The Shadow Of What Was Lost (36 page)

“Of course it was,” muttered the man,
mostly to himself.

Davian frowned at him. “So where
did it go?” he asked again.

“These Tenets, as you call them,
don’t exist yet. Thus, you’re not bound by them.”

Davian screwed up his face. “I
don’t understand.”

The man gestured, and Davian
found he could move again. “All in good time, Davian. Now follow me.”

Davian hesitantly trailed after
the stranger into the shadows.

Once the darkness had closed
around him and his eyes had adjusted to it, Davian could see that they were in
a very, very large room – a hall of some kind, he assumed. Its size was the
only thing spectacular about it, though; there were rows of stark grey columns,
a smooth stone floor, an arched roof high above – and nothing else.

They walked for around thirty
seconds before they came to a doorway, which opened into a narrow corridor.
After the cavernous hall, the passage made Davian feel almost claustrophobic.

“Who are you?” asked Davian as
they walked.

The man did not turn around. “My
name is Malshash.”

“Well, Malshash,” said Davian,
encouraged by the response, “ can you tell me where I am?”

They were at the end of the
passageway; Malshash grabbed one of the double doors in front of them and swung
it wide.

Davian sighed. The mists were not
as thick as they had been when the creature had attacked, but they were there.

”I’m still in Deilannis,”
observed Davian, his tone flat.

“Yes.”

Davian walked outside, turning to
examine the building he had just exited. To his surprise, he recognised it. It
was the same building Taeris had been so interested in - the one he had nearly
stayed behind to enter, despite the danger. The memory reminded Davian of the
threat, and he looked around with apprehension.

“The creature,” he said to
Malshash in a low, urgent tone.

“We’re safe,” Malshash assured
Davian. He started off down the road, in the opposite direction to which Taeris
and the others had gone. Davian tried to stand his ground, but discovered that
his feet were moving to follow Malshash.

“Wait!” Davian called softly. “My
friends may still be here! One of them is badly hurt – the creature wounded
him. If I can just find him….”

Malshash did not stop, or even
turn. “If your friend was wounded by Orkoth, he is dead.” His tone held no
emotion. “Even if he is not, there is no way for you to return to him.”

“But he’s only a few hundred feet
the other way!” Davian protested, voice louder now as frustration and anger
crept in.

Malshash shook his head. “There
is no-one here but us, Davian. I would know if it were otherwise.” He held up
his hand peremptorily, still not looking back as he spoke. “No more questions.
There will be time later.”

They walked for a few minutes,
Davian throwing nervous glances over his shoulder, until they came to a large,
two-story house. Malshash entered, gesturing for Davian to follow. They passed
through the landing and into a large kitchen, where a small fire crackled
merrily in the corner, casting a warm glow across the room that was in stark
contrast to the cold whites and greys so prevalent in the rest of the city.

Malshash motioned Davian into one
of the seats at the table, then began opening cupboards filled with food.
Davian watched in surprise as the man began preparing a meal, apparently lost
in thought.

“You
live
here?” Davian
asked.

Malshash gave an absent nod. “For
now.”

Davian watched in silence until
Malshash set down two meals on the table.

“You must be hungry,” said
Malshash, gesturing for Davian to eat.

Davian’s stomach growled, and he
realised just how hungry he truly was. There was cooked meat of some kind –
beef, he thought – and vegetables. It was simple fare, but to Davian it looked
a feast.

Ravenous, he had eaten several
mouthfuls before he realised that Malshash had not touched his food. He
stopped, eyes narrowing, a flash of panic racing through him.

Malshash saw his reaction and
gave him a slight smile. “I’m not poisoning you,” he reassured Davian, taking a
quick bite of his own meal to prove the point. He leaned back, sighing. “So.
You have questions.”

Davian swallowed his mouthful,
nodding. “What happened to me? How did I end up in that building?”

Malshash paused. “What do you
mean?”

“One moment I was on the road out
of this El-cursed city. Then I was… somewhere else. Everything was grey, and I
was being thrown around. I thought I was going to be torn apart, but I saw a
light and headed towards it. The next thing I knew, I was waking up. You know
the rest.”

“You… you don’t know what that
was?”

“Should I?”

Malshash rubbed his forehead, for
some reason looking shaken. “I suppose not. But for you to have survived the
rift with no training, no idea what you were doing… it’s remarkable.”

“The rift?” Davian leaned
forward, but even as he did so he realised that his eyelids were getting heavy.
He yawned, long and loud. The heat of the fire, combined with his full stomach,
were making him drowsy – but far moreso than they should have been. “What is
this?” he said through another yawn. “You drugged me?”

“No. It’s just a side-effect. The
shock, the adrenaline, must have kept you awake until now.”

Davian felt his head getting
heavy. He leaned forward until his head touched the table. “Side-effect of
what?” he mumbled.

If
Malshash answered, Davian didn’t hear it. He slept.

Wirr burst through the edge of
the mists.

He collapsed upon the smooth
white stone of the bridge, savouring the sight of the night sky and luxuriating
in the feel of fresh air on his face. Even the roaring of the river below was
musical compared to the sullen silence of the cursed city behind him. The stars
were out, though no moon was in evidence; still, Wirr thought the cloudless
heavens were as beautiful a thing as he had ever seen.

He twisted in his seated position
to watch as Aelric and Dezia came stumbling from the thick blanket of fog,
followed quickly by Caeden and then Taeris. From within Deilannis, he could
still hear occasional shrieks as the creature hunted, but the sounds were
distant now.

Suddenly he went cold. He stared
at the group on the bridge for a long moment.

“Where are Davian and Nihim?”

Taeris looked around at that,
paling. “Nihim tripped,” he said after a moment, “ but I didn't see what
happened to Davian.” As one they looked at the mists, as if expecting the
remaining two men to emerge at any moment.

Nothing happened.

In the distance, the creature
shrieked again, but this time the sound was different. It sent a shiver through
Wirr like none of its previous cries.

Still short of breath, he
struggled to his feet. “We have to go back.” He started forward shakily towards
the white curtain of fog.

Taeris grabbed his arm in a
vice-like grip, stopping him mid-step. He looked Wirr in the eye. “Don’t be a
fool,” he said quietly.

Wirr struggled forward for a
moment longer, but he knew Taeris was right. The last vestiges of energy
drained from him and he slumped to the ground, staring back at the city.

“They must be lost,” he said,
hearing the desperation seeping into his voice. “They’ll be hiding. But you can
find them….”

Taeris closed his eyes for a long
moment, and Wirr knew what he was about to say next.

“Wirr,” the older man said, his
tone gentle. “I can’t feel Davian any more. My Contract with his Shackle was
broken.”

Wirr just gazed blankly at Taeris
for a moment, a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, then shook his head in
denial. “What does that mean?”

Taeris bowed his head, and
everyone else looked away as the meaning of the Gifted’s words struck home.
“They are dead, Wirr,” Taeris said, his voice thick with emotion. “It’s the
only explanation.”

With that, he slowly started
walking along the bridge, towards Andarra.

Wirr, Caeden and the others
didn’t follow, just stared back into the mists, listening numbly to the
bone-chilling shrieks of the creature.

This time, they sounded
triumphant.

***

Wirr perched on a boulder
dangerously near the edge of the chasm, letting the roar of the Lantarche wash
over him, his expression blank as he stared out towards the roiling mists.

Most of the others had long since
fallen asleep; the rigours of the night had taken a toll, as he knew they
should have on him, too. Still, he didn’t turn as the sound of crunching gravel
indicated someone approaching.

“I would prefer to be alone,” he
said quietly.

Aelric seated himself beside Wirr
on the stone, not responding. They sat like that in silence for several
minutes, just watching the mists; the moon had risen, and the fog glowed with
an ethereal silvery light in the middle of the gorge. Wirr thought about asking
Aelric to leave, but his heart wasn’t in it. As much as he wanted to lash out
at something – anything, in fact - he was grateful for the company.

“It wasn't your fault,” said
Aelric suddenly.

Wirr didn’t react for a moment,
but for some reason he didn’t understand, the words ignited a cold rage inside
of him.

“What makes you think I blame
myself?” It came out as more as a snarl than anything else.

Aelric ignored his tone. “Because
I can see it. Right now you’re sitting here, playing back every moment from
today and thinking of all the things you could have done differently that would
have saved your friend. You’re feeling guilty for a single moment, a single
mistake. An accident.” He looked at Wirr with a serious expression. “Tell me
I’m wrong, and I won’t say anything more about it.”

Wirr opened his mouth to do just
that, but shut it again without making a sound. Aelric was right. He
had
been
playing back every moment of the day in his head, wondering what he could have
done differently. Cursing himself for not having enough self-control to be
silent, not being smart enough to resist reaching for Essence in a panic.

He gave a heavy sigh, then
pondered the tone of Aelric’s voice for a moment.

 “You sound like you might know
what that feels like,” he said grudgingly.

Aelric chuckled, though there was
no joy to the sound. “There’s some truth to that.”

Wirr looked at him, frowning.
“What happened?” The pain in Aelric’s voice had caught him by surprise. Since
they’d met, Wirr had seen only bluster, swagger and no small amount of
belligerence from the young man.

Aelric stared into the chasm. “Do
you know how Dezia and I came to be at court?”

Wirr shook his head. “Not the
details. Dezia only said that after your father died, King Andras took you in.”

Aelric nodded. “We lived with my
father,” he said, voice soft as he remembered. “He was vassal to Gerren Tel'An,
a nobleman, but with no holdings of his own. The Tel'Ans all looked down on
him, but he didn’t mind so long as we had a roof over our heads and food on the
table.

“One day I was playing with Lein
Tel'An. We used to practice against each other with training swords, but that
day we broke into the armoury and found some real shortswords. We were
fourteen, thought the swordmaster was an old fool who couldn’t see we were
ready for the real thing.”

Wirr leaned forward. He
remembered Lein: a skinny boy with golden hair and a shy smile. He’d been one
of the better Tel'Ans. One of the few boys his age he hadn’t completely
disliked, in fact, though they’d not spoken often.

Aelric continued, “We were
careful at first, but once we got used to the weight of the blades, we were
swinging hard and fast. Just like real warriors.” He grimaced at the memory.

Wirr stared at Aelric, aghast.
“You killed him?”

Aelric blinked in surprise, then
gave a slight smile. “Fates, no,” he said with a chuckle. The smile faded. “I
cut off his right hand. I was overconfident and slipped, and the sword went
clean through his wrist.” Aelric shook his head, and Wirr could see him
reliving the moment in his mind. “The second son of House Tel'An was crippled,
and I was at fault.”

“And Lord Tel'An wanted you
punished?”

“He wanted me flogged.”

Wirr stiffened. “But… at that
age….”

“It could have killed me,”
finished Aelric. “A fact my father knew all too well. He demanded that the king
be consulted before the punishment was carried out, but Tel'An was having none
of it. The day after the accident, I was brought into the town square and tied
to the flogging post. My father tried to stop them, first with words, then with
his blade.” He stared at the ground. “He was never much of a swordsman, and
there were just too many of Tel'An's men. They killed him.”

Wirr gazed at Aelric for a
moment. “I’m sorry.”

Aelric inclined his head. “It was
a long time ago.”

“Did they still flog you?”

“No.” Aelric sighed. “My father’s
death put a stop to the proceedings. That night, the king received word of what
Tel'An had done, and sent for Dezia and myself. Tel'An was furious, but even he
was not fool enough to defy the king.”

He paused for a few moments in
remembrance, then turned to face Wirr. “What happened with Lein… it was an
accident. Carelessness. A moment of madness that changed the course of my life,
and Dezia’s, forever. I still regret it, every day, but... it gets better. The
pain is still there, even now... but it does fade.”

Wirr nodded slowly. Taeris and
the others had told him that he shouldn't feel guilty for what had happened in
Deilannis, but their words had been hollow, meaningless, however
well-intentioned. Aelric, though, understood that the pain of his mistake
wouldn't be so easy to simply put aside. Strangely, Wirr found that more
comforting.

They were silent for a time. “So
is that why you became so good with a sword?” Wirr asked eventually.

Aelric hesitated. “In part, I
think that’s probably true. It took me a while to pick up a blade again,
though. Almost a year after I got to court.” He gave a rueful smile. “To be
honest, I was… not highly regarded at the palace, to begin with. I shirked my
responsibilities and hid from my tutors. I suspect it was only Dezia’s
friendship with Karaliene that saved me from being sent back to Tel'An within
the first few months.”

“What changed?”

Aelric chuckled. “Unguin heard
that I’d been showing some promise, before the accident. Once he found out all
the details, he insisted on training me – wouldn’t take no for an answer. Made
my life such a misery that it ended up being easier to just turn up for drills
every morning.”

Wirr looked up in interest.
Unguin was the palace Swordmaster; Wirr had been given many – mostly
unsuccessful, but still beneficial – lessons under his tutelage. “He must have
seen something in you, for him to be so persistent.” That was the truth. Unguin
was a no-nonsense man, straight as an arrow and with little patience for the
pretensions of the nobility. If he’d gone out of his way to tutor Aelric, there
was more to the young man than Wirr had initially credited.

Aelric shrugged. “He said that my
skills weren’t anything special, but my motivations were. That I wouldn’t just
understand why control was more important than strength or speed – I’d live by
the concept.” He gave a short laugh. “And I suppose he was right. Once I picked
up a blade again, I didn’t stop working at it until I was certain that what
happened with Lein would never happen again. I worked as hard as I could, as
long as I could, every day… though Unguin would tell you otherwise, of course.”

Wirr smiled. “He sounds like a
hard man to please.”

“You would know, I suppose.”

There was silence for a few
seconds as Wirr hesitated, processing the comment, trying to see if there was a
meaning he had somehow missed. Finally he looked sideways at Aelric, who was
still staring into the chasm.

“Karaliene and Dezia are like
sisters,” said Aelric, not looking at Wirr. “After I walked in on you hugging
Karaliene, Dezia swore to me there was nothing between you. She wouldn’t betray
Karaliene’s confidence, but I know she wouldn’t lie to me, either.” He
shrugged. “If it wasn’t that, the only other person who could be that familiar
with the princess would have to be a relative. It was easy from there. You look
a lot like your father.”

Wirr shook his head in chagrin.
“You’ve known all this time?”

Aelric allowed a half-smile to
creep onto his face. “Since the second day.” He paused, the faint trace of
amusement quickly disappearing. “As, I assume, has my sister.”

Wirr nodded mutely.

Aelric gave a slight shake of his
head, looking frustrated at the confirmation. “You’d think she’d have learnt
from my example,” he muttered in a wry tone. He rubbed his forehead. “Look – I
can’t tell either of you what to do, and maybe this isn't the best time to
bring it up. But if it hasn’t been clear, I don’t think you and Dezia getting
attached to each other is a good idea.”

Wirr flushed. “It’s not like
that.”

“I’m not an idiot, Wirr. Torin.
Whatever you want me to call you.” Aelric said the words gently, only a hint of
reproach in his voice. “The two of you are becoming close – anyone with eyes
can see it. Once we’re back in Ilin Illan though, how long will it take for
your father to start pairing you off with one of the girls from the Great Houses?
A month? Two? The more time you spend with Dezia now, the harder that will be
for her. For both of you.”

Wirr was silent for a few
moments; he wanted to protest, but Aelric wasn’t wrong. “Nothing’s happened
between us,” he said eventually.

Aelric gave him a tight smile.
“And I believe you, if for no other reason than Dezia’s too smart to cross that
line.” He sighed. “I’m not suggesting you should stay away from her, or that
you shouldn’t be friends. Just… don’t spend so much time together, especially off
by yourselves. There’s no point letting those feelings develop. Do it for my
sister’s sake, if not your own.”

Wirr’s heart twisted. Aelric was
only repeating what Wirr already knew - that his friendship with Dezia needed
to remain just that - but it didn't make confronting the fact any easier,
especially tonight.

Still, he nodded a reluctant
acknowledgement. He understood why Aelric was concerned, and also why he hadn't
waited to talk about this. The older boy hadn't mentioned it explicitly, but
they both knew that grief could cause people to make poor decisions. Wirr hated
to admit it but in Aelric's position, he would probably be doing the same
thing.