The Shadow Of What Was Lost (54 page)

From the corner of his eye,
Davian spotted something a little way away from Nihim’s corpse. Forcing himself
to his knees, he reached over to the satchel, slowly unbuckling it and emptying
its contents on the ground. Some fruit, well and truly rotten. Some tough
strips of salted meat, which he wolfed down without a second thought.

Best of all was the canteen of
water. Though he was tempted to try and down it all in a single gulp, Davian
forced himself to take small sips, wetting his throat and moistening his lips
only. There was a fountain a few streets away, but Davian had no idea if it
would still be running in this time.

He was still awfully weak. He
briefly thought about trying to bury Nihim’s body, but dismissed the idea as
impractical - not only was he not strong enough, but almost the entire city to
the outskirts was paved. He nodded a silent, sad goodbye to the priest, then
set off down the street.

Despite knowing it was ninety
years later, Davian felt completely at home; nothing in the city seemed to have
changed at all. Still, it was with some relief that he arrived at the Central
Fountain to see it in proper working order. Without wasting another second he
opened his canteen and drank, savouring the cold, refreshing liquid as it
flowed down his throat.

It barely helped, though. His
muscles were stiff and aching; every step sent a jolt through his entire body.
He stumbled over to one of the few remaining trees, leaning against it and
draining it of its Essence. He felt better as it blackened and crumbled, but
not strong. He made his way gradually to the next, and the next, until they
were all gone.

He felt healthier - but far from
whole. Still not well enough to make it out of the city. The rift had sucked
his body dry of Essence, had weakened him too much.

He slowly made his way to the
house where he and Malshash had stayed, but when he arrived it was empty, the
cupboards bare. There wasn't even any fuel for a fire.

He closed his eyes, trying to
think. He needed Essence. The Jha'vett was probably too far, even if he was
willing to risk going near it again. Deilannis sucked Essence dry almost
everywhere else... everywhere but a few places, like the Great Library. He was
in no state to get out of the city, but he could make it there.

It took him almost thirty
minutes, by his estimate, to shuffle to the library. As with everything else,
the enormous domed building was exactly as he remembered it, every detail
identical to how he’d left it nearly a century earlier. Too weak to do anything
except marvel at the fact, he stumbled inside, relieved to see the cool blue
light of the Adviser glowing in the main chamber.

He collapsed against the short
column, placing his hands over the blue light. He could feel it this time, now
he knew what to look for. He wasn’t controlling it, but his body was reaching
out towards the Essence, sucking it in.

He drew a deep breath as his muscles
relaxed, the ache of his head and stomach fading. He straightened, flexing his
arms and legs experimentally.

“Not bad,” he muttered to
himself.

He turned to go, then hesitated.
He was in the Great Library, knew how to use the Adviser. Before, when he’d
been there, his mind had been influenced by Malshash. He could see that
clearly, now. All the knowledge of the world at his fingertips, and he hadn’t
even been curious?

He knew he should leave, but he
also knew that the opportunity he had right now might never come again.

He placed his hands over the blue
light of the Adviser and closed his eyes. What topics did he need to know
about? He’d already read plenty of books on Augur abilities; he probably
wouldn't benefit much from more of those. What he
did
need was
information on the threat that was coming to Andarra. He needed to know more
about Aarkein Devaed. He needed to know more about the invaders he’d seen.

He pictured their armour in his
mind. That strange symbol, the three wavy lines.

He opened his eyes. A single
tendril of blue light was snaking out, beyond the room. Davian hurried after
it, eventually discovering where it had come to rest. A thick tome, bound in
black leather, sitting beneath a pile of other books on a table in the corner.

Davian picked it up and dusted it
off. It had no title on the cover, so he flipped it open.

“A Collection Of Darecian
Fables,” he said, reading the title aloud. An odd book to have information on
Devaed, but this had been the first the Adviser had chosen. It had never
steered him wrong in the past.

He hurried back, ready to collect
the next tome. When he came to the main chamber, though, he stopped dead.

No more tendrils of light
emanated from the Adviser. The blue glow of the column itself seemed to be
dimmer – much dimmer, in fact.

Davian rushed forward, crouching
so that he was at eye level with the light.

“No,” he muttered in frustration.
“Not yet. Not now.” He stood, placing his hands on the Adviser and
concentrating on Augur abilities. He knew there were books on that topic here –
plenty of them.

When he opened his eyes, the
light in the Adviser had gone dead.

“Two thousand years,” muttered
Davian in disgust, “ and you couldn’t hang on for another ten minutes.” He gave
the column a light kick, doing more damage to his toes than to the Adviser.

He knew what had happened. Like
any Vessel, the Adviser stored a certain amount of Essence - and when it ran
low, it drew on the Essence of the Gifted using it. Except Davian had drawn
from it instead, draining the remaining Essence from the device, sucking it dry
to restore his body to full health. It was a trade he’d had to make, but that
knowledge made him no less irritated at the situation. The Adviser could be
recharged, of course... but only with another source of Essence. Something not
readily available to him at the moment.

Reluctantly slipping the sole
book he had managed to find under his arm, he left, making his way out of the
Great Library and down past the silent buildings of Deilannis. Orkoth would be
around somewhere, but Davian knew he had nothing to fear from the creature, so
he walked without concern for being seen.

Despite his lack of success at
the Great Library, his heart was lighter than it had been in a while. He was
back in his own time. More than that, he was able to wield the power of the
Augurs - and Essence
as an added bonus.

He paused, the thought reminding
him of what had happened after his first trip through the Rift. He pulled up
his shirt sleeve. The skin was still smooth beneath; despite being back in his
own time, his Mark had not returned. Interesting. Perhaps if he avoided using
too much Essence, he could keep free of the Tenets altogether.

Davian imagined Wirr’s face when
he revealed his bare forearm, told him what he’d just been through. He smiled
to himself. Wirr no doubt assumed he was dead. Though the thought should hardly
have been amusing, his friend’s expression simply at seeing him walk into the
palace would no doubt be something to remember.

Then, for the first time in weeks,
his thoughts drifted to the school.

During his time under Malshash’s
influence, his grief - so sharp just before Deilannis - had been… muted. Almost
forgotten, so focused had he been on study. Now he was fully himself again, the
pain of what had happened at Caladel returned - but it was fainter, an ache
rather than an open wound. Sadness, rather than anguish.

For the first time, he felt like
he’d moved on. That things were going to get better.

He made his way to the Northern
Bridge, walking quickly but not hurrying. In some ways he had grown fond of the
city over the past couple of weeks, despite the constant grey, heavy mists that
hung over it. There was beauty in its design, when one could observe it without
fear. He drank in the sight of the familiar buildings and roads, imprinting
them on his memory. He had no intention of ever coming back, of risking any
sort of proximity to the rift again.

Then he was crossing the bridge;
after a few minutes he broke through the edge of the fog and into warm, bright
sunlight. He squinted as pain shot through his eyes, unaccustomed as they were
to the direct light of day. Once they had adjusted he stood there for a few
moments, face towards the sun, drinking in its warmth. Its
life
. He
could feel it now, he realised, even without concentrating. His body was
drawing energy from the light and heat, sustaining itself.

He consciously reached out and
drew in a little more, grinning at the sudden flush of energy. He felt
good
.
Perhaps better than he ever had in his entire life.

He kept walking until the bridge,
the mists, Deilannis itself had disappeared from view. Headed east.

It was time to go to Ilin Illan.

Caeden allowed himself to be
ushered through the tunnels of Tol Athian, trying not to look intimidated.

Taeris had headed straight for
the Tol once they'd parted ways with the others; though the scarred man had
ducked his head a few times when he'd spotted blue cloaks up ahead, the journey
through Ilin Illan's streets had been uneventful. There had been an empty
quality to the city, though - a sense that things were too quiet. Everyone
looked on edge, and it all only served to bring home the reality of what was
coming.

When they'd arrived at the Tol it
had quickly become apparent that they were expected; as soon as Taeris had
asked to see Councillor Eilinar, they had been immediately Shackled and
escorted inside. From the way Caeden had three men flanking him, it didn't feel
like they were being welcomed, either.

Finally they were shown into a
small room, an office of some kind.

"Wait here," said one
of their escorts, his tone brusque. The door closed, the clicking of the lock
punctuating the command.

Caeden looked at Taeris
worriedly. "What's happening?"

Taeris rubbed his forehead.
"The Tol must have had advance word that I was coming," he said,
looking grim. "Karaliene, maybe, or...." He cursed.

"What?"

"Dras. The snake."
Taeris groaned. "He was angry, at Thrindar, and he knew where we were
heading." He shook his head. "I hope I'm wrong, but -"

The lock clicked again, and the
door swung open.

Three Gifted strode into the
room, two men and a woman, the last one inside closing the door behind them.
The first, clearly in charge, stopped and studied Taeris with cool blue eyes.

"Taeris. It has been a
while," he said eventually, stepping forward and offering his hand. There
was no smile, but if the action wasn't friendly, it at least held a measure of
respect.

"Nashrel. It's good to see
you," said Taeris, gripping the man's hand and shaking it firmly.
"You don't seem surprised to see me."

"We had word. An anonymous
note, about a week ago." His gaze shifted to Caeden. "Said you were
alive, scarred, and that you were likely to turn up with an accused mass
murderer."

Taeris sighed. "Dras,
then."

Nashrel raised an eyebrow at
that. "Lothlar?"

"Ran into him in Desriel.
It's a long story."

"I'm sure." Nashrel
paused, still watching Caeden. "Is it true?"

"Another part of that long
story."

"We might have to hear it
soon, then." Nashrel turned. "You remember Elder Haemish and Elder
Ciahn? I didn't want to risk gathering the entire Council in case an
Administrator got wind of it, but these two... volunteered to be here."

"Insisted on it,
actually." Haemish was an older man, wrinkled with greying hair that on
many people would have made them look distinguished, but on him just aged him
further. He spoke with an unconscious sneer. "Thought it would be a good
idea to make sure you weren't coming back from the dead to cause more
divisions, Sarr. The damage you did five years ago was enough."

"That's enough,
Haemish." Ciahn was perhaps in her early forties, an attractive lady with
a strong bearing. She smiled at Taeris. "I'm glad you're alive, Taeris.
None of us thought you deserved that sentence." She glared to her right.
"None of us."

Haemish muttered something under
his breath, but gave a reluctant nod.

Nashrel turned to study Caeden
again. "So your young friend here...."

"Caeden." Taeris
gestured to the Elders. "Caeden - as you've probably gathered, these are
Elders Nashrel, Haemish and Ciahn. We can trust them."

Caeden nodded. "Pleased to
meet you," he said politely.

Nashrel and Ciahn nodded back,
but Haemish glared at him with ill-concealed disgust. "So you're the
murderer." He turned to Taeris. "You have a lot of explaining to
do."

"Haemish. Please."
Nashrel gave Taeris an apologetic look, but then sighed. "He's right,
though. It's probably time we heard that long story of yours."

***

Caeden flushed under the stares
of the three Elders as Taeris finished explaining the events of the past few
months.

After a few seconds of silent
study, Nashrel shifted.

"Show us your arm," he
said quietly.

Caeden rolled back his sleeve,
revealing the wolf tattoo, but otherwise bare skin beneath.

"That doesn't prove
anything," pointed out Haemish. "We would know if the sha'teth were
no longer under our control."

"Would we?" asked
Ciahn.

Haemish scowled. "I
suppose... maybe not." He rubbed his forehead, then looked at Taeris.
"But tell me this. Do you still think it's Aarkein Devaed behind all this?"

Taeris hesitated.
"Yes," he conceded. "You know I do."

Haemish grimaced. "And there
it is. Sha’teth thinking for themselves. An enemy that can create Echoes,
supposedly one of Devaed’s favourite tricks. Ancient monsters in the mists of
Deilannis. And Taeris Sarr at the centre of it all, bringing us the solution to
our problems, saving the day. Fulfilling the prophecies of Alchesh Mel’tac,
just like he always wanted.” He raised an eyebrow at Ciahn. "Sound
familiar?"

"That was a long time ago,
Haemish," said Ciahn reprovingly.

Taeris reddened as he listened to
the conversation. “I’m not asking you to believe, Haemish. Just help Caeden
regain his memories, find out what this Vessel does. And if you don't believe
he's Gifted, just test him - you can see for yourself just how strong he is. At
worst, you'll be gaining a powerful ally.”

Haemish shook his head. “At
worst, Sarr, we’ll be reminding a murderer who is not bound by the Tenets how
to fully utilize his powers.” He sighed. "This invasion from the North -
these 'Blind' - are just men. They don't have dar'gaithin, or eletai, or any of
the old monsters alongside them. We can agree that they're dangerous... but
that is why the Council has already made a decision about them."

Taeris stiffened. "Which
is?"

"Unless the king changes the
Tenets, the city can fend for itself. If they don't want our help, we'll do
what is safest for us - which is to stay behind these walls. If the invasion
succeeds in taking the city, then we will negotiate." Haemish stared Taeris
in the eye.

Taeris looked at him for a long
moment in disbelief, then turned to Nashrel, horrified. "Is this
true?"

Nashrel, who had remained silent
up to this point, gave a tired nod. "I'm afraid so," he said quietly.
"I was against it, but some of the rhetoric we've heard coming from the
palace lately... it's dangerous talk, Taeris. The king has always felt like a
neutral party when it comes to the Gifted, but these past few weeks, he's
sounded more like a Loyalist." He looked at the ground. "We have to start
thinking about ourselves."

"But you won't be able to
hide behind your walls. Not like in the war," said Taeris, his tone urgent
now. "These people won't negotiate. I told you what we saw in
Gahille!"

"What you claim you
saw." Haemish sighed. "Taeris, we went through this five years ago,
and it nearly tore the Tol apart. Devaed is
dead
, if he was ever even
alive. We need to face the reality of the invasion, not pretend it's some
ancient evil come to destroy us."

Taeris groaned. "You're
being obtuse, Haemish."

Haemish stiffened, but Nashrel
held up his hand. "You lied to us once, Taeris. He has a right to
question."

Taeris said nothing for a moment.
"What about Ilseth Tenvar? You said yourself he was a traitor, a
conspirator in the deaths of hundreds of Gifted students - and I told you that
he sent the Vessel to Caeden before I knew any of that. Surely that verifies at
least part of what I've said. And surely you want to understand more about what
Tenvar was involved in, too." Taeris gave Nashrel a steady look. "You
know me, Nashrel. We may have differing views about many things, but I'm not a
fool. I haven't risked my life, come back here just to tell you a lie."

Nashrel held Taeris' gaze for a
few seconds, then sighed. "I know," he said reluctantly. He looked
around at the other two Elders. "He makes some valid points, and this
isn't a choice that should be left to us alone. We need to discuss it with the
others." He turned back to Taeris. "Whatever we decide, though,
no-one here will turn you in to Administration. You have my word."

Taeris looked relieved.
"Thank-you," he said. "Please, take what time you need. Caeden
and I can wait -"

"
You
can wait here.
We owe you that much." Nashrel shook his head slowly. "But we do not
know Caeden, except for what you've told us, and what we know of his crimes. It
would be irresponsible of me to have him wait anywhere except for in a
cell."

Caeden felt his heart sink, and
his muscles tensed. They were going to lock him up? Every nerve in his body
screamed for him to do something; his thoughts immediately flashed back to the
last time he was imprisoned. He clenched his fists, and light beads of sweat
began forming on his brow.

Taeris glanced at Caeden with a
worried expression. “Alleged crimes,” he corrected. “First I need your word
that he will be released back into my custody as soon as you have made a
decision, either way. And that he will come to no harm in the meantime.”

Nashrel looked at him with vague
surprise. “Of course,” he said sincerely.

Taeris glanced at Caeden, giving
him the slightest of nods. "He means it. You will be fine," he
murmured.

Caeden gritted his teeth but
nodded back, forcing himself to relax.

Taeris turned back to Nashrel.
"Very well."

Nashrel hesitated. "One
other thing. We will need to take custody of the Vessel."

"What?" Taeris frowned.
"I would prefer -"

"This isn't negotiable,
Taeris."

Taeris grimaced, then inclined
his head, reaching into a pocket and drawing out the bronze box. As always, it
shone like the sun to Caeden's eyes.

Taeris reluctantly gave it to
Nashrel. "Can I at least hang onto the other one?" he asked.

Nashrel paused in his examination
of the box. "The other one?"

"The other Vessel I found in
Desriel." Taeris held up a smooth black stone, about the size of his palm.
"I haven't been able to determine what it does yet, but it seems harmless
enough. Nothing to do with Caeden, though."

Nashrel stared at the stone for a
long moment, and Caeden thought he saw a glimmer of recognition in the Elder's
eyes.

"What is it?" asked
Ciahn.

Nashrel didn't respond for a few
seconds.

"I... don't know," he
said slowly. "But we should hang onto it."

Taeris scowled, giving up the
second Vessel to Nashrel too. But as he did so, Caeden thought he saw a flicker
of acknowledgement pass between the two men. An understanding.

Then it was done, and Taeris was
gripping Caeden's shoulder. “Don't worry. You won't be locked up for long,” he
said in a reassuring tone.

After Nashrel had talked to
someone outside, Caeden found himself being led away. He and his escort
descended a flight of stairs until they came to some basic cells, carved out of
the bedrock of Ilin Tora itself. They were little more than small caves with
doors made of steel bars; once Caeden was inside he realised there would only
just be room to lie flat on the ground, and when he stood straight, his head
was only inches from the roof. He felt a flash of gratitude that fate had not
made him any taller, and that despite his experiences, he had no particular
fear of confined spaces.

The jailor locked the door and
moved a little way down the hall to a more open part of the passageway, where
his desk and chair sat. “No funny business, and we’ll get along just fine,” he
called as he wandered away.

Glowing Essence orbs lined the
hallway outside, but the cells themselves were quite dark. Caeden shifted,
trying to see if there was anyone in the cell opposite. He moved forward to the
bars, squinting as the light hit his eyes.

Suddenly a face appeared in the
opposite cell, and Caeden could see a Shackle glinting on the other man’s arm.
The stranger smiled, a wide grin of triumph.

Even through the bars, Caeden
could tell that the man was staring at the bared tattoo on his wrist. The glow
of the wolf's head was weaker – Taeris and the Vessel must be a good deal
further away, now. The other prisoner wouldn’t be able to discern the light, of
course, but the tattoo itself was still plain enough to see.

“
Dreh Kaaren si
,” the
stranger said quickly. “
Sha tehl me’athris dar
?” It was clearly a
question, but Caeden had no idea what the man was saying.

Caeden shook his head. “I’m
sorry,” he said. “I have no idea what language you’re speaking.”