alec held his gaze, lips slightly parted, then leaned in and kissed him with a tenderness that brought tears to his eyes. Seregil took him in his arms and kissed him again and again, grateful to his very bones to have Alec alive and well in his arms, not starved and withered away in the grey domain of the dyrmagnos. Then they were pulling at each other’s clothing as they sank back on the last blanket. Exhausted and battered as they both were, the lovemaking had never been sweeter or more needed than it was there, watched over by the painted animals and the shattered remains of a lover’s skull.

Alec woke to midafternoon light slanting into the cave, illuminating its timeless artwork and what remained of the stone formations. Naked, bruised, and wonderfully filthy, he tightened his arms around Seregil, who was still lying half on top of him, one arm around Alec’s waist, one leg slung over Alec’s as if he was afraid even in sleep of losing him. The head scarf was gone, and Seregil’s tangled hair only partly covered the shaved patches and stitches. The short new hairs around the wounds were pure white. All the same, he’d never looked more beautiful to Alec, or felt so perfect in his arms.

Too soon Seregil stirred and stretched against him. Lifting his head, he gave Alec a contented smile. “Hello, my talímenios.”

Alec brushed a tangle of dark hair back from Seregil’s cheek. “Hello, mine.”

Seregil sat up with a groan and reached for his breeches. “I wonder if we scared any shepherds?” he said as they dressed.

“I expect so, if the landscape melting and a large tower appearing out of nowhere didn’t do it already.” Alec stood and gazed out at Zikara and the ruins of Rhazat’s stronghold. “Do you think there will be as many ghosts now?”

Seregil shrugged. “I imagine there will always be ghosts on Kouros, but not monsters.” He looked in the basket. “We’ve eaten everything. I guess we better go back.”

“There’s something I want to—” Alec broke off as a large white owl swooped in over their heads to perch in the opening of the tunnel leading up to the other caves. Alec and Seregil bowed their heads reverently to Illior’s bird. The owl bobbed its round head and blinked its huge yellow eyes, as if returning the greeting, then fluffed its feathers and flew up the tunnel to the caves above.

“Have you ever seen an owl do that?” asked Alec.

“No.”

They scrambled up to the middle cave. There was no sign of the owl except for a white tail feather banded with pale grey lying on the ancient oracle’s stool like an offering. In silent agreement, they left it there and went through to the outer cave. It was empty, and there was no sign of the bird outside.

“Something tells me the oracle will speak here again,” said Seregil. “We should probably get back.”

“I know, but there’s something I need to do.”

The horses that had been brought for them from Mirror Moon were still hobbled down the slope from the painted cave, and they galloped across the plain to Zikara.

The ruins had been badly damaged by the shock waves, with many of the remaining walls reduced to piles of stone. Rhazat’s tower was in ruins, as well, the toll of a thousand years rushing in around it. Although the weathered outer wall was still partially intact, rising in places almost to the full height of what it had been, the roof was gone; a flock of sharp-eyed ravens looked down at them from atop the jagged stonework, croaking at them as if warning them off. The floors inside the tower had rotted away, and the only thing that looked anywhere near sound was a curved stone stairway leading down into the gaping, weed-choked cellar.

Alec pointed up to a gap in the stonework where a window had been. “That’s where I first saw Rhazat.” He looked around. “Over there was the alley where Nhandi showed me the vision of the seal.”

A large stone dislodged by the freshening breeze fell into the cellar, and they heard it shatter on something hard.

“Klia said Rhazat kept prisoners down there,” said Alec.

“Most likely.”

“I want to go down there.”

Seregil tilted his head, eyeing the stairs with concern. “There are likely to be snakes, assuming the stonework doesn’t crumble like sugar.”

“I’ll just have to be careful.”

“What’s this ‘I’ business?”

The stairs were still passable and they made it down into the cellar without encountering any snakes. Stone pillars still stood in the center of the main chamber, which had once held up a floor. Empty doorways led off in two directions.

“What are you looking for, Alec?”

Alec glanced around at the shattered stone and shadows. “Some sign of Sedge and the others, I guess.”

They each took a doorway and Alec found himself in a large room lined with what had probably been cells, though the bars had rusted away to nothing. Inside the first few he found bones and a few skulls, protected from the elements and animals, except perhaps for the ancestors of the ravens perched far above them. Here and there he found names or words scratched into the stone, poignant evidence of desperation. Moving from cell to cell, Alec looked for any relic that might give him a clue about who the prisoners had been. In the last cell there were a few more scattered bones. He was turning to go when he saw something scratched into the wall near the cell door that nearly stopped his heart.

Sedge son of Por of Wyvern Dug

Sakor help us

Captain Sedge had been on his way home to finally reunite with his wife and children. Born in the distant territories, he’d gone a thousand years in the past to die, after all he’d been through.

Alec’s eyes stung as he whispered a prayer for the man’s soul, hoping Astellus had led him safely to Bilairy’s gate. He shrugged out of his coat and pulled his shirt over his head to bundle the bones together. He found Seregil in the central chamber, peering at something on the ground.

“I found Sedge’s name scratched on a cell wall, and his bones,” Alec called as he set his bundle carefully on the ground. “These should go to his family.”

“Astellus carry him softly, poor fellow,” Seregil murmured as he joined him. Then, to Alec’s surprise, Seregil slipped a hand around the back of Alec’s neck and rested his forehead against Alec’s for a moment.

“I was never down here,” Alec whispered.

“No, but you could have been.”

They climbed the stairs and found Micum Cavish glaring down at them from his horse. “And just where in Bilairy’s name have you two been?” he demanded. “As if Klia doesn’t have enough to worry about!”

“Just tying up some loose ends,” Seregil told him as he mounted his horse.

“And getting filthy in the process. What did you find down there?”

Alec mounted one-handed and showed Micum the long bundle he carried. “We found Captain Sedge.”

Micum’s anger evaporated. “The poor fellow. After all he went through.”

“How is Thero?” Seregil asked as they set off.

“Alive. Klia and Kordira are with him.” He stroked his moustache. “By the Four, we came close to losing him.”

“We came close to losing all of us,” said Seregil and kicked his horse into a gallop.

Dorin met them in the great hall at Mirror Moon.

“How is Lord Thero?” asked Alec.

“Doctor Kordira is tending to him, my lord.”

Vhadä came clattering halfway down the stairs. “There you are! Lord Thero is awake. Come on!”

Alec hesitated, knowing he stank of sweat, dust, and sex, but Seregil grabbed his elbow and hurried him upstairs to Thero’s chamber.

Klia sat beside Thero on the large bed, holding his hand, and Mika stood on the other side of the bed, elbows on the mattress. Kordira was leaning over the wizard, helping him drink from a cup.

“He’s awake,” Mika whispered.

“So we heard,” Alec whispered back and went with Micum and Seregil to stand at the foot of the bed.

Kordira straightened up, and Alec saw Thero’s face. The wizard was propped up on pillows, looking pale and exhausted. “Alec?” he rasped, opening his eyes. Still pale green, they were cloudy white where the pupil should have been; Thero was blind.

Seregil went to the bed beside Mika and covered Thero’s hand with his own. “Thero, I’m so—”

“Don’t!”

“What happened?” Alec murmured to Micum.

But it was Klia who answered. There was nothing accusing in her voice or expression as she looked up at them, but Alec heard her deep sorrow. “He was shielding Seregil when it happened. Rhazat—”

“Was going to kill Seregil, and I stopped her,” Thero snapped. “Any of you would have done the same for me. It’s not your fault, Seregil, and I don’t want anyone’s pity!”

Rather than pulling his hand away, however, he turned it to clasp Seregil’s. Blind he might be, but Alec could tell from the twitch in the wizard’s wan cheek that he felt the hot tear that fell from Seregil’s eye to spatter on the back of his hand. Alec felt like crying, too.

“I don’t want your guilt, either, Seregil,” Thero said, giving his hand a sharp shake.

“I owe you my life.”

“I have my own, thank you,” Thero replied crisply. “Who else is here besides you and Alec. Micum?”

“I’m here,” said Micum.

“Good. So we all came through alive?”

“Except for Rhazat,” Mika said. “Seregil and Alec chopped her to pieces and I sealed her head and hands in the boxes you brought. We buried the rest.”

“Well done.”

“Mika left out that he saved my life, Thero,” said Alec. “He single-handedly destroyed a dra’gorgos that was about to kill me.”

“But I had to use the red,” Mika said in a small voice.

Thero let go of Seregil’s hand and placed his own on Mika’s head. “I am very, very proud of you.” Then, in a strained voice, “If the rest of you don’t mind, I’d like to be alone with Klia and Mika now. And Alec? Get Seregil down to the baths. You both reek.”

Kordira placed the cup in Thero’s hand. “Drink as much of this as you can.”

“Thank you, Doctor.”

She patted Thero’s shoulder and followed Alec and the others out into the corridor, where Vhadä was waiting.

“Fetch clean clothes for me and Alec and take them down to the bathhouse, please,” Seregil said to the boy. Vhadä hurried off to their room.

When he was gone, Seregil turned to Kordira and asked softly, “Is the blindness permanent?”

“Yes, I’m afraid it is. And if you are as good a friend to him as I believe you are, you will honor his request and never burden him with any guilt or pity. You might as well feed him poison.”

Seregil nodded, and Alec followed him downstairs, leaving Micum with the doctor.

Seregil said nothing as they went down the covered walkway to the bath chamber. In silence he stripped off his filthy clothes and settled into one of the two steaming tubs that had been drawn for them. Respecting his silence, Alec undressed and sat down in the other, but kept one eye on Seregil as they washed.

Seregil surfaced from rinsing his hair and lay back against the end of the tub staring up at the painted ceiling. If there were tears on his cheeks, they were lost among the water droplets.

THERE was no reason to hurry back to Rhíminee. Klia returned to Deep Harbor with Thero and Mika to carry out her duties as governor and sent a full report to Queen Elani by fast ship, with a request to return to Skala to bear her child. A week later she received a reply, granting her request but instructing her to remain there until the queen’s arrival in a few months’ time.

Seregil, Alec, and Micum remained at Mirror Moon that summer, except for frequent visits with their friends in Deep Harbor. More ’faie and ya’shel came to the estate, seeking a peaceful place to live out their long days, and joined the others to build more cottages to handle the growing population. Those who showed magical aptitude were sent off to Thero for training, and the wizard was enjoying the challenge.

Seregil, Micum, and Alec often worked with the builders. Micum had been right. There was the beginning of a respectable little hamlet at Mirror Moon now. Their hands grew callused, and they were all brown as nuts.

One afternoon, as Seregil and Alec sat in the shade of a tree, drinking mugs of the first turab brewed on the estate as they watched the builders at work, Alec turned to him and said, “I think you’re happy.”

Seregil raised a brow at him. “What made you think I wasn’t?”

“You know.”

“Thero and I have had some good talks. It’s not easy for him, but he says that he’s not the first blind wizard, and that he truly doesn’t blame me. I’m not going to dishonor that by moping around. He’s got his own little wizards’ school and a baby daughter on the way. He’s happy, too.”

“Good. But I think there’s more to it than that. I think you like it here.”

“You certainly are doing a lot of thinking today!” Seregil teased.

“I just wondered if you want to stay here.”

“For how long?”

Alec let out an impatient sigh. “I’m asking you if you plan to go back to Rhíminee!”

“You have considerable say in that, Alec. What do you want?”

Alec rested his chin on his knees, gazing out over the hamlet, where men were swinging hammers and planing lumber. Micum had his shirt off and was helping plaster a wall. Women were working with them, or carrying out baskets of excellent food. Sabriel had turned down Thero’s offer of training, much preferring her kitchen kingdom, where she had several new helpers. Mika was back for a visit, and Seregil could hear him and Vhadä laughing somewhere nearby.

“I do like it here,” Alec said at last. “I think we should come back when we can, but I don’t think I’m ready to give up on nightrunning just yet.”

“Me, neither.”

And that was settled.

Elani’s ship and its escorts sailed into Deep Harbor on a hot day in late summer. As soon as the gangway was down she appeared at the head of it, fair and pretty in a green summer frock. She waved, then came down to meet Klia and the others, who stood back to let the royal kin greet each other. Klia also wore a light summer gown, and the front of it showed the gentle swell of her belly. With no silks, jewels, or coronets, they looked like a pair of ordinary young women, delighted to see each other. Elani’s mother followed, and her ladies-in-waiting.

Klia started to bow, but Elani stopped her with an exuberant hug. “I’m so glad to see you well, dear aunt! And Thero, my uncle.” She went to him and took his hands. The wizard smiled and raised her hand to his lips. “You honor me greatly, Majesty. You remember Mika, I’m sure.”

“Brave boy and such a fine wizard already,” Elani said, kissing the boy on the cheek. “I hear they taught you to play bakshi. Seregil has given me some lessons, so we’ll have to have many games while I’m here. And you three!” Seregil, Alec, and Micum, dressed in their best, bowed low, hands on their hearts. “Again, I owe you so much. I’ve heard all about your exploits.”

“We’re honored to serve you, Majesty,” Seregil replied.

She looked closely at Alec. “You’re thin, my lord, and so brown.”

“We’ve been doing a bit of building at Mirror Moon, Majesty. It keeps me fit.”

Elani gave him a knowing look; she and Klia had been corresponding for months and Seregil doubted there was much that the queen didn’t know.

“Mama, you know my friends,” said Elani as Aralain joined them.

The princess gave them a cool nod. “I do. Thank you for your service to the Crown.”

Just then another trio came down the gangway. A priest and priestess of Illior robed in white and wearing their silver masks escorted a young, white-robed girl with a long braid of blond hair. Her eyes were vacant and her companions guided her to stand before Klia and the queen. It was clear she was simple-minded; only the god-touched could channel the voice of the Immortal.

Elani took the young girl’s hand and put an arm around her shoulders. “Behold, my friends, the Oracle of Kouros!”

The others bowed, and the girl laughed and hid her face against Elani’s shoulder.

“The caves are restored,” Klia told her, “and a very nice cottage has been built for her and her attendants. We shall have the dedication at your pleasure.”

“Oh, very soon,” said Elani. “Now let’s see Deep Harbor.”

Two days later Seregil and Alec accompanied the others and the queen to the caves, at the head of an entourage of Elani’s retainers, Mayor Hasen and his wife, and other eminent townspeople. The Oracle and her attendants rode in an open carriage decked with flowers, flanked by Elani and Klia.

The stonework around the entrance to the first cave had been damaged by the earthquake, but had been repaired so skillfully that it was difficult to tell. Members of Klia’s guard flanked the flower-decked altar, where the flame burned, reflected in the basin of clear water beside it. The priest and priestess held a brief rededication ceremony, then accompanied the Oracle, Elani, and Klia inside while the rest waited outside in the sunshine. The third cave had been repaired with a masonry wall that Thero had sculpted to look as it had before the cataclysm. Even blind, he was an artist.

After that followed several weeks of frivolity. Elani was clearly delighted to be away from the constraints and duties of Rhíminee, having left that in the capable hands of her uncle Korathan, the vicegerent. She toured Menosi, but declined to take up residence in the old palace, instead ordering the construction of a small, charming summer palace on a headland near Deep Harbor. She’d brought the architect and a crew of masons and builders with her to begin the task, and hired many more people from the surrounding area.

In the meantime, there were riding parties and picnics, boat rides and hunting. She was very taken with Mirror Moon and spent a week there, which sent the household into a flurry of feasts and pleasant pastimes. Alec had had an archery list built and he and the queen spent many happy hours together there. It was there, after swearing Alec to deepest secrecy, that she confessed that she had a suitor, a young marquis Alec and Seregil had gambled with on occasion. He was a good sort, and Alec promised to keep her secret. She hadn’t told her mother yet. There in the list, dressed for shooting, with her fair hair escaping her braid and fluttering in the light breeze, Alec was struck again by her freshness and light humor, as well as her intelligence. He prayed she did not lose any of that; Skala had had enough of dark times.

The new governor, a capable woman named Archduchess Nurana, arrived as summer began to fade, and it was time for leave-taking. Klia, Thero, and Mika sailed back to Rhíminee with Elani, together with the wizard-born ’faie from Mirror Moon.

Seregil had contracted with a sea captain to carry him, Alec, and Micum back to Skala with a shipment of two dozen fine Mirror Moon horses, destined for Watermead.

On their last night at Mirror Moon, one lit by a yellow late-summer moon, the people of the little village that now took up most of the north meadow held a great bonfire and feast in their benefactors’ honor, and it was a lively affair. Kordira joined them, and even Dorin took part. There were several good fiddlers and drummers among the villagers, and a ya’shel girl who played a reed flute. Seregil and Alec were coaxed into singing as well.

When the feasting was over, Seregil climbed onto one of the tables and shouted for silence, then held down his hand for Alec to join him. They’d shed their coats hours ago in the lingering warmth of the day, and it was good to feel the sea breeze against his skin.

“My dear friends, and you are that,” he began, “Alec and I are so very glad to celebrate with you, for the home you’ve made for yourselves here.”

“We owe it to you, my lords!” a woman shouted, and many others took up the cry.

Seregil smiled and gestured for silence again. “That may be so, but we’ve no wish to make dependents of you. You’re free to live and work as you like. That’s all the thanks we need. We very much appreciate your warm hospitality and we have a gift for each of you, if you care to accept it. Anri?”

The weaver and Vhadä came forward with two large baskets of cloth. Anri handed one up to Alec, who shook it out to show the crowd a large square of fine, soft wool, woven with white crescent moons against a sea-blue ground.

“Many of you may not know what this is,” said Alec. He passed his to Seregil and took another from Anri. “These were woven by Master Anri—who’s very good at keeping a secret, by the way—here at Mirror Moon, from the wool of Mirror Moon sheep. The blue dye comes from the shells of sea snails gathered on the seashore.” With that, he and Seregil folded, twisted, and tied them around their heads, with the long tails over their shoulder.

Seregil took up the speech. “These, for those of you too young to know, are sen’gai, the birthright of everyone with a drop of ’faie blood. They are worn to honor Aura Lightbringer, and to show which clan one belongs to. And that’s what you are, my dear friends. You are the clan of Mirror Moon, wearing Aura’s moon and the color of the surrounding sea. Will you accept our humble request, and live as a clan?”

For a moment all he could hear was the sawing of crickets and the breeze. Then Khiria and her sister Sabriel stepped forward and each took a sen’gai from the basket. Turning to face the others, they skillfully copied the style Seregil and Alec used. Willow came forward, took two sen’gai, and gave one to Vhadä. Then she tied hers on like a kerchief.

“Until I learn the fancy way,” she announced, and was greeted with cheers.

Two lines formed as every man, woman, and child queued up to accept a sen’gai. Those who knew how to tie it helped those who didn’t, and within half an hour they looked like a proper clan.

“Your next task will be to elect a khirnari and form a clan council, but that can wait for another day,” said Seregil. “Tonight is for celebrating, so more music and more turab!”

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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