INTERLUDE
As Yolandhe the sea witch, unfettered after her long imprisonment, passed through the grand corridors of the palace, the turbines far below spun out of control with the force of water. Fountains overflowed, pipes burst, and the stream flowing toward the throne room rushed. The very foundation of the palace trembled. Outside, waves swelled on the lake that surrounded its island as though driven by a storm. The surfaces of the ordinarily mirrorlike canals throughout Gossham and beyond, roared like swollen rivers, causing barges and smaller boats to buck and capsize.
All the way to Mill City currents ran wild and high. The Amber River threatened to pour over its banks. It churned into Mill City’s canal system. The strong currents led the mills to shut down their turbines to protect their machines from the unprecedented force of the water. Those who oversaw the locks and dams feared they would not hold and the city would flood.
Standing in the execution yard of Mill City’s prison, Mirriam, former head housekeeper for Professor Bryce Lowell Josston, and conspirator against the empire, stood against a wall blindfolded and with her hands tied behind her back. The yard smelled of blood, expelled bowels, and gunsmoke, but even as the commander prepared to order his squad to fire, a sniff of the air made her think of spring rains. The damp, clean smell was pleasant, brought her some measure of peace. She wondered if it was going to storm, but she would never know, for the order rang out and the last she knew was thunder and smoke.
Up in the Old City, where the best engineered drill in the whole empire chewed through the remains of the old realm’s castle and deep into the royal tombs, the drill’s maker, Heward Moody, oblivious to the threat of flooding down in Mill City, worked the steam engine that powered the drill at its utmost efficiency, while slaves, under the watchful gazes of overseers and archeologists, sorted through the tailings for artifacts. The bits and pieces of jewelry, ceramics, gold, and bone were well and good, but the ultimate prize would require the exploration of the realm beneath. Once Moody deemed they had drilled deep enough, the archeologists would go below to search for the dragonfly device Dr. Silk so coveted.
Dust fogged the corridors in the sacred depths of the royal tombs. The Weapon, Joff, pursued Chelsa past recumbent kings and queens, princes and princesses, the treasures that had been interred with them in death flashing in the light of his taper. Joff found himself lagging behind more than once, for Chelsa ran like a woman possessed, her gray robes flapping behind her. He had tried to reason with her, then argue against her heading into the sections of the tombs compromised by the accursed drill, but she had not heeded him, and only replied with, “I must try. All my research has led to this.”
There had been cave-ins where the drill ground through bedrock and corridors. It had desecrated many of the dead, who had been so diligently tended by caretakers, and protected by Weapons, for so many centuries. But they, the tomb Weapons, had been unable to protect the tombs from Dr. Ezra Stirling Silk’s drill.
As if the drill was not threat enough, Serena had reported sudden flooding in the lowest levels of the tombs.
The Weapons had evacuated all the living inhabitants to the Village, for safety’s sake. The dead were left to fend for themselves, their halls left unlit for the first time in recorded history.
The Weapons had a strategy in place against those who would invade the tombs, but they were too few against the power of the empire. Plans had been made to move everyone out of the Village if it proved no longer safe, with the aid of helpers who lived in the outer world. This would go against everything caretaker society believed in. It was taboo for them to see the living sun. Joff did not believe many of them would make the transition well.
The dust grew heavier the closer they got to the area where the drill drove into the earth. The ground beneath and above them vibrated with its power. Chelsa finally halted at a passage mostly blocked by rubble. Joff raised his taper observing all the cracks in the ceiling, walls, and floor. Chelsa surveyed the damage, too, and he hoped she would see reason.
“I think I can climb over the rock slide and fit through the hole near the ceiling.”
No, she had not seen reason. “Chelsa, please. This could all collapse at any time. You are doing your people no favors by endangering yourself.” As if to augment his words, silt showered down on them.
She rubbed grit out of her eyes. “Joff, I have to. This could end everything—the empire’s power, everything.”
“Then let me go.”
“I don’t think you’ll fit through that hole. Besides, I have to see the artifact for myself to know if it is the correct one.”
She was right on both counts, but he was not sure the artifact, this dragonfly device, was worth it. For all they knew, its power to turn away the emperor’s great weapon was legend only. It could have simply been a metaphor, and victory against the sea kings, in those long ago days, achieved by more conventional means. Chelsa had acknowledged this argument earlier, but was not dissuaded. In fact, she was already climbing up the rubble, loose rocks clattering down the pile, seeking the hole that would allow her entrance to the burial wing of the Sealender kings.
LAURELYN’S GIFT
Karigan trudged on in her cloud of darkness. Silk appeared to be obeying her by making only perfunctory responses, if any, to those who greeted him in the corridor. He walked on with his shoulders slumped and head bowed.
She herself had almost walked right into a palace guard. She’d been between shadows and only half-faded. The guard’s shock gave her enough time to knock him over the head with her staff. It had been most satisfying, but she had to make Silk help her stash him away where he would not be found immediately. They tied him up and gagged him in a store room, and left him hidden behind stacks of broken chairs.
Had she hurt him worse than a bump to his head? A part of her hoped so. It also served to remind Silk that she knew how to use her weapon, and that she would not hesitate to do so.
So fogged and exhausted by using her ability for so long was she, that it was with some surprise she realized they had reached the grotto fountain. Only a few children played with boats in the water, their governesses looking on. She did not espy Arhys or Lorine. She wasn’t sure what she’d do if she did, as they complicated matters.
As for complications, the lighting around the fountain was generally dim, but she would have to cross spaces without concealing shadows. Silk forged on, oblivious to her dilemma, and she could not let him get too far ahead of her. There was nothing for it but to go.
She almost tripped over a boy who froze and stared wide-eyed at her. The taint of darkness rippled through her, took hold like a fever. She raised her staff. She would bludgeon him, and then he would not be able to tell anyone about her. The staff descended, the boy did not move. The urge to kill drove the staff down, but she pulled it away just in time, stumbling back.
Kill a child? She was going to kill a child? No, no, that was not her, but the darkness rode heavily on her shoulders.
The boy unfroze. “Nanny! Nanny!” he cried. “I seen a real ghost!”
Karigan did not wait to hear the governess’ reply, but ran. She ran as fast as she could to the nearest shadow and after Silk. She ran feeling sick because she’d almost killed that boy, and a part of her still hungered to do so.
This is not me, she told herself. But it is me, nonetheless.
• • •
Before they reached the chamber where Lhean was being held, Karigan grabbed Silk by the collar and hauled him aside to give him instructions. When he nodded in understanding, she dropped her fading. The burden of it evaporated so abruptly that she would have fallen to her knees but for her staff. She wished she could lay her head down on a cool pillow and close her eyes.
“It weakens you.”
“What?” She straightened. Silk was staring at her. Her face looked pale reflected in the blackness of his specs.
“Using the etherea weakens you,” he said.
“Don’t count on it.” She pushed him along before he could say more. Unfortunately, what he’d observed was true. She shook her staff to cane length—at least she would look like she needed it.
When they reached the door to the laboratory room, Silk told the guard, “I have brought Miss G’ladheon back to speak with the Eletian.”
“Yes, sir,” the guard said. He eyed her bonewood, but since Silk made no issue of it, he did not question it. Karigan pretended to limp to reinforce the idea that it—and she—were harmless.
The guard opened the door, and Karigan followed Silk in. There was no second guard. Either Lhean was not deemed enough of a threat to require one, or the second guard had stepped away. In his cell in the back of the room, Lhean certainly did not appear to be a threat. He sat in his position of meditation, as she had seen before, appearing perfectly oblivious to the world.
Silk, in contrast, glanced sharply about, as if looking for a weapon or help. At this point he was supposed to request the keys from the guard. Instead, he ordered, “Guard! Take her!”
Karigan figured Silk would at some point attempt to take advantage, so she wasn’t entirely caught unawares. In the moment it took the guard to digest Silk’s order, she had shaken the bonewood back to staff length and was charging him.
His eyes widened as she came at him. He tried to tug his gun out of its sheath. She was tired of guns. They were noisy, nasty weapons. She was tired of being a target and more than willing to do some honest fighting.
The guard backed into a cabinet and the odd-shaped glassware within—cylinders, small pot-bellied pitchers, and tubes—clinked. He finally cleared his gun, but she was already on him. She struck the gun out of his hand, and he howled. She went for his head, but he ducked and the handle of her staff smashed through the glass door of the cabinet, shattering the contents. Broken glass spilled onto the floor.
The darkness and rage had diminished when she dropped the fading, but not entirely, and now it burned again, a fever. She whirled and tripped the guard with the bonewood as he tried to run after his gun. He skittered across broken glass, but did not fall.
Gun? Try this!
As he struggled to get his legs under him again and escape her, she struck him across the back. He dropped to his knees and tried to crawl away. She struck again. And again.
Even after he stopped moving, she pounded him with the bonewood. A part of her recognized this was not honorable, it was not how one used a fighting staff, but she did not stop.
She would have pulverized him but for a quiet voice that intruded on her mind. “Galadheon.”
She stopped, backed away from the prone guard, both satisfied and appalled.
“Galadheon,” came the quiet voice once again.
She turned and saw Lhean pressed up against the bars of his cell.
“Lhean!”
“The Silk has fled.”
Karigan glanced around. Sure enough, while she’d been so occupied with battling the guard, Silk managed to escape.
“Damnation.”
She charged out into the corridor, but he was nowhere to be seen. In no time he’d have all of the palace down on them.
Back in the laboratory chamber, she said, “We’ve got to get out of here.”
She returned to the guard to retrieve his key ring. Her hand trembled as she reached to pull it off his belt. She could not tell if he was dead or alive, nor did she check. She saw she had beaten him beyond reason, beyond need. Why couldn’t it have been Silk?
She shook herself and ran to Lhean’s cell, trying different keys in the lock.
“The etherea here is not good,” he said as she worked. “It has poisoned you.”
Karigan thought that was all very interesting, but she was more intent on finding the right key. When one fit the lock and clicked it open, she wasted no time and threw the door open. Lhean emerged looking better than he had when she’d last seen him. The chocolate must have done him some good.
She was ready to run. They had to make for the museum before Silk’s alarm sent hordes of guards after them, but Lhean caught her arm, anchored her.
“We’ve got to—” she began.
He placed his hand on her brow. “The taint has filled your being with darkness.”
“That’s fine, but—”
“Shhh. Peace, Galadheon.”
His touch lightened her, lifted some of the darkness that had been eating at her, soothed her. She thought of the shade beneath the greenery of the summer forest. A quiet breeze, a stream trickling nearby.
He removed his hand. “Now we go,” he said.
She nodded. “Now we go.”
• • •
Karigan and Lhean ran through corridors, she holding on to him to keep them both faded. Somehow his presence, being in contact with him, helped stave off the darkness of before, made her lighter and less weary.
They paused by the dragon fountain, surprised to see it overflowing and no one tending it.
“Odd,” she murmured, stepping around puddles. “I wouldn’t expect such a failure in the palace.”
“It’s not a failure,” Lhean said, gazing at the erratically flowing fountain. “Something has been unleashed.”
“Something has been unleashed? What is it?”
“A power. I have sensed that this empire circulates its etherea through its water systems. These fountains, the lake, the canals in the city, and perhaps to a smaller degree the areas beyond. It is concentrated, however, within the city.”
That explained all the fountains and canals, but she had no time to admire the concept, for she detected the onrush of booted feet pounding marble floors in their direction.
They pelted down the corridor, sliding to a stop at the museum doors. She tried the handles.
“Locked,” she muttered.
Just then she perceived a shadow emerging from another doorway, and she whirled, raising her staff to strike.
“Karigan?” a familiar and very welcome voice queried.
“Cade!” She dropped her fading. “You made it.”
“Yes, I—”
“We have to get in—stand back.” She smashed the handle of the bonewood through the glass, then reached inside to jigger the lock. By the time she tripped it and pulled the door open, their pursuers had entered the corridor.
“In!” she cried, pushing Cade into the museum after Lhean.
She slammed the door shut and bolted it, not that it would thwart anyone for long.
“We’ve got to barricade these doors.”
Cade was already pushing a display cabinet across the floor. Lhean joined in to help, Karigan adding her strength. It effectively blocked the door. They pushed another display case in front of the cabinet.
“Lhean, the moondial is—” she began, but he was already running toward the back of the museum.
As a final measure, Karigan and Cade rolled Ghallos the p’ehdrose across the floor to supplement the barricade.
As they worked, Karigan asked, “Where’s Fastion? And your witch?”
“They went their own way,” Cade replied and then explained.
When he finished, she nodded. Arhys and Lorine would be in excellent hands with Fastion. As for the witch? Who knew?
Just as soon as they pushed Ghallos in place, the enemy began banging on the doors. Karigan and Cade glanced at one another, and then ran for the back of the museum. When Cade vanished from her side, she paused to look back and saw him removing a longsword from a display. He grinned at her and saluted. At the sound of breaking glass, they picked up their pace past exhibits, past the entrance to the museum library, and past the aviary of the hummingbirds.
When they ran beneath the arch into the room of the moondial, Cade halted, a look of wonder on his face. Wan moonlight gleamed d
own through the dome of glass and across the obsidian floor. The four winged statues gazed pensively into the dark corners of the chamber. It was indeed a wondrous sight, but the lead seams that held pieces of the glass dome in place cast shadows across the entire room like a net that trapped them.
Karigan did not pause but dashed past Lhean who was studying the moondial. In the captain’s riddle, she was to seek the scything moon. She hoped Lhean knew which of the crescents was the scything moon. She halted at the display case that held her saber. She broke the glass and lifted out the weapon that was as familiar to her as an old, broken-in pair of boots. She swept the blade through the air, joyful to have an old friend in hand once again.
A screech and crash, and shouting at the museum entrance, brought her back to the present. Cade was already trying to push a display case beneath the arch, but the span was too wide—they’d never be able to block it adequately.
“Lhean?” she asked anxiously.
“It is a puzzle,” he said, his voice and demeanor strangely calm. His gaze followed the phases of the moon laid out on the floor. “I cannot read what pieces of time these lead to. It may be that their having been moved from Castle Argenthyne disrupted—”
A sense of discord rippled across Karigan’s flesh, raising the hairs on her arms, like a god’s hand sweeping across her mortal soul.
“Lhean?”
“Yes, I felt it.” He was now kneeling by the moon phases, hovering over one of the crescent moons. He remained unperturbed by that strange sensation, as well as by the commotion at the museum entrance. “Whatever was unleashed earlier is expressing its—herself.”
“You must find us a piece of time,” she said. “They’re going to be on us any minute.”