The Shadow Of What Was Lost (76 page)

“I said there were no wards that
would harm you,” corrected Garadis.

“Then what in fates was that?”
Caeden demanded.

“A binding,” replied Garadis.
“The trade between the Lyth and Andrael. We guard Licanius until one who passes
the Tests wields her. In exchange, the one who takes her up must free the Lyth.
It is the pact that you have been trying so very hard to avoid these past
centuries.” He sighed, a contented sound. “You must have been desperate.”

Caeden stared at his now-bare
forearm worriedly. “Free you from what?”

Garadis leaned forward. “From
here
,
Tal’kamar. From
this
. We cannot survive without the raw Essence
Res
Kartha produces. You need to find a way for us to leave, and not perish.”

Caeden gave him a blank look.
“But... I know nothing about any of that. It's impossible.”

“And yet, you have agreed to it.”
Garadis’ blue eyes looked at Caeden greedily. “You have a year and a day. Should
the pact be broken, the binding will compel you to return to us. Licanius will
become the property of the Lyth, to do with as we see fit. And once she is
truly at our command, we will see fit to use her for that which she was
designed.”

Caeden paled; the last sounded
distinctly like a threat. “A year?”

“And a day,” said Garadis. “She
is yours until then, to do with as you wish. But if we cannot leave Res Kartha
after that, she will be yours no longer. So choose your priorities wisely.”

Caeden nodded, still stunned. He
took a deep breath, then thought for a few moments.

“If you want my help, you’ll also
want me to survive the next few days,” he observed. “I am going to return to
Ilin Illan, to fight alongside my friends. If there is any way you can help
me….”

Garadis laughed. “You always were
a canny negotiator."

He stepped forward, laying his
hand against Caeden’s forehead again.

A flood of warmth passed through
Caeden’s mind, sudden but not unpleasant, causing his knees to buckle. The
sensation passed quickly, though.

“You are already equipped to
fight,” said Garadis. “This knowledge will let you use Licanius for your
purpose - but know this too, Tal’kamar. What you are about to face is only the
first strike, the first few drops of a torrent. A storm." He bent down
slightly, so that his face was level with Caeden's. "The ilshara - what
you call the Boundary - is waning, and when it fails entirely, your friends
will lose. You cannot protect them forever.”

Then he straightened, gesturing
behind Caeden. The tunnel door ground open again. “Now, it is time for you to
go.”

Caeden hesitated. “How do I go
back?”

Garadis sighed. “To return to a
question I asked before. How did you get here?”

Caeden dug around in his pocket
and produced the small bronze box, handing it to Garadis.

Garadis just stared at it for a
long moment, stunned.

“You have audacity, Tal’kamar,”
he said softly. “I will grant you that.”

“You know how it works?”

Garadis gave a slow nod.
“Considering you stole it from me? Yes, I know how it works,” he said,
smouldering lip curling slightly. “To think, I didn’t even know it was gone.”

Caeden found himself reddening.
“I
don’t
know how it works,” he admitted in an embarrassed tone. “I...
just touched it, and it took me here.”

“That explains much,” said
Garadis, his tone dry. He sighed. “It is a Portal Box.
The
Portal Box.
It will take you to any destination you impart to it.” He turned it over in his
hands. “Each face has a destination; you need only direct Essence into this
character” – he pointed to a small symbol, which Caeden had previously noted as
appearing on every side - “ and depending on which face you activate, you will
be transported to its destination. It seems all six are already set; your
touching it triggered only one.”

Caeden’s heart sank. “Can it get
me back to Ilin Illan?”

“No,” said Garadis. He gave
Caeden a thoughtful look, then handed the Portal Box back with obvious
reluctance. “But it is of no advantage to me if I delay you.”

He made a sweeping motion with
his hands, and suddenly everything...
twisted
.

Caeden gaped as a darkened city
street appeared through a hole in the air. It was just like the stones Taeris
had used - except Garadis had done it unaided, as easily as breathing.

“Go,” said Garadis. “Do what you
must. But return within a year and a day with your solution, else you will lose
Licanius forever.”

Caeden nodded. “I will.”

Without hesitation, he stepped
through the shimmering portal and back onto the streets of Ilin Illan.

Ilin Illan burned.

The night was at its deepest now,
and the city below was lit only by naked, furious flames. Davian stared
despairingly at the scene from where he'd collapsed in exhaustion, a little way
behind the now dangerously thin front line of Andarran soldiers. Every street,
every building visible from his vantage point at the palace gates either glowed
a hot, angry red, or sat in equally ominous darkness.

He gasped for air and shook his
head, trying to clear it, trying to get his bearings. He, Wirr and Taeris had
made it back to the Shields from the Tol, but their time there had been
painfully short. Most of the city had been lost in that first, disastrous hour
after the Blind had found their way inside through Tol Athian; by the time
someone had figured out exactly where the breach was, the Lower and Middle
Districts were already ablaze.

After the Shields... a desperate
retreat, their only option to avoid being trapped in Fedris Idri. Chaos as the
Blind hit them from in front and behind, cutting through their lines, the
invaders' unnaturally fast blades slashing everywhere. Struggling onward to the
palace, the only defensible position left in the city, through a maelstrom of
panic and screaming and running and blood. 

And then this current, ominous,
near-unbearable silence that hung over the city like a shroud as the Blind
prepared their next assault. Probably their final one, Davian realised dully.
The Andarrans who had made it back to the palace had managed to regroup, to
form a defensible line, but the damage had been done.

They were going to lose.

The Blind had been clever, he
realised numbly. They'd known from the start that throwing more soldiers
against the Shields would have been a futile gesture; the narrow pass had meant
that the three hundred men they'd sent had been no less effective than ten
times that number. But it had been enough to keep the Andarran defences focused
around Fedris Idri, enough to be a threat. And combined with the Echoes, more
than enough to not seem like simply a diversion.

Davian shifted, trying not to let
his muscles get too stiff as he watched the ragged Andarran line, its members
peering nervously along the steadily darkening street. Red-cloaked Gifted stood
shoulder to shoulder with Shadows, Administrators and battered-looking soldiers
- a surreal sight even now, and one that only reinforced how desperate their
situation had become.

"Strange, isn't it,"
came a familiar voice from behind him.

Davian twisted to see Wirr, his
friend's gaze also on the odd mixture of defenders.

"Yes," said Davian
softly. "It really is."

There was silence for a few
moments, then Wirr gingerly lowered himself to the ground beside his friend.
"How are you holding up?"

Davian gave a soft laugh.
"About as well as you'd expect. Against that El-cursed armour, I've been
about as much use as the Gifted."

"That's not nothing,
Dav," said Wirr. "You've made a real difference, as have Tol Athian's
people. We'd have been overrun long ago if we hadn't changed the Tenets."

Davian nodded reluctantly, trying
not to show his frustration. Though Essence itself was useless against the
Blind's armour, the Gifted had adapted, wielding swords, spears, even stones
from a distance to deadly effect. The Blind's unnatural strength and speed had
minimized actual casualties, though. The presence of the Gifted had made the
invaders more cautious, made their losses heavier. But it had come too late.

"You're right... though I'm
not going to be able to even use Essence for much longer," he admitted
eventually. "I'm running out of sources." He gestured through the
gates to the palace gardens behind him; where a few hours ago there had been
lush green grass and flowering plants of all kinds, now there was only a
wasteland of black, crumbling dust.

Wirr just inclined his head,
looking more sad than worried. "Between healing and fighting, my Reserve's
almost dry too. I think nearly everyone is about empty, to be honest." He
glanced down the darkened street, towards the far end. "It won't be long
now," he concluded softly.

Davian followed his friend's
gaze. Ordered divisions of black-clad soldiers were lined up no more than five
hundred yards away - just out of range of the Andarran archers, and far enough
away that neither the Gifted nor the Shadows could attack with any efficacy.

Then, to the side, he spotted
another black-clad figure staring towards them. A deep hood concealed its face.

"So the sha'teth finally
showed up. Come to finish us off, I imagine," he muttered. They hadn't
seen the creatures in battle so far, but it looked like that was about to
change. Davian took a few deep, calming breaths, ignoring the acrid taste of
smoke at the back of his throat.

Without warning, a violent red
gash of light seemed to rip the air between the opposing forces.

Davian leaned back, shielding his
eyes from the blazing illumination. It faded almost as suddenly as it had
appeared; when his vision cleared, a lone figure stood in the gloom, halfway
between the Andarrans and the Blind.

Davian stared in shock.

“It's Caeden,” he said in
disbelief, pushing himself to his feet.

The street had fallen deathly
silent, neither side seeming to know what to make of this turn of events.
Caeden glanced around as if getting his bearings, his gaze sweeping across the
Andarran ranks. Then he turned calmly towards the Blind.

“What's he doing?” muttered
Davian, trying not to sound panicked. Caeden had touched the box... and now
here he was at the end, appearing as they teetered at the edge of defeat.
Ilseth's memory flashed through his thoughts.
It will ensure our victory
.

"Just wait, Dav,"
breathed Wirr, his tone suddenly hopeful. 

Caeden stared at the Blind in
silence, and with every passing moment Davian found himself more unsure of
their former companion's motives.

Finally, Caeden took a deep
breath.

“I give you this one chance,” he
shouted towards the black-armoured men, his words carrying clearly to the
Andarran line too, echoing through the street. “Leave now. Go back beyond the
Boundary.”

There was movement along the
front line of Blind soldiers, and a helmetless man stepped into view. Davian’s
eyes widened; he recognised the figure despite the distance.

“I am Andan Mash’aan, Slayer of
Lih’khaag, Second Sword of Danaris,” the man shouted back in a loud, confident
voice. His smile was mocking as he examined Caeden. “My people have waited two
thousand years for this moment. Who are you, boy, to dare ask them to give it
up – and with us on the cusp of a victory more complete than even the Protector
had hoped, no less? Understand this, child. We will drink your blood. We will
grind your bones to dust. We will carve our names -”

The man’s words cut off, and his
eyes widened. Caeden hadn’t moved, but the commander was sinking to his knees,
a look of confusion quickly replaced by sheer terror. After a moment, Davian
could see exactly what Caeden was doing - though how, while Mash’aan was
wearing that armour, he had no idea.

It was precisely what Davian
himself had done to Ionis earlier that day.

The Blind commander’s face began
to wither, his eyes becoming hollow, his skin creasing and then stripping away.
Suddenly Mash’aan’s armour seemed to burst into a thousand pieces, tiny black
discs skittering across the cobbled stone street, barely discernible in the
murk. The stark white of a skeleton was visible for a few moments before it too
disintegrated, crumbling to the ground in a fine white powder.

“I give you this one chance,”
repeated Caeden into the hush that followed.

Not a single Blind soldier moved.
Caeden watched them for a few seconds more, then his shoulders slumped.

“So be it,” he said, this time
only just loud enough to carry.

The sha’teth that Davian had
spotted earlier glided forward, its sinuous movements making it hard to follow
in the darkness. It said something that Davian could not hear, but Caeden
didn’t acknowledge the words. Instead, he drew the sword that was hanging at
his side.

Davian gaped. The blade seemed to
drink in what little light was in the street, bending shadows so that they
swirled around it, cloaking the steel from view. He felt the hairs on the back
of his neck stand up as primal energies around him began to shift and flicker.

The sha’teth faltered, then fled
as screams filled the air.

The first of the enemy troops
began to fall.

Some clutched their heads as they
slumped to the ground; others tore off their helmets or other parts of their
armour as if it were burning them. The smell of smoke was suddenly mixed with
something else, a pungent, sickly-sweet rotting odour that momentarily
threatened to relieve Davian of the contents of his stomach.

Davian’s stunned gaze made its
way back to Caeden, but the young man didn’t seem to be doing anything. He just
held the sword at his side, watching sadly as men continued to collapse. To
die. For the first time, the ranks of the Blind shuddered, men out of
formation, taking stuttering steps away from the horror before them.

A ragged cheer went up from the
Andarran line, but it soon died out. It felt wrong to celebrate in the face of
what they were watching. The multitude of Blind soldiers that had moments ago
been standing down the street now lay motionless, surrounded by thousands of
small black plates, the debris of their armour. Inky-red blood pooled around
their heads as it poured from their noses and mouths. Davian didn't need to be
any closer to know that they were dead.

Wirr ran his hands through his
hair as he stared at the scene. "We need to talk to Caeden. That may be
all of the Blind, but it's just as likely there are still others left in the
city," he said eventually.

Davian inclined his head; he was
already watching Caeden walking towards the Andarran lines, silhouetted against
the flames of the burning buildings beyond. The dazed Andarran forces parted
nervously as the young man approached, and a few of the soldiers pointed in
Wirr's direction when Caeden spoke to them.

Caeden gave a tired smile when he
spotted the two boys.

"I can't tell you how good
it is to see you both. You especially, Davian," he added with genuine
warmth as he walked up to them. His looked around, taking in the extent of the
devastation, and his tone sobered. "What of Aelric, Dezia and Taeris?
And... the princess?" he added after a moment, a little awkwardly.

“All alive - and that's mostly
thanks to you, Caeden," said Wirr. "We were moments from defeat when
you showed up.”

Davian nodded his silent
agreement. He still wanted answers from Caeden, but Wirr wasn't wrong.

Caeden looked relieved. "I'm
just sorry I couldn't get here sooner... or that I cannot stay longer." He
shook his head. "If what I've learned is true, this is merely the
beginning. The first strike. Devaed is gathering his forces, and you need to
prepare. All of you.” He drew something out of his pocket, staring at it
grimly. “As do I.”

Davian took an involuntary step
back as the detailed inscriptions on the bronze cube glittered red against the
distant light of still-raging fires. The box no longer glowed with the wolf
symbol, but that made Davian no less nervous.

“Wait, Caeden,” he said quickly.
“I Read Ilseth Tenvar earlier today, and... that Vessel is dangerous. It was
sent to you by the same man who ordered the deaths of everyone at my school;
from what he said, your using it is going to play straight into Devaed's hands.
If it hasn't already."

Caeden stared at him for a long
moment, puzzled, then slowly shook his head. “No. I don't know what you saw,
but this took me exactly where I needed to go. I wouldn't have been able to
help you here, to stop the Blind if I hadn't used it." He unconsciously
touched the sword at his hip. "Maybe I fooled whoever it was you saw into
sending it to me, somehow. But I do know that I
planned
to get this box
- and that I need to go wherever it takes me next. I
know
that's what
I'm supposed to do now, Davian. You have to trust me on this."

Davian scowled. "It's not a
case of trust, Caeden. You cannot just leave without giving us more reassurance
than that," he insisted. "Please. At least tell us where you've been,
where you got that sword. Help us to understand what's going on.”

Caeden shook his head. "Even
if
I
fully understood, there's no time." He cast a nervous glance
over towards a group of red-cloaked Gifted who were heading in their direction.
"I can't afford to be delayed here, either by the Athian Council or
Administration. I've been given a schedule, and I suspect the consequences of
not keeping it would be dire. For all of us." He looked Davian in the eye.
"I
am
sorry, Davian. This is just how it has to be."

Davian gritted his teeth. Caeden
was telling the truth.... but in that moment, it didn't matter. All of the frustration,
the gut-wrenching fear of the battle, the pain of the last few months hit
Davian as a raw wave of emotion. He couldn't just let Caeden go again and hope
for the best, not when he knew what the consequences might be.