The Shadow Of What Was Lost (33 page)

Asha frowned, taken aback. “What
was the news?”

“An unknown army has been sighted
within Andarra’s borders, to the north.” Michal grimaced. “Invasion, from the
sounds of it.”

Asha went cold. Michal was still
talking, but she didn’t hear whatever he was saying.

The Augurs had been right. The
attack on Ilin Illan was coming.

Wirr couldn’t help but smile as
Dezia laughed, admiring the way her deep blue eyes shone when she was enjoying
herself.

They were sitting a little way
away from the others, within sight of the camp but not so close that anyone
could overhear their conversation. Evening was falling, and Taeris had just
told them that by his estimate, they were less than a day from reaching
Deilannis.

As a result, the group was in
good spirits. Since the sha’teth had spoken to them ten days ago, the only
trouble they’d encountered had been occasional Desrielite patrols along the
road, all of which they had avoided easily enough. Taeris and Nihim were wary
of how straightforward their passage had been – both insisted that the sha’teth
would not have given up its pursuit – but their fears had done little to dampen
the mood.

Wirr’s own mood was as close to
positive as it had been since they had left Thrindar. He still grieved for his
friends; he knew he probably would for a long time. But the pain was fading,
settling. Becoming bearable. For the first time, he felt as though he was
moving forward again.

He glanced across at Davian,
smile fading as he wondered whether his friend felt the same way. He hoped so.
They’d spoken little of the school in recent times; the days on the road had
been long, and there had been few opportunities for truly private conversation.

“You’re worried about him.” Dezia
had followed his gaze.

Wirr gave an absent nod. The
others knew about what had happened at the school – after a few days of
travelling, it had seemed better to just get it all out in the open. Still,
despite everyone’s heartfelt sympathies, Dezia was the only one who had managed
to make Wirr feel comfortable discussing it. “I’ve tried talking to him a
couple of times, but… I don’t know what to say. He’s lost so much.”

“As much as you,” Dezia pointed
out quietly.

“No.” Wirr shook his head. “It’s
been hard for me too, but… he’s been at that school all his life. He was a
servant there before he ever got the Mark. Those people were my friends, but
they were his family.”

And there had been Asha, too. The
pain Wirr felt for her loss, he knew Davian felt tenfold. But that wasn’t his
grief to share.

Dezia looked at him for a long
moment. “You think he blames you.”

“How could he not?” Wirr asked
softly. “He says he doesn’t, but it’s my fault.”

“It’s the fault of whoever did
it,” Dezia said in gentle rebuke. “Davian’s still grieving, Wirr – you both
are. Even I can see that. If he’s not talking much, that’s probably his way of
dealing with what he’s going through. Some people just need space. I wouldn’t
assume it’s because he’s angry with you.”

Wirr sighed. “I hope you’re
right.”

There was silence for a while,
though it was a companionable one. Eventually Dezia lay back, gazing up at the
stars.

“Was it difficult, when you first
went to the school?”

Wirr frowned. “Difficult?”

“Leaving Ilin Illan. Pretending
to be someone you’re not.” She raised her head to look at him. “I mean – I’ve
spent a lot of time around Karaliene, so I can imagine how people would have
treated you in the palace. To go from that to nothing….” She shrugged. “It
seems like it would have been a difficult transition.”

Wirr shook his head, feeling a
pang of sorrow as he did every time he thought of the school. “Maybe a little,
at first – but there were things at Caladel that I never could have had as a
prince. Things I hadn’t even imagined growing up in Ilin Illan.”

“Like what?”

“Anonymity. Free time. Real
friendship.”

Dezia nodded slowly. “I suppose I
can see how you would make that trade,” she conceded. She cocked her head to
the side. “Is that why you left with Davian?”

Wirr grunted. “Karaliene asked me
the same question.”

“Your cousin can be very
insightful.”

“Sometimes.” Wirr shook his head.
“Honestly, I don't know. I came because I thought it was important to find out
what was going on with the Boundary, with the sig'nari. And especially because
I didn’t want Dav to be out here alone. For all his intelligence, he’s naïve in
many ways; he’d never been out in the real world before. He needed me along.”
He shrugged. “But I won’t lie. The thought of going back to Ilin Illan, leaving
my friends in the school behind and pretending I’d never been there, didn’t sit
well either. Maybe that influenced my decision, maybe it didn’t. It’s hard to
say.”

There was silence for a few
moments, then Wirr turned to Dezia. “What about you?”

Dezia frowned. “What about me?”

Wirr gestured around him. “You
said you came because of your brother, but I remember most of the girls from
the Houses - even if they were somehow forced to come on a journey like this,
they would be kicking and screaming most of the way. I haven’t heard a word of
complaint from you.”

Dezia raised an eyebrow. “Are you
saying I’m not ladylike?”

Wirr grinned. “I’m saying that
you had the opportunity to stay with Karaliene and enjoy an easy trip back to
Ilin Illan, but you chose to come with us. I know a lot of that is from loyalty
to your brother, but you don’t strike me as someone who’s pining to be home,
either.”

Dezia smiled. “I suppose that’s
true,” she admitted. She thought for a moment. “Life in the palace can be…
difficult, sometimes. I don’t hate it, but I’m in no rush to return to it,
either.”

“Any particular reason?”

Dezia gave an awkward shrug.
“Being the king’s ward, and friends with Karaliene, isn’t always the easiest
position to be in.”

Wirr nodded slowly. “People see
you as an easily accessible way to influence her... and maybe my uncle, too?”
he deduced.

“Exactly.” Dezia sighed. “Most
days someone manages to corner me, trying to convince me of one thing or
another. A tax should be raised. A law should be changed. The king should know
about this nobleman’s bad behaviour. And there are always… ‘incentives’ for me,
should I decide to help.” She shrugged. “Recently, it’s changed from that to
suggestions about whom I should be marrying. Houses sending their sons to court
me, after Karaliene turns them away.” She scowled. “That, I hate most of all.
And a lot of them don’t understand that persistence won’t change my mind.”

Wirr frowned. “They won’t leave
you alone?”

Dezia shook her head. “Several of
them were apparently told by their fathers to woo me at all costs. I’ve had
more expressions of undying love in the last few months than I would want to
see in a lifetime.” She gave a small, humourless laugh. “Though, that may stop
now.”

“Why’s that?”

Dezia hesitated, looking
embarrassed. “I shot one of them. Just before I left.” She paused. “In fact, it
may have been why Karaliene insisted I come with her and Aelric. I... wasn’t
too popular with House Tel’Shan.”

Wirr gave her an incredulous
stare. “Shot? As in, with an arrow?”

“Accidentally, and only in the
shoulder. It wasn't much more than a graze,” said Dezia defensively. “Denn
Tel’Shan. He said he’d do anything for me, so I said I needed someone to hold
up targets while I practiced.” She grimaced, but the edges of her mouth still
curled upward slightly at the memory. “The idiot didn't realise it was a joke.
Then when I tried to back out by explaining to him that it was
really
dangerous
, he got quite upset - said I was insulting him by suggesting that
he wasn't courageous enough to do it. So I let him." She sighed. "I
didn't mean to hit him, of course, but he flinched on the first arrow. Not my
proudest moment, even if he did bring it on himself somewhat.”

Wirr stared at her in
astonishment for a moment, then gave a disbelieving laugh. “No wonder you
agreed to come with us.”

Dezia punched him on the arm in a
reproving manner, but she smiled back.

Wirr shifted. “So how does Aelric
take all of this?”

Dezia smirked. “Not well. And
being the swordsman that he is, he
is
rather handy to have as an older
brother.” Her smile widened a little. “Most of the time.”

Wirr grinned back.

They spoke for a while longer
until the smells of cooking wafted over to them, and they reluctantly made
their way back over to the others. The rest of the evening proved to be
uneventful, and soon Wirr was lying down to sleep, a warm feeling in the pit of
his stomach whenever he thought of Dezia.

In the back of his mind, though –
and as hard as it was to remember sometimes – was the unavoidable truth of his
position. He was a prince of the realm. There was a good chance that when the
time came, his father would tell him with which girls he could socialize. Or
more to the point, with which House he should be allying himself.

Still, out here, in the open air
and away from the eyes of the nobility and his responsibilities, he could
dream.

***

Davian frowned at the dusty plain
stretching out before him.

Where was he? A moment ago he had
been bedding down to sleep on the road through the Menaath Mountains; his mind
was clear, sharp, with none of the fuzziness he would have expected from a
dream.

He looked around, trying to get
his bearings. Behind him was a thick tangle of forest, but the trees were
unlike anything he’d seen in Desriel. In front was a vast plain, in the middle
of which a mountain range rose abruptly, majestically, silhouetted against the
setting sun. The tallest mountain seemed cut in two, as if a great knife had
carved a thin slice from its very core; the orange sunset shone directly
through the gap, making each half of the mountain stand out in sharp relief.

 Though he’d never been here
before, Davian recognised it; many artists had rendered this very image to
canvas. He was looking at Ilin Tora.

He shifted his attention back to
the plain. Dotted across it, small groups of men in black armour moved with mechanical
efficiency as they built fires and cooked food. Davian frowned as he studied
them. Many were wearing helmets in addition to their armour – but where there
should have been a slit or holes for eyes, there was only smooth, dark metal.
How could they possibly see what they were doing? Yet each man moved with an
assured air, none looking even slightly troubled by their apparent lack of
vision. Over each face was inscribed a single, large symbol: three wavy
vertical lines, encapsulated by a circle. An insignia, perhaps?

Davian just stood for another
minute or so, eyes narrowed as he observed the proceedings. Each fire was
manned by a single soldier without a helmet, who simply watched as the other
men went about their tasks. A commander of some kind, presumably, though there
seemed to be a lot of them. He shivered as he watched. The entire picture was…
unsettling.

Was he dreaming? He could feel
the last of the day’s heat still radiating from the ground, the dryness of the
air in his lungs. He pinched himself sharply on the wrist, wincing as the pain
registered.

No, not dreaming. He was here.

Suddenly he noticed a tall man
with an authoritative air striding amongst the fires. The helmetless man –
seemingly the leader of this army – raised a hand. The soldiers all stopped
what they were doing, gathering around. There was a feeling of excitement, a
sense of anticipation that was almost palpable.

The general, as Davian thought of
him, waited until every eye was on him. His features were rugged, with scars crisscrossing
his face liberally. His black hair was shoulder-length, tied back.

He gazed over his men calmly. His
eyes were hard and proud.

“Two thousand years,” he said,
barely loud enough to be heard by the men in front. He shook his head. “Too
long.”

There were murmurs of agreement
amongst the soldiers, but the general raised his hand, silencing them
immediately. He stood straighter, taller, pride in his stance. This time he
shouted so that all could hear him.

“Two thousand years our people
have waited for justice. Two thousand years of survival, of struggle, of
sacrifice. But our time has finally come! We have broken free of our prison. We
are at last ready to face our ancient foe, and you who have passed through the
ilshara unscathed are truly worthy of this fight.

“You all know me, or know of me.
My name is Andan Mash’aan, Slayer of Lih’khaag, Second Sword of Danaris. My
trust is in the steel on my hip and the men at my side. My faith is in the
plans of the Protector and our resolve to carry them out.”

He looked out upon them with a
fierceness that made Davian take an involuntary step back. “By all these
things, by my name and honour, by my life itself, I swear this one thing to
you. When our task here is complete, this country will burn. Her rivers will
run red. Her armies will be like dust beneath our feet. Her women will scream
and her children will weep.”