The Shadow Of What Was Lost

Chapter 45

Davian lay on the bed, opening the book he had taken from the Great Library and flipping through to where he’d left off, rescanning the pages as he went for any clue as to why the Adviser had picked it out.

He was almost to the end of the thick tome, and thus far, the book had been exactly what it seemed - a collection of old fables, interesting enough but meaningless as far as he could tell. A few pages in tonight, though, a small picture at the beginning of one of the stories caught his eye. Frowning, he studied it carefully.

The image was of a soldier. Whereas most of the other drawings he’d seen in the book were rudimentary, even fanciful, this one was detailed, as if the soldier had actually posed for the picture. The man’s armour was shaded so that it had a dark aspect to it, but the headpiece was what caught Davian’s eye. There were no gaps for eyes, and over the face, a sole symbol was inscribed. Three ‘S’ lines, drawn vertically, and circled.

The same symbol he’d seen in his vision.

Hands shaking slightly, he moved on to what was written beneath.

Hail, king of traitors!

We who knew you mourn what was lost.

Only a shadow remains:

A whisper where once a shout,

A pond where once an ocean,

A flickering candle where once the sun itself.

Hail, king of corruption!

We who serve you despair for what is to come.

You will break the Oath,

You will shatter the Path,

You will sing the Song of Days as a dirge.

Your people will weep tears of ice and blood

And only the fallen will know peace.

He flipped slowly to the beginning of the story and began to read.

The Impossible Tasks of Alarais Shar

(Translated from the original High Darecian)

In the Shining Lands, the immortal king Alarais Shar once reigned.

He was known as one of the great kings; perhaps the great king. He forged a treaty with the vicious northern Qui’tir. He led the final battle against the Darklands and was victorious, sealing their domain away from the mortal world forever. He was wise in his rulings, swift and decisive in dispensing justice, and beloved by his people.

Much was his immortality discussed. Steel could not pierce his skin; fire did not burn him and his bones did not break. No-one knew the source of his longevity, but of all the mages in the Shining Lands, he was the most powerful.

One day Alarais heard of a new power rising to the east, a king who had united the lands of Kal and Derethmar. He determined to seek out this new king. He hoped to discover an ally, but the reports he had heard of the new king’s victories disturbed him greatly, and so he held out little hope.

He rode for many miles and eventually came to the great city of Kyste. Once beautiful and proud, the buildings now lay mostly in ruins, and the people stared blankly at Alarais as he rode by, their clothes little more than rags, their stomachs distended by lack of food. The dead lay in the street next to piles of refuse. Though they had been the Shining Lands' sworn enemies, Alarais wept when he saw what had befallen Kal’s people.

By the time he reached the palace itself, Alarais was filled with a burning anger. His eyes blazed with righteous fury as he was led before the man who had conquered Kal, and who now did so little for its people.

The man on the throne of Kal was not what Alarais had expected. As a man, he was impressive. Tall, strong and handsome, the new king looked every inch a warrior, a hero. But as Alarais looked at him, he seemed to shimmer, to pulse and fade with a strange, otherworldly energy. He seemed more an ethereal being, an apparition rather than a mortal.

Still, Alarais was unafraid, and what he had seen in the city was still fresh in his mind. He stood before the throne proudly, waiting for the king to address him, as was proper. But the shimmering man simply watched him, until Alarais could take the silence no longer.

“I am Alarais Shar, King of the Shining Lands.” He paused, but the man on the throne said nothing. “I had come to see if a bond of friendship could be forged between our lands. But I have seen the state of Kyste. I have seen her people’s suffering, and cannot fathom the reason for it. Why do you not help them?”

Still there was silence. Just when Alarais had determined to leave and return home, the shimmering man spoke. “I am Ghash, Seer of the White Temple, Herald of Shammaeloth. The ones of which you speak are beyond saving. This I have Seen.”

“How can you say this?” cried Alarais in frustration.

“I have Seen the destruction of those who still live here,” replied Ghash. “I have Seen what is to come. To help them now would be wasteful.”

Alarais did not understand. “If you see their destruction, then why not save them?”

“Because what has been Seen cannot be undone. No efforts of yours or mine can change their fate.”

“I cannot accept that,” said Alarais stubbornly.

“And yet you must,” said Ghash, “ for I have long known your fate too, Alarais Shar. The Shining Lands will fall, and you will come to serve me willingly. Together we are to conquer the world.”

Alarais laughed, and Ghash saw that he would not easily be convinced. “Allow me to prove what I say,” he said. “I will set you three tasks. If you can complete any of the three, I will withdraw from these lands. If you cannot fulfil even one, though, you will serve me, and the Shining Lands shall be mine.”

Alarais replied, “I cannot accept this challenge without first knowing what tasks you will set.”

Ghash nodded. “So be it,” he said. “Hear the tasks I would give you: first, to find a subject worthy of your kingship; second, to find a man worthy of your friendship; and third, to find a woman worthy of your love.”

Alarais laughed. “These are weighty tasks indeed, mighty Ghash. How long might you wait for me to complete them?”

Ghash smiled. “I am like you, Alarais - untouched by time. Search for however long you need. I know you to be a man of honour. Once you know a task to be impossible, you will tell me. Until then, I will not move against your realm.” He paused. “I ask only that you speak of your quest to no-one, including those whom you bring here. Should you do this, I will know, and will consider all three tasks to have been failed.”

Alarais thought for a long time, but could not see any reason to refuse. “I accept,” he said.

They bound the bargain in blood, and it was witnessed by Ghash’s court under the Old Law.

Wasting no time, and confident of his success, Alarais returned to the Shining Lands full of hope. Many years passed, and Alarais finally found a man he thought more worthy a subject than any he had seen before: a warrior named Jadlis, fiercely loyal and brave. Alarais travelled with Jadlis back to Kyste, coming before Ghash, his spirits high.

“Mighty Ghash,” he said, “I have successfully completed your first task. This man is named Jadlis. His skill is immense. His bravery is unquestionable. His loyalty is fierce and endless. He is a subject most worthy of my kingship.”

Ghash examined Jadlis silently for some time, and Alarais' confidence grew within him. Then Ghash spoke.

“As king,” he said to Alarais, “Would you be willing to die for your people?”

“Of course,” replied Alarais. “As any good king would.”

“Then your subjects should be willing to die for you, also.”

Alarais hesitated. “Yes,” he replied grimly.

Ghash turned to Jadlis. “You would die for your king?”

“I would,” replied Jadlis proudly.

“And if he commanded you to die here and now?”

“Still.” Jadlis was unmoved.

“Why?”

“For the love of my king. My country.”

Ghash shook his head. “No. You would because the readiness to do so brings you glory - respect in the eyes of your friends, your fellow soldiers, even your king. To be unwilling to die would be traitorous, cowardly. You are willing to die, but you do not want to die. It is simply preferable to the shame. You would die because there is not a better choice.”

“That is not true,” said Jadlis stoically.

“But it is!” cried Ghash. “Yet what if I told you there was a better way? A choice, where you earned respect rather than shame for living?”

Jadlis frowned. “If it is better for my king that I die, then there is always shame in living.”

Ghash smiled slyly. “Very well; here is my offer, Jadlis. Your king has been given a task. It matters not if you do not complete this task for him, for he may try again. To fulfil this task, though, he will ask you to sacrifice your own life.”

“Then I will!” cried Jadlis.

Ghash held up his hand. “But what care has the king if he commands you to do this? Should he not love you as a subject, seek to keep you from harm if there is a better way? True - if you obey, then your king will have succeeded, and you will have died with honour.” He paused. “But if you refuse his command, I will give to you these lands. I will make you king in your own right. Your wife will be your queen, your children your heirs. You can make peace with the Shining Lands, which I wish only to destroy. Men will honour you for your life, not your death.” Ghash placed a hand on Jadlis’ shoulder. “You fight to uphold the ideals of your king, and that is a fine lot. But you could be so much more. Do so much more. Your king chose you because of your worthiness, your honour. That is how I know there would be no better man as king of this realm.”

Then Ghash turned to Alarais. “Now, he knows what is at stake. Command him to kill himself.”

Alarais shook his head. “I will not.”

Ghash frowned. “There is no other way to fulfil this task. You are willing to make the ultimate sacrifice for your subjects. One worthy of your kingship must be willing to do the same.”

Alarais’ heart was heavy now, but he knew Ghash spoke truly. “Jadlis,” he said quietly. “You are a true and loyal subject. I would ask that you take your life for this cause, for the sake of your king and the Shining Lands.”

Jadlis thought for a long time, then shook his head. “I am sorry, my king, but he is right. I can do more for the Shining Lands by living,” he said to Alarais. Then he turned to Ghash. “I accept your offer.”

At those words he fell dead to the floor.

“The first task is failed,” intoned Ghash. “The most loyal of your subjects refused your command, and so was unworthy of your kingship.”

Alarais left without a word, disappointment and sorrow mixing a bitter taste in his mouth.

A hundred years passed, and eventually the pain of Alarais’ first defeat faded. He met a young man named Diadan, a noble of the Shining Lands who came into his inheritance early through tragic circumstances. With no family, Diadan had come to Alarais for advice on how to manage his affairs.

Alarais was first a mentor to Diadan, then after a few years, a true friend. Despite Alarais’ many years his body had never aged, so he rarely found someone young enough to stay with him on the hunt and in duelling, but intelligent and wise enough to hold his interest in conversation. Yet Diadan excelled in all these areas, and proved himself many times over to be a loyal and trustworthy friend, never seeking to betray Alarais’ trust for his own ends. Alarais presided at Diadan’s wedding, and Diadan became the king’s right hand.

Time passed. After thirty years of unwavering friendship, Alarais decided that Diadan was the man to fulfil the second task. The two men journeyed to Kyste and came before Ghash.

“Mighty Ghash,” said Alarais, “I bring before you a man with whom I have a bond stronger than stone. A man to whom I would entrust my life, and whom I know would do the same to me. A man my equal in honour, in courage. My friend. This is Diadan.”

Ghash considered Diadan silently. “This is the one you would put forward to fulfil your second task?”

“Yes,” replied Alarais.

Ghash turned to Diadan. “Your friendship with Alarais is strong.”

Diadan nodded. “He is my brother in all but blood.”

“And yet,” pointed out Ghash, “ not by blood. He ages not. You do.”

“That is true,” acceded Diadan. “I cannot keep pace with him as once I did. But that is our lot. I no more resent him his eternal youth than he resents me my looks.” He gave Alarais a grin.

“I speak not of resentment,” said Ghash softly. “I speak of something a man, any man, may wish for. The chance to be young again, to be forever in the prime of his life. To attain knowledge and wisdom but never have his body fail. To have the vitality and strength that an aging body can never summon. If I offered you this gift, freely and without condition, would you take it?”

Diadan did not pause. “I would,” he said.

Ghash nodded, then turned to Alarais. “I know your heart, Alarais. Advise him as a friend, and see if he trusts you as a friend.”

Alarais groaned inwardly. Long had Diadan yearned for just this thing, and many times they had talked of what it meant. It was, perhaps, the one thing they had never truly agreed on. “Diadan, my friend,” Alarais said earnestly, “ we have often talked of my long youth. You know the pain it has wrought me. I see those I love wither and die; you would see the same for your wife Siana, your children, your grandchildren. There are some pains and failures I still remember from a thousand years ago, clear as if they were yesterday. I beg of you, though I know your heart and how tempting it must be. Do not accept this gift.”

Diadan heard the words of his friend, yet as before, they made little sense to him. “But Alarais, think of it! We could ride as when I was young. We could adventure together once again. The deaths of those I love would hurt, yet we would still have the chance to spend the entire span of their lives together. That alone is worth the price!”

Alarais saw which way his friend was deciding, and thought to warn him. He made to cry out, but Ghash raised his hand, and all words fled from Alarais' lips.

Diadan turned to Ghash, his face glowing with excitement. “I accept your offer,” he said.

At those words he fell dead to the floor.

“The second task is failed,” intoned Ghash. “The greatest of your friends refused your advice, and so was unworthy of your friendship.”

Alarais dropped to his knees and wept for his dead friend. Then he left Kyste without saying another word, the burden on his heart almost too heavy to bear.

For generations, Alarais mourned the death of his friend. The final task weighed on him, and yet he knew that Ghash would know if he simply stopped trying to fulfil it. So he searched, but was never satisfied. A thousand beautiful, intelligent, interesting, honourable women passed through his court each year, but he found none of them more special than the others. The price of immortality on love was too high, the pain too great. Only for a great love would he take such a risk. Alarais had never wed for exactly this reason.

Five hundred years passed, and Alarais met Teravia, the Shard Princess. Few women Alarais had ever seen could match her beauty, and yet it was her wit that drew him to her, and her warmth and kindness that slowly turned his heart. She was wise with the purity of innocence, witty but never mean-spirited, charming but never ingratiating. And beyond all that, above all, she loved Alarais. Not just as a powerful king, an honourable warrior, an intelligent strategist. She loved him as a man, with all his faults and failings. And he loved her in return.

Their wedding was celebrated throughout all the Shining Lands.

Their marriage was the stuff of legend. Teravia was beloved by the people of the Shining Lands; as queen she was as wise as her husband, and a time of unprecedented peace lay across the realm. Alarais had never been happier than when he was with Teravia.

It was a great love, a true love, and yet Alarais did not tell Teravia about the third task. He did not ask her to accompany him to Kyste to see Ghash. Diadan’s death - and Jadlis’ before him - still weighed on his mind, and the thought of losing Teravia was more than he could bear. And so he waited, telling himself each year that he would try the next.

Sixty years passed, and Teravia became gravely ill. The country ground to a halt as word spread of the queen’s sickness, with every man, woman and child hoping against hope that she would be miraculously healed.

Her time drawing to a close, Teravia met with her friends, then her children, to bid them farewell. Finally all that was left was Alarais, who knelt by her bed holding her hand. Even aged, even on her deathbed, she was beautiful.

Teravia smiled when she saw him. “Husband,” she whispered, “why do you look so sad?”

And so he told her. About Ghash and the three tasks. About Diadan and his failure. As Alarais spoke, Teravia’s smile turned to a look of pain and sorrow.

“Why did you not take me to see Ghash, all these years?” she asked. “Do you not think our love is true?”

“Our love is more than true. It is a great love,” said Alarais, tears in his eyes. “But I was afraid. Afraid of losing you before your time, as I lost my friend Diadan.” He closed his eyes. “This burden, I could not have borne.”

Teravia looked on her husband sadly, squeezing his hand. “You should have trusted me,” she whispered. “I would not have failed you, my love.”

Her grip loosened and her gaze faded. With those words, Teravia, Last Queen of the Shining Lands, passed on.

Alarais looked on her and wept bitter tears, for he knew in his selfishness he had not only lost his chance to prove Ghash wrong, but left Teravia believing she had not had his trust.

When his eyes cleared, he was before Ghash in Kyste once again. How he came to be there, he did not know.

“You have broken our agreement, Alarais. You spoke of our accord to another.”

Alarais nodded. “I did.”

Ghash leaned back. “Yet she is dead. I will overlook your mistake, should you wish it.”

Alarais shook his head. “I finally found a woman worthy of my love,” he said softly, “ only to discover I was not worthy of hers.” He straightened. “I concede to you, mighty Ghash. You spoke the truth; the tasks you set me were impossible. I will serve you as you see fit. The Shining Lands are yours.” He spoke truly, for his spirit, and his heart, were broken.

Ghash rose from his throne, eyes burning. “It is done!” he proclaimed joyfully. He fitted Alarais in the black armour of Telaesthesia and charged him to lead his army against the Shining Lands.

Alarais did as he was commanded, slaughtering those he had once sworn to protect. The Shining Lands, without a king and facing a force unlike any they had ever seen, fell swiftly into chaos and destruction.

So ends the story of the Impossible Tasks of Alarais Shar.

Davian stared at the book thoughtfully for several minutes.

It had made no mention of Aarkein Devaed; if it had not been for the picture at the beginning, he would not have thought this story had anything to do with Devaed at all. Was Alarais Shar actually Aarkein Devaed? Or was Ghash? Or had he made a mistake by picturing the symbol when using the Adviser, leading himself to a book that held no useful information at all? He gritted his teeth in frustration.

He read the story again, but gleaned no more from it than the first time. Finally, reluctantly, he snapped the book shut, drew some Essence from the lamp, and got to his feet.

He’d probably have time to examine it again, and read the remainder of the stories in the book, once he reached Ilin Illan.

For now, though, he needed to keep moving.