An Echo of Things to Come

by James Islington

  “I hate carriages,” he said grimly.

  “Depends on where they’re taking you, I suspect.” Dezia’s smile faded, and she laid a hand gently on Wirr’s arm. “Look—I know you don’t think this is a trap, but …”

  “I know.” Wirr gave her a reassuring nod. “I’ll see you when I get back in a few days.”

  Wirr allowed the carriage door to be opened for him, then frowned sternly at the sole occupant.

  “You really shouldn’t be here.”

  Andyn shifted uncomfortably, though whether because of what Wirr had said or because of lingering pain from his injury, Wirr couldn’t tell. “I know I failed you last night, Sire,” he said quickly, “but I still feel I can be—”

  Wirr cut him off with a laugh, swinging up into the carriage to sit opposite his bodyguard. “I didn’t mean because of what happened. Fates, man. You saved my life.” He shook his head in amusement. “I meant that you should be resting, not back on duty so soon. Just because you were healed doesn’t mean that your body has fully recovered. Besides—the escort there will be protection enough, and my uncle has sent men ahead, in addition to the security my mother already has at the property.”

  Andyn grunted, though Wirr thought he saw a hint of relief in the man’s expression. “I feel fine, Sire. You will be gone for several days, and assassins do not tend to be easily dissuaded.”

  Wirr thought for a moment, then sighed. He didn’t really mind Andyn’s insistence. After the previous night, a familiar face on this journey—one that he knew he could trust—would be welcome. “Seems an odd way to reward you, but if it’s what you really want …”

  Andyn gave a satisfied nod, and settled back into his seat.

  Soon enough Wirr had said his good-byes, and they were moving. He rubbed his hands together nervously as they passed through Fedris Idri and began circling around Ilin Tora. It wasn’t the threat of assassination that concerned him at the moment, though, but rather the sudden recognition of landmarks as the lush hillsides south of Ilin Illan rolled by. He’d taken this route from the city many times as a child.

  He had no idea what sort of welcome would await him at his family’s estate in Daren Tel. He had spoken with his mother and Deldri at his father’s funeral, of course—even the instability in the city following the Blind’s defeat hadn’t kept them away from that—but the conversation had been brief, terse, and tearstained, barely more than an acknowledgment of their shared pain.

  Since that day, he hadn’t seen his mother or sister at all. They had retreated once more to the family estate, both to avoid the new dangers within the city—there had been some scattered lawlessness and looting after the invasion—and to grieve. Wirr hadn’t objected. He’d grieved, too, but it had been in short bursts; his duties demanded more of him than he could possibly have imagined, and he’d owed it to his uncle and everyone else to keep his mind focused on the tasks at hand.

  That had all been normal, as far as these things went—nothing unusual in the events themselves. But that meeting with his mother at the funeral …

  He shook his head at the memory. It might have been his imagination, or perhaps simply the emotion of the day, but she’d seemed cold and close to expressionless as she’d all-too-briefly spoken with him. And then he’d been allowed to do little more than embrace his sister before she’d been whisked away again.

  So though he had tried not to dwell on it too much, he silently feared the worst. His mother had always shared Elocien’s disdain for the Gifted … but his father had ultimately changed his views once he’d learned about Wirr.

  Wirr just hoped that meant that his mother could, too.

  Soon enough they were winding their way up the road to the house and through a tall gate, which had opened as soon as their carriage came into view. Wirr stared around the grounds, shaking his head a little at the sight. Unlike the ruined vegetation of Ilin Illan—much of which had either been burned or drained for Essence by Davian—everything here was a lush green, all immaculately kept gardens and neatly trimmed lawns within the stone walls of the property. He knew that it wasn’t anything unusual, not compared to some of the properties the other Great Houses kept. Still, after all the suffering he’d seen over the past month in the city, it felt uncomfortably opulent.

  Andyn suddenly leaned out the window, staring back the way they’d come with the slightest frown on his face.

  “What do you keep looking at back there?” Wirr asked curiously. His bodyguard had done the same thing several times over the past few hours.

  Andyn shook his head, but the puzzled frown remained. “Probably nothing, Sire.”

  “Out with it.”

  Andyn grunted, looking mildly embarrassed. “Dust. I think.” He shrugged at Wirr’s querying expression. “Not much, and I only see it occasionally, but enough that it could be someone on horseback following us. Walking some, then galloping in spurts to keep up, perhaps.”

  “I see.” Wirr peered through the window himself, but couldn’t see whatever Andyn had spotted.

  “Once we stop, Sire, with your permission I’d like to take a look. Just for my own peace of mind.”

  Wirr nodded his acquiescence. Andyn was likely being overly cautious, but he could hardly blame the man after last night.

  They pulled to a stop, and Wirr frowned out the window. Nobody was emerging from the main doors to greet them, however there were two men positioned either side of the entrance. They didn’t wear the livery of House Andras, but they were clearly guards.

  They could be a couple of the men his uncle had sent, he supposed … but if they were, they should have been in uniform.

  Wirr disembarked from the carriage as Andyn began negotiating with the carriage driver for the use of one of his horses. He strode toward the front door, but his step faltered as the two men stepped smoothly into his path.

  “I’m Torin Andras,” said Wirr as he approached. “This is my family’s house.”

  The man on the right, a brutish-looking fellow with a nasty scar stretching along the left side of his neck, regarded him flatly. “Please wait here, Sire. Someone will be along shortly.”

  Wirr stared at the man in disbelief and then glanced back over his shoulder at Andyn, who was holding the reins of a horse but not yet moving, watching the scene with a puzzled frown.

  “Everything all right, Sire?” he called.

  Wirr shrugged. “I’m sure it’s fine.” Whatever this was, there was no point in making a scene just yet.

  Andyn inclined his head in acknowledgment, but made no move to mount his horse.

  Wirr turned back to the guards. “Who are you?” he asked, not bothering to hide the irritation in his tone.

  “We work for your mother,” replied the burly man who had spoken earlier.

  “Then you work for my family,” said Wirr calmly. “Which includes me. Now let me in.”

  He didn’t get to see whether the men were going to budge because a moment later, the doors opened and his mother emerged, squinting as she walked out into the sunlight. She glanced at the guards.

  “It’s all right, Markus,” she said to the big man, waving at him to stand down.

  Wirr cast another glance back toward the carriage. Andyn still hadn’t moved. Wirr gave him a reassuring nod; Andyn hesitated for a moment longer and then nodded back, swinging up onto his horse and starting down the road.

  Geladra was tall and slim, carrying herself with a grace born of her many years as duchess. Wirr stepped toward her, smile nearly faltering as he saw the hesitation in her body language before she embraced him.

  “Torin. I heard about last night,” she said, quickly stepping back to inspect him. “I’m so glad you’re all right. What happened?”

  Wirr shook his head as they started walking inside. “Six men attacked the dinner with the Tel’Raths.” He frowned as he noticed Markus following them at a discreet distance, but his mother appeared to expect it, so he said nothing. “That’s really all I know at this point.”


  Geladra cast a sideways glance at him. “The report that I received said that you beat them on your own. Did you use …?”

  Wirr shook his head. “They had a Trap. I was just lucky that they didn’t coordinate very well.” He looked around, frowning. “Where are the men Uncle sent?” He hadn’t seen any sign of them since arriving.

  “I’d already taken it upon myself to hire Markus and a few others,” said Geladra, indicating another pair of men without uniforms standing a little farther down the hallway. “Captain Rill already felt as though there were too many men to easily coordinate, and I knew Riveton still needed some spare hands to help rebuild, so I sent them there for a few days instead.”

  Wirr’s frown deepened. Captain Rill was in charge of the Tel’Andras guards, but Wirr’s memory of him said that he was hardly the type to refuse extra help.

  They reached the sitting room and Wirr collapsed onto the big, soft chair in the corner that he always chose when he was here. He looked up to see his mother eyeing him speculatively.

  “What is it?”

  “Nothing.” Geladra sat, for some reason looking a little more relaxed than she had a moment ago.

  Wirr shrugged, then glanced at the door. “Does Del know that I’m here?”

  “Deldri’s away, I’m afraid. Visiting some friends.”

  Wirr’s heart sank. His trip had been at short notice, but something in his mother’s tone indicated that Deldri’s absence was not a coincidence.

  Sighing, he stood again, walking over to the open door and peering out at the big man standing just outside.

  “Please let Andyn know where I am when he returns,” he said politely. Before Markus could react, he shut the door firmly in his face, then returned to his seat. He wanted some privacy for this conversation.

  He took a deep breath as his mother watched with a frown. It was better to come straight to the point rather than awkwardly dance around the subject.

  “So Father didn’t … he didn’t tell you about me?” he asked quietly.

  Geladra hesitated, then shook her head. “No. Not once. He never even hinted at it.”

  She looked at him, and he saw it clearly for the first time. Saw just how much that deception had hurt her.

  Wirr swallowed. “I’m sorry.”

  There was an awkward silence for several seconds, neither quite knowing what to say to the other.

  “Why are you here, Torin?” asked Geladra eventually.

  Wirr grimaced. “Uncle thought it would be a good idea for me to get out of the city for a few days after …” He shrugged. “And I’ve been looking into something—the lead-up to the rebellion twenty years ago. How Father got hold of the Vessel that created the Tenets. How he found the Shackles, the Traps, figured out how to create Shadows. That sort of thing.” He gestured aimlessly. “There’s no documentation in Administration, and even some of the older, higher-ranked members don’t seem to know anything.”

  Geladra stared at him, something approaching concern in her eyes. “I’m not sure that I can help you, I’m afraid. You know I didn’t meet your father until after the war began, and he always avoided talking about how it all started.”

  Wirr inclined his head, deciding not to press, at least for the moment. “It occurred to me that there might be some answers in his study, though.”

  Geladra gave him a puzzled look. “His study? Administration cleared it out weeks ago.”

  “What?” Wirr stared at her in horror. “Who came?”

  “I don’t really remember,” said Geladra apologetically. “They were younger, I think—nobody I recognized from my time there. It was just after the funeral. Everything’s a bit of a blur, I’m afraid.”

  Wirr groaned. Geladra had been an Administrator herself until she’d retired to concentrate on raising him and Deldri, so he shouldn’t have been surprised. Still, he’d made some quick inquiries just before he’d left—and as far as he had been able to tell, nobody in Administration had even thought to check Elocien’s office here. He hadn’t even thought to check it until Scyner had brought it up.

  “Perhaps I can have a look around anyway?” he asked heavily. It was possible that Administration didn’t know about the safe—if there even was one—but Wirr had been hoping to find something useful in his father’s notes and files, regardless.

  Geladra shrugged. “If you want to.”

  She stood, indicating that he should follow, and issuing a slight shake of the head to the concerned look from Markus as she opened the door. Wirr scowled to himself. More and more, it felt like everyone was acting as if he were the threat.

  They walked through the house, only the occasional creak of a floorboard breaking the silence. Soon enough they reached Elocien’s den; Geladra fished a key from her pocket, unlocking the solid oak door and swinging it wide.

  Wirr grimaced.

  The room was bare. There was still the old desk that he remembered, and a few other pieces of furniture that remained untouched. But the shelves were empty, the desk clear. He walked over to a cabinet and opened a drawer, knowing even before he looked inside that it slid out too easily to contain anything.

  Wirr clenched his fists. If someone from Administration had come and taken everything without reporting it, Wirr doubted that he would ever see even a scrap of what had been in here.

  He scanned along the wall, and a flicker of hope suddenly kindled in his chest. Behind the desk, a large metallic representation of the Administrator’s Mark was inlaid into one of the wooden panels on the wall.

  “It doesn’t look like they missed anything,” he said to his mother, “but give me a few minutes?”

  Geladra shrugged again as if to indicate that she didn’t know why he wanted to bother, but nodded.

  As soon as the door was closed again, Wirr moved across the room to stand in front of the panel with the metallic inlay. Holding his breath, he pressed his Administrator’s Mark to it. For a moment, nothing happened.

  Then the panel slid to the side soundlessly, revealing cold steel with a single keyhole in the center.

  Wirr stared at it with a mixture of relief and consternation. He recognized the design of the safe—he’d seen plenty of identical ones in Administration’s main building in Ilin Illan, and there was even something similar installed in his own rooms in the palace. It was a type of Vessel, reinforced and Essence shielded. Common enough, but there was no way for him to break into it without the key.

  He stared at the safe for another minute or so, trying to come up with a way to open it. In the end, he pressed his Mark to the panel a second time, relieved to see it slide shut again. He would have to figure out another way to break in; until then, he didn’t particularly want his mother to know that the safe existed.

  Geladra was waiting for him outside, as well as Andyn, who had finally returned from his reconnaissance. The redheaded man gave Wirr a slight shake of the head, indicating that he’d found nothing of interest.

  Wirr turned to his mother. “So there’s nothing at all left? They took everything?”

  Geladra nodded. “Perhaps if you ask around Administration, you may be able to find out where they’re keeping it all.” She hesitated. “Though I did hear one of them talking about destroying anything that they didn’t feel was useful, so … I’m sorry, Torin.”

  Wirr stared at her, anger and frustration bubbling to the surface despite his best efforts. “Are you? Because you don’t actually seem sorry.”

  Geladra’s expression darkened. “Perhaps that’s because I think Administration has every right to what they took.”

  “And I don’t? I’m the head of Administration, but I’m never going to see anything that was in there now.” Wirr’s scowl deepened. “But it’s clear that you don’t approve of my position, so perhaps that’s irrelevant to you.”

  Geladra stared at him for a few moments.

  “You’re right. I don’t approve,” she said softly. “Not of your position, nor the course of action your father to
ok to get you there, nor the way that you rewrote the Tenets.” She locked gazes with him. “You should be stepping down, Torin. Resigning. This attempt on your life last night just proves that being Northwarden isn’t the right place for you. So long as you remain in charge of Administration, people will be upset and you’ll be in danger. Besides—surely it has become obvious to you, by now, that Administration simply cannot function the way in which it was intended if it has someone like you at its head.”

  Wirr flinched; the words someone like you—delivered with disdain, however unconsciously—hit home harder than he had expected. In the corner of his eye, he saw Andyn shifting uncomfortably.

  “Perhaps the way Administration was originally designed to function was flawed,” said Wirr, trying to contain a flash of anger. “Or perhaps you’re not remembering why it was created in the first place. Because it was meant to act as a way to let the Gifted live their lives, while ensuring that there were still checks and balances on their power. That was what Father always said.” He did his best to keep his expression short of a glare as he spoke. “So who better to do that than me?”

  Geladra said nothing for a few moments, but two spots of red on her cheeks showed that she was becoming angry. “Anyone, Torin,” she said. “Anyone but you. Can you hear yourself? Checks and balances? You’re Gifted. Are you so far above other men now that you believe that you alone can, and should, set your own limits? Aside from which—surely you’ve seen the effect that you’re having on the Administrators. Surely you understand that you can’t run the organization effectively when those under you don’t respect or trust you.”

  Wirr scowled, all pretense that this wasn’t an argument now abandoned. “I’m hoping that they can eventually behave like adults, and maybe give me the chance to earn those things over time.”

  “That’s not something that will happen, given the decisions you’ve been making. This Augur Amnesty, this nonsense about the Boundary … it makes me sick, Torin. I know that you’ve come to trust the Gifted—it’s only natural after living amongst them for so long—but surely you must see how everything that they’ve done has been for their own political gain.”