Alaris saw where he was looking and sighed, rolling his eyes. “El take it, Tal. Really?” He grabbed the sword and before Caeden could react, tossed it irritably at Caeden’s feet. “Better?”
Caeden stared at the blade for a few moments, suspecting a trap even though he couldn’t see how it could possibly be one. Eventually he stooped, picking up the sword. Licanius thrummed in his hands, and kan was suddenly everywhere.
“Why trust me with this?”
“Because I know that you know, deep down, that we’re friends,” said Alaris vehemently, an edge of affectionate exasperation to his tone. “Despite all that’s happened, despite everything, we’re friends. And I don’t care what memories you do or don’t have—you, Tal’kamar Deshrel, would never kill a friend.”
Caeden said nothing for a long time, watching Alaris’s face for any sign that he was being anything except genuine. He’d spoken with passion and though Caeden knew he should ignore everything that this man said, he found himself beginning to believe him.
“I’m looking for a Vessel,” he said eventually. “I left it with Isiliar. When I …” He trailed off.
Alaris nodded, looking unsurprised. “The glass sphere with the Darecian markings, I assume? Is mentioned it. She says it was taken years ago. Though I have no idea how accurate her concept of time really is right now,” he admitted.
Caeden’s heart sank, and he asked the question despite already knowing the answer. “By whom?”
“Nethgalla.” Alaris gave Caeden a glance that could only be described as pitying. “Is swears it was her.”
Caeden closed his eyes for a long moment, but eventually nodded.
“How do I find her?” he asked quietly.
“She’ll be looking for you. Watching your allies, your friends. She always is.” Alaris’s tone was gentle. “But if she has something that you need, she’s probably intending to meet you in Deilannis.”
Caeden frowned. “Why there?”
“It’s the one place where you cannot kill her. Anywhere else, and her strength is not even close to ours.” Alaris frowned as he said the words, squinting in Caeden’s direction. “Exactly how much do you remember, Tal?”
Caeden glanced up at Alaris. Even holding Licanius, even with his latest memory, Caeden couldn’t bring himself to trust the man. Not after the last time he’d done so. He had to remind himself that no matter how pleasant he seemed, Alaris was on the other side.
He held his tongue.
After a few seconds Alaris sighed again, though with more regret than irritation.
“Not enough, evidently. I understand. Trust is earned over time, not just by actions.” He chewed his lip for a moment and then stood, nodding toward the waterfall-lined entrance through which Caeden had arrived. “I hope that one day you’ll trust me again, Tal, but Is could return at any moment. If there’s any other way I can help you right now, just tell me. Otherwise you need to get moving.”
Caeden slipped a hand into his pocket, touching the Portal Box. None of the destinations on it would place him anywhere near where he needed to go. “Can you get me to Deilannis?”
Alaris gave a brief, wistful chuckle. “No. You, Gass, and Nethgalla are the only ones who know how to open a Gate. And even if I did, too, I’ve never been there.”
Caeden grimaced but inclined his head; he didn’t see that Alaris had any reason to delay him. “So where are we now?”
“Alkathronen.” Alaris glanced around at the silent buildings. “Last city of the Builders. Last bastion of their race.”
“The Builders?” Caeden didn’t doubt Alaris’s word, but …“It’s certainly different from Ilin Illan.”
“Ilin Illan? A gaudy mess,” Alaris said deprecatingly, giving Caeden a reproachful look. “A city meant to distract the masses. This was their true achievement. Alkathronen exists because the Builders understood beauty more deeply than most—they understood when simplicity should trump detail, functionality should trump form. Ilin Illan came from their talent for understanding what others see as beauty. Distraction and seduction for those who think a thing is beautiful merely because it draws the eye, because it has a pleasing aesthetic.”
Caeden glanced around again, considering. There was something special about this place, beyond even that of Ilin Illan. In Andarra’s capital, there was always a new sight to dazzle. Here, nothing stood out … and yet the sense of Alkathronen was somehow more. As if the parts were less when compared to Ilin Illan’s, but the whole was greater.
He shook his head. “Regardless. I should have asked where I need to go. I don’t know how to get to Deilannis from here.”
Alaris frowned at him.
“Did you not come from Ilin Illan? I assumed that Is …” He trailed off, sighing. “Walk with me. I will show you the way.”
Caeden’s brow furrowed but he nodded, falling into step alongside Alaris.
The silence pressed for a long few moments, and then Caeden took a deep breath.
“How can you possibly be fighting for them?” He couldn’t help it; the question just burst out of him. “How can you be on their side?”
Alaris’s step faltered.
“How can I not?” he eventually replied softly. “My side is hope, Tal—hope that things can be changed. Your side is despair, an acceptance of slavery. No matter how you look at it, no matter how you argue, that is the truth.”
Caeden frowned. Meldier had claimed the same thing, almost exactly. “Hope is one thing, Alaris, but Asar showed me the Darklands.”
“Asar showed you the mind of a madman.” Alaris glanced across at him, then raised an eyebrow at his expression. “Didn’t he tell you? Alchesh was never supposed to have our powers. It utterly destroyed him, and that memory … that memory is hardly what I would call reliable.”
Alaris continued, his tone that of a man who had had this conversation a hundred times before, and was exasperated by it. “The Darklands are a strange and terrible place, Tal—I know that better than anyone—and yes, certainly, dangerous. But this idea that El reaching the rift will somehow unleash it, unleash eternal suffering upon the entire world … there is no proof. You have only the ramblings of soothsayers from before anyone had even heard of kan. The tortured confessions of the shape-shifter who has lied to you more than any other being in this world. And the feverish memory of a broken man.” He shook his head. “You were always operating just as much on faith as I. More so, I would argue.”
Caeden was silent for a few seconds, processing what Alaris had said. “You’re just trying to make me doubt.”
“I’m telling you that you should doubt—as I do my own beliefs. The day on which you decide not to question what you believe, is the day that you start making excuses for why you believe it.” Alaris spoke with a quiet intensity, a certainty that only deepened Caeden’s sense of unease.
Eventually, Caeden grunted. “Perhaps if your side was less intent on destroying my friends, I would be more inclined to take that advice.”
Alaris snorted, shaking his head. “In some ways, you have not changed at all—you still make assumptions when you do not have all the facts. You are the only one who actually wants a fight, Tal. We won’t shy away from the conflict if you force it on us, and El knows that if you try to stop us when the ilshara does finally fall, we have the army to do what we need to. But it’s never been our purpose to destroy anyone. If you stood aside now, no one else would get hurt.”
Caeden gave a short, bitter laugh. “I’m more than happy to doubt that.”
Alaris sighed as they passed through the large archway at the entry to the city, leaving the silently lit buildings of Alkathronen behind them. “I can understand how it must have seemed to you, watching Mash’aan invade, seeing the actions of his men. But as I have already explained, they only crossed the ilshara to stop you.” His expression hardened as he spoke, his frustration and anger seeping through. “And do not forget that it was you who trapped Isiliar here. You—not someone acting under your d
irection, but you—trapped her here in a living hell for two millennia and drove her mad. So if you are going to judge a cause based only on the actions of its proponents, then neither of us can claim to be on the side of what’s right.”
Caeden just grimaced. He didn’t have a response to that.
Alaris subsided again quickly as he glanced around into the city now behind them, not nervously, but evidently checking for signs of movement. “El take it. If we had a few hours, I’d happily continue this. It’s been too long since we’ve talked.” He rubbed his forehead in frustration. “If you really want to have this discussion—if you’re genuinely interested in understanding both sides of this fight—then when the Lyth have been dealt with, come back here. I’ll set some wards to let me know that you’ve returned. Don’t let the others know. We’ll speak as friends, and if you remain unconvinced, you have my word that I’ll let you go.”
Caeden grunted. “You don’t want my word that I’ll let you go?”
Alaris gave him a sudden, affectionate grin. “Said the mouse to the lion.”
Caeden responded with a wry look, but nodded slowly. “I may take you up on that offer.” He didn’t let his gaze waver. “But no matter what you say, I won’t abandon my friends.”
Alaris’s look was pained. “And I’d never ask you to,” he said softly.
They had entered the canyon now, the two enormous, sheer waterfalls on either side, so close to the edge of the path that Caeden couldn’t quite believe that there was no moisture on its surface. The air was perfectly still here but this was more than just the lack of a breeze. The water was clear as crystal, perfect in form.
Alaris walked a little farther and then suddenly paused, crouching and placing his hand over one of the roadside symbols that Caeden had noticed earlier.
The strange character flashed blue; there was a hum and Caeden flinched back as stone abruptly snapped upward from the abyss, forming a wide, smooth pathway leading directly into the curtain of falling water.
“This is the way,” said Alaris quietly. “Step through the water, and you will find yourself in Ilin Illan. Well. Beneath Ilin Illan, anyway,” he amended. “Follow the lines of kan and they will lead you out.”
Caeden stared at the waterfall. “I just … step through it?”
Alaris nodded. “This was the Builders’ home,” he said quietly. “They connected each of their wonders to here.”
Caeden didn’t question further. A faint spark of memory said that Alaris was telling him the truth.
Alaris watched him for a few moments, then held out his hand.
Caeden considered it silently. This was the man who had sent the army against Ilin Illan, who had deceived him into walking into a trap. This was his enemy.
But this was his friend. He knew it, knew as he looked into Alaris’s eyes that this was not a ruse, not a trick. It was a genuine gesture.
He clasped Alaris’s hand.
“Stop the Lyth, Tal,” said Alaris quietly. “Stop the Lyth, and then we can worry about everything else.”
Caeden inclined his head in acknowledgment, then turned and stepped along the newly formed path and into the crystal clear water.
Chapter 22
Davian peered cautiously around the corner again, scanning the long road ahead for any sign of his target.
Still nothing? he thought, directing it toward where he knew Erran and Fessi were. He wasn’t accustomed to communicating mentally, but Erran’s expertise at it made the effort minimal on his side of things. The young Augur kept the connection between their minds open with enviable ease.
No one who even looks like the man that you described, asserted Erran, sounding mildly bored.
He wouldn’t have noticed. There’s a young woman selling bread across from him, and he can’t stop—
I’m paying attention, growled Erran, interrupting Fessi. There was a pause. And how would you know that, anyway? Aren’t you covering the back?
I did a quick circuit of the Tol. I’m fairly sure there was actually drool on your chin.
Davian sighed. We need to stay at our posts, you two. We only have one shot at stopping Driscin before he goes inside.
You should listen to him, Fess. A pause. She really does mean quick, though, Erran’s voice reassured him. Too quick to notice something like—
Davian stiffened, suddenly tuning out Erran’s easy banter. A figure was making its way along the road and though Davian had only met him once, it took only a moment to recognize Driscin.
He’s here. Davian forced his voice through whatever Erran was saying. He glanced around. Erran?
Almost as he thought the name, the raised voice of a man a little farther toward the eastern gate of the Tol echoed down to him. His companion was staring stock-still, looking a mixture of confused and shocked as he was gesticulated at with what came close to violence. Within a few moments, every eye in the vicinity had been drawn to the commotion.
I don’t think any of the Gifted standing watch are looking at him right now. Fessi, do you …
He trailed off as in the distance, Driscin vanished. Fessi appeared in front of Davian a split second later, the dazed-looking Elder grasping her arm.
“Driscin,” said Davian, recovering himself quickly. “Good to see you again.” He glanced from the older man to Fessi, then back again.
“We have a few things to talk about.”
Davian paused at the foot of the hill, staring grimly up the slope toward the bright beacon in the darkness ahead.
Fifty feet high and sheer, the outer wall of Tol Shen was bathed in white Essence, revealing the shadowy shapes of what appeared to be hundreds of guards as they patrolled along its base. Davian swallowed nervously at the sight, raising his gaze to watch the occasional menacing flicker of blue along the top of the wall. There was no getting inside that way.
Movement, came Erran’s voice in Davian’s head. A dozen, coming your way. She knows you’re here.
Davian shot Fessi a glance, who nodded confidently and grabbed both his and Driscin’s arms. “Let’s go.”
There was a subtle lurch, and suddenly the gently swaying trees away from the road froze, the soft sigh of wind against Davian’s cheek vanishing. Davian glanced at Driscin, whose eyes were wide as he gazed around. How long?
At least a minute.
Davian took a few deep breaths, calming himself and focusing on the way ahead. He doubted that Ishelle would be able to redirect any of the Gifted quickly enough to intercept them, but they had to be prepared for the possibility. They started forward, angling away from the road and keeping parallel to the Tol, just close enough to use the illumination from the walls to see the way ahead.
His heart pounded as he thought about what they were about to attempt. He glanced across at Driscin, whose grim expression reflected his doubts.
It had been a long, tense few hours since they’d explained everything that had been happening to the Elder. The older man had at first been incredulous that the entire Tol had been affected by Rohin’s ability—and then, once convinced, had proceeded to argue in favor of the Augurs simply heading north, rather than mounting any sort of rescue attempt.
He’d been right in a lot of ways, too, much to Davian’s irritation. Ishelle would know that Davian wasn’t just running now, and that Driscin was with him—that was presumably why the defenses at Tol Shen had been so significantly boosted. And as important as it was to save the Tol, the benefit hardly outweighed the danger of risking the autonomy of even more Augurs.
But they were also the only ones who could stop Rohin. Davian couldn’t walk away from that fact—and despite Erran and Fessi’s vacillating, he suspected that they felt the same way.
Eventually, Driscin had conceded that he couldn’t force them to leave; the rest of the afternoon had consisted of trying to figure out how to get to Rohin, now that he had Ishelle and an entire Tol full of Gifted to act as his bodyguards.
“You’re sure Ishelle doesn’t know about this entran
ce?” asked Davian again as they hurried through the forest that surrounded the Tol.
“As certain as I can be.” Driscin’s dry tone indicated that he was becoming tired of the question. “Ishelle’s always been … difficult to keep an eye on, I suppose you could say. I didn’t particularly feel like telling her about an entrance that only she could open.”
Davian snorted. “I can see the logic in that.” He hesitated. “It doesn’t mean the other Elders won’t have told—”
“They don’t know about it, either.” Driscin gave Davian a wry look. “Secret entrances aren’t of much value when everyone knows about them.”
Davian peered at him in surprise, but eventually shrugged his acknowledgment. Given the situation, he couldn’t really argue the point.
Their decision to intercept Driscin was proving to be even more beneficial than Davian had anticipated. Rohin had what seemed like the entire Tol on guard against an incursion, but Driscin—thanks to his former role in the sig’nari—knew of entrances that, apparently, no one else was aware even existed.
Even more interesting, though, had been his admissions regarding the cells and the strange archway that Davian and Fessi had seen.
The Elder had been understandably reluctant to talk about it, but the area beneath Central Archive had apparently been set aside as something of a “contingency plan” for the Augurs. It was, Driscin claimed, one of the main reasons that the Council had felt comfortable accepting responsibility for them in the first place. Builder-made, the cells were the only ones known to be able to contain kan; according to Driscin, the Augurs themselves had sometimes secretly made use of them before the war.
That made sense, after Davian had thought about it for a while. As Rohin had demonstrated in ample measure, Augurs were not any better or worse than most people. It stood to reason that they would have needed their own prison, even if they hadn’t broadcast that fact to the world.
Driscin’s revelations about the archway, though, were what had been most useful.
An Echo of Things to Come Page 35