The Shadow of What Was Lost

by James Islington

  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.

  Wirr’s response had apparently satisfied Aelric, and the conversation drifted to lighter topics. It did not take Wirr long to grudgingly decide that he was beginning to respect the older boy, maybe even like him a little, despite his first impressions. Aelric knew without having to ask that Wirr was keeping a vigil, waiting to see if Davian would miraculously emerge from the mists of Deilannis during the night. Rather than pointing out the foolishness of the task, he seemed content to simply keep Wirr company.

  Finally the conversation ceased and they lapsed into a companionable silence, each lost in his own thoughts. A silent understanding had passed between the two young men, and both were content to sit there quietly as the night slipped by.

  Dawn came too soon, yellow and bright. Wirr and Aelric rose and headed back to camp. The others were already awake; no one needed to ask where they had been.

  They gathered up their meager possessions, the silence somber. Soon they were on the move again, upward for a time along stairs similar to those on the Desriel side of the city. They crested the steep hillside, then began to walk the gentler slope downward. Wirr glanced back over his shoulder, watching as the mist-bound city was lost from view.

  He turned forward again and swallowed a lump in his throat, forcing himself to finally admit the hard truth.

  Davian was gone.

  Chapter 27

  Asha gave an inward groan as she saw the line of nobility waiting outside Elocien’s study.

  She gritted her teeth, ignoring the stares as she passed. It had been weeks since she’d been officially introduced as Tol Athian’s Representative, but more often than not, she was still looked at like something akin to a dog that had suddenly learned how to talk. The worst of the offenders were people like those waiting for Elocien. They wouldn’t be happy about what she was about to do… but the duke had sent for her, and it had sounded urgent.

  The hallway had gone silent at her appearance, but now a low, annoyed muttering started up behind her as she knocked on Elocien’s door. It was well known that she was only at court through the Northwarden’s insistence, and few people tried to hide their disapproval away from Elocien’s sight. This would only serve to reaffirm their opinion that she didn’t know her place.

  There was silence for a few moments, and then the door opened. A man Asha didn’t recognize peered out at her with a frown.

  “The Northwarden is busy,” he told her, his tone stern. He tried to shut the door again, but Asha jammed her foot in the crack.

  “Tell him that it is Representative Chaedris. He sent for me.”

  The wiry man hesitated, then gave a sharp nod. A few seconds later the door opened again and the duke appeared, ushering out a disgruntled-looking older man.

  “This will not take long, Lord si’Bandin,” Elocien said. He turned to Asha; his expression was smooth but she could see a strange combination of concern and excitement in his eyes. “Representative Chaedris. Please, come in,” he said politely.

  As soon as the door was shut, the Northwarden’s manner changed. He collapsed wearily into a chair, but despite his obvious exhaustion, he appeared upbeat.

  “Ashalia. Thank you for coming,” he said with a tired smile, gesturing for her to take a seat. “I have news of Torin. He’s alive.”

  Asha stared at the duke for a long moment, barely daring to believe her ears. She sat, a sudden burst of emotion dizzying her. She’d hoped, of course, but to have it confirmed…

  She laughed delightedly. “That’s wonderful!” She was about to say more when she realized that the man who had initially opened the door was still standing by another chair in the corner. She hesitated.

  The duke caught her glance and nodded to himself.

  “Ah—of course. How rude of me. Ashalia, meet Laiman Kardai, my brother’s closest friend and most trusted adviser.”

  Laiman grimaced at the introduction. He was an unassuming-looking man, thin in both body and face, with wire-rimmed glasses that lent him a scholarly air. “Until recently, anyway,” he said with forced cheerfulness, running a hand through his mousy-brown hair. He nodded to Asha. “A pleasure to meet you. I’ve heard much about you from Duke Andras.” He gave a slight smile. “And from others, too, these last few weeks. You’ve managed to make quite a stir.”

  “Not deliberately,” Asha assured him drily. She bit her lip, glancing again at Laiman. She was ecstatic about Torin, but she could hardly have this discussion with Elocien while there was a stranger in the room.

  Elocien followed her gaze. “Laiman knows everything, Asha. About Torin, and about the Augurs. You may speak freely in front of him.”

  Asha tried not to look surprised; after all Elocien’s talk about keeping the Augurs a secret, he had told the king’s closest friend? Still, it was hardly her place to question the duke’s judgment.

  She relaxed a little, allowing her smile to return. “So… where is he? What happened to him—is he safe?”

  “Details are scarce at this point,” Elocien admitted. “We do know for certain that a couple of weeks ago, he was in Thrindar.”

  Asha stared at the duke. “In Desriel?”

  Elocien nodded grimly. “He made contact with Princess Karaliene at the Song of Swords—she let me know as soon as she arrived home this morning. He’s on his way home, too, apparently.” He rubbed his forehead, looking as though he didn’t quite know whether to be pleased or irritated at the next part. “She says he didn’t even know about what happened at Caladel—that he’d left before the attack, to investigate the weakening of the Boundary… it was all very vague, to be honest. I don’t think he told her much at all.”

  “The Boundary? The one up north?” Asha frowned, trying to remember what she knew of the far north. “Does that mean…”

  “I don’t know.” Elocien sighed. “These invaders—the Blind, as they’re being called now—are coming from the north. If Torin thought there was a problem with the Boundary—enough of a problem to risk sneaking into Desriel—then I suppose it’s possible they’re from Talan Gol. Some sort of… distant Andarran relative, maybe, descended from those who were trapped in the north when the Boundary was first created.” He shrugged, glancing across at Laiman. “We’ll find out soon enough, anyway.”

  Asha frowned. “What do you mean?”

  Elocien hesitated. “We’ve heard nothing conclusive, but the early reports have been worrying. Refugees describing soldiers with inhuman strength and speed, slaughtering everyone in their path—adults and children, resisting or not.” He shook his head. “Those fleeing are terrified, of course, so it’s impossible to say how much of that is actually true, but King Andras has still decided to send the army out to meet the Blind. Nine thousand men, all told.”

  Asha stared at him in horror. “But you know what happens,” she said, a note of protest edging into her tone. “The invasion reaches Ilin Illan. Surely that means…”

  “A lot of those men may be going to t
heir deaths. I know,” said Elocien. “This is why I had to tell Laiman exactly what was going on. The king wanted to send everyone, Asha. All fifteen thousand troops, leaving the city defended by only a handful of soldiers. My pleas were doing nothing, but Laiman got him down to nine thousand.”

  “It’s still many more than we wanted,” added Laiman quietly, “but it was the best I could do. Given the circumstances.”

  “The circumstances?” repeated Asha.

  Elocien glanced at Laiman, who gave him a brief nod.

  “My brother is acting… irrationally,” said Elocien. “We’ve been noticing small things for weeks, but since war was officially declared it seems to have become much worse. Much worse. He rants against the Gifted, but is perfectly content to have Dras Lothlar as one of his closest advisers. He has started refusing to see all but his most trusted lords, advisers, and servants. Karaliene came home this morning after being away for months, but he’s not even changing his schedule to see her. I’ve never seen him do that before.” From the duke’s tone, he was genuinely worried. “We know something is wrong, but no one is in a position to find out what.”

  “What about the Assembly?” asked Asha. “Can’t they step in?”

  “Andarra is at war, so the Assembly has been dissolved until further notice.” Laiman’s tone was calm but Asha could see the concern in his eyes, too. “It was announced yesterday. His Majesty has absolute control over the country until the Blind are defeated. And he insisted on sending the troops. At the urgings of Dras Lothlar, I might add,” he said, unable to repress a scowl.

  The Northwarden leaned forward. “Nine thousand is more than we should be sending, but… there are other things to consider. We have people, thousands of people, outside the city in the path of the Blind. Those troops will give them a chance to escape. And even if our soldiers don’t stop the invasion, we don’t know what impact they will have. Sending them may weaken the enemy enough that we will be able to defeat them once they breach the city. We could gain valuable intelligence on who they are, what they want, and how they fight.”

  Asha processed what Elocien had told her for a few seconds, then gave a reluctant nod. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

  Elocien’s tone became milder. “Just remember, Asha, that even if what the Augurs See is inevitable, it doesn’t mean we can just wait for it to happen. Fessi saw the Blind inside the city, yet we’re still going to man the Shields at Fedris Idri when they come. Why? Because even though good men will die, and those walls will eventually be overrun—who knows how many of the enemy will be killed in the process? The damage we do them there may end up making the difference between victory and defeat.” He sighed. “Regardless, all we can do is make preparations based on what we know. And I promise you, I am doing that.”

  Asha inclined her head nervously; when Elocien put it in such a matter-of-fact way, the prospect of invaders inside the walls suddenly felt more real. She’d been imagining that Fessi’s vision had meant that the Andarran soldiers would simply wait for the Blind inside Ilin Illan, make their stand from deep within the city. That what had been Seen would come before any blood had been shed.

  But she saw now that the duke was right—knowing they were going to lose the battle for the Shields didn’t mean they could, or even should, avoid it.

  She took a deep breath, a little dazed. Elocien watched her sympathetically.

  “How is everything else going?” he asked after a moment, his tone gentle. “Is the Shadraehin still pressing you for information?”

  Asha grimaced, nodding. “They’re contacting me once every couple of days now,” she admitted. The messages were always essentially the same, and yet… in the last few, she had begun to sense more than a hint of impatience.

  Elocien frowned as he watched her reaction. “If it becomes anything more than them just making contact, you let me know straight away,” he said quietly. “I can’t see any reason for the Shadraehin to think you are anything but loyal—he must have known your getting information from me could take a while, months even. Still, there are measures we can take to protect you if you feel the need.”

  Asha gave him a grateful nod, silent for a moment. Then she stood, suddenly remembering the long line of impatient nobility outside. “I should let you get back to your meetings, but thank you for letting me know about Torin,” she said, managing a small smile. “It really is wonderful news. Do you know when he will be back?”

  Elocien returned the smile, standing too. “If there are no complications… soon, I would hope. I’ll keep you informed if I find out anything more specific.” He sighed, glancing at Laiman. “But for now it’s back to hearing every single House tell us why their interests should be protected against this invasion, I suppose.”

  “Yes. Let the tedium resume,” agreed Laiman reluctantly. He nodded politely to Asha. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Ashalia. I’m sure our paths will cross again.”

  The duke opened the door, and the murmuring from the gathered nobility outside stopped once more as Asha made her way past. She tried to stare straight ahead as she walked, but she still caught a couple of the half-disgusted, half-irritated looks she had already grown accustomed to.

  Rubbing her forehead, she made her way back to her rooms. She had only a little time before her next lesson with Michal, but it was enough to catch up on some rest, and a chance to try to process everything she’d just been told.

  Her bedroom was still dark; getting up before sunrise meant she rarely thought to draw back the thick curtains. She left them closed and wearily lay down on her bed.

  “Asha.”

  The male voice made her sit up straight in alarm.

  “Who’s there?” she said, trying to make the fear in her voice a warning. She scrambled to light the lamp beside her bed, raising it with a shaking hand.

  A figure shifted in the shadows at the corner of her room. There was a clinking sound, metal against metal. Then the intruder moved forward, into the light.

  “It’s good to see you, Asha,” said Davian softly.

  Asha stared in disbelief. She had to be dreaming, hallucinating. The man standing in the corner of the room was Davian, but… he looked older.

  Much older.

  Gone was the skinny boy from Caladel. Muscles rippled beneath Davian’s light shirt, which was tattered and bloodstained. There was a strange scar, almost a tattoo, scored onto his neck—three wavy vertical lines, all within a circle. And his face not only had the old scar from Caladel but another one, worse, running across the other cheek just beneath his eye. It looked deep, painful, not fully healed. Week-old stubble made him look even more disheveled.

  Davian’s entire body was bound by a black, glistening chain with thick links, the metal writhing in the lamplight as if alive. He shifted, and the metallic clinking echoed through the room again.

  Worst of all, though, were his eyes. They were old. Full of pain as he looked at her.

  “Is this a dream?” asked Asha, dazed. “You… you’re not real. They said you died. At Caladel.”

  “They lied.” Davian made an awkward step back as Asha swung out of bed. “Please, don’t come any closer. It’s dangerous.”

  Asha stopped. She wanted to go to him, touch him, just to make sure he was really there. “Why?”

  Davian grimaced, staring at the ground. “I don’t have time to explain. I’m… restricted in what I can say. Who is the Shadraehin?”

  Asha shook her head in confusion at the sudden switch. Was this some kind of elaborate trick? “A man called Scyner,” she said slowly. “Why?”

  Davian grimaced again, still staring at her. “She’s telling the truth. She doesn’t know.” He gave a moan of pain as the black chains tightened around him. “You have my word, Rethgar,” he added through gritted teeth.

  “Dav?” Asha took a hesitant half step forward in concern before remembering Davian’s warning. “What’s going on?”

  “We know you have met with the Shadraehin. You helped he
r.” Davian spoke in a monotone, and he stared at her intently, trying to communicate… something. A warning.

  “Her?” Asha shook her head. “Scyner is a man.”

  “Scyner is just the Shadraehin’s lieutenant. A prewar, though. Don’t trust him.” The black chains flexed; though Davian didn’t cry out this time, she could see from his expression how much it hurt.

  “Dav—” Asha made to move forward.

  “Stay back.” Davian’s words were like a whip, stopping her in place. “Ashalia Chaedris, for your part in assisting the Shadows, you have been found guilty.” He hesitated, clearly reluctant to say the next part. “The sentence is death.”

  A chill ran through Asha at the words. “I’m a Shadow, Dav,” she said softly, holding the lamp higher in case he hadn’t been able to see her face.

  Davian gave her a tight smile. “You won’t always be, though.”

  The black chains shivered and Davian let out an involuntary groan, sinking to his knees. “She doesn’t know anything. And this is the furthest we can go before Tal’kamar—”

  The chains tightened again, and this time Davian’s expression turned to one of grim anger. He closed his eyes.

  The chains froze, turned gray as steel.

  Davian kept his eyes closed. “They can’t hear us now, but I can’t do this for long, either,” he said calmly, his voice finally gaining a hint of the warmth she remembered. “I know this must be confusing, but there’s no time to explain so you are going to have to trust me. You’ll be making a deal with the Shadraehin soon—the real one. When you do, I need you to tell her that Tal’kamar is taking Licanius to the Wells, and that the information is a gift from me. Can you do that?”