The Shadow Of What Was Lost

Chapter 54

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.

He focused. Drawing enough Essence to weaken Caeden without harming him would be difficult, but after what he’d already done over the past few hours, Davian was confident he had enough control. He didn’t want to cause any harm - just keep Caeden immobile, keep him here until he’d better explained himself.

As he reached out, though, he almost faltered.

Caeden’s Reserve was more than just a pool. It was something… immense. An unending ocean of energy and light.

For a second he hesitated, wondering if it was wise to proceed. He wasn’t even sure he could empty a Reserve that large.

Then he thought again about Caladel, about all his unanswered questions, about the months of not understanding what part he was supposed to be playing in these events.

He closed his eyes and hardened the kan bridge between himself and Caeden.

A sudden torrent of Essence slammed into him, causing him to physically stumble from the shock. There was so much. So much. It just kept coming, a river of white energy, until Davian wasn’t sure he could hold it any longer. He forced his gaze to meet Caeden’s, wondering if the drain was taking effect yet.

Caeden just smiled sadly back at Davian.

Suddenly the Essence Davian had been drawing into himself reversed direction, inexorably flowing back to Caeden. It gathered in a glowing nimbus around the young man’s hands, then along his forearms, his torso, his head. Davian struggled against the current, tried to stop the flow, but Caeden was too strong. The other man’s expression had barely changed, as if what he was doing took only a minimal effort. As if Davian’s attack had been little more than a nuisance, a buzzing insect in need of swatting.

Within moments, everything Davian had taken was gone again. He dropped to his knees, still shaking from the effort, and looked up at Caeden in stunned, disbelieving silence.

Caeden stared back at him for a long moment. Then his eyes flicked up for a few seconds, towards the Andarran lines. Davian got the distinct impression he was examining people’s faces, scanning the crowd for someone.

Whoever Caeden was looking for, he evidently didn’t find them. The young man’s eyes flickered with disappointment as he closed them, pouring the Essence he’d retaken from Davian into the box in his hand.

There was a roar, and a tunnel that seemed made of pure fire exploded into existence.

Caeden turned to Wirr, unperturbed by the raging vortex.

“He’s coming, Wirr,” he shouted over the thunder. “Tell Taeris to make sure everyone is ready, because I don’t know how long it will be before I can return.”

Before anyone could move he turned. Leapt forward, into the swirling flames.

He vanished.

Wirr stared as the tunnel of fire faded and darkness reclaimed the street.

He turned dazedly to Davian, ignoring the stares of those around them and helping his friend to his feet. "Are you okay?"

Davian didn’t respond for a few moments, eyes fixed upon the spot where the vortex had been. Then he shook his head.

"I did everything I could, and it didn’t even bother him," he said softly. "He’s so strong, Wirr. It’s terrifying."

Wirr followed his friend’s gaze. "Given what he just did for us, we should probably be glad about that."

"Maybe." Davian turned to look at his friend, and Wirr could see the frustration on his face. "I know he said he was only able to save us because of where that box took him, but after what I saw in Tenvar’s memory… it just doesn’t make sense." He rubbed his forehead, expression worried. "I feel like there’s something we’re missing. Something important."

Wirr sighed. "I don’t disagree, Dav, but there’s not a lot we can do about it now. Let’s just hope that Caeden knows what he’s doing." He glanced back at the Andarran lines; a few of the men were still gaping in their general direction after Caeden’s spectacular exit, but it seemed everyone else had already gone back to worrying about more immediate things. "I need to find Karaliene, start organising the recovery effort. We can sit down and figure out what to do about Caeden later."

Davian grabbed Wirr’s arm before he could walk off. "Can we? People saw me fighting, Wirr. Administrators saw me fighting. If they haven’t already figured out what I am, they soon will."

Wirr paused, then grimaced.

He hated to admit it but Davian was right; despite everything else that had just happened, it wouldn’t take long for Administration to come after his friend. And though Wirr was now technically the Northwarden, the ban on Augurs was a part of the Treaty - which superseded the authority of any one man.

Besides which, if he were being honest, Wirr didn’t even know whether his authority as Northwarden was going to be recognised now that everyone knew he was Gifted.

"You may have to lie low for a while," he conceded, trying to evaluate what was likely to happen over the next few weeks. "But once everything’s settled down, people are going to realise that we need the Augurs to strengthen the Boundary again. And when we get to that point…."

"The Assembly will have to amend the Treaty. Remove the ban," finished Davian, looking suddenly thoughtful.

Wirr blinked; Davian had come to that conclusion faster than he’d expected. "Yes," he said slowly. "There’s a good chance they will."

Davian hesitated, then shook his head. "I hope that happens, Wirr - I really do. But I can’t stay. I can’t risk getting caught just for a possibility."

Wirr stared at his friend in open surprise. "Where else would you go?"

"Prythe. Tol Shen." He held up his hand as Wirr made to protest. "I’m not joining them permanently. I’ve agreed to help them find a way to fix the Boundary - and they already have another Augur with them, so it seems like the place I can do the most good for now. But once the Boundary is secure, if things really are different here in the city, I’ll come back." He gave Wirr a tired, rueful smile. "Besides, from what I’ve seen, you’re going to have your hands full enough without having to worry about protecting me too."

Wirr stared at Davian for a few moments in silence, heart sinking. There was no refuting his friend’s logic, but it made it no less painful to lose him again so soon after getting him back.

He nodded slowly and clasped Davian by the shoulder, swallowing a sudden lump in his throat. "Fates. I understand. I hate it, but… I understand." He glanced around again, this time realising just how many blue cloaks were amongst the crowd. "Does Asha know?"

"Not yet." Davian looked at the ground, pain flashing across his face.

"Then you should go and find her, before it’s too late. You’ve probably got an hour, maybe two until anyone recovers enough to worry about you. I’ll keep the Administrators occupied with other things for as long as I can."

Davian hesitated, then inclined his head. "Thank-you," he said sincerely.

Wirr just nodded back, the lump in his throat returning. "Just… fates be with you, Dav. Stay safe."

"You too, Wirr. I’ll see you around," said Davian, his voice catching. He gave Wirr a tight smile, then spun, heading in the direction of the palace.

Wirr watched him go for a few seconds, then took a deep breath and refocused, scanning the crowd for any of the people he needed to talk to. The battle was over, but his jubilation at the victory was already fading.

The real challenges were about to begin.

Davian sat on the palace steps, doing his best to fend off exhaustion.

Asha sat shoulder-to-shoulder with him, occasionally shifting her weight but always touching, as if to reassure herself he was really there. He understood the sentiment. The past few hours – the past few days – had gone by in one stunning blur, and it was only now that events were slowing, allowing him time to process everything properly, that it was beginning to set in. Asha was alive. She was alive. It was a miracle.

Davian knew he should already have left, but he once again pushed that uncomfortable thought to the back of his mind. Despite their emotional and physical tiredness, he and Asha had spent the last couple of hours exchanging their stories, determined to spend some time in each others’ company. For a short time, the horrors they had just witnessed faded into the background as they smiled and laughed together; even after the months apart they had fallen back into an easy, comfortable rhythm in their conversation, allaying Davian’s fears that things might have changed between them.

Eventually, though, the trials of the day had taken their toll, and the conversation had died out. Now, they just looked out over the broken city in contemplative silence.

It was an absorbing scene. The hellish red of the fires in the Lower and Middle Districts still illuminated the city, some of the taller buildings below silhouetted against the flames. Soldiers were hard at work bringing the various blazes under control, though; as little as a half-hour ago the entire Lower District had seemed to be ablaze, but now only a few smaller sections by the docks appeared to be alight.

Though it was mostly invisible against the night sky, Davian knew that black smoke was billowing overhead, blotting out any stars that might have been showing through the clouds. Fortunately a gentle breeze seemed to be pushing most of it away from the Upper District, but the smell had still managed to saturate everything. He’d almost grown accustomed to it by now, but sometimes still winced at the acrid taste at the back of his throat when he inhaled, the slight burning in his lungs.

Soldiers and civilians alike still dotted the blackened palace grounds in front of them. The last of the wounded were being treated by a combination of Gifted and physicians, and those who had some lesser medicinal knowledge were also helping where they could.

Despite everything, the mood was noticeably upbeat. Even attitudes towards the Gifted seemed to have shifted a little; passers-by would often smile at red-cloaked men and women, some even stopping for an apparently genial conversation. The friendliest smiles were reserved for the Gifted from Tol Shen, though. The soldiers all knew who had been there from the start, and though everyone still acknowledged Athian’s contribution, it was Shen who were receiving the accolades.

Best of all, no-one appeared to be overly concerned that the Tenets had been changed – in fact from what Davian could glean, it was a matter of some relief for a lot of people. It seemed that there would be at least one positive to come out of tonight.

"So what are you going to do now, Asha?" he asked.

Asha bit her lip. "I’m not sure yet. I’ll have to talk to Michal… assuming he’s okay. I saw him on the Shields a while back, but not since." She stared into space worriedly at the realisation. "Other than that, there’s probably going to be an investigation into how the Shadows ended up with all those Vessels. The Tenets may have changed, but the Treaty certainly hasn’t. Administration are going to want answers."

"They’re going to want blood, you mean," said Davian quietly. He glanced over to where Wirr was talking with a group of noblemen in the distance. "I’m sure knowing the new head of Administration will help."

Asha followed his gaze. "Maybe," she said. "But everyone knows he’s Gifted now. Administration are going to resist every decision he makes." She turned to look at him. "What about you?"

Davian hesitated, but he’d been avoiding this moment for too long already. "I have to leave. Soon."

Asha’s expression was suddenly sad, but she inclined her head. "I wondered about that," she admitted. "So you’re going to take up the offer the Shen Gifted made you?" Concern made her tone heavy.

"Just until the Boundary is strengthened," said Davian quickly. "Then I’m coming back. I promise."

Asha gave a slow nod. "Just make sure you do," she said. "Those stories the Elders used to tell us about Shen… I’ve heard some of the same things here, and I’ve got no reason to doubt they’re true. Power really is all they care about, Dav. Once they have someone like you working for them, they’re going to do everything they can to keep you. You’ll be too valuable for them to just let you walk away."

Davian grimaced. "Maybe," he said. "But the Boundary’s weakening and from what Caeden said, stopping it from failing entirely might be the most important thing I can do. Fates, it might be the most important thing anyone can do, right now." He sighed. "If things were different, I’d choose to stay here with you and Wirr in a heartbeat. But Caeden says there’s something else coming - something worse than what we saw tonight. If that’s really the case, then I have to go where I’m going to be of most use."

Asha bit her lip, but eventually gave a reluctant nod. "Have you told Wirr?"

"Yes - we’ve said our goodbyes." Davian glanced around nervously as he caught another flash of blue from the corner of his eye. He was tempting fate by staying this long. "I know you don’t approve of Shen, but… you could come with me. From what you’ve been saying, it might be safer for you away from Administration, away from this Scyner and the Shadraehin."

Asha shook her head. "And be what - a servant of some kind?" She sighed. "You’re right, Dav. We need to be where we’re going to have the most impact, and my place is here."

Davian’s heart sank, but he nodded. He’d known that would be Asha’s answer, knew that they were both making the right choices. It didn’t stop him from desperately wishing that things were different, though.

"I understand," he said.

Suddenly he spotted someone in a red cloak waving to him; he blinked in surprise as the figure came closer.

"Ishelle?" He stood, helping Asha to her feet too before giving the other Augur a confused smile as she approached. "What are you doing here?"

Ishelle raised an eyebrow. "You said you’d give me my answer if I came," she said, expression serious.

Davian stared at her for a moment, then laughed as he realised what she was talking about.

Ishelle grinned back, then turned her gaze to Asha. "I’m Ishelle," she said, her tone cheerful. "Davian and I met on the road a few days ago."

"Dav told me all about it," said Asha easily, giving Ishelle a polite nod. "I’m Asha."

Ishelle nodded in return, though for a moment Davian thought he saw a flash of irritation in her eyes. Then she turned back to him. "I didn’t want to interrupt, but one of my friends over there " - she nodded towards where a group of red-cloaked Gifted were gathered - " overheard a couple of Administrators talking about you. They were becoming a little… agitated, apparently. I thought you might want to know."

Davian grimaced. "Wonderful." He rubbed his forehead.

Ishelle watched him closely. "Are you still coming to Tol Shen?"

Davian paused for a moment, then nodded.

"Then you should join us. It’s a long trip to Prythe; I’m sure you’d prefer not to do it alone." Ishelle tugged at her cloak. "We have a spare one of these, and we’re leaving straight away. We’ll be out of the city before anyone thinks to look too closely at who is in the group."

Davian hesitated, but Asha laid her hand gently on his arm. "Go," she said, giving him a small smile. "We both know you’ve already stayed longer than you should have. I don’t want you getting caught because of me."

She wrapped him in a sudden, affectionate embrace. Davian returned it and they stood like that for several seconds, neither wanting to be the first one to let go.

Eventually there was a polite cough from Ishelle, and Davian and Asha reluctantly separated.

Asha gave him a final parting smile, and was about to turn away when she hesitated.

“Wait. There’s one more thing.” She reached into a pocket in her dress, then drew out something that glittered in the flickering torchlight. She grabbed Davian’s hand and pressed the object into his palm. “They’re eventually going to take this away from me if I hang onto it. Just… keep it for me.” It might have been Davian’s imagination, but he thought her eyes were glistening. “You can give it back to me when we see each other next.”

She gave him another tight, brief hug, then spun and walked off before he could say anything.

He opened his hand slowly.

The ring was silver, three bands twisted together in a distinctive pattern. Davian stared at it, dazed.

The last time he’d seen this ring, Malshash had been destroying it in Deilannis.

He hesitated for a long moment.

Then he slipped the ring onto his finger, shaking his head slightly at the familiar weight. Taking a deep breath, he nodded to Ishelle and they made their way towards the cluster of red-cloaked Gifted.

It was time to move on.