Ishelle looked at him with genuine surprise. “You disagree?”
Davian gave an emphatic nod. “Yes. These people… regular people, they have no way of defending themselves against us. What right do we have to go prying inside their most personal thoughts?”
Ishelle shook her head. “You haven’t Read many people, have you? Most of them deserve everything that’s coming to them.” She sighed, waving away his scowl. “Don’t pout. I’m not asking you to do it.”
Their meals arrived, and the two began eating. They were silent for a while, then Davian paused as he saw Ishelle looking at him with a curious expression. She smiled, leaning back and dabbing at her mouth with her napkin. “So tell me about Caladel,” she said. She waved her hand impatiently as Davian gave her a wary look. “Not the attack; I know all about that. What was it like, growing up in an Athian school?” She shook her head. “I always thought it would be so… boring.”
Davian sucked in his breath; it stung to hear the destruction of the school mentioned so flippantly. “I’d prefer not to talk about it,” he said, trying unsuccessfully to keep the stiffness from his voice.
Ishelle grimaced when she saw his expression. Her shoulders slumped a little.
“I’m sorry,” she said after a few awkward moments. “I know I can be… blunt. Driscin says I rely on my abilities so much, I don’t really know how to talk to people any more. Maybe he’s right.”
Davian hesitated. She sounded… uncomfortable. Genuinely embarrassed.
He paused for a few more seconds, then sighed, leaning forward.
“It wasn’t boring.” He took a mouthful of food, chewing as he thought. He swallowed. “There was always a lot to do. Studying, practicing.” He scratched his head. “Sometimes we got sent outside of the school to run errands.”
Ishelle raised an eyebrow. “I think you and I have different definitions of ‘boring,’” she said with a gently mocking smile. Despite that, Davian thought he could detect a hint of gratitude in her tone.
He shook his head in chagrin. “I’m not explaining it very well. My friends were there,” he clarified. “It was… simple. The school was my home. It may sound monotonous—it was monotonous, I suppose—but for the most part, I loved my life there.” With another twinge of sadness, he realized just how true that statement was.
Ishelle shook her head. “I cannot imagine being forced to stay in the one place all those years,” she admitted. “It sounds like just another prison, barely any different from what the Tols must have been like during the sieges. Essence and kan are both dull unless you can go out into the real world and actually use them.”
Davian leaned forward, glad of the shift in conversation. “I take it you aren’t a student at one of Shen’s schools, then—you never got the Mark? Because if you had, there wouldn’t have been much choice in the matter,” he added drily.
“No, thank the fates.” Ishelle gave him a half-apologetic shrug. “I work in the kitchens at Tol Shen, when I’m not out with Driscin trying to find other Augurs. But Driscin always made sure I didn’t draw enough Essence to be bound by the Tenets.” Ishelle frowned. “You did, though, I take it?”
Davian hesitated, then nodded. “I don’t remember it, but… yes.” He fell silent as he thought about that day, thought about what Driscin had told him earlier. He had a sudden urge to ask Ishelle exactly what she’d seen when she had Read Taeris… but he knew that whatever the answer, he wouldn’t believe a word of it until he spoke to Taeris himself.
The moment passed, and Ishelle evidently sensed that Davian didn’t want to speak further on the subject. The conversation turned to lighter things as they ate, and for a while Davian actually found himself relaxing.
Soon enough, though, their plates were cleared and he remembered the long journey he had ahead. He sighed. He still mistrusted Ishelle, but the meal had been a pleasant respite from the road. “I should go soon,” he observed. “Before I do, though—is there anything else you can tell me about this invasion?”
Ishelle shrugged; it might have been Davian’s imagination, but he thought he saw a flash of disappointment on her face. “The Andarran army was about to meet the invaders, last I heard. Hopefully that will be the end of it.”
Davian shook his head. “No. A while back, I… saw something. The invaders, camped outside Ilin Illan. That’s why I’m trying to get back there. If there is going to be a siege, they will need all the help they can get.” He raised an eyebrow at her. “You could come. Two of us could make a real difference.”
Ishelle hesitated. “No,” she said slowly. “I don’t think that’s for me.”
Davian grunted but nodded, having not really expected a different response. “Have you heard if the king is going to change the First Tenet, to let the Gifted fight?”
Ishelle shook her head. “Nothing beyond what Driscin said earlier. King Andras has made some strong statements against the Gifted in the past few weeks… if those are anything to go by, it’s not likely.” Her eyes narrowed. “You have been isolated, haven’t you? Tell me, Davian, in truth. Where did you disappear to? How did you do it?” Her eyes burned bright with curiosity.
Davian grimaced; he had no desire to talk about Deilannis. He could see the determination in Ishelle’s eyes, though—her desire to know how he’d escaped her for so long.
He quickly came to a decision. “Let’s trade. If you tell me how to make myself invisible, I’ll tell you how I avoided your tracking.”
Ishelle considered for a moment. “You first.”
Davian smiled, knowing he had her hooked. “Not a chance.”
“Nothing else you want to know more?”
“Invisibility,” Davian replied in a firm tone.
Ishelle sighed. “Very well.” She played with her hair idly. “It’s not terribly difficult, once you get the hang of it. Encase yourself in a kan shield, but rather than have the kan absorb Essence, make it redirect it—a little like when you draw it out of the environment, I suppose. Bend it around yourself, so it’s as if the Essence is passing through empty space.” She grinned. “It was an accident, to be honest. Driscin and I were testing ways of deflecting attacks one day, and surprise!” She made a dramatic gesture. “Driscin nearly had a heart attack.”
Davian smiled. “I can only imagine.”
Ishelle grinned. “Driscin thinks it works by bending the light,” she continued. “The Essence drags it around the shield, rather than letting it through.”
Davian glanced around at the other occupants of the room. “I probably shouldn’t test it right now,” he said regretfully.
“Try it on an object. Something small so no one notices,” suggested Ishelle.
Davian gave her an approving look, then concentrated. He covered his bowl in a tight mesh of kan, then altered its properties so that it redirected Essence as Ishelle had suggested. Nothing happened; Davian adjusted the hardness of the kan a little, making it act almost like a mirror.
The bowl wavered in front of him, then vanished.
Davian’s eyes widened, and he felt himself grinning. “This could be useful,” he mused.
Ishelle beamed. “You have no idea,” she said with a wink. She leaned forward. “Your turn.”
Davian looked her in the eye. “I’ve changed my mind, actually.”
Ishelle gaped at him for several seconds.
“You lied to me?” she eventually choked out in quiet, outraged disbelief.
“Fair is fair,” replied Davian cheerfully. “You should have been checking. And anyway, you drugged me. I think we might be even now.”
Ishelle stared at him, caught in a mixture of shock, annoyance, and amused chagrin. “You’re serious. You’re not going to tell me.”
Davian shrugged. “Perhaps we can make a new deal. I’ll tell you if you come to Ilin Illan.”
Ishelle looked at him through narrowed eyes. “Tempting, if I thought you would hold up your end of the bargain.” She shook her head, smile rueful. “I suppose I’l
l just have to wait until Tol Shen to get it out of you, then.” She hesitated, looking him in the eye, suddenly serious. “Speaking of which. You are going to come, aren’t you?”
Davian inclined his head. “As soon as this invasion has been defeated—but as I said, it will just be until we figure out how to seal the Boundary.” They both stood. “Thank you for the meal,” Davian added sincerely.
Ishelle nodded. “Thank you for the company,” she said with a small smile, apparently willing to forgive his deception. “And keep safe. I don’t want you dying until I get that answer from you.” She nodded toward the stairs. “If you change your mind about staying the night, you can have the room upstairs. First on the left. It’s paid for until tomorrow, and I thought you might like somewhere familiar to sleep.”
She flashed a pretty smile at him and, before he could respond, spun on her heel and disappeared out the door.
Davian stared after her for a moment, not sure whether to be irritated or amused.
He shook his head, but despite his best efforts he felt a small smile force its way onto his face.
Still smiling, he walked up the stairs to the room, then shut and locked the door behind him. He had no intention of staying the night, but before he left, he was going to take advantage of the lamplight and the comfortable bed.
He was going to keep searching through his book for information about Aarkein Devaed.
Chapter 45
Davian lay on the bed, opening the book he had taken from the Great Library and flipping through to where he’d left off, rescanning the pages as he went for any clue as to why the Adviser had picked it out.
He was almost to the end of the thick tome, and thus far the book had been exactly what it had seemed—a collection of old fables, interesting enough but meaningless as far as he could tell. A few pages further on, though, a small picture at the beginning of one of the stories caught his eye. Frowning, he studied it carefully.
The image was of a soldier. Whereas most of the other drawings he’d seen in the book were rudimentary, even abstract, this one was detailed, as if the soldier had actually posed for the picture. The man’s armor was shaded so that it had a dark aspect to it, but the headpiece was what caught Davian’s eye. There were no gaps for eyes, and over the face a sole symbol was inscribed. Three S lines, drawn vertically, and circled.
The same symbol he’d seen in his vision.
Hands shaking slightly, he moved on to what was written beneath.
Hail, king of traitors!
We who knew you mourn what was lost.
Only a shadow remains:
A whisper where once a shout,
A pond where once an ocean,
A flickering candle where once the sun itself.
Hail, king of corruption!
We who serve you despair for what is to come.
You will break the Oath,
You will shatter the Path,
You will sing the Song of Days as a dirge.
Your people will weep tears of ice and blood
And only the fallen will know peace.
He flipped slowly to the beginning of the story and began to read.
The Impossible Tasks of Alarais Shar
(Translated from the original High Darecian)
In the Shining Lands, the immortal king Alarais Shar once reigned.
He was known as one of the great kings; perhaps the great king. He forged a treaty with the vicious northern Qui’tir. He led the final battle against the Darklands and was victorious, sealing their domain away from the mortal world forever. He was wise in his rulings, swift and decisive in dispensing justice, and beloved by his people.
Much was his immortality discussed. Steel could not pierce his skin; fire did not burn him, and his bones did not break. No one knew the source of his longevity, but of all the mages in the Shining Lands, he was the most powerful.
One day Alarais heard of a new power rising to the east, a king who had united the lands of Kal and Derethmar. He determined to seek out this new king. He hoped to discover an ally, but the reports he had heard of the new king’s victories disturbed him greatly, and so he held out little hope.
He rode for many miles and eventually came to the great city of Kyste. Once beautiful and proud, the buildings now lay mostly in ruins, and the people stared blankly at Alarais as he rode by, their clothes little more than rags, their stomachs distended from lack of food. The dead lay in the street next to piles of refuse. Though they had been the Shining Lands’ sworn enemies, Alarais wept when he saw what had befallen Kal’s people.
By the time he reached the palace itself, Alarais was filled with a burning anger. His eyes blazed with righteous fury as he was led before the man who had conquered Kal, and who now did so little for its people.
The man on the throne of Kal was not what Alarais had expected. As a man he was impressive. Tall, strong, and handsome, the new king looked every inch a warrior, a hero. But as Alarais looked at him, he seemed to shimmer, to pulse and fade with a strange, otherworldly energy. He appeared more an ethereal being, an apparition rather than a mortal.
Still Alarais was unafraid, and what he had seen in the city was still fresh in his mind. He stood before the throne proudly, waiting for the king to address him, as was proper. But the shimmering man simply watched him, until Alarais could take the silence no longer.
“I am Alarais Shar, king of the Shining Lands.” He paused, but the man on the throne said nothing. “I had come to see if a bond of friendship could be forged between our lands. But I have seen the state of Kyste. I have seen her people’s suffering, and cannot fathom the reason for it. Why do you not help them?”
Still there was silence. Just when Alarais had determined to leave and return home, the shimmering man spoke. “I am Ghash, Seer of the White Temple, Herald of Shammaeloth. The ones of which you speak are beyond saving. This I have Seen.”
“How can you say this?” cried Alarais in frustration.
“I have Seen the destruction of those who still live here,” replied Ghash. “I have Seen what is to come. To help them now would be wasteful.”
Alarais did not understand. “If you see their destruction, then why not save them?”
“Because what has been Seen cannot be undone. No efforts of yours or mine can change their fate.”
“I cannot accept that,” said Alarais stubbornly.
“And yet you must,” said Ghash, “for I have long known your fate, too, Alarais Shar. The Shining Lands will fall, and you will come to serve me willingly. Together we are to conquer the world.”
Alarais laughed, and Ghash saw that he would not easily be convinced. “Allow me to prove what I say,” he said. “I will set you three tasks. If you can complete any of the three, I will withdraw from these lands. If you cannot fulfill even one, though, you will serve me, and the Shining Lands shall be mine.”
Alarais replied, “I cannot accept this challenge without first knowing what tasks you will set.”
Ghash nodded. “So be it,” he said. “Hear the tasks I would give you: first, to find a subject worthy of your kingship; second, to find a man worthy of your friendship; and third, to find a woman worthy of your love.”
Alarais laughed. “These are weighty tasks indeed, mighty Ghash. How long might you wait for me to complete them?”
Ghash smiled. “I am like you, Alarais—untouched by time. Search for however long you need. I know you to be a man of honor. Once you know a task to be impossible, you will tell me. Until then I will not move against your realm.” He paused. “I ask only that you speak of your quest to no one, including those whom you bring here. Should you do this, I will know, and will consider all three tasks to have been failed.”
Alarais thought for a long time, but could not see any reason to refuse. “I accept,” he said.
They bound the bargain in blood, and it was witnessed by Ghash’s court under the Old Law.
Wasting no time, and confident of his success, Alarais returned t
o the Shining Lands full of hope. Many years passed, and Alarais finally found a man he thought more worthy a subject than any he had seen before: a warrior named Jadlis, fiercely loyal and brave. Alarais traveled with Jadlis back to Kyste, coming before Ghash, his spirits high.
“Mighty Ghash,” he said, “I have successfully completed your first task. This man is named Jadlis. His skill is immense. His bravery is unquestionable. His loyalty is fierce and endless. He is a subject most worthy of my kingship.”
Ghash examined Jadlis silently for some time, and Alarais’s confidence grew within him. Then Ghash spoke.
“As king,” he said to Alarais, “Would you be willing to die for your people?”
“Of course,” replied Alarais. “As any good king would.”
“Then your subjects should be willing to die for you, also.”
Alarais hesitated. “Yes,” he replied grimly.
Ghash turned to Jadlis. “You would die for your king?”
“I would,” replied Jadlis proudly.
“And if he commanded you to die here and now?”
“Still.” Jadlis was unmoved.
“Why?”
“For the love of my king. My country.”
Ghash shook his head. “No. You would because the readiness to do so brings you glory—respect in the eyes of your friends, your fellow soldiers, even your king. To be unwilling to die would be traitorous, cowardly. You are willing to die, but you do not want to die. It is simply preferable to the shame. You would die because there is not a better choice.”
“That is not true,” said Jadlis stoically.
“But it is!” cried Ghash. “Yet what if I told you there was a better way? A choice, where you earned respect rather than shame for living?”
Jadlis frowned. “If it is better for my king that I die, then there is always shame in living.”
Ghash smiled slyly. “Very well; here is my offer, Jadlis. Your king has been given a task. It matters not if you do not complete this task for him, for he may try again. To fulfill this task, though, he will ask you to sacrifice your own life.”
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