The Shadow Of What Was Lost (75 page)

Crumpled, lifeless bodies
littered the way ahead. They were all Gifted, from their red robes. He knelt by
the closest one – a young man, no older than Davian – but the Gifted’s chest
was still, and his eyes were glassy as they stared at the roof. Davian stood
unsteadily.

"It's like this
everywhere," Taeris warned him.

They moved on; every new corridor
greeted them with eerie, unsettling silence – and in a few cases, more bodies.
A couple of the corpses were holding daggers, which Wirr collected as he went.
Davian wasn't sure how much use they would be against swords; even so, he
didn't refuse the one that Wirr offered him.

A few tense minutes passed.
Davian's eyes and ears strained for any hint of danger, but it was still
without warning that the two black-armoured men wandered into the passageway up
ahead.

Though they were not wearing the
distinctive helmets, there was no doubting who they were.

Before anyone could move, Davian
felt Wirr gathering Essence; his friend threw it at the soldiers, aiming for
their exposed heads. To Davian's dismay, the bolts seemed to simply evaporate
just before they made contact.

“Looks like we missed a couple,”
snarled the man on the left.

Wirr and Davian both took a
faltering step back and drew their daggers as the men began walking towards
them; though they started more than thirty feet away and appeared to be moving
at an almost casual pace, they were covering the space between unnaturally
fast.

"Your knives, boys. Throw
them now," said Taeris urgently.

Davian and Wirr both hesitated
for a split second, then did as Taeris instructed, throwing the blades wildly
at the oncoming soldiers.

Taeris stretched out his hand.

The daggers stopped for a second
in mid-air as if frozen in time, then spun, their blades pointing straight at
the approaching men.

The soldiers were fast, but
Taeris was faster. The daggers blurred forward; the Blind may not have needed
their helmets to stop Essence, but steel was another matter. They yelled
something incomprehensible as they saw the danger too late.

Taeris sunk a dagger into each
man’s left eye.

The soldiers crumpled to the
ground, pools of scarlet forming on the stone around their heads. Davian leaned
weakly against the wall, staring at Taeris, who was busy reclaiming their
blades from the bodies.

"So the new Tenets really
are working," he said eventually.

Taeris gave a tired nod. "We
were just lucky they weren't wearing their helmets. Fully armoured, we would
have had to run." He handed both boys a dagger each, the blades now
smeared with red. "We should get moving. We're not far from the
gate."

Davian nodded, accepting the
dagger and trying not to look at the corpse it had come from. His stomach
churned. Fighting the Blind with their helmets on, without the advantage of the
Shields... Tenets changed or not, he shuddered to think of how the Andarrans
were going to fare. For the first time, he couldn't see how this was a fight
they could win.

Still, they had to try. He took a
deep breath to steady himself, nodding to Taeris.

"Lead the way," he said
quietly.

They headed down the corridor at
a jog.

Caeden looked around the massive
cavern in despair.

This one was nearly identical to
the many others he'd already crossed, and he was beginning to wonder if he was
moving in circles. His head spun a little from the oppressive heat as he
examined the expansive maze of narrow paths ahead. Slim walkways of hewn black
stone crisscrossed the vast, open space, their treacherously sheer sides
plummeting into the seething river of molten rock far below.

Some paths ended abruptly, their
crumbling edges highlighted by the fierce glow that emanated upward, tingeing
everything an angry red. Others appeared solid enough... but that made the
prospect of walking on them no less daunting. He'd already had several
secure-looking footholds threaten to crumble beneath his weight.

Caeden wiped sweat from his brow,
taking a deep breath to ensure he wasn't getting light-headed again. The heat
hadn't been a problem at first, but he'd been wandering this network of caves
for hours now, following the inexorable flow of lava in search of an exit.
Dehydration was beginning to rob him of his balance. Along these narrow
walkways, that could easily result in a quick but painful death.

Still, he knew there was nothing
to be gained by waiting. Keeping his eyes fixed on the path ahead, he started
forward once again.

He rubbed at his wrist absently
as he inched his way through the cavern. The wolf tattoo had vanished as soon
as he'd touched the bronze box at the Tol, and even now he couldn't help but
notice the absence of its familiar glow, which had tugged at the corners of his
vision for as long as he could remember. Taeris had once suggested that the
link would remain only until it had physically been completed. It appeared he’d
been right.

After a few minutes of carefully
picking his way across the cavern, he paused, allowing himself some rest.
Ahead, the path disappeared into the gaping black maw of yet another tunnel. He
squinted towards the exit, heart suddenly leaping. There was something else
about the tunnel entrance - something new. A series of markings, etched in a
semi-circle into the rocky wall around it.

His need to rest faded as he
edged closer, a surge of excitement running through him. He couldn't read the
strange symbols, yet they were also somehow familiar.

Then he knew why he recognised
them.

Digging into his pocket, he drew
out the bronze Vessel that had brought him here, holding it up so that the
light from the red river below illuminated it.

He smiled in triumph.

The writing wasn’t identical,
but... there could be no doubt. The inscriptions on the box were in the same
language as the markings around the tunnel.

Replacing the Vessel in his
pocket, he ventured cautiously into the darkness.

He took several deep breaths as
he entered; the air here was much cooler, and he straight away felt more
clear-headed. He hurried forward, eager now. This passage was longer than the
others he'd been through, and he was soon forced to create a small ball of
Essence to light the way ahead.

It was a full ten minutes before
the tunnel began to lighten again, and Caeden paused uncertainly as he reached
the exit.

Instead of yet another cavern, he
was at the entrance to a large room, black stone walls smooth and straight. It
was the floor that had made him hesitate, though. Fine cracks ran everywhere,
along which crimson lava flowed in tiny rivulets, lighting the room a virulent
red.

For a moment Caeden thought the
ground might be unstable, but then he took a half-step back, squinting. The
cracks were too regular, too straight to be natural.

The lava was creating a series of
symbols.

They were similar to those he'd
seen outside the tunnel, he soon realised - clearly the same language. The
design pulsed and glowed, the floor shimmering through the haze of rising heat.

A warning. He wasn’t sure how he
knew, but he was certain of it.

He tore his gaze from the
symbols, studying the rest of the room. It was empty except for a short stone
pillar set at the far end, with a single naked sword balanced across its peak.

Caeden stared at the blade
curiously. Something about it seemed… alive. It gleamed not with the eerie red
of the lava, but rather with a white light, like that of Essence.

There was nothing else in the
room, nor any other exits he could see. As if this room had been built
specifically to house the sword, nothing more. Almost like a shrine.

He hesitated. He felt as though
he'd intruded, stumbled across a place he had no right to be. Yet the box had
brought him here, was clearly connected to this place somehow.

And he knew he couldn't go back
the way he'd come. He had a couple of hours at best before dehydration got the
better of him. He wouldn't survive on those narrow walkways for long.

Cautiously, Caeden placed one
foot into the room, testing the stone underfoot. It seemed firm. Taking a deep
breath, he put his whole weight onto it, stepping completely inside.

There was a grinding sound behind
him and a hidden door slammed shut, neatly dissecting the chamber and the
tunnel.

Caeden stared at the blocked exit
in horror. He looked around, trying not to panic, but his gaze met only solid
stone. There was no other way in or out that he could see.

“You have intruded once again, I
see,” came a soft voice from behind him.

Caeden froze, then slowly turned.

A man now stood between him and
the sword, though Caeden had no idea where he had come from. He resisted the
urge to shrink back against the wall. The stranger's skin glowed a smouldering,
writhing red - darker than the light from the molten rock in the floor, but not
by much. His hair and clothes seemed made of strands of lava itself, but... his
eyes were human. Blue and calm, intelligent.

Watching Caeden closely.

“I... I'm sorry,” stuttered
Caeden, taking a step back. “I didn’t mean to.”

“Of course you did.” The
luminescent man began to pace, circling Caeden. His body language gave nothing
away, but his eyes held an intense curiosity. “You have come for Licanius, as
you always do. The question is, how did you get in this time? Did the Traveller
bring you? Did the Keeper take pity on you? Or perhaps you finally plucked up
the courage to return to the Plains of Decay and use one of the Columns?” He
kept moving, never taking his gaze from Caeden’s face. “Another body again, I
see. Which poor soul did you take it from this time? Did you really think it
would fool us? Fool
me
? No. No, such a poor deception is beyond you, I
think. You have a plan. You always have a plan.”

He stopped, a little closer to Caeden
this time, who had been gaping at him in silence. “Well? Am I to be kept
waiting, or shall I just expel you now?”

Caeden coughed. "I’m sorry,
but truly... I’m not sure why I am here. I don’t even know where here
is
.”
He ran his hands through his hair. “Who are you? Do you know me?”

The man's eyes flickered with
puzzlement. “We have danced this dance for near five hundred years,” he said.
“I am Garadis ru Dagen, and I know you, Tal’kamar, no matter what you do to
your face. Of all of them, you are the only one who ever gets this close. And
yet none of you can take her. That law is immutable.”

Caeden swallowed, not sure
whether to be excited or nervous.

Then what Garadis had said struck
home.

“Five hundred
years
?”
Caeden laughed. “So you’re saying I’m a little older than I look.”

Garadis gazed at him impassively,
silent, and Caeden’s laughter died under the stare.

Suddenly the burning man's eyes
widened in understanding. He moved forward at a blinding speed, grasping
Caeden's head in his hands before it was possible to react.

Caeden gasped; Garadis’ hands
were warm, but not searing hot as he’d expected them to be. He could feel
something inside his mind for the briefest of moments, a fraction of a second.
Then Garadis was stepping back again, this time his expression thoughtful.

“You should not have come back
here,” he murmured.

Caeden gave him an uneasy look.
“But I don’t remember being here. I have no memories past a few months ago,” he
protested.

“That is because you had them
removed,” said Garadis quietly. “You had them removed so that you could come
here, now, to try once again. Andrael’s Law is clear.
He who comes to take
Licanius shall be refused her
. But you are not here to take Licanius. You
are here to find out who you are, and how you might help your friends.” He
stared at Caeden in what seemed to be fascination.

Caeden glanced behind Garadis, at
the sword on the pillar. "That's Licanius, isn't it," he said.

"Yes."

“Will my having it make a
difference? Will I be able to help my friends?”

"Of course," said
Garadis softly. The glowing man stared into Caeden's eyes, then stepped to one
side, allowing him a straight path to the sword. "For the first time in
five hundred years, you have passed the Tests. As Guardian, I have read your
mind and find no thoughts or memories that should cause me to deny you
Licanius. She is yours.”

Caeden looked hesitantly at the
sword, then back at Garadis. “Can you restore my memories?”

“No,” replied Garadis. “Though I
am sure one who can will find you soon enough.”

“Then can you at least tell me
who I am?”

Garadis stared at him,
expressionless. “Where to begin? You are Tal’kamar, though precious few know
you as such. You destroyed Saran’geth. You butchered the Arathi. You created
the Plains of Decay.” He paused. “You saved Jala Terr. You hid Wereth when the
Shadows would have killed him. You risked your soul to stop the extinction of
the Utthal. You have lived for over three thousand years, and done so much evil
and so much good. You are a legend, even here amongst the Lyth. You are
Tal’kamar,” he finished softly.

Caeden felt a chill run down his
spine. He had lived for over three
thousand
years? It was inconceivable,
yet something in Garadis’ voice told him it was true.

Numbly, he nodded. “Thank-you.”

“Now,” said Garadis. “Take the
sword.”

Caeden took a deep breath, then
picked his way across the lava-lined floor until he stood in front of the
pillar. He frowned at the inscription on it.

“What do these symbols say?”

“Nothing important,” replied
Garadis.

Caeden paused, glancing back at
the towering, pulsating being. Garadis' stance and expression were still blank,
but now his eyes seemed… eager.

A flash of suspicion ran through
Caeden.

“What does Licanius do?” he asked
slowly. “Can I safely assume that this is no ordinary sword?”

“You can,” replied Garadis. “But
Andrael’s Law forbids me to speak of her specific properties. To anyone.”

Caeden frowned, unconvinced. “Is
taking it going to hurt me, somehow?”

Garadis stared at him
impassively. “If you are asking whether Licanius has wards to prevent her from
being taken - then no, she does not.”

Caeden gazed at the blade. Up
close, even the glow he'd noticed earlier was muted. It seemed like a well-made
sword... but that was all.

He leaned down, peering closer.
Etched into the steel in tiny lettering were more symbols - these ones
familiar.

“
For those who need me most
.
What does that mean?”

“Another question I cannot
answer.” Garadis sounded irritated, but Caeden was still hesitant to touch the
sword. Something was holding him back.

“What does Licanius mean? It
sounds Darecian. You could at least tell me that much.”

There was silence from Garadis.
“Fate,” he said eventually. “The translation is more specific, but in your
language, it means ‘fate’.”

Caeden nodded. Taking a deep
breath, he reached down and grasped the hilt, lifting the sword from its stone
cradle.

He screamed.

Pain wracked his entire body; he
wanted to let the sword drop but his muscles had convulsed, making his grip on
it vice-like. Tears trickled down his cheeks as wave after wave of agony washed
through him.

Then, just as he thought he could
stand no more, it was over.

He was lying on the stone floor –
blessedly not touching any of the lava rivulets – and still holding the sword.
With a gasp he dropped it, letting it clatter against the warm stone. On his
left forearm glowed a symbol, something he didn't recognise, which faded away
even as he saw it. Not a wolf, but a different animal – a bear, perhaps?

Garadis was still standing in the
corner, a satisfied look in his eyes.

Caeden spun and glared at him.
“What have you done?” he growled. “You said there would be no traps.”