The Shadow Of What Was Lost (9 page)

Anaar’s eyebrows lifted. “I don’t
think the Sahdrelac knows,” he said with amusement. He looked at Wirr
consideringly. “Breshada and her ilk don’t have much opposition here. Half of
Talmiel is full of Loyalists, the other half Administrators. It’s basically a
province of Desriel.”

Wirr scowled; that notion clearly
irked him. “And you? Why help us?” he asked in a low voice.

The man shrugged. “I’m a
businessman, and Administrators and Hunters are good enough to deal with when
they’re comfortable. A couple of Gifted caught trying to travel through their
city, though… and on the Night of the Ravens, no less… well, suddenly they are
less comfortable. Increased patrols and more questions in the days to come. Generally
bad for business, if you get my drift.” Anaar pushed his chair back, giving
them a brief nod. “Still, heed my warning or not. It’s your choice.”

“Wait.” Wirr wore a thoughtful
expression. “You seem like a man who… understands how things work around here.”
He bit at a fingernail. “How would one go about getting across the river -
quietly?”

Anaar paused in the act of
rising, then sat again with a frown. “
Into
Desriel? Without using the
bridge?” He stared at Wirr as if reevaluating him. “I can’t say as that’s a
request I’ve heard before.”

Wirr shrugged. “Is it possible?”

Anaar rubbed his beard
thoughtfully. “I can safely say that it
could
be done. It is a little
more expensive than using the bridge, though.”

Wirr dug into the pouch on his
belt, bringing out a couple of gold coins and surreptitiously showing them to
Anaar.

The dark-skinned man smiled,
revealing a row of perfect white teeth. “Perhaps I misspoke. A
lot
more
expensive than using the bridge.”

Sighing, Wirr fished a few more
coins out of the pouch. It was more than half of what they had left, enough to
feed and house a family for a year. Davian was about to protest, but a quick
glance from Wirr made him snap his mouth shut.

Finally Anaar nodded. He leaned
forward, keeping his voice low. “You have rooms here?”

Wirr hesitated. “Up the stairs,
third on the right.” He held up a hand. "Before we agree to anything,
though, I need your word that you'll not harm us or turn us in."

Anaar gave him a wide, vaguely
incredulous smile. "My word? If it will ease your mind, then you have
it," he said with a chuckle. "As I said, I'm a businessman. So long
as I get paid, you'll be in no danger from me."

Wirr glanced at Davian, who gave
him the slightest of nods in response. Anaar wasn't lying.

"Good enough," said
Wirr.

Anaar rubbed his chin, still
looking amused. “Go back to your rooms for now, and wait there for me until
later this evening. Do not leave for any reason, and do not open the door for
anyone except me. Be prepared to depart as soon as I arrive.” He plucked a
couple of the coins from Wirr’s palm. “I will collect the rest once you are in
Desriel,” he concluded.

Wirr inclined his head. “Agreed.”

Anaar rose and walked away
without another word.

Davian and Wirr sat in silence
for a few moments. Then Davian turned to his friend.

“What was that?”

Wirr stood, stretching. “He’s a
smuggler, Dav. ”

“I guessed as much,” said Davian
dryly. “But why are we trusting him?”

“Did he lie to us?”

Davian made a face. “No, but that
is hardly the same thing as being trustworthy. He could change his mind in the
next few hours, and we wouldn't know until the moment he's stabbed us in the
back.”

Wirr shook his head. “He already
knows what we are; if he’d been able to profit from turning us in to
Administration, he would have done so already. This way, he gets to keep the
streets of Talmiel quiet and earns some coin at the same time. We get into
Desriel. Everyone wins.” He paused, frowning as he considered the last part of
his statement. “Well. As far as these things go.”

“I think he saw the Vessel,” said
Davian, unable to keep the worry from his voice.

Wirr grimaced. “I wondered about
that too, given the timing, but what’s done is done. If he did see it, we can
only hope he doesn’t know what it is.”

They made their way back through
the common room. From the corner of his eye Davian could see the woman Anaar
had pointed out watching them thoughtfully, but she made no move to stop or
pursue them as they left.

He breathed a sigh of relief once
they were out of sight. She was so young, barely older than he and Wirr. Could
she
really
be a Hunter – someone who tracked and killed the Gifted for
profit?

“I haven't used Essence since we
left Caladel,” murmured Wirr, his thoughts obviously running along similar
lines. “And she never got close enough for skin contact. She can't have noticed
us with a Finder.”

That hadn’t occurred to Davian.
“Then how….”

“Exactly.”

They walked the rest of the way
to their room in uneasy silence, Wirr latching the door as soon as they were
inside.

Davian gathered his belongings –
which had barely been unpacked – and lay back on the bed, determined to get
some rest before they had to leave. He was uncomfortable placing so much trust
in Anaar, but he knew it was a chance they’d had to take. If the bridge was as
heavily guarded as Wirr seemed to think, the smuggler was probably their best
chance of getting across the border.

Still, he touched the Vessel in
his pocket again, unable to shake the impression that Anaar had seen it. He
could only hope the man hadn’t recognised it for what it was.

Suddenly remembering what had
happened in the common room, Davian took the Vessel out, removing its cloth and
studying it closely. The glow he’d seen earlier had vanished, and its metallic
surface wasn't even particularly warm any more.

“What are you looking for, Dav?”
asked Wirr.

Davian hesitated. “There was...
some kind of symbol on it, when I dropped it downstairs. A wolf, I think. You
didn't see it when you picked it up?”

Wirr shook his head.

Davian sighed but nodded, unsurprised.
"It's gone now, anyway." He stared at the cube intently for a few
more seconds, then wrapped it again and slipped it back into his pocket.

Wirr watched him with a worried
frown. "Let me know if it comes back," he said eventually.

Davian just inclined his head in
acknowledgement, and they lapsed into a companionable silence.

He puzzled over what he'd seen
for a few more minutes before deciding to put the issue from his mind, at least
for now. Worrying about it, or the impending journey into Desriel for that
matter, gained him nothing. He had to trust that Ilseth and the sig'nari had
known what they were doing when they'd sent him here.

He closed his eyes with a deep
sigh and settled down to wait.

Less than an hour had passed when
someone knocked at their door.

Wirr and Davian looked at each
other, expressions uncertain. “It’s hardly ‘late evening’,” said Wirr. He kept
his voice low, though whomever was outside was unlikely to be able to hear them
over the cheerful commotion of the crowd in the street.

“Maybe he had to come early,”
said Davian, his words lacking conviction.

The knock came again, this time
more insistent. “Open up. Anaar sent us,” a voice called quietly from the other
side.

Wirr hesitated. “He said not to
open the door for anyone but him,” he called back.

“Plan’s changed,” came the voice
again, soft but urgent. “A Hunter got wind of what was happening.”

Davian ran his hands through his
hair, wavering. Finally he nodded to Wirr. “It’s a risk either way. And if
they’re here to turn us in, they’ll just end up breaking down the door anyway.”

Wirr grimaced. “True.” He
unlocked the door, opening it to admit two rough-looking men. One was thin with
long, stringy hair and a moustache, while the other was square-faced and almost
bald. They bustled in, looking around before turning their attention back to
the boys.

“You ready to go?” the
long-haired man asked.

Davian and Wirr both nodded,
watching the men closely. The balding man stared back at them for a second,
then gave a curt gesture towards the hallway. Relaxing a little, Davian grabbed
his pack and headed towards the door.

Suddenly Wirr gave a startled
shout; before Davian could turn his left arm was being twisted behind him and
had something hard touched to it. The Shackle was sealed before he realised
what was happening.

Davian spun, only to be met with
a fist crashing into his nose. He collapsed, too stunned to cry out in pain.
Dazed, he saw Wirr on the floor further back in the room, holding the side of
his head where he had evidently been punched. The cold black of a Shackle
glinted on his arm, too.

“Bleeders,” spat one of the men.
“You’d think they’d be smart enough not to come here any more.”

Davian tried to get to his feet,
only to have a heavy boot crash down between his shoulder blades, pressing him
back to the hard wooden floor.

“More gold for us, Ren,” said the
long-haired man cheerfully. “We don’t even need to split the profits with
Quendis this time. No cloaks and no Shackles, so they’re runaways. Sharenne will
take them off our hands direct.”

Rough hands searched Davian for
any hidden weapons, after which he was hauled to his feet and his wrists bound.
He shook his head to try and clear it, wincing as he wrinkled his nose. He
didn’t think it was broken, but there was definitely blood trickling from his
nostrils. He glanced dazedly across at Wirr, who looked like he was having
trouble focusing. Whether it was from the blow to the head or the effects of
the Shackle, Davian wasn’t sure.

Suddenly there was movement at
the door, and Davian turned to see the young woman from the common room
standing there, watching what was happening with an odd expression on her face.
She looked... regretful. Almost sad.

The long-haired man grinned at
her. “Sorry Breshada, not this time. These ones are ours,” he said, tone
cheerful. “Saw you had your eye on them downstairs. I’m surprised you didn’t
move sooner.” He spoke casually, as if to an old acquaintance.

Breshada grimaced, her
waist-length blonde hair swinging from side to side. She gazed at Wirr and
Davian for a long moment, then turned her attention to the other two men.
“Renmar. Gawn. Please know that I am truly sorry it was you.” She took a couple
of steps inside the room, flicking the door shut behind her with her heel.

Both men froze. “What are you
doing?” asked the one called Renmar, a confused look spreading across his face.

Features set in a grim
expression, Breshada reached over her shoulder, drawing her longsword. It
gleamed darkly in the candlelight, and suddenly the room seemed… quieter, as if
the sound from outside was now coming from far away. An odd sensation ran
through Davian as he watched the blade; there was something not quite right
about the sword, but he couldn’t put his finger on exactly what.

Rasping steel filled the sudden
silence as Renmar and Gawn drew their own swords. “Breshada,” said Gawn, tone a
mixture of fear, warning and query. “We got them first, fair and square. I
don’t understand why you’re doing this.”

“I know,” said Breshada softly.

It was over in seconds. Breshada
was quick and elegant despite the size of her sword and the confined space;
even with Renmar and Gawn trying to use the boys as shields, they stood no
chance. There were no cries of pain, no lingering deaths. When Breshada’s sword
touched their flesh, they simply crumpled to the ground, eyes glassy. Davian
and Wirr just watched in mute, horrified shock.

Once Gawn’s lifeless form had
joined Renmar’s on the floor, Breshada stood for a moment in front of the boys,
examining them through narrowed eyes. She was barely breathing hard, though the
exertion had brought a slight flush to her cheeks.

She shook her head. “I don’t see
it,” she muttered, disgust thick in her voice. She grabbed Davian by the
shoulder; at first he was sure she was going to strike him, but instead she
simply steadied him before slicing through the cords binding his hands. Then
she did the same for Wirr.

Davian felt a loosening around
his arm, and suddenly his Shackle was clattering to the floor. A few moments
later, Wirr’s was doing the same. Davian stared at the open metal torcs in
confusion.

“Death breaks the Contract,” an
impatient-sounding Breshada said by way of explanation, seeing Davian’s
expression. She looked at them warily. “Do not attack me. And do not use your
powers, else there will be an army of Administrators here within minutes. My
saving you will have been for naught.”

Wirr inclined his head. “I wasn’t
going to,” he said cautiously. “And thank-you.”

Breshada scowled, and Wirr and
Davian both took an involuntary step back. The look of hatred and disgust that
suddenly raged in her eyes was unmistakable. “Do not
thank
me,” she
hissed. “I have killed my brethren here to save your worthless lives. Two
skilled Hunters for two stupid
gaa’vesh
. Tell Tal’kamar that the debt is
repaid, a thousand times over.” She paused, looking like she was going to be
sick. “If I see you again, I
will
kill you.” She spun, flung open the
door and stormed out of the room, not looking back.

Wirr moved slowly over to the
door, shutting it again. He looked at Davian with a dazed expression. “Are you
okay?”

“I’ll live,” Davian said shakily.
“You?” He rubbed his wrists to restore the circulation, then grabbed a cloth,
dabbing at his nose and grimacing when the material came away soaked a dark
red.

“The same.” Wirr touched his head
where he’d been struck, looking pale, though he seemed to be suffering no
serious ill effects from the blow. “I wonder what that was about.”

Davian stared at the door. “A
Hunter
saving
Gifted. That must be a first.”

“Not that she was particularly
happy about it,” pointed out Wirr. He paused. “And who in fates is Tal’kamar?”

Davian shook his head, grunting
as it exacerbated the pounding inside his skull. “No idea. But I think we owe
him a drink if we ever meet him.”

“I won’t argue with that.” Wirr
glanced down at the two corpses lying on their floor, his brief smile fading
and tone sobering, as if what had just transpired was finally sinking in. “I
won’t argue that at all.”

***

A soft knock at the door made Davian
start fully awake.

He hadn’t really been asleep but
rather lying drowsily, his concerns mixing together in his head to create a
disquieting sense of unease. He sat bolt upright and took a quick glance out
the window. It was late night; there was still noise from outside, but less
than there had been earlier. The blue lanterns had burned down to a dull glow,
and the streets looked almost empty.

Wirr was moving before Davian
could stand, cocking his head as he listened for anything suspicious outside the
door. “Who is it?”

“Anaar,” came the reply. The
smuggler’s gravelly voice was unmistakable.

Wirr unlatched the door, opening
it a crack and peering through before swinging it wide. Anaar and an
impressively muscular man stood in the hallway, both looking as calm as if they
were about to retire for the evening. Anaar’s eyes widened when he looked
through the doorway and took in the corpses lying on the floor, though. He
examined the boys’ faces, taking particular note of Davian’s bloodied nose.

“Trouble?” he asked.

Wirr looked the smuggler in the
eye. “Nothing we couldn’t handle.”

Anaar nodded, his expression
thoughtful, gazing at the two boys with a touch more respect than previously.
Then he gestured towards the hallway; Davian leapt to his feet, stomach
fluttering as he snatched up his small bag and followed Wirr out of the room.

Nothing was said as they left the
inn and walked through the streets of Talmiel, steering clear of the remaining
revellers, most of whom were convincingly drunk by this stage of the night.
They followed what seemed to be a circuitous route; after ten minutes of
walking without incident, Davian realised that Anaar must have known the
Administrators’ scheduled patrols and had been deftly avoiding them.

Soon they were out of the town
and into the nearby forest that lined the Devliss, gradually leaving the sounds
of the festival behind. Still no-one spoke. There was little light beneath the
trees, but the almost-full moon provided enough illumination to navigate. They
walked at a brisk pace for another twenty minutes before Anaar held up a hand,
bringing them to a halt.

“Just through here,” he said
softly, indicating an almost indistinguishable break in the thick shrubbery.

They pushed through what appeared
to be an impenetrable wall of foliage; suddenly Davian found himself stumbling
onto the beach of a tiny natural cove, protected on all sides by either stone
or forest. The Devliss rushed past just beyond the mouth of the inlet,
quicksilver in the moonlight. The water was moving uncomfortably fast, but it
at least appeared smooth here, with no jagged rocks to create the white-tipped
rapids for which the river was famous.

A little way down the beach was a
small boat, pulled out of the reach of the water. Davian stared at it
dubiously. He’d never been in a boat before, but this one looked small to be
making such a dangerous crossing; it would barely fit all four of them,
particularly as Anaar’s companion counted for almost two.

Anaar saw Davian's expression and
grinned, slapping him on the back. “It’s perfectly safe, my friend. Not
comfortable, perhaps, but it will get the job done.”

Wirr examined the boat with a
concerned look. “Surely it will just be swept away by the current?”

Anaar shook his head. “That’s why
I brought Olsar along,” he said, gesturing at the burly man who was now
dragging the boat towards the water. “With the two of us rowing, we can make it
to the other side without any problems.”

“We’ll have to take your word on
that,” said Wirr, nervousness making his tone strained.

“Indeed,” said Anaar absently,
his attention focused across the Devliss. Water stretched almost as far as the
eye could see, but as Davian followed the smuggler’s gaze a darker mound
resolved itself on the horizon, barely visible in the darkness. Suddenly a tiny
orange light, little more than a dot, bobbed into view. Soon it was joined by
several more, all in a line.

“Patrol,” Anaar explained to Wirr
and Davian, not taking his eyes from the lights. “They pass by every few hours.
It takes close to an hour to reach the other side, which gives you a little
more than two to get well clear of the border.” He nodded to Olsar as the
lights winked out again, the distant patrol moving on. The large man gave the
boat a final shove, leaving it bobbing in the river. “No talking once we’re
away – sounds carry over the water, especially at night. Once we touch the
shore, you pay your fee and we have nothing more to do with one another. If
you're caught, you never met me. Understood?”

Davian and Wirr both nodded
mutely. Anaar gestured for them to get into the boat, then hesitated.

“One more thing,” he said. “Every
border soldier in Desriel has a Finder, so if you use your powers to so much as
blow your nose once you’re over there, they’ll know. And believe me, once they
know, they won’t stop hunting you until you’re dead.” He gave them a serious
look. “Which would be terribly inconvenient if Olsar and myself were still
nearby. So I want your word – nothing until at least an hour after we’ve parted
ways. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” said Wirr, sticking out
his hand. Anaar shook it, then offered his hand to Davian, who grasped it
firmly.

As he did, Anaar’s eyes strayed
downward, towards Davian’s pocket.