The Shadow Of What Was Lost

Chapter 7

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.

Davian stiffened. The other man knew.

A flash of anxiety ran through him, followed by… something else. A surge, rippling through his body and coalescing in his palm before draining away – straight into Anaar. Davian pulled his hand back sharply, fingertips tingling.

Anaar gave him a confused look, then shook his head as if to clear it. The smuggler turned away, and Davian released a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. Whatever had just happened – if something had just happened, and it hadn’t been Davian’s imagination – Anaar was unaware of it.

Soon they were in the tiny craft, Anaar and Olsar pulling with long, practiced strokes towards the opposite shore. Davian’s fears of the vessel being taken by the currents proved unfounded. Both smugglers rowed with power and precision as they angled against the flow of the river, their progress gradual but steady. For a while Davian wondered if they would be able to keep up such a hard pace, but eventually he began to relax. Neither man seemed close to tiring.

The shore on the Desriel side of the river grew slowly larger. The only sounds were the slight splashes of oars dipping beneath the Devliss’ surface, the gentle creaking of the timbers, and the occasional waterfowl warbling softly into the night.

Davian felt every muscle tense as individual trees resolved themselves out of the shadowy mass ahead. Whatever the danger had been over the past three weeks, the moment they stepped onto that shore it would be increased tenfold.

The boat finally ground into the soft, muddy bank; Olsar slipped out, barely making a splash, and dragged the craft out of the water with the others still sitting in it. Davian marvelled at the man’s strength. Anaar was at least short of breath from the constant rowing, but Olsar was to all appearances unaffected.

Unlike the sand of the Andarran shore, there was only a muddy embankment where they had landed. Wincing as his feet sank into the soft mud – the shoes he wore were his only pair – Davian scrambled up the riverbank and into the long grass, exchanging relieved glances with Wirr. It seemed that their arrival had gone undetected.

Anaar soon joined them. He stood for a few seconds, listening to the sounds of the forest. Apparently satisfied, he put his fingers to his mouth and gave a low, musical whistle.

Shadows stirred from deeper in the trees and two burly men emerged from the darkness, silently taking up positions behind the boys, their swords held at the ready.

Davian’s stomach twisted as he realised they had been betrayed.

“What is this?” hissed Wirr, rounding on Anaar.

“Business,” replied Anaar, spreading his hands apologetically. “I am in a position to renegotiate our deal, and as such, I have decided that the price is a little higher than was originally discussed.”

There was a long silence. “You mean all of it,” said Wirr eventually, resignation in his tone.

“I am afraid so,” said Anaar with a nod. He held up a cautionary finger. “And I know the First Tenet means you cannot hurt us, but please also remember what I said about the soldiers around here. They are very enthusiastic about their work. Try and escape us using your powers, and you will bring down a hundred times worse on your heads. You doubtless feel like you are getting the raw end of this bargain, but I am sure a few extra coins are not worth your lives.”

Davian scowled at the smuggler. “How do we know you won’t just kill us once you have the gold?” he asked, trying to keep his voice low.

Anaar smiled. “I did give you my word. Besides, if that were my intention, would I not just kill you and take the gold from your bodies? No,” he chided. “Too much mess to clean up. My men will take your payment by force if need be – but if you cooperate, you have my word that there will be no violence.”

Davian considered Anaar for a moment. The man wasn’t lying, exactly, and yet… something didn’t ring true.

“But you don’t want us to use Essence, either,” he said slowly. “If we do, it won’t give you enough time to get out of crossbow range before the patrol gets here. That’s why you haven’t tried to kill us. It isn’t worth the risk of our retaliating.”

Anaar shook his head, still relaxed. “Nonsense. Even if the patrol runs here, we have plenty of time to get away.”

Again Anaar was telling the truth and yet Davian saw the man standing behind Wirr shift, looking uneasy. It was all the encouragement he needed.

Taking a deep breath he ploughed on, ignoring Wirr’s warning glance. “But you won’t have time to cover your tracks. This has to be the only place to cross the Devliss by boat in, what… a hundred miles?” He crossed his arms. “The Gil’shar are obviously already aware it’s possible, seeing as they have a patrol passing so close by. If they found any sign the crossing was being used – especially if they thought Gifted were using it – well, I imagine that would make undertaking your business far more difficult. Impossible, one might say.”

Anaar’s face darkened. “Use Essence, and I will kill you,” he promised.

“Try to kill us, and we’ll use Essence,” responded Davian. “Look, we’re going to need to eat. Just let us keep a few of the coins. It’s not worth risking the profits of your entire operation here, is it?”

Anaar stared at Davian stonily for a few moments, then barked a low laugh.

“Clever boy,” he murmured, a touch of reluctant admiration in his voice. “You have nerve, I will give you that. Very well. Take three coins for yourself, then toss me the rest.”

Davian nodded; he wasn’t willing to push the issue further. He drew the small leather pouch from his pocket, drew three coins out, and tossed it to Anaar. The smuggler caught it neatly, opening it to look inside. There were a tense few moments as he examined the contents, and Davian felt sure he was about to ask for the bronze box as well.

Then Anaar drew the strings on the pouch, giving a satisfied nod. “It seems our business here is complete.”

The smuggler gave an absent wave to the two men behind Wirr and Davian, who moved towards the boat without a word. One of them was carrying a crate of something heavy, which he placed gently in the stern – no doubt whatever goods Anaar was illegally transporting back to Andarra – and soon they were dragging the boat back into the water.

Anaar hesitated as the boat bobbed away, then dug into the pouch he’d taken and flicked another coin towards them. Davian caught it before it disappeared into the long grass. It was gold.

He stared at the coin in surprise, then looked up at the smuggler again. Anaar gave him a brief, impish grin, then turned back to face the Andarran shore before Davian could respond.

“That was quick thinking, Dav,” Wirr said after a few seconds, watching the boat pull away from the shore. “Risky, but quick.”

“Thanks.” Davian exhaled heavily, finally feeling able to breathe again.

“We should get moving. The further we get from here in the next hour or two, the better.”

“Agreed.”

Wirr turned and headed into the forest, Davian trailing after him. In seconds the thick foliage had hidden the boat, river, and distant shore of Andarra from view.

They walked as fast as they dared, careful not to leave too obvious a trail behind them. It was unlikely a Desrielite patrol would notice their passing, but there was no reason to take the chance.

They moved with silent determination for the first hour or so, neither willing to make more sound than the snapping of twigs and rustling of leaves underfoot, which alone seemed thunderous in the hush of the night. After a while Wirr slowed to a stop in a copse of tall trees, looked around cautiously and then indicated a fallen log.

“We should rest,” he said, a little out of breath.

Davian nodded his acquiescence; he was not as fit as Wirr, and was feeling the fast pace. Wirr was doubtless tapping his Reserve for extra energy, too. His friend had assured him that it was safe to do so – that so long as the Essence remained within his own body, it could not be detected by Finders. More than ever, Davian hoped Wirr knew what he was talking about.

Wirr sat on the log, then began unlacing his boot.

“What are you doing?” asked Davian, sitting beside him.

Wirr upended the boot, holding out his hand. There was a jingling sound, and then five silver coins slid into his palm, glinting in the moonlight.

Davian stared at them for a few moments. “You thought something like this might happen,” he said eventually, not knowing whether to be impressed or irritated.

Wirr shrugged. “He was a smuggler, Dav. Not exactly an honest line of work.” He sighed. “Part of me wishes I’d taken gold instead of silver, but there would have been trouble if the purse had been too light. At least between the two of us, we’ve saved enough to keep us going for now.”

They sat in contemplative silence for a time. “It looks like he didn’t know about the Vessel after all,” Wirr remarked suddenly.

“Maybe.” Davian wasn’t convinced. He’d had a chance to think during their walk through the forest – to ponder that moment on the Andarran shore of the Devliss, when he had shaken hands with Anaar. He hadn’t imagined that fleeting look the smuggler had cast towards his pocket.

Wirr picked up on his doubt. “He wouldn’t have left it with us if he’d known,” he said. “It’s probably worth ten times what he took. I think he would have risked killing us for it, to be honest.”

Davian hesitated. “On the beach, just before we cast off. I think, maybe….” He shook his head. “I don’t know. I think I did something to him. Maybe made him forget, somehow.”

Wirr raised an eyebrow. “I see.” From his tone, he clearly didn’t.

Davian scrunched up his face, trying to think of how best to explain. “It felt a little like when I see someone lying.”

Wirr frowned, looking only a little less cynical. “I imagine it’s possible,” he said after a while. “The Augurs were supposed to be able to do all sorts of things. But if you’re not sure that’s what happened… well, I wouldn’t get too excited about it.” He clapped Davian on the back.

Davian nodded, letting the matter drop. Wirr was probably right. Still… something had happened. He was sure of it.

After a few minutes they stood, brushing away the scraps of bark that still clung to their clothing.

Without further conversation, they continued northward into Desriel.