He consciously reached out and drew in a little more, grinning at the sudden flush of energy. He felt good. Perhaps better than he ever had in his entire life.
He kept walking until the bridge, the mists, Deilannis itself had disappeared from view. Headed east.
It was time to go to Ilin Illan.
Chapter 40
Caeden allowed himself to be ushered through the tunnels of Tol Athian, trying not to look intimidated.
Taeris had headed straight for the Tol once they’d parted ways with the others; though the scarred man had ducked his head a few times when he’d spotted blue cloaks up ahead, the journey through Ilin Illan’s streets had been uneventful. There had been an empty quality to the city, though—a sense that things were too quiet. Everyone looked on edge, and it all only served to bring home the reality of what was coming.
When they’d arrived at the Tol it had quickly become apparent that they were expected; as soon as Taeris had asked to see Councillor Eilinar, they had been immediately Shackled and escorted inside. From the way Caeden had three men flanking him, it didn’t feel as if they were being welcomed, either.
Finally they were shown into a small room, an office of some kind.
“Wait here,” said one of their escorts, his tone brusque. The door closed, the clicking of the lock punctuating the command.
Caeden looked at Taeris worriedly. “What’s happening?”
Taeris rubbed his forehead. “The Tol must have had advance word that I was coming,” he said, looking grim. “Karaliene, maybe, or…” He cursed.
“What?”
“Dras. The snake.” Taeris groaned. “He was angry, at Thrindar, and he knew where we were heading.” He shook his head. “I hope I’m wrong, but—”
The lock clicked again, and the door swung open.
Three Gifted strode into the room, two men and a woman, the last one inside closing the door behind them. The first, clearly in charge, stopped and studied Taeris with cool hazel eyes.
“Taeris. It has been a while,” he said eventually, stepping forward and offering his hand. There was no smile, but if the action wasn’t friendly, it at least held a measure of respect.
“Nashrel. It’s good to see you,” said Taeris, gripping the man’s hand and shaking it firmly. “You don’t seem surprised to see me.”
“We had word. An anonymous note, about a week ago.” His gaze shifted to Caeden. “Said you were alive, scarred, and that you were likely to turn up with an accused mass murderer.”
Taeris sighed. “Dras, then.”
Nashrel raised an eyebrow at that. “Lothlar?”
“Ran into him in Desriel. It’s a long story.”
“I’m sure.” Nashrel paused, still watching Caeden. “Is it true?”
“Another part of that long story.”
“We might have to hear it soon, then.” Nashrel turned. “You remember Elder Haemish and Elder Ciahn? I didn’t want to risk gathering the entire Council in case an Administrator got wind of it, but these two… volunteered to be here.”
“Insisted on it, actually.” Haemish was an older man, wrinkled, with graying hair that would have made many people look distinguished, but that on him just aged him further. He spoke with a sneer. “Thought it would be a good idea to make sure you weren’t coming back from the dead to cause more divisions, Sarr. The damage you did five years ago was enough.”
“That’s enough, Haemish.” Ciahn was perhaps in her early forties, an attractive lady with a strong bearing. She smiled at Taeris. “I’m glad you’re alive, Taeris. None of us thought you deserved that sentence.” She glared to her right. “None of us.”
Haemish muttered something under his breath, but gave a reluctant nod.
Nashrel turned to study Caeden again. “So your young friend here…”
“Caeden.” Taeris gestured to the Elders. “Caeden—as you’ve probably gathered, these are Elders Nashrel, Haemish, and Ciahn. We can trust them.”
Caeden nodded. “Pleased to meet you,” he said politely.
Nashrel and Ciahn nodded back, but Haemish glared at him with ill-concealed disgust. “So you’re the murderer.” He turned to Taeris. “You have a lot of explaining to do.”
“Haemish. Please.” Nashrel gave Taeris an apologetic look, but then sighed. “He’s right, though. It’s probably time we heard that long story of yours.”
* * *
Caeden flushed under the stares of the three Elders as Taeris finished explaining the events of the past few months.
After a few seconds of silent study, Nashrel shifted.
“Show us your arm,” he said quietly.
Caeden rolled back his sleeve, revealing the wolf tattoo, but otherwise bare skin beneath.
“That doesn’t prove anything,” pointed out Haemish. “We would know if the sha’teth were no longer under our control.”
“Would we?” asked Ciahn.
Haemish scowled. “I suppose… maybe not.” He rubbed his forehead, then looked at Taeris. “But tell me this. Do you still think it’s Aarkein Devaed behind all this?”
Taeris hesitated. “Yes,” he conceded. “You know I do.”
“And there it is,” Haemish said with satisfaction. “Sha’teth thinking for themselves. An enemy that can create Echoes, supposedly one of Devaed’s favorite tricks. Ancient monsters in the mists of Deilannis. And Taeris Sarr at the center of it all, bringing us the solution to our problems, saving the day. Fulfilling the old prophecies and proving Alchesh Mel’tac wasn’t truly mad, just like he always said.” He raised an eyebrow at Ciahn. “Sound familiar?”
“That was a long time ago, Haemish,” said Ciahn reprovingly.
Taeris reddened as he listened to the conversation. “I’m not asking you to believe, Haemish. Just help Caeden regain his memories, find out what this Vessel does. And if you don’t believe he’s Gifted, just test him—you can see for yourself just how strong he is. At worst you’ll be gaining a powerful ally.”
Haemish shook his head. “At worst, Sarr, we’ll be reminding a murderer who is not bound by the Tenets how to fully utilize his powers.” He sighed. “This invasion from the north—these ‘Blind’—are just men. They don’t have dar’gaithin, or eletai, or any of the old monsters alongside them. We can agree that they’re dangerous… but that is why the Council has already made a decision about them.”
Taeris stiffened. “Which is?”
“Unless the king changes the Tenets, the city can fend for itself. If they don’t want our help, we’ll do what is safest for us—which is to stay behind these walls. If the invasion succeeds in taking the city, then we will negotiate.” Haemish stared Taeris in the eye.
Taeris looked at him for a long moment in disbelief, then turned to Nashrel, horrified. “Is this true?”
Nashrel, who had remained silent up to this point, gave a tired nod. “I’m afraid so,” he said quietly. “I was against it, but some of the rhetoric we’ve heard coming from the palace lately… it’s dangerous talk, Taeris. The king has always felt like a neutral party when it comes to the Gifted, but these past few weeks, he’s sounded more like a Loyalist.” He looked at the ground. “We have to start thinking about ourselves.”
“But you won’t be able to hide behind your walls. Not like in the war,” said Taeris, his tone urgent now. “These people won’t negotiate. I told you what we saw in Gahille!”
“What you claim you saw.” Haemish sighed. “Taeris, we went through this five years ago, and it nearly tore the Tol apart. Devaed is dead, if he was ever even alive. We need to face the reality of the invasion, not pretend it’s some ancient evil come to destroy us.”
Taeris groaned. “You’re being obtuse, Haemish.”
Haemish stiffened, but Nashrel held up his hand. “You lied to us once, Taeris. He has a right to question.”
Taeris said nothing for a moment. “What about Ilseth Tenvar? You said yourself he was a traitor, a conspirator in the deaths of hundreds of Gifted students—and I told you
that he sent the Vessel to Caeden before I knew any of that. Surely that verifies at least part of what I’ve said. And surely you want to understand more about what Tenvar was involved in, too.” Taeris gave Nashrel a steady look. “You know me, Nashrel. We may have differing views about many things, but I’m not a fool. I haven’t risked my life, come back here just to tell you a lie.”
Nashrel held Taeris’s gaze for a few seconds, then sighed. “I know,” he said reluctantly. He looked around at the other two Elders. “He makes some valid points, and this isn’t a choice that should be left to us alone. We need to discuss it with the others.” He turned back to Taeris. “Whatever we decide, though, no one here will turn you in to Administration. You have my word.”
Taeris looked relieved. “Thank you,” he said. “Please, take what time you need. Caeden and I can wait—”
“You can wait here. We owe you that much.” Nashrel shook his head slowly. “But we do not know Caeden, except for what you’ve told us, and what we know of his crimes. It would be irresponsible of me to have him wait anywhere except for in a cell.”
Caeden felt his heart sink, and his muscles tensed. They were going to lock him up? Every nerve in his body screamed for him to do something; his thoughts immediately flashed back to the last time he had been imprisoned. He clenched his fists, and light beads of sweat began forming on his brow.
Taeris glanced at Caeden with a worried expression. “Alleged crimes,” he corrected. “First I need your word that he will be released back into my custody as soon as you have made a decision, either way. And that he will come to no harm in the meantime.”
Nashrel looked at him with vague surprise. “Of course,” he said sincerely.
Taeris glanced at Caeden, giving him the slightest of nods. “He means it. You will be fine,” he murmured.
Caeden gritted his teeth but nodded back, forcing himself to relax.
Taeris turned back to Nashrel. “Very well.”
Nashrel hesitated. “One other thing. We will need to take custody of the Vessel.”
“What?” Taeris frowned. “I would prefer—”
“This isn’t negotiable, Taeris.”
Taeris glowered but inclined his head, reaching into a pocket and drawing out the bronze box. As always, it shone like the sun to Caeden’s eyes.
Taeris reluctantly gave it to Nashrel. “Can I at least hang on to the other one?” he asked.
Nashrel paused in his examination of the box. “The other one?”
“The other Vessel I found in Desriel.” Taeris held up a smooth black stone, about the size of his palm. “I haven’t been able to determine what it does yet, but it seems harmless enough. Nothing to do with Caeden, though.”
Nashrel stared at the stone for a long moment, and Caeden thought he saw a glimmer of recognition in the Elder’s eyes.
“What is it?” asked Ciahn.
Nashrel didn’t respond for a few seconds.
“I… don’t know,” he said slowly. “But we should hang on to it.”
Taeris scowled, giving up the second Vessel to Nashrel, too. But as he did so, Caeden thought he saw a flicker of acknowledgement pass between the two men. An understanding.
Then it was done, and Taeris was gripping Caeden’s shoulder. “Don’t worry. You won’t be locked up for long,” he said in a reassuring tone.
After Nashrel had talked to someone outside, Caeden found himself being led away. He and his escort descended a flight of stairs until they came to some basic cells, carved out of the bedrock of Ilin Tora itself. They were little more than small caves with doors made of steel bars; once Caeden was inside he realized there would only just be room to lie flat on the ground, and when he stood straight, his head was only inches from the roof. He felt a flash of gratitude that fate had not made him any taller, and that despite his experiences he had no particular fear of confined spaces.
The jailer locked the door and moved a little way down the hall to a more open part of the passageway, where his desk and chair sat. “No funny business, and we’ll get along just fine,” he called as he wandered away.
Glowing Essence orbs lined the hallway outside, but the cells themselves were quite dark. Caeden shifted, trying to see if there was anyone in the cell opposite. He moved forward to the bars, squinting as the light hit his eyes.
Suddenly a face appeared in the opposite cell, and Caeden could see a Shackle glinting on the other man’s arm. The stranger smiled, a wide grin of triumph.
Even through the bars, Caeden could tell that the man was staring at the bared tattoo on his wrist. The glow of the wolf’s head was weaker—Taeris and the Vessel must be a good deal farther away now. The other prisoner wouldn’t be able to discern the light, of course, but the tattoo itself was still plain enough to see.
“Dreh Kaaren si,” the stranger said quickly. “Sha tehl me’athris dar?” It was clearly a question, but Caeden had no idea what the man was saying.
Caeden shook his head. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I have no idea what language you’re speaking.”
The man looked at him in shock for a few moments, then vanished from his doorway, retreating into the gloom of his cell.
The jailer called out from his desk. “Nonsense words, lad,” he confided. “Ignore him. That one’s scheduled for the lower dungeons—he’s just here temporarily. We think his mind’s gone. Only stands to reason the first thing he says since being locked up is gibberish.”
Caeden frowned. He hadn’t understood what the prisoner had said, but the sound was too regular, too structured to be nonsense. And the language was… familiar. As if, if he concentrated hard enough, he might be able to ascertain the meaning of the prisoner’s words.
“Who is he?” he called out.
Caeden could hear the jailor spitting on the ground. “Name’s Ilseth Tenvar,” he said. “He had something to do with that bad business in the schools recently. Not sure what, exactly; they don’t tell me much. But he’s supposed to be in here, don’t you worry about that. Not a man you want to be making friends with.”
Caeden nodded, though mostly to himself, as he knew the jailer couldn’t see him. He stared at the cell across the hallway, trying to see into the murk. He remembered Davian and Wirr talking about this man. The one who had tried to send him the Vessel.
And Tenvar had known him, recognized him, despite what the jailer said.
He settled down in the corner to wait, knees drawn up to his chest, all the while keeping a close eye on the cell opposite.
Despite the two layers of thick steel bars between them, he did not feel particularly safe.
* * *
It was hours later when someone finally unlocked his cell door and escorted him back to the main tunnel.
He smiled in relief when he saw Taeris waiting for him.
“What did they say?”
Taeris scowled. “Exactly what Haemish said. There’s no proof. There’s no indication that the Blind are anything more than men. Helping you is too much of a risk.” He shook his head in disgust. “Their theory is that the Blind are a race of people descended from us—from the Andarrans that were trapped behind the Boundary during the Eternity War. The Council agrees that they’re dangerous, but not that they are anything… worse.”
“So they won’t restore my memories?”
“They were almost willing to, and then…” Taeris sighed. “I have a long history with the Council, Caeden, and that has gone against us. I’m sorry for that. A few of them argued that the risk was worth it. Some even believed me, but most of them are just… angry, at the moment. They feel betrayed by the king. The argument was, why take a chance restoring your memories for the good of the city, when the city doesn’t even seem to want their help?”
“But they’re in danger, too,” Caeden protested.
“They don’t see it that way. Tol Athian withstood everything Vardin Shal and the Loyalists could throw at it during the Unseen War. They don’t believe the Blind will be any different.”
Caeden was silent for a moment. “So what now?”
“We go to the palace. I was speaking to Aelric and Dezia earlier today, and they think there’s a chance they can convince the princess to help. With her influence behind us, we might still be able to change some minds at the Tol.”
Caeden gave Taeris a dubious frown, remembering the disdainful way Karaliene had looked at him in Thrindar. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
“I never said it was a good idea,” observed Taeris drily. “But it’s the only option we have right now.”
They walked out of the Tol. It was midafternoon, and the streets were busier now. Taeris appeared lost in his own thoughts, but eventually Caeden tapped him on the arm.
Taeris turned. “What is it, lad?”
“I have something to ask you,” Caeden said hesitantly. “I heard someone say something in the dungeons. I couldn’t translate it this time, but… it sounded like the same language the sha’teth use. Is that possible?”
Taeris frowned. “I don’t know. Maybe,” he said slowly. “Do you remember what they said?”
Caeden screwed up his face, trying his best to remember the words. “Dreh Kaaren si, sha tehl me’athris dar.”
Taeris’s eyebrows rose. “‘Honored lord, has the time finally come?’” he translated. His expression became focused. “Who said this, Caeden? And who did they say it to? This language is… old. Rare.” He stopped, forcing Caeden to look him square in the eye.
Caeden shook his head, suddenly sick to his stomach. He knew what it would look like if he told the truth. What it would do to Taeris’s trust in him.
“I don’t know. I couldn’t see them from my cell, just heard the words.”
Taeris bit his lip. “I know Ilseth Tenvar was in those cells,” he said, almost to himself. “But it sounds like perhaps Athian has more than one traitor in its midst.” He started walking again, lost in thought.
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