“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.”