An Echo of Things to Come

by James Islington

“No helmet for you. Or for you. Or for you,” said Caeden cheerfully as he darted between the men, removing their eye-concealing helmets one by one and tossing them to the side. He let time crash back into him for a few seconds, panting a little at the effort, then activated the bubble again before the remaining soldiers could react.

  “Five, six, seven, eight. Nine,” he finished with satisfaction as the last helmet came off, its former wearer crumpling to the ground. He stood with his hands on his hips, observing the dazed men lying all around him. “Now isn’t that better? Fresh air. Seeing with your own eyes. Not having to share a mind with nine other people. You have to admit, I did you a favor.”

  “I don’t think they can hear you,” came Isiliar’s voice from behind him.

  He turned. “I won.”

  “No.” Isiliar sighed. “Sorry, Tal. Connection was still active when I took him.”

  Caeden narrowed his eyes. “You lie.”

  “Normally. But not right now.”

  Caeden groaned. “Fine. I’ll pay later. Let’s go and find the others and get this over with.” He scowled across at her as they started walking back toward the town. “You’re really no fun to be paired up with, you know?”

  “Not my fault you’re not very good at all of this yet,” observed Isiliar, smiling.

  Caeden gave her a playful shove. “Next time, Is.” He looked toward the center of the town. “Think this Paetir fellow is going to be tough?”

  “He’ll be tough.” The familiar gravelly voice came from behind them; Caeden didn’t break his stride but grinned cheerfully as Meldier fell into step with them, followed quickly by Diara.

  “Pessimist,” said Isiliar.

  “Quite the opposite. Been a while since we’ve had a good challenge,” said Meldier happily. “Telesthaesia was a good warm-up, but hardly a fair fight. And knowing what we know about Paetir, I would like to take some measure of enjoyment in taking him down.”

  Caeden’s smile slipped a little, and he nodded. “El knows that’s true.” He’d been one of the ones given Vision, this time. Paetir hadn’t been anything special—a powerful mage, another would-be despot on their list to deal with—until he’d come across some old Shalis artifacts.

  Then he’d gone on a rampage.

  His army was small, but in this relatively quiet region of Rinday, they were unstoppable. Killings and rapes were the norm whenever Paetir took a new town. As he had this town yesterday. Caeden and the others had been too far away to be able to stop it—not that they could have, given that it had been Seen—but they intended to ensure that this was the last time it would happen.

  Caeden smiled again as another figure joined their group, limping slightly.

  “Alaris.” Caeden slapped him on the back, then nodded to his leg. “Getting careless?”

  “There were twenty of them in my sector. All with Telesthaesia. Three commanders. All subdued, no casualties. By myself.”

  “Bah.” Meldier made a dismissive noise. “All I hear is excuses.”

  “Unimpressed,” agreed Caeden.

  “You’re getting old,” Isiliar chimed in.

  Alaris allowed a small smile at the jibes. “Aren’t we all,” he said drily. He studied the compound up ahead. “He’s going to be strong. Do we want to actually … plan something?”

  The other four exchanged glances. Caeden shrugged.

  “I suppose. As long as it doesn’t take long,” he said. “I’m kind of hungry.”

  They sketched out a quick plan of attack, coordinated by mental communication. Alaris and Caeden would take the front, providing a distraction for—hopefully—the bulk of any remaining soldiers wearing Telesthaesia. Meldier, Isiliar, and Diara would all come in from the sides and back, staying as quiet as possible until they sighted Paetir.

  “What if this doesn’t work?” asked Meldier.

  Isiliar gave him a dry look. “Then we’re back to the way we usually do things?”

  “Right.” Meldier gave an exaggeratedly slow nod. “Punch everyone that’s not us until they stop moving.”

  “See?” Isiliar grinned at Alaris. “We didn’t need to come up with a plan. We’ve got Meldier.”

  Alaris rolled his eyes. “See you in ten minutes.”

  Caeden’s stomach rumbled. “And then food.”

  “And then food,” agreed Alaris.

  The others dashed off to take their positions. Caeden and Alaris waited a few moments, then started toward the compound.

  “I can’t believe Andrael and Gass wanted to sit this one out,” said Caeden conversationally as they approached. “Feels like they would have enjoyed it.”

  Alaris gave him a reproachful look, and Caeden sighed dramatically but fell silent. Alaris had changed a lot over the past five hundred years. Grown more serious, less joyful.

  “Just like old times,” Caeden observed.

  Alaris eyed him dubiously. “Old times involved you being in prison for eighty years, and me still king. This feels different.”

  “Don’t get hung up on the details.” Caeden glanced across at his friend. “Do you miss it?”

  “Being king? No,” said Alaris absently. “I’m embarrassed when I think back on it, to be honest.”

  Caeden looked at him in surprise. “I thought you were a pretty good king.”

  Alaris shrugged. “I did as well as I could. But I was one man, making decisions for an entire country. Doesn’t the arrogance of that stagger you? When Gassandrid showed me the truth, it was … hard. I’d felt like I was making a difference, prior to that. Now …” He gestured. “This is how we make a difference. We are the only ones who can. I hate what happened to the Shining Lands, but we need to use our gifts responsibly. We need to see the bigger picture.”

  Caeden nodded slowly. He knew that the Shining Lands were no more—that once Alaris had left, their enemies had swooped. Alaris himself had tried to reclaim some of it, but even then its occupants had rebelled against him, accusing him of abandoning them when they had needed him most. It had affected Alaris more than the man cared to admit, Caeden thought.

  They were at the compound now, in sight of the four guards at the entrance. Caeden and Alaris walked forward calmly; they were both clearly unarmed, and the guards did not look particularly perturbed as they approached.

  The first soldier stepped forward. “What business do you have with Lord Paetir tod—”

  Alaris blurred around the man, attacking the three men behind him with quick, efficient punches. They were unconscious before the guard had time to turn.

  “We’d like to talk to him about all the murdering and the raping and the torture,” said Caeden calmly as the last of the three men slumped to the ground. “Specifically, about how we’d like him to stop.”

  “We don’t really expect there will be much talking involved,” said Alaris.

  “Actions speak louder and all that,” agreed Caeden cheerfully as the bemused guard watched them with an increasingly terrified expression. He clapped the man on the shoulder. “But you, my friend? For you, words are going to be better. Tell us where Paetir is. And how many inside with the black armor.”

  “Second floor. Third room on the right after the stairwell,” said the man immediately, voice shaking. “Maybe thirty men in armor, another dozen without.”

  He crumpled to the ground as Alaris hit him from behind—not hard, just with enough force to render him unconscious.

  “Paetir doesn’t inspire much loyalty, does he?” observed Caeden as they walked through the archway and into the complex. “Thirty men in Telesthaesia. Five commanders, maybe?”

  “One for each of us. Not as bad as I’d thought,” said Alaris. “I’ll be glad to get that armor back.”

  “Is and I were talking before about that. You know, you really ought to take better care …”

  He trailed off. They were on the path to the main building, and outwardly nothing had changed. But that last step forward …

  “I felt it, too,” said Alaris with a
frown, cocking his head to the side. “No kan.”

  Caeden quickly experimented; sure enough, when he reached out for kan, there was nothing there. He switched to Essence, relieved to find that he could still access his Reserve without issue.

  “Annoying,” he observed.

  “It makes things a little trickier,” agreed Alaris. He stepped back out of the kan-dampening field, evidently communicating the problem to the others before rejoining Caeden.

  “This is why I don’t like plans,” complained Caeden quietly as they sneaked toward the door. “They never work.”

  “Your plans never work,” corrected Alaris. “Mine are just flexible.”

  Caeden coughed. “I assume this flexibility has turned into ‘everyone attack at the same time’?”

  Alarais peered through a nearby window. “But at least it’s from a few different directions. The core of the plan is still intact.”

  Caeden grinned. “I take it back. Alaris, strategic mastermind.”

  Alaris smiled, though his attention was still focused on what was inside the building. “Hallway. Two guards, both wearing Telesthaesia. Fools aren’t wearing their helmets though, so they’re hardly going to be threats. Can’t see anything beyond that.”

  Caeden rolled his shoulder. “They’re going to be quick.” He glanced at Alaris’s leg. “You going to be all right?”

  Alaris gave him a withering look, then opened the door and strode inside.

  The fight was short. Without the increased skill set and mental presence of a connection, the two men were no match for Caeden and Alaris’s combined thousand years of fighting experience. Soon both guards were unconscious, and Caeden was peering through the doorway behind them. Elsewhere in the compound, there were flashes of Essence as the others began to deal with the men not wearing armor.

  The compound was a winding maze of hallways and rooms; Alaris and Caeden hurried along, dealing swiftly with any Telesthaesia opposition and even more quickly with anyone else. Despite Alaris’s minor injury, the entire process was surprisingly easy.

  Finally they came to the main hall, bursting in to find that they were not the first to arrive.

  Diara stood in front of what could only be described as a throne, atop which a young man lounged, seemingly unperturbed by their appearance. Diara glanced behind her when she heard the doors crash open, nodding to them calmly. A dozen men armored in Telesthaesia were arrayed in a protective circle around the man on the throne; two more stood a little farther back, evidently commanders.

  “This is him?” asked Alaris, striding forward.

  “I am Lord Paetir,” affirmed the man, his gray eyes watching them with cool disinterest. “And you are the ones I’ve heard so much about. The ones venerated everywhere for your fight for justice.” He said the words mockingly, disdainfully.

  Diara turned to Caeden and Alaris. “That sounds about right, doesn’t it?”

  Caeden nodded. “I think that’s us.”

  “Probably us,” agreed Alaris. He looked at the young man, and his expression hardened. “Which means that we’re going to have to put you on trial, Lord Paetir. Sorry.”

  Paetir’s scowled at the flippant tone of his attackers. “It will be satisfying to watch you die.”

  “He really doesn’t know us very well,” said Diara.

  Caeden nodded. “It’s a little embarrassing to watch.” He sighed, glancing up at Paetir. “We did beat a good deal more of your men on the way in, so we’re not too concerned,” he observed. “But don’t worry. At least it means you won’t be alone at the trial.”

  Paetir stood, drawing his sword.

  “Going to fight us yourself?” asked Meldier in amusement as he strode in. He gestured to the men in black armor. “I mean, I’m all for doing this the easy way. But come on. If you want to make things interesting, at least consider letting them help.”

  “I don’t need their help,” said Paetir calmly. He inclined his head slightly. “But I’m not a fool, either.”

  The men in Telesthaesia moved as one, sprinting forward.

  The next minute passed in a blur as Caeden swept among the soldiers, spinning around and between blades, ripping off helmets where he could. He took injuries to the arms, the legs, one to the face; each time he tapped his Reserve, healing the wound before it could slow him down. It was hard, painful work without access to kan, but he was making progress. They were winning.

  It wasn’t until he heard the roar of anger from Meldier that he knew something was wrong. He dealt with the last of the attackers near him and then turned, heart sinking.

  Diara’s body lay sprawled in front of Paetir, a gaping wound in her chest despite the Resonance chestplate she always wore. Caeden cursed. Diara was the weakest of them: a blade through the heart was all it took to send her to the Chamber. She always took precautions, though. How had Paetir hurt her?

  Meldier was effectively blocked by a wall of Telesthaesia, but Caeden had no such obstacle. He leaped across the remaining space, sliding smoothly to a stop in front of Paetir.

  Paetir smiled toothily at Caeden, swishing his blade confidently in front of him. “I told you I didn’t need the help.”

  Caeden felt a chill as the air reverberated in time with Paetir’s motion. His blade wasn’t ordinary steel, though it had looked it from a distance. It thrummed with energy.

  Caeden didn’t feel the need to say anything in return; he leaped forward, faster than Paetir could possibly respond.

  And gasped as he felt cold steel slide between his ribs and into his heart.

  A second later, Paetir thrust his blade into the wound.

  Caeden’s mind went numb as he tried to understand what had just happened. He blinked at Paetir as the man rammed the steel home, agony coursing through Caeden’s body as the wicked edge cut flesh and organs.

  “Everyone dies,” whispered Paetir, his face only inches from Caeden.

  Caeden drew a deep, rasping breath. Closed his eyes. Concentrated.

  His body was already reacting, already pulsing Essence to the wound. There was interference there; the kan scaffolding on the blade was hampering the healing. Caeden focused, drawing more Essence. More. He felt flesh begin to heal. Painful though it was, he could even feel his heart pumping around the blade, cutting itself anew with each beat, but forcing blood through his veins nonetheless.

  He opened his eyes, energy igniting inside of him.

  “Not true,” he whispered back.

  He placed both hands on Paetir’s shoulders and pushed with Essence-infused muscles; the man went flying backward, rolling along the floor awkwardly for several feet. Paetir had kept his grip on the blade, though. Now it was out of Caeden’s chest, muscle and ebony skin knitted itself back together immediately. It hurt, and Caeden went down on one knee, weaker for the blow. But he knew immediately that he would be all right.

  Then Alaris was there, crouching beside him with a hand on his shoulder, concern etched on his features. “What happened?”

  “He stabbed me.”

  Alaris grunted. “I can see that.” He straightened as he saw Paetir climbing to his feet a short distance away. “How?”

  “Vessel blade. Nullified Diara’s Resonance armor, and …” He hesitated. “I think it’s bending time. Cutting a second or two ahead, somehow. Be careful. No telling what else it does.”

  Alaris stared at him for a moment as if to confirm he wasn’t joking. When Caeden gave him a tired nod, he sighed.

  “Doubt it will make a difference on me. Just stay back.” He glanced at Diara’s body. “I’d hate to have two of you to look for.”

  “So glad you care,” coughed Caeden.

  Alaris grinned, then turned to face Paetir. The other man was still doing his best to convey an aura of control, but his eyes betrayed his concern now.

  “You know you cannot best me,” he said to Alaris. “You can still leave.”

  Alaris smiled at him sadly.

  “We’re past that point, Paetir. It�
�s over.”

  He darted forward.

  Alaris winced; a moment later Paetir’s sword caught him in the stomach. Rather than cutting his skin, though, the blade just stopped; Paetir’s eyes widened as Alaris knocked it aside with his bare hands. Then Alaris was shoving the would-be warlord up against the wall, quickly striking the man’s wrist to send his blade clattering to the stone floor.

  Alaris glanced back at Caeden. “Done?”

  Caeden took a moment to look around. Black-clad men everywhere were either unconscious or moaning in pain, but none still fought.

  He slowly lay on his back, relaxing, exhaling heavily and closing his eyes.

  “Done,” he confirmed tiredly.

  Caeden touched his mug lightly to Meldier’s as they sat in the tavern, listening to the sounds of celebration outside.

  “We did a good thing here today,” said Caeden, watching his friend’s expression.

  Meldier nodded. “I know,” he said softly. He rubbed his forehead. “I wonder how long until we see her again?”

  Alaris shrugged. “Depends where she comes back, and whether she’s been there before or knows where it is. Could be months. Could be years.” He winced as he shifted, touching his stomach gingerly, evidently still hurting from the blow he’d taken. That injury, along with the one to his leg, wouldn’t heal until he slept. “We can’t wait for her. Gass has sent word; he’s already had another Vision. She’ll have to find us.”

  “I know.” Meldier sighed. “First time we’ll be shorthanded in, what … thirty years?”

  “More like forty,” agreed Isiliar.

  There was silence again and Caeden hesitated, not sure whether to bring up what they were all thinking. Eventually, he took a deep breath.

  “So. Are we going to talk about it?”

  The others shifted uncomfortably, evidence enough they had been pondering the same thing. Meldier didn’t look up, but he nodded slowly.

  “Where do you think he got it from?”

  “Shalis artifact?” suggested Isiliar.

  Alaris shook his head. “The only thing I ever saw them use kan on was their Forge, and even that was a relic of their past.” He glanced at Caeden. “You knew them, though. Do you think—”