Luck in the Shadows

spring.
    The room was very quiet, but not unoccupied. A group of scholars were there examining a tapestry. Nearby, a girl in apprentice robes sat on a high stool next to one of the cases, working with wax tablet and stylus at copying a passage from an open book displayed there.
    Across the room, two scarlet-clad servants were in the process of replacing some items in a crystal case.
    "I used to spend a good deal of time here," Seregil told Alec softly. "I've even managed to add a few pieces to the collection over the years. This, for instance."
    Steering him to a case near the center pf the room, Seregil pointed to a delicate flower carved from translucent pink stone.
    "This belonged to the enchantress Nimia Reshal. When the proper words are spoken, it emits a magical fragrance which renders anyone who inhales it a helpless slave to the owner. She'd managed to snare Micum before I got hold of it."
    "Why didn't she catch you, too?" Alec whispered.
    "I happened to be approaching from a different direction at the time. While she was concentrating on him, I simply held my nose, crept up from behind, and knocked her on the head. Never underestimate the benefit of surprise!"
    Nodding, Alec turned to the next case and stiffened.
    Inside lay a pair of shriveled hands, the skin darkened to the color of old leather.
    "What are those !" he gasped.
    "Shh! A most unusual relic. Look closer."
    Jeweled rings still encircled the withered fingers and the long discolored nails were covered with a delicate tracery of golden whorls; the plain iron manacles encircling each wrist looked out of keeping with the rest of the ornaments. Each band was held fast by a long spike driven through the wrist just below the base of each hand. The whole affair was bolted to the bottom of the case.
    Alec stared down at the hands with puzzled revulsion.
    "What in the world are—"Just then, one of the leathery forefingers slowly raised and lowered, as if scolding his idle scrutiny.
    Seregil had been watching closely all the while.
    As soon as he saw the hand move, he ran a finger lightly down the boy's back, sending him into the air with a startled yelp.
    "Damn it, Seregil!" Alec cried, whirling around.
    The scholars turned with inquiring stares. The apprentice dropped her stylus, then began to giggle. The servants merely exchanged disgusted looks.
    Seregil leaned against a case, shoulders quivering with smothered laughter.
    "I'm sorry," he said at last, feeling anything but repentant as he exchanged a knowing wink with the girl. "That trick has been played on just about every apprentice who ever served here, including me. I couldn't resist."
    "You scared me half to death!" Alec whispered indignantly. "What are those things?"
    Seregil rested his elbows on the edge of the case, tapping a finger idly against the glass. "The hands of Tikбrie Megraesh, a great necromancer."
    "They moved." Alec shuddered, peering over Seregil's shoulder. "It's as if they're still alive."
    "In a sense, they are," Seregil replied. "This necromancer ended his days as a dyrmagnos. Have you ever heard the term?"
    "No. What does it mean?"
    "It's the ultimate fate of necromancers. You see, all forms of magic exact a certain toll from those who practice it, but necromancy is by far the worst. It gradually wastes the body, draining life even as it increases the force of that person's will. In time, there's nothing left but a walking corpse burning with terrible intelligence-a dyrmagnos. This fellow here was at least six centuries old when Nysander cut these hands off him and, according to him, they haven't changed much in appearance since he took them, which gives you some idea what the rest of Tikбrie Megraesh must have looked like."
    The left hand stirred, scrabbling softly against the bottom of the case with its blackened nails. Alec shuddered again. "If that's what his hands looked like, I'd hate to have seen the face."
    "These hands escaped once," Seregil went on, staring down at the twitching things. "It's nearly impossible to kill a dyrmagnos, once it's reached such an age. All you can do is dismember and contain it. Those symbols you see painted on the nails were part or the original binding spell to break the power of the creature, eventually the life will fade from them."
    Alec frowned down at them. "What if all the pieces were brought together again before that happened?"
    "They'd rejoin and the dyrmagnos would live again. As I recall a few other parts of him are