The Shadow Of What Was Lost (63 page)

Diadan nodded. “He is my brother
in all but blood.”

“And yet,” pointed out Ghash, “
not by blood. He ages not. You do.”

“That is true,” acceded Diadan.
“I cannot keep pace with him as once I did. But that is our lot. I no more
resent him his eternal youth than he resents me my looks.” He gave Alarais a
grin.

“I speak not of resentment,” said
Ghash softly. “I speak of something a man, any man, may wish for. The chance to
be young again, to be forever in the prime of his life. To attain knowledge and
wisdom but never have his body fail. To have the vitality and strength that an
aging body can never summon. If I offered you this gift, freely and without
condition, would you take it?”

 Diadan did not pause. “I would,”
he said.

Ghash nodded, then turned to
Alarais. “I know your heart, Alarais. Advise him as a friend, and see if he
trusts you as a friend.”

Alarais groaned inwardly. Long
had Diadan yearned for just this thing, and many times they had talked of what
it meant. It was, perhaps, the one thing they had never truly agreed on.
“Diadan, my friend,” Alarais said earnestly, “ we have often talked of my long
youth. You know the pain it has wrought me. I see those I love wither and die;
you would see the same for your wife Siana, your children, your grandchildren.
There are some pains and failures I still remember from a thousand years ago,
clear as if they were yesterday. I beg of you, though I know your heart and how
tempting it must be. Do not accept this gift.”

Diadan heard the words of his
friend, yet as before, they made little sense to him. “But Alarais, think of
it! We could ride as when I was young. We could adventure together once again.
The deaths of those I love would hurt, yet we would still have the chance to
spend the entire span of their lives together. That alone is worth the price!”

Alarais saw which way his friend
was deciding, and thought to warn him. He made to cry out, but Ghash raised his
hand, and all words fled from Alarais' lips.

Diadan turned to Ghash, his face
glowing with excitement. “I accept your offer,” he said.

 At those words he fell dead to
the floor.

“The second task is failed,”
intoned Ghash. “The greatest of your friends refused your advice, and so was
unworthy of your friendship.”

Alarais dropped to his knees and
wept for his dead friend. Then he left Kyste without saying another word, the
burden on his heart almost too heavy to bear.

For generations, Alarais mourned
the death of his friend. The final task weighed on him, and yet he knew that
Ghash would know if he simply stopped trying to fulfil it. So he searched, but
was never satisfied. A thousand beautiful, intelligent, interesting, honourable
women passed through his court each year, but he found none of them more
special than the others. The price of immortality on love was too high, the
pain too great. Only for a great love would he take such a risk. Alarais had
never wed for exactly this reason.

Five hundred years passed, and
Alarais met Teravia, the Shard Princess. Few women Alarais had ever seen could
match her beauty, and yet it was her wit that drew him to her, and her warmth
and kindness that slowly turned his heart. She was wise with the purity of
innocence, witty but never mean-spirited, charming but never ingratiating. And
beyond all that, above all, she loved Alarais. Not just as a powerful king, an
honourable warrior, an intelligent strategist. She loved him as a man, with all
his faults and failings. And he loved her in return.

Their wedding was celebrated
throughout all the Shining Lands.

Their marriage was the stuff of
legend. Teravia was beloved by the people of the Shining Lands; as queen she
was as wise as her husband, and a time of unprecedented peace lay across the
realm. Alarais had never been happier than when he was with Teravia.

It was a great love, a true love,
and yet Alarais did not tell Teravia about the third task. He did not ask her
to accompany him to Kyste to see Ghash. Diadan’s death - and Jadlis’ before him
- still weighed on his mind, and the thought of losing Teravia was more than he
could bear. And so he waited, telling himself each year that he would try the
next.

Sixty years passed, and Teravia
became gravely ill. The country ground to a halt as word spread of the queen’s
sickness, with every man, woman and child hoping against hope that she would be
miraculously healed.

Her time drawing to a close,
Teravia met with her friends, then her children, to bid them farewell. Finally
all that was left was Alarais, who knelt by her bed holding her hand. Even
aged, even on her deathbed, she was beautiful.

Teravia smiled when she saw him.
“Husband,” she whispered, “why do you look so sad?”

And so he told her. About Ghash
and the three tasks. About Diadan and his failure. As Alarais spoke, Teravia’s
smile turned to a look of pain and sorrow.

“Why did you not take me to see
Ghash, all these years?” she asked. “Do you not think our love is true?”

“Our love is more than true. It
is a great love,” said Alarais, tears in his eyes. “But I was afraid. Afraid of
losing you before your time, as I lost my friend Diadan.” He closed his eyes.
“This burden, I could not have borne.”

Teravia looked on her husband
sadly, squeezing his hand. “You should have trusted me,” she whispered. “I
would not have failed you, my love.”

Her grip loosened and her gaze
faded. With those words, Teravia, Last Queen of the Shining Lands, passed on.

Alarais looked on her and wept
bitter tears, for he knew in his selfishness he had not only lost his chance to
prove Ghash wrong, but left Teravia believing she had not had his trust.

When his eyes cleared, he was
before Ghash in Kyste once again. How he came to be there, he did not know.

“You have broken our agreement,
Alarais. You spoke of our accord to another.”

Alarais nodded. “I did.”

Ghash leaned back. “Yet she is
dead. I will overlook your mistake, should you wish it.”

Alarais shook his head. “I
finally found a woman worthy of my love,” he said softly, “ only to discover I
was not worthy of hers.” He straightened. “I concede to you, mighty Ghash. You
spoke the truth; the tasks you set me were impossible. I will serve you as you
see fit. The Shining Lands are yours.” He spoke truly, for his spirit, and his
heart, were broken.

Ghash rose from his throne, eyes
burning. “It is done!” he proclaimed joyfully. He fitted Alarais in the black
armour of Telaesthesia and charged him to lead his army against the Shining
Lands.

Alarais did as he was commanded,
slaughtering those he had once sworn to protect. The Shining Lands, without a
king and facing a force unlike any they had ever seen, fell swiftly into chaos
and destruction.

So ends the story of the
Impossible Tasks of Alarais Shar.

Davian stared at the book
thoughtfully for several minutes.

It had made no mention of Aarkein
Devaed; if it had not been for the picture at the beginning, he would not have
thought this story had anything to do with Devaed at all. Was Alarais Shar
actually Aarkein Devaed? Or was Ghash? Or had he made a mistake by picturing
the symbol when using the Adviser, leading himself to a book that held no
useful information at all? He gritted his teeth in frustration. 

He read the story again, but
gleaned no more from it than the first time. Finally, reluctantly, he snapped
the book shut, drew some Essence from the lamp, and got to his feet.

He’d probably have time to
examine it again, and read the remainder of the stories in the book, once he
reached Ilin Illan.

For now, though, he needed to
keep moving.

Asha gaped a little as she entered
the ballroom.

She’d never been in this part of
the palace before. A vaulted ceiling held thousands of tiny crystal lanterns
that reflected softly off the polished black marble floor, highlighting the
dazzling designs of inlaid white marble and gold. Tables lined the enormous
room, each filled with gleaming silver platters and goblets. Arched
stained-glass windows let in the last of dusk’s light; these depicted various
scenes – battles, moments from legend – in stunning colour and detail.

"Impressive, isn't it,"
murmured Michal from next to her.

Asha nodded. "It is, but...
they still shouldn't be going ahead with this. Not now," she said quietly
as they were ushered to their seats. She rubbed her forehead, trying not to
sound bitter. "I just don't understand why everyone is trying to hide from
what's happening."

Michal was silent for a few
seconds, then glanced at her sideways. "You're not just talking about
tonight, are you."

"No." They'd had a
meeting at Tol Athian earlier that day, in which Elder Eilinar had informed
them that if the Tenets were not changed, they would not be joining in the
defence of the city. "The Gifted could make a real difference healing the
wounded in a battle. I understand that they're angry, that they feel like
they're being asked to go out and fight without any way to defend themselves.
But to hide in Tol Athian while the city gets attacked is just...." She
shook her head in frustration.

Michal gave her a reassuring
smile. "I actually agree, but it's not going to come to that. General
Jash'tar and his forces will have dealt with the Blind soon enough. And if for
some reason they do not, I'm sure the king will reconsider." He shrugged.
"As for tonight, the Northwarden is perfectly within his rights to
celebrate the return of his only son."

Michal glanced around, then
lowered his voice. "Besides, I suspect the king will use it as an excuse
to show himself in public. Quieten all these rumours that have been swirling
about him."

Asha sighed, but didn't argue
further. She gazed around at the people already filling the room, every one
clad in finery that made her new red dress look almost shabby by comparison.
She recognised many of them; some she'd met in her role as Representative, and
others Michal had previously pointed out. There were plenty of minor Houses, as
always - si'Bandin, si'Dres and si'Kal were all near her table, laughing and
drinking. The Great Houses - Tel'Rath, Tel'Shan, Tel'An and Tel'Esh - were all
well-represented, too, but their lords seemed less jovial.

She took a deep breath, letting
some of her frustration fade into the background as she focused on her
surroundings. "The Great Houses," she said softly to Michal.
"They don't usually speak together so publicly, do they?"

Michal followed her gaze.
"No," he said, frowning. "They don't usually speak together at
all."

Asha watched for a moment longer,
then glanced over with interest at the king's table. Princess Karaliene was
already there, as were a couple of others she did not recognise. As she
watched, Dras Lothlar, the Gifted advisor from Shen, came and sat only two
seats away from Karaliene. The princess shot him an angry look, but Lothlar
ignored it.

“We’ve done better than I
expected, being seated here,” murmured Michal. They had people seated either
side of them, but the chatter of the crowd was loud enough that no-one would be
able to overhear. He shot a dark look at the king’s table. “Though I could say
the same for Shen. Something odd is going on there, mark my words.”

“The princess wasn't too happy to
see Representative Lothlar sitting there,” said Asha.

“I saw that. Ionis didn’t look
pleased, either. Though that’s not really a surprise.” Michal made a discrete
gesture to where the tall, severe-looking Administrator was sitting.

At that moment a horn sounded and
the room quickly fell silent, all eyes turning to the king’s table.
Introductions were made by a herald and everyone rose as King Andras himself
entered; though Asha didn’t think the king looked as sick as some people had
claimed, he did seem pallid, almost fragile as he walked. As if he were a much
older man than his fifty years.

Behind him came the duke, regal
in his formal attire, even his fine blue cloak for once looking far more for
show than practical. He was followed by Wirr – or Torin, as she now had to
think of him. Even after their afternoon together a few days ago, she almost
didn’t recognise her friend; he was as finely attired as his father and looked
self-assured as he came to a stop at the seat of honour, to the right of the
king.

“You and everyone else,”
whispered a voice in her ear.

She started, turning to see the
young woman sitting next to her giving her a conspiratorial grin.

“Sorry?” said Asha.

The girl gestured towards the
king’s table. “Our young prince. All grown up,” she said. “Every unmarried girl
in the room is having the same thought right now.” She glanced around. “Some of
the married ones, too, I’ll wager.”

Asha flushed. “I wasn’t….” She
trailed off; the young woman had already twisted away again, staring hungrily
at Wirr. Asha restrained the urge to snicker.

The first course was served and
Asha ate absent-mindedly, barely responding to attempts at conversation by
Michal and the others around her. She knew she was being somewhat impolite –
Michal even shot her a few irritated glares – but every time she caught a
glimpse of Wirr, her mind wandered.

She wished again that she could
tell her friend about Davian. When she and Wirr had spent the afternoon
swapping stories, that had been the hardest part - watching his face as he'd
hesitantly, despondently described their flight from Deilannis. The moment that
Taeris had told him the connection had been broken. There had been such pain
there that Asha had almost spoken up, despite Davian's warning not to.

But she'd kept silent, and the
moment had passed. The rest of that afternoon had been the happiest she could
remember in months. Wirr, for his part, had been thrilled to discover Asha was
living in the palace - and suitably astonished by the reasons why. If Elocien
hadn't returned after a while to confirm he was working with the Augurs, Asha
didn't think Wirr would have believed it.

She couldn't help but smile now
as she watched her friend. As dinner progressed, small groups of people –
usually in twos or threes – were brought up to be formally introduced to the
prince. Everyone bowed, many brought gifts. All looked vaguely intimidated by
him.

Time passed, and soon there was
an usher touching Michal on the shoulder. The Athian Representative rose,
gesturing for her to do the same.

“Try to be a little more
attentive than you have been so far,” Michal whispered to her as they made
their way between the tables towards Wirr, a hint of irritation in his tone.
“We have this one chance to make an impression - and the prince is going to notice
that you're a Shadow. Regardless of whether he already knows, it's going to be
a point of conversation. So be prepared to do some talking.”

Asha didn’t know whether to be
embarrassed or to laugh. In the end she did neither, instead inclining her head
in acquiescence.

Asha kept her eyes firmly on
Wirr, who was deep in conversation with the young woman sitting between him and
Princess Karaliene - the king's ward, from what Michal had said - and didn’t
notice who was approaching. When he looked up, his eyes flashed with amusement
as introductions were made.

“Michal. Ashalia.” Wirr nodded
politely. “A pleasure to meet you both. You are the Representatives for
Athian?”

Michal bowed, and Asha remembered
to curtsy just in time, trying not to smile as she did so.

“We are, Your Highness,” said
Michal. “It is a pleasure to meet you too.”

Wirr inclined his head, then
leaned back, studying them openly. "So. A Shadow as a
Representative," he said, looking at Asha with a raised eyebrow. "An
unusual choice."

"One that we have not
regretted, sire," Michal assured him. "Asha is a quick study; she'll
one day make an excellent addition to the Assembly. I could not have asked for
more."

Wirr nodded, looking thoughtful.
He stared at Asha intently. "High praise," he said, the faintest hint
of amusement back in his eyes. "And I've heard good things from other
sources, too. I'm impressed."

Asha kept her face smooth.
"Thank-you, Your Highness. That means so much to me," she said with
as much sincerity as she could muster.

The corners of Wirr's mouth crept
upward, and he was about to say something more when an older man – one of the
generals, Asha thought by his uniformed attire – hurried past, going straight
to King Andras and whispering something in his ear. The king glowered at
whatever the man had said, then shooed him away, gesturing to Elocien.

The duke paled as the news the
king had been given was relayed, then stood, heading straight for Wirr. He
frowned for a moment when he saw Asha sitting opposite Wirr, but relaxed again
once he realised that Michal was there too. He bent over Wirr’s shoulder.

“You’re needed, son,” he said,
his voice calm. “Our army has been broken.” The Northwarden glanced across at
Michal and Asha. “You two should come as well. I think Tol Athian may need to
have some say in what happens next.”

“Of course,” said Michal, looking
sick.

Asha's stomach churned too as she
processed the news. Despite having known what was coming, she’d still been
clinging to the hope that it would turn out differently.

They trailed after Elocien and
Wirr, leaving the hubbub of the feast behind them as they moved into an
adjoining room. The king was already seated, and he gestured for everyone else
to follow suit. Princess Karaliene was there, as was Laiman Kardai and Dras Lothlar,
the latter of whom looking especially displeased to see Michal and Asha.

The group was soon completed by
Ionis, who looked even more disgruntled when he realised that both Tol Athian
and Tol Shen were represented.

“What are they doing here?” he
asked irritably, gesturing at Michal and Asha.

“I invited them,” said Elocien.
“This discussion will doubtless revolve around the Gifted. They have just as
much right to be a part of that conversation as us, Ionis.”

Ionis muttered something
inaudible, but subsided as the duke looked at him steadily. Once the
Administrator was seated, a middle-aged man – a general named Parathe, if Asha
remembered correctly – stood.

“Jash’tar’s forces haven’t just
been broken. They have been decimated,” announced Parathe. There was a
heaviness to his tone, a despondency that made Asha’s heart sink.

Everyone just stared at the
general for a moment, with more than one face going pale at the news.

“How?” asked Elocien. “They were
told to dig in, to hold them up. Possibly to negotiate, if that was an option.
But to retreat if necessary.”

Parathe shook his head. “It
wasn’t in open battle. The Blind stopped marching when they saw our men coming;
they’d been dormant for a couple of days. Jash’tar thought they were
intimidated, might even want to talk.” He sighed. “To be honest, Your Grace,
we’re not sure exactly what happened. It seems that our men were overconfident
and didn't set an adequate watch. The enemy snuck in under cover of darkness
somehow, while many of our people were sleeping. Killed most the men in their
tents before the alarm was even raised, then swept in and finished the rest
off. There were only a few survivors.”

There was a stunned silence. “How
many is a few, General?” Wirr finally asked.

“Four hundred or so,” replied
Parathe. “Maybe five, depending on how many managed to scatter to the forests
nearby.”

Asha swallowed, and she could
hear Michal’s sharp intake of breath beside her.

The duke just grimaced. “You're
certain the others are all dead?”

“Yes.” Parathe stared at his
clasped hands, unwilling to look anyone in the eye. "And that report is
days old now. Depending on how hard the Blind have been pushing, they could be
here in a couple of days. Maybe less."

Elocien leaned forward; he wore a
calm expression but his knuckles were white as he gripped the table. “Do we at
least have any new intelligence?”

Parathe nodded. “We know that
they move in squads of ten men: nine with those strange helmets, and one who
sits back from the fighting like a commander. They all seem to be well-trained
- hard to fight individually, but especially cohesive as units.” The general
sighed. “Other than that, Your Grace? No. Only what we already knew.”

“Which is that there’s something
unnatural about them,” growled Ionis, shooting Dras and Michal an accusatory
look as if it were somehow their fault.

The Northwarden took a deep
breath, then laid a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “This is an enormous loss,
Your Majesty,” he said. “I know you’re against it, but there is no other way.
We need to change the Tenets, allow the Gifted to fight.” Parathe inclined his
head in agreement.