The Shadow Of What Was Lost (34 page)

He raised his sword, screaming
the last with fire in his eyes. “Andarra will fall. We will have our revenge.”

The roar of approval rolled over
Davian like a wave, thunderous in his ears.

***

Davian shivered despite the
afternoon heat.

The road had disappeared and the
forest had become thick, almost impassable as the day had progressed, slowing
them to a crawl as they hacked their way forward and upward through hundreds of
years of undisturbed growth. Something about the forest was unsettling here;
the shadows seemed to writhe and shift in ways that did not marry up with the
movement of the trees, and it felt as though eyes were on them at every moment.
The trees themselves were thick, bent and twisted, looming over them as if
angered by their intrusion. No birds sang, and Davian had not heard the sounds
of any other wildlife since early in the morning.

He hadn’t mentioned his odd dream
of the previous night to anyone, not even Wirr. He’d spent the entire morning
telling himself that it meant nothing – that Taeris' talk of dangers beyond the
Boundary had somehow brought it on - but deep down, he knew that wasn’t true.
He remembered every detail as if he had actually lived through it. He
never
remembered his dreams.

Though he did his best to ignore
the knowledge, what he’d seen had to have been Foresight.

In some ways the development had
actually been a welcome distraction, something else to focus on. Too often
since Thrindar, he’d found his thoughts drifting to Asha. Picturing her face,
her smile, and then gritting his teeth at the fierce, aching pain those
memories produced.

He missed her. He’d never be able
to speak with her again, never have a chance to tell her how he really felt.
There was still a deep sadness at the death of Mistress Alita, Talean, all the
others too - but the thoughts of Asha were always worse, always more intense.

He looked up as Taeris, who was
leading the group, sliced through some more vines and emerged onto what
appeared to be a cliff top. The scarred man stopped, turning to the others with
a half-relieved, half-worried expression.

“We’re here,” he announced.

Davian reached the top of the
rise, his eyes widening as he took in the sight, troubles momentarily
forgotten.

They were at the edge of a
downward slope that was almost steep enough to describe as sheer; several sets
of broken stairs wound their way sharply downward to what appeared to be the
remnants of a small village below. No movement was visible in the streets; the
buildings were crumbling shells, each one missing its roof and at least one
wall. The stillness was eerie in the fading light.

Beyond the group of houses, the
ground vanished into a vast chasm; the sound of distantly thundering water
echoed even from where they were standing. Davian realised that if he were to
go to the edge of that chasm he would be able to peer down and see the white,
churning waters of the Lantarche River far below.

A massive bridge stretched out at
least a hundred feet over the abyss, maybe more, before vanishing into thick
mist. It was made of a white stone that gleamed in the last rays of the day; no
cracks or joins were evident, as if the entire thing had been carved from one enormous
piece of rock. From this distance, it looked wide enough to comfortably take
five men walking abreast – perhaps even wider. Despite its length, Davian could
not see any supports; it hovered above the chasm as if suspended by an
invisible rope.

It was the mist, however, that
made him pause. Unnaturally thick and dark, it hung like a shroud in the middle
of the chasm; it seemed to devour the waning sunlight, making the entire scene
feel colder and darker than it should have. Staring out at it, Davian suddenly
realised he could make out vague shapes within it – the very tops of houses and
other structures within the city. If he had not seen those, he may not have
believed there was anything at all between the two sides of the gorge.

“Deilannis,” Wirr murmured beside
him in an awestruck voice.

Taeris dismounted. “We will have
to leave the horses,” he observed regretfully.

“Will they survive?” protested
Dezia.

“There’s a good chance they’ll
make their way back to the road.” Taeris gestured to his own mount, which was
whickering softly, rolling its eyes so it didn’t have to look upon the city
below. “Animals have a sense about this place - they want to get away from it
as quickly as possible. By the time they lose that feeling, they should be back
where someone will find them.”

Dezia looked like she was going
to object, but then took another look at the narrow, crumbling steps and
remained silent. They began unpacking their mounts, taking as much food and
water as they could each comfortably carry. Taeris quickly fed each of the
horses, then gave them a slap to send them on their way. As he’d predicted, the
animals didn’t need much motivation, moving back along the path they had carved
through the forest at a steady trot.

The group made their way
carefully down one of the many stairways, which were etched straight from the
rocky sides of the cliff. The steps were narrow and quite steep; Davian forced
himself to focus on each one, taking care not to slip. Grass and weeds had long
ago begun creeping through cracks in the stone; though the stairs had doubtless
once been well-maintained, shale and other loose rubble now made the descent a
dangerous undertaking.

Finally they had picked their way
safely to the bottom. The thundering of the Lantarche was louder now, though
the air remained unnaturally absent of other sounds. The sun had slipped below
the horizon, and the dark, empty husks of buildings glowered at the party as
they trudged through the narrow streets. An occasional gust of wind blew a
loose window shutter that was somehow still on its hinges, making everyone
flinch and look around nervously.

“Perhaps we should make camp for
the night here, and cross Deilannis in the morning,” Aelric suggested.

Taeris hesitated, then gave a
reluctant nod. "It wouldn't hurt to be rested when we try the city,"
he agreed.

They made a rudimentary camp and
settled in, trying to ignore the sinister feeling of the abandoned town around
them.

A couple of hours had passed when
a prickling on the back of Davian’s neck made him twist in his seated position.
He looked up; at the top of the cliffside stairs, silhouetted against the
fading light, stood two figures. The wind was blowing, yet their cloaks did not
seem to move.

“Taeris,” he said, not taking his
eyes from the scene.

Taeris followed Davian’s line of
sight and inhaled sharply. “Get to the bridge. Run.”

Davian sat rooted to the spot for
a few more seconds.

The figures moved.

Suddenly they were starting down
the stairs; they seemed to move casually, almost lazily, but their progress was
terrifyingly quick. There was a flash of light, and the earth in front of
Davian erupted, showering him with shale.

Spurred into motion, he and the
others scrambled to their feet and ran.

They were already close to the
bridge. Davian knew that it could not have taken him more than twenty seconds
to reach its edge, but it felt like an eternity; around him, bursts of power
flew past, any one of which would have torn his body apart if it had struck
him. Some of the houses, already decaying, collapsed entirely as bolts of light
smashed through their foundations, sending clouds of dust and grit into the
air.

He was last to reach the bridge;
without hesitation he ran onto its smooth surface, the roaring of the Lantarche
far below crashing in his ears. A few paces in he slipped, tumbling. The stone
was so smooth that it didn’t even badly graze his skin; he rolled over,
scrambling to his feet.

He turned to see how far behind
the sha’teth were, and let out a cry of terror.

The two figures stood at the very
edge of the bridge, less than five feet from Davian. The shadows hid their
faces but he could feel the malice, the frustration, in their gaze. Vaguely,
behind him, he could hear someone calling his name – Aelric, he thought – but
all his senses were consumed by the black-cloaked creatures in front of him.

For a long moment, Davian was
sure he was going to die.

Then he was backing away as fast
as he could. The sha’teth just stood there, watching him. The bolts of Essence
had stopped.

A hand clasped his shoulder from
behind; he leapt, heart racing, before he realised it was Taeris.

“What are they doing?” Davian
whispered, eyes still fixed on the sha’teth.

“Either they cannot cross, or
they refuse to,” Taeris puffed, out of breath from the sprint. He glanced over
his shoulder, towards the mist-wreathed city. “The Law of Decay is warped from
the edges of the bridges inward. They know that if they try to attack us with
Essence now, it would simply… dissolve before it reached us.”

“But why did they wait until now
to show themselves?” asked Dezia, looking puzzled. “They’ve had our trail for
nearly two weeks.”

“Perhaps they were trying to
force us into the city all along.” It was Caeden, watching the creatures at the
edge of the bridge worriedly. Nobody said anything to that, but the mere
possibility sent a shiver down Davian’s spine.

Taeris shook his head. “No. The
first must have been waiting for the second. He just got here too late.” He bit
his lip as he stared at the sha'teth. “First she speaks Andarran. Then, she
waits for reinforcements at the risk of losing us. A survival instinct.
Something
is
different,” he murmured, almost to himself.

Suddenly one of the creatures –
Davian could not tell which one – spoke. “He belongs to us, Taeris Sarr,” it
hissed. “Give him over and you may yet live.” It was not angry, or even
insistent. It was completely devoid of emotion.

Taeris offered his hand to
Davian, hoisting him to his feet. “Ignore them,” he said to the others. “Let’s
move.”

No-one voiced a complaint, and
they started silently along the long, open bridge. After a minute, Davian
looked back. The sha’teth were still just standing there, watching.

Then the mists closed around him,
hiding the creatures and the desolate town from view.

He turned his head forward again,
facing into the thick white murk.

They had reached Deilannis.

Wirr took a deep breath, heart
still hammering.

He threw a nervous glance over
his shoulder, relieved to see that the mists had finally hidden the sha’teth
and their unsettling stares from view. He slowed his pace a little, breathing
evening out as the end of the bridge became visible up ahead. A flight of
stairs led sharply downward; below, stretching away into the fog, the rooftops
of hundreds of abandoned buildings were barely discernible through the haze.

Taeris came to a gradual halt at
the top of the stairs, and everyone followed suit. Wirr gave an involuntary
cough as he stared into the city. The atmosphere here was thicker, damp and
hard to breathe. The mood of Deilannis was even heavier and more oppressive
than it had looked from the outside.

“Are we safe?” Wirr asked Taeris.

Taeris looked around at the
foreboding mists, then nodded, though his expression was still grim. “From the
sha’teth, at least.”

Dezia shivered, walking up to
stand beside Wirr. “What if we get through, and they’re waiting for us on the
other side?”

“They won’t be. There’s not a
crossing for at least two hundred miles in any direction. Even with their
speed, it would take them several days to get there.” Taeris paused, then
rummaged around in his bag, producing four Shackles. “Before we go any
further….”

Wirr sighed. “They're really
necessary?”

“We’ve already talked about
this,” said Taeris, his tone firm. “You all need to wear one. The Contract will
let me sense you - if we get separated, it’s the only way I’ll be able to find
you.”

Aelric looked at the Shackle with
obvious distaste. “I’m still worried about what happens if you
don’t
find us. I don’t want to wear that thing for the rest of my life.”

Taeris gave a long-suffering
sigh. “If I don’t find you then either I will be dead, in which case the
Shackle will come off of its own accord, or you will be dead, in which case you
won’t terribly mind.”

Dezia pushed past her brother,
rolling up her sleeve. “We know. We’re happy to do it,” she said, glaring at
Aelric.

Taeris nodded as if there had
been no issue, touching the Shackle to Dezia’s wrist. The young woman stared as
the torc sealed itself, touching it lightly. “I don’t feel any different,” she
reassured Aelric.

Aelric hesitated, then
reluctantly submitted himself to the same process. He gave an irritable tug at
the twisted metal band once it was on, but did not appear to suffer any ill
effects. Davian followed, and then Taeris held up the last Shackle to Wirr,
gesturing for him to come forward.

“What about Nihim?” asked Wirr,
realising the priest didn’t have one.

Taeris shook his head. “There
aren’t enough Shackles.” He turned to Nihim. “If you’re separated….”

“It’s okay,” said Nihim. “I’ve studied
maps of Deilannis. If it happens, I can figure out the way through.”

Taeris and Nihim exchanged a
look, so brief that Wirr immediately wondered if he’d imagined it. Then Taeris
was turning back to him. “Your turn.”

Wirr sighed. He hated Shackles.
He wasn’t as badly affected as some Gifted, but whenever he wore one he still
felt significantly slower, weaker. He held out his arm, and Taeris touched the
torc to it.

Pain lanced through Wirr’s head.

He gave an involuntary cry as his
knees buckled; he scrabbled desperately at the metal as it slithered around his
arm, trying his utmost to rip it off. It was hard to breathe…

And then he was lying on the
cool, smooth stone of the bridge. He took a few long, shaky breaths, vision
clearing to see everyone crowded around him, their faces taut with concern.
Taeris was kneeling at his side, the Shackle back in his hand, his face pale.

“Wirr. Can you hear me?” Taeris
asked urgently. “Are you okay?”

Wirr groaned, elevating himself
on one elbow. “A little dizzy, but… I think I’ll be fine.”

Taeris exhaled in relief. “Good.”
His brow furrowed. “What happened? Have you ever had a reaction like that to a
Shackle before?”

“Never.” Wirr climbed to his feet
with Davian’s assistance. “I sometimes get a little shaky or nauseous, but that
was….” He shook his head, lost for words.

There was silence for a few
moments.

“Should we be wearing these?”
Aelric asked nervously.

“Whatever happened to Wirr,
happened as soon as he put the Shackle on. You’ll be fine,” said Taeris, waving
away the question. His eyes never left Wirr.

“I think I’m going to have to
risk Deilannis without a Shackle,” noted Wirr, still a little groggy.

“I think you are,” agreed Taeris.
“Just… don’t try to use Essence while we’re in the city. Under any circumstances.”

Wirr frowned. “I thought you said
it has no effect here.”

“It doesn’t. And we have no idea
why.” Taeris rubbed his forehead. “For all we know, it’s by design. Essence
could be dangerous here, somehow.”

“Or it could attract whatever
guards this place,” pointed out Caeden.

“Exactly.” Taeris acknowledged
Caeden with a nod. “Regardless of the reasons – if you’re not going to be
wearing a Shackle….”

“I’ll be careful,” promised Wirr.

“Good.” Taeris gave him an
appraising look. “Can you walk?”

Wirr nodded; his head still
ached, but everything else seemed to be functioning normally. “I’ll be fine.”

Taeris turned to Nihim, holding
out the Shackle in his hand and raising an eyebrow.

“Not a chance,” said Nihim
firmly.

Taeris gave the ghost of a smile.
“Then we should move.” He turned to the others. “Keep the talking to a minimum.
Whatever’s in here, we want to do as little as possible to attract its
attention.”

Without anything further, they
headed down the stairs from the bridge and into the city itself.

After a few minutes of walking in
uneasy silence, Wirr found himself next to Taeris. “So you’ve been through the
city from Narut,” he said conversationally, trying to provide himself with a
distraction.

Taeris gave an absent nod, never
pausing in his scanning of the road ahead. “The Narut and Desriel bridges are
actually quite close together,” he said quietly. “Unfortunately, the Andarran
bridge is on the other side of the city. According to the maps, anyway.”

“You’ve never been there?” Wirr
kept his voice low, but he couldn't stop it from taking on a slightly panicked
note. “How can you be sure you know the way?”

Taeris shrugged. “Now you mention
it, I’m not sure I even recognise the layout of these streets. Don’t tell the
others, but I think we may be lost.”

Wirr’s eyes widened, then
narrowed as the corners of Taeris' mouth twitched upward for a brief moment,
betraying the scarred man’s amusement at Wirr’s expense.

“That was not funny,” Wirr
grumbled.

Taeris did not take his eyes off
the road ahead. “It was a little funny. Now be quiet.”

Wirr lapsed into silence.

Despite his admission, Taeris
walked the route they were taking with confidence, and whenever he made a turn
it seemed to be because he recognised certain landmarks along the way. They
progressed in almost complete silence, none of them straying further than the
reach of the torches, fixing their eyes on the road ahead. Everyone walked with
their heads slightly bowed, as if trying to ignore the buildings on the edge of
their peripheral vision.

Wirr found himself doing the
same; looking too closely at his surroundings only fed his unease. Every road
was clean and every building looked as if it were newly made, with not a hint
of rot or decay. As if they were being maintained.

“I’m beginning to think the
sha’teth had the right idea,” he whispered to Davian. “This place makes my skin
crawl.”

A sharp look from Nihim silenced
Davian before he could reply, and they pressed on mutely.

They made their way mainly along
the one road, which was wide enough that their torchlight barely penetrated the
mists as far as its edges. Soon they came to a giant archway which, like the
rest of the city, was still wholly intact. Sitting atop the arch itself was a
pike; impaled on it sat a leering skull, the bleached white seeming to glow in
the surrounding gloom. It was the only skeletal remains they had seen since
entering the city.

Wirr felt a chill as he looked at
it. There was something…
wrong
about it, aside from the obvious.
Something disturbing, though he couldn't put his finger on what.

Davian had noticed it too.
“Creepy,” he muttered to Wirr, shivering.

Caeden stepped towards them,
having overheard. “This is the entrance to the inner city,” he said, staring at
the skull. “The Door of Iladriel. When we pass through, we will be in Deilannis
proper.”

Wirr raised an eyebrow at him.
“How do you know that?”

Caeden shrugged. “I just do,” he
said distantly, gaze shifting to the stone structure itself. Then he frowned,
turning to Taeris. “I… would not have thought this was the fastest way to the
Andarran bridge.”

Taeris had stopped in front of
the archway. He looked at Caeden for a long moment, his gaze inscrutable.
“You’re right,” he said. “This is the southern entrance to the inner city. I
only know the way from maps – the originals of which are almost two thousand
years old. I didn’t want to get lost.”

“What lies in there?” asked
Aelric, eyes searching the darkness beyond the archway for any sign of
movement.

Taeris shook his head. “No-one
knows. I don't believe anyone has passed through this part of the city since
Devaed’s time.”

The group was silent as they
digested this information. “We could go back,” suggested Dezia.

Taeris shook his head. “The
sha’teth are not fools. They will have split up, one of them staying on the Desriel
side to ensure we don’t double back.”

For a moment everyone hesitated,
then Dezia stepped forward.

“Then I suppose we shouldn't
delay,” she said. Before anyone could stop her, she was striding through the
archway.

Davian exchanged a look with
Wirr. Taking deep breaths to steel themselves, they moved beneath the archway’s
grinning skull and into the inner city.

***

Davian beckoned to Caeden, who
was staring at the enormous archway as if mesmerised.

 “Caeden!” he hissed in a harried
whisper. The sound jerked Caeden into action; the young man took a last look at
the archway and hurried after them into the inner city.

Davian took a long glance at the
archway himself, wondering what Caeden had been looking at. The Door of
Iladriel, he’d called it. A memory.
HH
Had
there been something else, though? Something he wasn’t telling them?

He shivered again as he looked up
at the skull piked atop the stones, white and grinning. If Caeden was
concealing something, he was probably doing them a favour.

Everyone was deathly silent now
as they walked; Davian often found himself holding his breath, so intent was he
on hearing any sound that was out of the ordinary. As they crept closer to the
centre of the city, he began to notice subtle changes in their surroundings. The
mists thinned, and a grey light gradually became apparent, illuminating
everything in drab monochrome. The buildings here were mostly the same as in
the outer city, untouched by the ravages of time – however some had smashed
windows or doors crumpled inward, and others bore the scars of fire.

Occasionally Davian thought he
caught a glimpse of movement from the corner of his eye, but every time he
spun, there was no-one there. He could see his tenseness reflected in the faces
of the others, including Taeris. Something about this place felt very wrong.

Soon he began to notice that the
structures in this section of the city were less cramped, grander and far more
distinctive than the close-packed houses they had already passed.

Dezia suddenly stopped.

“What is it?” she whispered,
staring at Caeden. The others stopped too, all turning to Caeden curiously.

The young man bit his lip. “I…
know this place,” he said, keeping his voice soft. Despite some uncertainty,
there was also excitement in his tone.

He took a couple of steps
forward, pointing to an enormous building with giant columns of white marble.
“We are in the main street of the city. That is the Great Library of
Deilannis.” He pointed to a structure a little further down the road. “That is
the Ashac Temple, where worshippers would go each Seventhday to hear the word
of the One God preached.” He pointed again, confident now, this time to a wide
roadway that curved off to the left. “That road is known as the Scythe. Follow
it for another five minutes, and you would come to a massive marketplace.” He
smiled, a flush of excitement on his cheeks. “I think from here, I could even
guide us to the Northern Bridge.”