Meldier said nothing for a moment. If Davian hadn’t been keeping time at bay more effectively than the other man, he might have missed the flicker of fear in his opponent’s eyes.
“Do you even know who he is?”
“I told you. He’s my friend.” Davian’s jaw clenched. “That’s all that matters to me.”
Another silence, and then suddenly Meldier threw back his head and roared with laughter.
“You don’t!” He subsided to a chuckle, shaking his head. “Oh, El. He didn’t tell you.” He lowered his hands, as if suddenly deciding that Davian wasn’t a threat. “This man that you’re so eager to save, to protect? Your people know him as Aarkein Devaed.”
Davian stared blankly, the words taking a few moments to sink in.
Then he laughed.
“That’s …” He shook his head. “I don’t even know how to respond to that.” He stepped forward threateningly. “Now let him go.”
Meldier scowled. “It is the truth. I can prove it.”
Suddenly the chains on the wall behind him rippled, turning from thick metal into what looked like a dark, smoky glass.
And then Caeden was blinking at Davian, mouth open, as if not comprehending what he was seeing.
“Dav?” He struggled against the chains, eyes suddenly wide. “Dav, get out of here!”
“Not without you.”
“Touching.” Meldier shook his head. “Now tell him, Tal’kamar. Tell him who you really are.”
Davian frowned as he saw panic in Caeden’s eyes. Followed by regret.
Followed by shame.
There was an interminably long silence, and Davian’s heart dropped.
“No,” he whispered eventually, dazedly, taking a confused step back. Even holding Licanius, his grip on time almost slipped.
Caeden took a shuddering breath. “You once told me that when I got my memories back, that no matter what I found, I’d have a choice.” He squeezed his eyes shut. “I … I was him, Davian. I was Aarkein Devaed.” He opened his eyes again, staring at Davian. Pleading for him to understand. “But I’m not anymore. I realized that I was on the wrong side, and I erased those memories because I wanted to get away from them. I can never make up for the things I did … but I want to do the right thing now.” He gasped as the chain around his throat suddenly shifted, tightening. “If you believe anything, please believe that.”
Davian felt light-headed as he stared at the blood-soaked man pinned against the wall.
There had been no black smoke from Caeden’s mouth.
“So now you see.” Meldier’s voice was calm. “Words are easy, but the truth? Your friend is a murderer. Your friend is responsible for literally millions of deaths, and he will kill you, too. What is happening to him here is not one one thousandth of the punishment that he truly deserves.” He held out his hand, palm upturned. “You are on the wrong side, boy. Give me Licanius, surrender of your own free will, and you will be treated well. In fact, I can promise you safety. You have my word.”
Davian shook his head. Everything felt off-balance, surreal.
Meldier was speaking truthfully, too.
Eventually, though, he again registered the blood that was everywhere. The disgusting, glistening mass of disfigured flesh beneath Caeden’s feet.
He tightened his grip on Licanius.
“Caeden.” He felt his brow furrow as he took a long, steadying breath. “You fought them.”
Caeden looked up, a flicker of hope in his eyes.
“I did,” he said softly.
“You saved us at Ilin Illan. You helped Asha strengthen the Boundary.” Davian nodded slowly, mostly to himself, a small seed of certainty growing. “I remember that conversation, too. I know you. I know you, and … I meant what I said back then.” He licked his lips, then met Caeden’s gaze. “You are my friend, Caeden. I believe that. So tell me that you’re really on our side, and let’s go home.”
Before Caeden could respond, Meldier acted.
The calm the large man had been displaying vanished in a frustrated snarl as his blade whipped out, slashing with stunning speed toward Davian’s head.
Davian’s instincts—or those he’d been given by Aelric—took over. He moved to the side smoothly, avoiding the blow.
Stepped forward.
Rammed Licanius as hard as he could into Meldier’s chest.
The big man’s eyes went wide in shock and disbelief; he stumbled and then collapsed backward, the motion wrenching Licanius from Davian’s grasp. Time crashed back into Davian and he gasped, staggering from the abruptness of the shift.
When he was able to focus again, Meldier was motionless on the crimson-soaked stone floor.
Distant shouts—unnoticeable while he had been outside of the flow of time—penetrated up the stairs and into the chamber, now, too close and too loud.
Panting, the shock of everything that had just occurred quickly beginning to set in, Davian scrambled over to Meldier and yanked Licanius from his chest. He closed his eyes, focusing.
To his horror, kan still eluded him.
“It won’t work that way for a while.” Davian turned to see Caeden, his face twisted in a grimace of pain. The chains had faded from black glass back to metal again, though they now somehow looked even tighter than they had been. “I think it uses all of its power when it kills one of us,” the redheaded man concluded heavily.
“It doesn’t matter. We need to go.” Davian shut the door to the stairwell and hurriedly barred it, then dashed over and yanked at the chains holding Caeden in place.
They didn’t move.
“How do I get these off?” he asked desperately. The shouts were louder now. Coming up the stairs.
“You don’t.” Caeden met Davian’s gaze steadily. “Dav, they’re looking for Asha. They know that she’s the one who’s stopping the Boundary from collapsing. They … they got her name from me, but that’s all. I didn’t give them anything else.” He took a deep breath. “I think I know how to end this, but you’re going to have to trust me.”
Davian flinched as there was a rattle at the door, followed quickly by a series of crashing thumps as whoever was on the other side tried to break it down. “What do I need to do?”
“Get Meldier’s sword. Not Licanius.” Caeden’s breaths were short and sharp, the redheaded man evidently just as anxious as Davian as a sudden splintering sound came from the entrance. He gave a single, tight nod once Davian was holding the plain steel. “Now you have to cut off my head.”
“What?”
“I can’t die, Davian. I’ll come back elsewhere. In a different body.” Caeden stared at him, expression willing him to believe. “I will come for you, but you have to trust me.”
The door collapsed off its hinges and men poured into the room.
With a scream of frustration and anger and confusion, Davian swung.
The Wells of Mor Aruil were silent as Caeden slumped into Asar’s chair, staring contemplatively at the black splotch of dried blood on the carpet and wondering again if he’d done the right thing.
Five days. Five days since he’d woken … wherever it had been. A different body, probably a different land. The latter hadn’t been much of a problem; he’d had the Gate underway before nightfall, and open before he’d even felt the need to sleep. It had been more than a relief to return here, where he knew that there would be silence and solitude and familiarity and a chance to finally rest.
The former had been … unsettling, though, for a while.
He’d almost settled on accepting his new body—too tall, hands too large, skin too pale—when he’d realized that he could just shape-shift back. It had been harder than he’d expected, though, even with his disquieting memory of the village in Desriel to tell him how to do it. It was, he’d vaguely recalled, one of the skills that he had always lacked.
Still, after two days of trying, he’d been successful. There had been pain, but only briefly. And it had been worth it to feel himself again.
He had to figure out a way to keep his word to Davian.
He shook his head slightly as he reflected, mind straying back to those last, terrifying moments in Ilshan Gathdel Teth. Davian had sided with him. Saved him.
He’d done that, knowing who Caeden really was.
Perhaps Davian had seen no better choices—but the decision still mattered to Caeden, even more than he’d expected it to. It said something about the side that he’d chosen, the people who he had decided to trust. That one act had given him more confidence, more resolve, than he’d had since the moment that Asar had shown him who he really was.
He straightened and took a slow, determined breath. It was time to find a way to save his friend.
The memory hit him without warning.
Caeden shook his head again, still hazy from the explosion of the Jha’vett.
Around him, Deilannis burned—not with the ghastly flames of the Darklands now, but with something else entirely. Something he’d never seen before. Red energy glittering with odd specks of yellow burned in every crack and divot, ran through every stone, the city seething and writhing despite there being no obvious physical damage to the Arbiterium itself.
As his vision finally found some focus, he stuttered to his feet at a sudden flicker of motion.
A little distance away, somehow, the doors to the Arbiterium were opening. Everyone in there should have been dead and yet as he stared, a single figure emerged.
The man looked around, his face lit red in the ethereal light. Curly black hair framed a narrow face. Two separate scars marred his features and as he turned, Caeden saw a third cut deep into his neck.
He frowned, his confusion now complete. It was Alaris’s sigil, the mark of the Shining Lands.
The stranger spotted Caeden, and for a moment there was something complex in his expression. Relief? Fear? Resignation? They were all there and all gone in an instant.
Caeden scrambled to his feet as the muscular man came toward him, stopping only when they were face-to-face.
“Tal’kamar. Aarkein Devaed.” The stranger’s eyes never left him; he appeared unperturbed by what surrounded them.
“Yes.” Caeden’s gaze flicked to the entrance of the Arbiterium, but no one else followed. They were alone, it seemed.
The man let out a long breath. “My name is Davian. I have used the Jha’vett to come here, now, to deliver you a message.” He paused, for the first time looking hesitant. “It is … something that you need to hear. Something which only a friend can tell you.”
Caeden stared at him in disbelief.
“The Jha’vett is broken. What you see are the consequences of it breaking.” He shook his head cynically. “But let’s say I humor you, stranger. What message does my friend bring that requires him to travel through time itself?”
“That you have been deceived,” said Davian, looking unperturbed by Caeden’s tone. “That no matter how much it hurts, you need to recognize that El is not who he says he is. You need to accept that you are on the wrong side of this fight … and that you always have been.”
“Is … that all?” Caeden sneered. “Is that the best that you have to offer? ‘Change sides?’ Just like that?” He laughed bitterly. “I fear that you have come a long way for no reward.”
“That is not all,” said Davian quietly. “You also need to accept that it is your fault. It is your fault, and there is no undoing it.”
Caeden stiffened despite himself. “You’ll have to do better than—”
“You alone.” Davian paused, but only to draw breath as Caeden gaped at him. “You killed your friends and loved ones. You destroyed a civilization and sent the scant few survivors on a path that led to yet more destruction. None of this can be undone. None of the lives that were lost can ever be brought back.”
“Enough,” said Caeden. Nobody spoke to him this way.
“You slaughtered innocents. You hid behind the names Aarkein Devaed and El, but it was always Tal’kamar—always you,” pressed Davian. “You lie to yourself about what you truly believe, and you do it over and over and over every single day because you are afraid of admitting to what the alternative means.”
“Enough.” It was a snarl now, a promise, but Davian refused to heed it.
“You need to accept that your wife is dead and that she cannot be brought back. That Elliavia is dead and that you will never see her again. You need to do this, because your selfishness has already cost the lives of more good men than there are stars in the sky. Your selfishness, Tal’kamar. Not your blindness, nor your arrogance, nor your good intentions. Your utter contempt for anyone but yourself.”
“That’s not—”
“Listen to me, Tal’kamar! You are at fault! You and you alone! You shield yourself from what you’ve done, you justify and justify and justify but you know deep down that it is NOT ENOUGH!” Caeden was trying to talk over him but Davian plowed on, forcing his words through. “For all that you’ve been given, you are fearful and weak and cowardly! For all you have lost, you have not learned! It’s not fate and it’s not love and it was never, ever because you thought that you were doing the right thing! You know this! You know this better than—”
“ENOUGH!”
The world was red, a blur. He knew he was reaching for Licanius. Knew he’d drawn it. Knew he’d swung.
An impact.
The heavy thud of something dropping to the ground.
Caeden’s vision cleared.
The stranger’s severed head gazed sightlessly to the side, mouth agape as if still trying to utter more accusations. A few paces away his body had slumped to the ground, dark red blood fountaining in spurts from his neck.
Caeden stared for a long few seconds, hands shaking, rage still gripping him.
“You’re wrong.” He addressed the words to the lifeless head. “You’re wrong.”
Who had this man been? Caeden didn’t really believe that he’d come through the Jha’vett, but he’d known more than most, more than anyone should have. Known exactly what to say to prod at all of Caeden’s fears, all of his insecurities. A lone survivor of the High Darecians, perhaps, seeking a quick end after the destruction of his race? It didn’t really fit, but it was also as good as any other answer that he could come up with.
He crouched beside the body, searching it. Nothing but the simple band of silver on Davian’s finger. Caeden hesitated for a long moment, then pocketed it. It was a Vessel—one of minor power—but more importantly, it was tied to the dead man. If he ever chose to find out more about this puzzle, it could be useful.
He made to walk away, then scowled. His rage at the stranger’s unprovoked words still burned, hot and steady.
Death wasn’t enough. Not for this.
He snatched up the severed head by its hair, ignoring the trail of blood as he began to walk. The Door of Iladriel was not far.
Sometimes, examples had to be made.
Mounting the head on a steel pike was grisly work, but he’d done it plenty of times before and it did not take long. He barely noticed as the red of the city around him began to fade, replaced instead by a thick fog. It was odd, given the heat, but he ignored it. It did not interfere with what needed to be done.
His rage cold now, he set the head at the apex of the Door. A reminder for the Darecians—for whoever had sent this man, if anyone actually had—that there were lines that should not be crossed. Accusations that should never be made.
He frowned a little as he stepped back, observing the results of his work. It felt less satisfying than it should have.
Then he scrubbed absently at the traces of blood still on his skin, suddenly tired.
“Such a waste,” he muttered in disgust at the head. “What other outcome could you possibly have expected?”
He turned abruptly. Walked away.
Let the steadily encroaching mists hide the sightless eyes of the foolish stranger from view.
Ack
nowledgments
As always, my first acknowledgement has to go to my wonderful and always-supportive wife, Sonja. Her constant willingness to read (and reread, and reread) full drafts, and give constructive feedback on each in an encouraging way, is vital to my writing process and is a blessing that I will never take for granted.
Next, a huge thanks to my editors, Will Hinton at Orbit and James Long at Little, Brown. Both have been a pleasure to work with, and I’ve been thrilled that their visions of what this story should be are so closely matched to my own—their input has been invaluable not only for making these books better, but in generally sharpening my writing skills for the future. Thanks are most definitely also due to my agent at Janklow & Nesbit, Paul Lucas, whose excellent advice and hard work over the past couple of years have taken me to the wonderful position in which I find myself today.
My beta readers were once again a great help on Echo—everyone involved in the process devoted a great deal of their time and energy to give me feedback (often on a deadline), and each ended up shaping the book in some way. In particular, Nicki, Chiara, Aiden, Jeremy, and Dean provided extremely valuable contributions. I could never leave the indomitable Balthazar out of these acknowledgments, either—excellent work, Thaz.
Finally, a special thanks to all the readers who took a chance on The Shadow of What Was Lost when it was newly self-published all the way back in 2014. Between its success taking me by surprise, the birth of my first child, and the transition to traditional publishing, it will have taken me almost three years to get this book released—a long time, even in the world of epic fantasy!—and I can’t overstate just how much I’ve appreciated everyone’s ongoing enthusiasm, support, and (most of all) patience during the wait.
Glossary of Characters
Aarkein Devaed (ARE-kine deh-VADE): A powerful Gifted whose invasion of northern Andarra two thousand years ago resulted in the creation of the Boundary. Considered by the Old Religion to be a figure of great evil, strongly associated with Shammaeloth himself. Also see Caeden.
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