“I didn’t know that about him,” Rellen mused.

  “No reason you should sir,” Renton said. “No offense, but I doubt you and the duke traveled in the same circles.”

  “You’re not wrong,” Rellen said. “It just never occurred to me that adventurers sometimes become dukes too.”

  “Indeed, sir. In my youth, I was quite the pugilist… although you wouldn’t know it to look at me.”

  “No kidding?” Mygal said with a grin.

  Renton’s chin rose a bit. “No kidding, sir,” he replied with a good deal of pride. “Often a local favorite in some of the… shall we say… less organized prize fights.”

  “Renton,” Rellen said, clapping the butler on the shoulder, “I knew I liked you for a reason.” He looked to Mygal. “Now we really do have to get back there, but thank you for all your help.”

  “It was indeed my pleasure, sir. Shall I escort you?”

  “No, thank you. We can take it from here.”

  “As you wish.” Renton gave a slight bow. “Please don’t hesitate if you require anything… food, drink… what have you. The household and its staff are at your disposal.”

  “You have our thanks,” Mygal said.

  Renton nodded his head and then moved off into the next room.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Rellen caught the old butler strike a pose and throw a few punches. With a soft chuckle, Rellen led Mygal down the hall, through the arboretum, and out the back where the ruins of the duke’s study awaited them.

  Nothing had changed. The ash still lay all about, with charred timbers sticking up in a few places. Buried in the ash were the burned up remains of furniture and other items one might find in a study. Nothing was salvageable, as far as Rellen could tell, but only by digging through it would they be able to find any metal or stone objects that might have survived the blaze. He had a better idea, however.

  Rellen walked two full circles around the perimeter, looking for the perfect spot. He finally found a level area, three yards from the edge of the ash, between the ruined cottage and the house. A small, flat stone stuck out of the grass. It would make a perfect surface for what he was about to do.

  Go hunting, little one, he said to Xilly. This will take quite a while.

  I’ll keep an eye out too, she replied as she fluttered off. You’ll be vulnerable.

  Rellen smiled as she disappeared up into the trees. When she was gone, he let his eyes flow over the grassy area. He glanced at Mygal as he started unbuckling a bracer.

  “You really don’t have to stick around for this,” he said. “It’s going to take four or five hours for me to cast this spell, although, once it’s done, it’s pretty impressive.”

  “I wouldn’t miss it,” Mygal said. “Seeing a well-trained runecaster in action is not something regular folks get to enjoy.” Mygal looked serious for a moment. “Besides, after listening to Renton this morning, I want to get these killers even more. I can be very patient.” He glanced at the manor house. “I didn’t know there was a nuraghi in these parts.”

  Rellen unbuckled his other bracer. “You’d be surprised at how many there are. Now that you’re running Guardian patrols and getting into trouble, the odds are you’ll make your way into one every now and again.” Rellen turned serious. “Just be careful with the cursed things. Sometimes they are just piles of old stone. Other times…” He shook his head. “There’s evil in there from ancient times.”

  “Do you know who built them?” Mygal asked. “Where I grew up, they’re just legends… evil places to be avoided.”

  He knew what Mygal was implying. Rellen had grown up in the palace, so he might know more.

  “Actually, no, I don’t.” Rellen unbuckled his greaves. “There was little taught about them either at university or the magic academy—although a little more there. And neither my father nor any of his advisers ever talked about the history of nuraghi. I’m certain they didn’t know, either. All we ever dealt with was when something bad happened around them.”

  “And you’ve been in two of them?”

  “That’s right.” He pushed away the old memory of children screaming.

  “I can’t wait to see one.”

  “You may not always feel that way.” Rellen let out a long breath to calm himself. “Now, step back a bit and let me get to work.”

  Mygal nodded and stepped back a few paces, a curious look upon his face.

  Dropping his chest piece on the grass, Rellen stepped over to the ash, picked up a handful, and moved back to the small, flat stone. He sat down cross-legged in front of the stone, facing the ruins. Opening a pouch on his waist, he pulled out the short stub of a candle, with only an inch of it remaining and a nub of a wick. He carefully placed the candle upon the stone, making sure it was completely level.

  He closed his eyes, drew in a deep breath, and let it out slowly, tapping gently into his majea. The spell was a test of both endurance and concentration, and one of the most difficult he’d ever learned.

  He placed his free hand on top of the candle and uttered a quick incantation. When he pulled his hand away, a small, burning flame danced atop the wick. Drawing from his majea again, he began a new incantation—one of rebuilding. He pulled deeply, steadily, channeling majea from his outstretched hand into the candle. As he did, tiny wisps of energy flowed from his hand, curling through the air and into the candle. The entire world became that small, flickering flame as the wisps were drawn into it. The lengthy incantation flowed in a whisper from his lips almost unbidden, and as he spoke it, the flame slowed and finally stopped moving. Tendrils of white light wrapped around the flame, and it froze in space, motionless, as if it had been painted by a master.

  With his other hand, Rellen poured a tiny stream of ash into the flame. The wisps of light curled around the falling ash, coiling around it into a thin line. He began the litany once again, focusing all of his concentration upon the flame as it consumed the ash. His majea seeped into candle and flame as the ash was consumed. Suddenly, the flame began to move again, but now it seemed to be flickering backward. A swirl of light flowed around both candle and flame. Removing his hand, Rellen poured more of his majea into the spell, repeating the litany over and over again, and as he did, the swirls of light increased. The candle began to grow before his eyes.

  He repeated the incantation again, now focusing his attention upon the ruins of the cottage. He wove a connection between the cottage and the candle. Wisps of the white light multiplied and streaked over to the ruins of the cottage, flowing around and through it. When the bond was complete, he drew more deeply upon his majea, pouring that energy into both the candle and the ruins, channeling it through the wisps of light. He continued repeating the incantation, and each time, the swirls of light flowing around the cottage grew. Time passed, although he couldn’t say how much. Bit by bit, the cottage reformed, just as the candle had. The candle was now several inches in height, and as Rellen poured more majea into the spell, the cottage took shape, as if it were burning in reverse.

  The wisps were a faint tornado around the ruins now, and as they swirled, the walls rose from the ash a little at a time, rising, taking on their original form. They changed from charred black to a pale tan. The roof returned. The interior reshaped itself, and objects that had fallen from the walls rose up to take their place on the walls or furniture where they had originally been.

  The litany continued until, finally, the candle was fully reformed and the flame went out.

  Rellen let out a long, exhausted breath. The spell had taken most of his majea, and he would need another hearty meal and a full night’s rest to restore his strength again. He placed his hand on top of the candle, uttered the incantation, and removed his hand to reveal a new flame.

  The cottage was a single-story structure of pale tan and blue trim, with a high-pitch roof of wooden shingles. A chimney poked up to Rellen’s right, and there was a small, wooden bench outside the structure on the left. The front door faced him, with windows on either side. Through the door, he could see a wide, bay window on the far side, facing the lake.

  He slowly got to his feet, letting out a faint groan as his bruises gave protest once again. He turned to find Mygal a short distance off, sitting against a tree with a look of awe upon his face. Xilly was asleep in his lap.

  “That was… astounding,” Mygal said. “I’ve seen a lot of magic, but I’ve never seen anything like that,” he added as Xilly leapt from his lap and fluttered over to Rellen’s shoulder.

  “It’s an exceptionally difficult spell to learn, and the most taxing one I know,” Rellen said, scratching the dragonette beneath her chin. “We’re eating heavy again tonight.”

  Mygal nodded in understanding. “Is that real?” he asked, nodding toward the cottage.

  “No,” Rellen replied. “It’s something in between real and illusion.” He pointed to the candle, which was burning down much more quickly than a regular candle would. “We have about a quarter of an hour. When the candle burns out, the cottage will return to ash, just the way it was.” Rellen shook his head to clear his fatigue. “Let’s get inside.” He walked over to the front door, opened it, and went inside.

  The interior, exactly as it had been a moment before the fire started, was just as Rellen expected from an old, retired adventurer. The floor was a rich, dark wood, with the blue, furred hide of a bear-sized beast Rellen didn’t recognize covering the center. A desk filled the left-hand side of the room, with a high-backed chair covered in red leather on the far side and a wide window beyond. Two large sitting chairs faced the bay window, with a low table between them and a large ashtray upon it. A pipe sat in the tray, and there was a small box of tobacco beside it. Beneath the bay window was a low, narrow table upon which a set of crystal decanters sat, each full of a different liquid, with two tumblers beside them. There was a small table in front of the fireplace, and several maps rolled out on it, one atop the other.

  A few old, but well-maintained, blades hung on the walls. The cat-like head of a particularly large vellish hung on one side of the fireplace and a terrifying, blue-furred monstrosity on the other. It had a short, curved snout, sharp tusks jutting up from its lower jaw, and a mouth full of long, pointed teeth. A ridge of darker blue fur ran over its head, and it had wide, leather wattles sticking out from its neck, lined with sharp spikes that radiated out. Rellen figured the head had once been attached to the rug in the middle of the room. He wondered if this was one of the creatures the young duke had slain to earn Svennival’s respect, as Renton had described. There were a few smaller objects, including a golden human skull, upon the mantle, but something else caught Rellen’s eye.

  He and Mygal both moved toward the fireplace. Mygal stopped at the table and placed his finger on the exposed map where someone, presumably the duke, had circled an area well east of Svennival, across the lake, and along the river. There was nothing indicated on the map, but someone had written the word “Py’ellios.”

  “I wonder if that’s the nuraghi Renton spoke of,” Mygal asked.

  “It may very well be.” Rellen reached into a pouch and pulled out a small sheet of vellum and a piece of charcoal. “Sketch that area of the map and write down that word.” He turned back toward the area over the fireplace.

  There was a wooden plaque directly above the mantle. The darkened portion held the outline of a wide-bladed longsword. The hilt had been wide and curled at the ends, and the pommel was two downward facing curls that came to fairly sharp points. Rellen had to wonder if whoever had burned the building had taken the weapon as a trophy or for some other purpose.

  To the right, was another outline, this time in the paint. It was circular, like a ring about ten inches across, with cutouts along the inner edge. The shape reminded him of a cog, but with the gears on the inside. These gears, however, were irregular in both width and depth. He pulled out another piece of vellum and drew a quick, rough sketch. He turned and looked around the study. Crossing the room, he moved behind the desk and was surprised to find nothing disturbed.

  “They didn’t search the room,” Rellen said.

  “What?” Mygal replied, lifting his eyes from one of the other maps.

  “They didn’t search the desk, or if they did, they pushed the drawers back in.”

  He looked to where the sword and ring had been.

  “They came here for one or both of those,” he said, pointing to the mantle. “They knew what they were after, and they razed the place when they were through… probably to keep anyone from figuring it out.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  “Sure?” Rellen replied. “I’m not sure, but that’s the only thing that fits.” He nodded toward the bay window. “They left other weapons behind, and a few of those are worth a dakkari or three. What burglar leaves such things behind, especially when they’re easy to grab and carry?” He stared at Mygal. “The house was pretty much the same, and now I’m thinking the murders were ancillary to what they did here.” He shook his head. “I don’t know. This whole thing is bizarre.” A tiny mote of ash floated down before his eyes. “We better get out of here. It’s about to come apart.”

  They moved quickly out of the cottage. Rellen glanced at the candle to find that virtually all of the wax was gone and the flame sputtering. The wick, with nothing left to hold it up, fell over, and the flame went out with a tiny puff of smoke.

  Rellen turned as the entire cottage turned to ash and collapsed into a swirling pile. Within moments, the ruins returned to exactly how they’d found them.

  Mygal watched the last bits of ash settle to the ground, an awed look upon his face, and then turned to Rellen.

  “So, they might have taken a sword and whatever that ring was,” Mygal said. “What do we do now?”

  “I think we have to track down Dancer, now more than ever.” He glanced at the sun and realized it was almost dusk. “But first, I need to get some food in me and recuperate. I’ll also send a message to the king, updating him on all this, particularly that sedition was not a motive for the murders. Maybe we can go over all this and put something together. I feel like we’re missing a piece… several of them, actually.”

  Chapter Eleven

  A Matter of Trust

  “How do we track Dancer down quickly?” Rellen asked then shoved a forkful of scrambled eggs into his mouth. The din of a dozen other patrons filled the Drunken Unger tavern. Rellen had eaten like a horse the night before and fallen into another deep, dreamless slumber. He’d awakened feeling refreshed but still famished.

  Xilly sat on the table, just within reach of his plate, getting dirty looks from some of the patrons. Rellen ignored them. Her head darted out, and she chomped down on a chunk of his scrambled eggs.

  “I have an idea there,” Mygal replied. He sipped his juice, eying Xilly with an amused smile on his face. “I see no reason why Tavyn couldn’t at least point us in the right direction.”

  “Tavyn Daggerayne?” Rellen asked. “The report the king gave me indicated Tavyn was the one who put you on Dancer’s trail to begin with.” He raised a dubious eyebrow. “Is there more to that story?”

  “No,” Mygal replied. “That’s how it happened.”

  “Can you trust him?” Rellen wasn’t comfortable with the idea, and he was at least a little worried that a Guardian, even a new one, would so readily suggest someone like Tavyn, considering what had happened. “How do you know he wasn’t the one who set you up?”

  “Well,” Mygal said slowly. “I honestly have to say I don’t know.” He got a thoughtful look on his face. “I went over the whole thing in my head again and again, while I was recovering.” He finally shook his head and locked eyes with Rellen. “What you don’t know is that I tested him a few times while we were together, sifting through his emotions as lightly as I could, and never sensed any deceit or betrayal.” He took another sip of juice, staring off into space as he tried to formulate his words. “Those emotions have a certain smell to them… or maybe it’s taste. It’s hard to explain.” He looked to Rellen again. “He’s nothing more or less than an information broker, as near as I can tell. It wouldn’t be good for him to get involved in anyone’s business. The only way he gets paid is by being aware of everyone’s business. Don’t misunderstand, I trust him about as much as I trust any of my contacts… that is, not at all. I do, however, trust my instincts, and my majea. I believe Tavyn can still help us solve this mystery. You can take that or leave it. You’re the one in charge.”

  Rellen eyed Mygal for several seconds. He kept it off his face, but once again, his respect for the young Guardian went up a pip or two. Rellen frequently followed his own instincts. He usually got it right—sometimes not. He always owned the mistakes and didn’t make them again. He was growing more convinced Mygal had that same skill, but only time would tell.

  Rellen finally nodded. “Information brokers are the same all over, aren’t they?”

  “They are, and I’ve been dealing with them since I was eleven.” Mygal tossed a small corner of toast over near Xilly. Her head darted out, and she chomped it. “The real question is, what do you want to do with Dancer once we find him?”

  “Still follow him,” Rellen said firmly. “We don’t know nearly enough to just grab him, and we know there was more than one person involved. If we’re lucky, he’ll lead us to the nest, assuming he was involved. I’m pretty certain he’s the one who killed Jacinda, and under orders from the Nissrans. If I’m right, he had to, but he didn’t want to. Just a hunch, but it stands up.”

  “I figured I’d find you here,” a friendly voice called from the open front doors.

  Rellen and Mygal looked up to find a young, roguish-looking man approaching them.

  “Tavyn,” Mygal called out. “Come join us. We were just talking about you.”

  “I can imagine,” Tavyn replied with an overtly friendly smile. “Nothing good, I hope. I’m an incorrigible philanderer.”