The Shadow Of What Was Lost

Epilogue

Asha leaned against the wall of the Great Hall, tired eyes squinting against the light as the first rays of dawn found their way through a nearby window.

She stared around dully at the gathered nobility, everyone talking in hushed tones as the aftermath of the battle continued to be assessed. Tol Athian’s input into the proceedings hadn’t been needed for a while now; she knew she should go back to her rooms, try and sleep, but her grief was still too sharp. It had only been a few hours since the Andarran victory, yet the elation of that moment had already worn off, rapidly replaced by the heavy knowledge of what had been lost.

She had only just returned from identifying Michal’s body. Her mentor had evidently been slain in the chaotic flight from the Shields to the palace; her only comfort was that it had been a single blow, dealt from behind and straight through the chest. He had probably never even felt the blade go in.

An hour before Michal, Kol’s body had been moved under her watchful gaze and placed into the heartrendingly long line of those who needed burial. It had been hard to see her friend’s lifeless form again - and even harder to see it alone. Erran and Fessi had been true to their word; Asha had visited their rooms but they were gone, leaving no sign that they had ever been in Ilin Illan. Davian had left hours ago. Wirr was still busy trying to deal with an angry and confused Administration, and probably would be for days to come.

She knew she’d done the right thing by staying, knew that this was where she needed to be. It didn’t make it feel any less lonely.

Even as she had the thought, though, she summoned a small smile as a weary-looking Wirr hurried towards her.

"Representative Chaedris." He stopped in front of her, and though he smiled back, she could see the worry in his eyes.

"What’s wrong?" she asked him quietly, heart sinking even lower. She wasn’t sure she could handle more bad news. Not now.

Wirr glanced around, checking that there was nobody nearby to overhear. "Administration have asked to go through my father’s office. They phrased it as a courtesy to me, of course - to ease my workload - but they’ve started to realise that he must have known something about my being Gifted. They’re suspicious, and I couldn’t refuse them without looking like I had something to hide."

Asha paled. "I don’t know if there’s anything in there, but…."

"I know." Wirr clasped Asha’s hands in his; he made the gesture seem like a condolence, but Asha felt the hard, uneven iron of a key slip into her palm. "I can hold them off for maybe an hour. Make sure you’re done by then."

Asha nodded, and Wirr turned to go. Then he hesitated.

"Be careful, Ash. Try to stay out of sight if you can," he said in a low voice. "I’m trying to keep things in Administration under control, but there’s more than a little hysteria about the Shadows right now. It’s not official policy, but if an Administrator sees you and they don’t know who you are, I wouldn’t be surprised if they try to detain you. Especially since you’re an obvious target at the moment."

Asha gave a short, rueful nod. Most of the Shadows had melted away, unnoticed, within the first hour of the victory - along with their Vessels. By the time it had been brought to anyone’s attention, Asha was one of only a handful of Shadows left in the city.

She watched Wirr hurry away, then took a deep breath, moving out into a deserted corridor and heading for her rooms. Once there she quickly retrieved the Veil she’d hidden earlier, slipping it onto her wrist and watching pensively as it moulded to her skin. Everything shimmered for a moment, and when she moved over to look in the mirror, only an empty room stared back at her.

She nodded in satisfaction and then left again. The palace hallways were still mostly empty, and she had no trouble avoiding collisions with the few people she came across. Once at Elocien’s office she checked the passageway was clear in both directions, then used the key Wirr had given her, slipping inside and locking the door behind her.

She just stood there for a moment, looking around the room sadly. It felt… odd, to be in here without the reassuring presence of the duke. Her stomach twisted as she thought of him - wondered again how many of her conversations had been with him, and how many with Erran. Or if there was ultimately any difference.

She sighed, then moved over to Elocien’s desk, methodically checking through his drawers and scanning each piece of paper on his desk. There didn’t appear to be anything incriminating, much to her relief. It seemed that Elocien - or Erran - had thought to be careful, even in here.

Ten minutes had passed when a key turned in the lock.

Asha’s heart leapt to her throat and she quietly shut the drawer she’d been searching, moving back into the corner of the room. Wirr had said an hour, but it couldn’t have been more than half of that since they’d spoken.

She gave a silent sigh of relief as the door swung open to reveal Laiman Kardai standing in the hallway. The king’s advisor had known about the Augurs, was trustworthy. Was probably there for the same reasons as her, in fact.

She was just about to remove her Veil when someone called Laiman’s name. Laiman’s head turned, and he smiled as another man came into view.

"Taeris!" Laiman glanced around to check that no-one else was in the vicinity, then beckoned the heavily scarred man inside. “They decided not to keep you locked away, I see,” he said with some amusement.

Asha studied the newcomer’s crisscrossed features as he entered. This was clearly Taeris Sarr - the man Davian said had orchestrated the attack on him three years ago. She frowned as she watched Laiman’s and Taeris' body language. The two men appeared relaxed around one other, like old acquaintances.

Taeris smiled back, though his eyes were tired. “They’re still not entirely happy that I deceived them with the Travel Stones, broke into the Tol, or showed them up as fools. Particularly the latter. But Caeden’s little performance has changed a few minds, convinced them that there might at least be some merit to what I’ve been saying.” He sank into a nearby chair. “Enough for a reprieve from my cell, anyway.”

There was silence for a few moments as Laiman walked over to the desk, rifling through papers just as Asha had been doing. Asha stretched her muscles cautiously, unsure now whether to reveal herself.

"I hear the king has recovered," said Taeris.

"He has," said Laiman absently as he scanned a document, though his tone held a note of reservation.

"You don’t sound happy."

Laiman grimaced, looking up from what he was reading. "He remembers very little from the past two months."

Taeris frowned. "Control, then," he concluded. "We’re fortunate they didn’t try to take things further."

"That’s what has me worried." Laiman resumed his search. "If the Blind were really Controlling him, it doesn’t makes sense. I mean, I can see why they wouldn’t want him changing the Tenets. But they could have done so much more damage." He scratched his head. "And the timing of his being released, too - straight after the Tenets were changed…."

Taeris shrugged. "Maybe the Blind realised what had happened, and decided he wasn’t worth the effort any more?"

Laiman shook his head in frustration. "I thought that too at first, but he’s the king. He could have ordered the surrender - fates knows what would have happened, exactly, but I guarantee it wouldn’t have been pleasant." He hesitated. "Just think, for a moment. Given the way things turned out. Who benefited most from having the king act the way he did?"

"Aside from the Blind?" Taeris tapped his fingers together as he considered. "Well, the king looks a fool now, stubborn for not changing the Tenets. There’s no proof he was Controlled, and most people don’t even believe that power exists, so it’s not exactly something the palace can claim. So I suppose…." He trailed off, staring at Laiman in mild disbelief. "Us? The Gifted?"

"Tol Shen, to be more precise," said Laiman, opening another drawer. "It’s no secret that Athian decided to hide in the Tol until the Tenets were changed. Shen, on the other hand, had people on the Shields healing the wounded from the start." He paused, rubbing his forehead. "And the only memories the king has that are recent, are of when Karaliene was away. When I insisted that Lothlar and some of his people accompany her, despite his protests."

Asha stared at the king’s advisor as he flicked through more papers, stunned that he would even hint at such an accusation. Taeris' sceptical expression, however, wavered. "You think they have an Augur?"

"No. If it was an Augur, the distance wouldn’t have mattered - and Kevran wouldn’t have had any physical symptoms, either. But we both know there are Vessels out there that can simulate Control, and it’s my belief that Lothlar has one."

Taeris was silent for a moment, looking troubled at the thought. "Even if he does, there still has to be an Augur involved for your theory to make any sense," he pointed out. "If this all started two months ago, then it was well before the invasion - which means that Shen knew about the attack before it started. And power-hungry though they can be, they won’t have aligned themselves with the likes of the Blind. Fates, if they really did plan this, they’d have needed an Augur to tell them ahead of time that we won!"

Laiman flicked the last drawer in the desk shut. "There is another possibility."

Taeris frowned for a few seconds in puzzlement, then grunted as he realised what Laiman was hinting at. "You still think they have the Journal pages."

Laiman gave a grim nod and walked over to sit opposite Taeris, apparently satisfied with the results of his search. “You know I’ve always had my suspicions as to who took them. And we both know that Seeing twenty years ahead wasn’t a stretch for the likes of Jakarris, Eleran or Siks.” He sighed. "There’s no proof, of course - Shen could equally have an Augur working for them. But if they did know this attack was coming since the war, their political manoeuvring over the past ten years suddenly has more logic behind it. The Houses they chose to ally with never really made sense to me until today."

Taeris sat in silence for a few moments, then nodded reluctantly. “So the king looks like a bigoted fool, everyone sees how valuable the Gifted truly are, and Shen takes the most difficult step back towards power. They gain the trust of the people again, while simultaneously undermining the Loyalists." He sighed. "I can see what you’re saying. It’s unlikely Shen got into a position like that by coincidence.”

"Exactly," said Laiman quietly.

Still standing motionless in the corner, Asha stared at the two men in horror. Could it be true? The Journal Erran had shown her had pages missing; that must be what the king’s advisor was referring to. Though how he thought Tol Shen could rely on those visions, when the others in the book had been so clearly wrong, she had no idea.

Regardless - she hadn’t even considered, hadn’t imagined that anyone except the Blind could be Controlling the king. The very thought made her nauseous.

Taeris, though, just looked annoyed. “Fates. Shen were playing a dangerous game, even by their standards."

“And now it’s paying off - they’re going to be more powerful than they have been for a very long time. When I raised the possibility of the king being Controlled, they went so far as to suggest that the palace was trying to invent a story to cover up its own incompetence.” Laiman’s lip curled in disgust. “This success has made them bolder.”

Asha shook her head in disbelief, almost forgetting for a moment that she was invisible. Tol Shen had used foreknowledge of the invasion, the deaths of thousands, to play politics? And Davian had left only hours ago to work with them….

"And now Davian, of all people, has thrown in his lot with them," Taeris noted, echoing Asha’s thoughts. He scowled, rubbing his forehead. “I tried to find him after the battle, but the lad had already left. He doesn’t trust me any more - which is my fault, I suppose, but it makes it no less of a problem. I still think he’s the key, Thell. We’ve both read Alchesh. He’s as important as Caeden, maybe moreso.”

“I agree,” said Laiman, making a calming motion. “Shen have pursued him more aggressively than I would have expected; if they really do have the missing Journal pages, that could be significant in and of itself. All we can do for now, though, is try to find their purpose for him. Once we know that, we can figure out our next move.” He paused. “And Taeris? It’s Laiman, now. Always Laiman, even in here.”

Thell. Asha’s brow furrowed, and she made a mental note of the name. If the king’s advisor wasn’t using his real name, it was worth finding out why.

Taeris acknowledged the rebuke with a nod. “Sorry.” He frowned contemplatively, then exhaled. “At least I still know where he is, I suppose.”

Laiman looked at his friend, expression worried. “He could break the connection now. I think he would if you asked, no matter how he feels about you.”

“No. It’s too important to be able to find him,” said Taeris, his tone firm. “Besides, I don’t think he even knows what he did, all those years ago. Not unless Torin or Karaliene told him.”

"Karaliene knows too?"

"It was the only way she’d let me into the palace. Torin told her - before he realised Davian was still alive, of course." Taeris made a face.

Asha frowned; she had no idea what they were talking about… but it sounded as though Wirr knew. She’d have to ask him about it, when she next had the opportunity.

Laiman leaned forward. “Still - it’s too dangerous. You only need to lose control once, and you’ll be dead. Don’t think I can’t tell that scar is fresh,” he added accusingly.

Taeris made a dismissive gesture. “I’ve managed for three years. A while longer won’t make a difference.”

Laiman frowned. “Fine. Just… be careful.”

“I will." Taeris shifted in his seat, clearly wanting to change the subject. "Have you heard anything more about the remaining Blind in the city?”

“All dead, as far as we can tell. Caeden was effective, I’ll give him that,” said Laiman. “I’ve had a closer look at the Blind’s armour, by the way. It was made up of these.” He dug into a pocket and held up a shiny black disc, careful not to let the edges touch his skin.

Taeris shivered, and behind him, Asha felt herself doing the same at the sight. “Dar’gaithin scales?”

Laiman nodded grimly. “Melded together into plates somehow.”

“So that’s our confirmation, then, if we needed any. Devaed was behind the invasion.”

“It would appear so." Laiman shook his head, a hint of frustration in the motion. “But as to the why - the reason for this focused attack, before the Boundary has weakened enough for him to send his real forces through… I have no idea." He sighed. "Your theory about Caeden is probably our best guess; this entire thing seems to revolve around him. Did you get to speak with him after the battle, before he disappeared again?”

“No… but Torin did. Caeden told him that this was only Devaed’s first strike - and said that we were to prepare for worse." Taeris hesitated. "Much worse.”

The sick feeling in Asha’s stomach stirred again. Davian had already told her about Caeden’s warning, but this was the first time it really struck home. The city had barely survived the attack last night. She didn’t care to think about what anything worse would mean.

Laiman was silent for a moment. “Did he at least suggest how we were to prepare?”

“Nothing so specific, I’m afraid. But… he did have a sword, Laiman. A blade that made the sha’teth turn tail as soon as he drew it.”

Laiman raised an eyebrow. “Did he now," he breathed, and Asha could see a spark of intense interest in his eyes. "I hadn’t heard that little piece of information. You think…?”

Taeris sighed. “Maybe. I didn’t get a good look at it, so I don’t know,” he admitted. “And Caeden is not around to ask.”

There was silence for a few seconds as Laiman stared into the fire. Then he drew a deep, reluctant breath.

“Speaking of the sha’teth."

Taeris nodded. "I know. All three got away."

Laiman’s expression twisted, and this time Asha could see real pain there. "They showed the Blind how to get access to Tol Athian, Taeris,” he said, the burden evident in his tone. “We were responsible for many deaths today.”

Taeris nodded bitterly. “Just one of our many mistakes, I fear.”

They sat in silence for some time, Asha barely daring to breathe. She didn’t know what to make of that last exchange… but if there had been any doubt before, she was certain now that there would be unpleasant consequences should she be discovered eavesdropping.

Finally Laiman straightened and shook himself back into the present, glancing across at Taeris.

"I do have some good news. I wasn’t going to tell you until it was official, but…."

Taeris raised an eyebrow at him. "I’m listening."

"I spoke to both Torin and Karaliene earlier, and I mentioned that Representative Alac had fallen in battle. They thought that young Ashalia should stay on, but agreed that she will still need someone with more experience to guide her. When I put forward your name, they both seemed amenable to the idea." He shrugged. "Torin was going to speak to Ashalia once everything had died down, but assuming neither she nor the king have any objections…."

Taeris stared at him in disbelief. "Ah… have you forgotten I’m still a wanted criminal?"

“A matter I believe our young Northwarden is clearing up as we speak,” said Laiman cheerfully. “Nothing is set in stone, yet, but he has the power to reverse his father’s verdict. And despite Administration’s protests it looks like both the king and Karaliene want him to keep his new position, so I don’t foresee any problems on that front, either." He gave Taeris a slight smile. "Welcome back, old friend.”

Taeris was silent for several seconds, stunned. “And… and Athian?”

Laiman chuckled. “I assume that when you are named their Representative, they will have to take you back, like it or not. It might just force them to give what you’ve been saying a little more consideration, too.”

Taeris barked a disbelieving laugh, then leaned back in his chair. “You’ve been busy.” He shook his head incredulously. “I truly don’t know how to thank you.”

Laiman inclined his head, smiling. “No need.” He gestured to the door. "All the same, we should find somewhere out of the way for you to stay tonight. We don’t want some overzealous Administrator recognising you before everything’s sorted out."

Taeris rose, a renewed vigour in the way he bore himself. "Lead the way."

They moved into the passageway and paused just outside the doorway, blocking it. Asha took a hesitant half-step forward, but there was no gap for her to slip through. She clenched a fist in silent frustration. If she couldn’t get out now, she’d have to wait until they were long gone.

Laiman grinned at his friend as they stood in the hallway, unaware of Asha’s dilemma. “So. After all these years you’re finally going to have some resources at your disposal, a bit of freedom to move around again. What’s your first order of business?”

Taeris thought for a few moments, tapping a finger absently against the side of the door. Then he leaned forward, eyes glinting.

“Laiman,” he said quietly, “ I think it’s time we organised a trip back to Deilannis.”

He flicked the door shut, cutting off Laiman’s response.

Asha was alone once again.

Caeden crept forward, parting the darkness ahead with a small sphere of pulsing white Essence.

He was underground again, though his surrounds were markedly different to Res Kartha. This place was silent, dead: just a long, narrow, gritty shaft that seemed intent on going nowhere but deeper into the damp, musty earth. He’d been walking for at least an hour now, and in all that time there had been no side tunnels, no rooms, no change in slope or direction. No sound except the soft pad of his own footsteps, either. Veins of quartz and other metals occasionally sparkled in the wall as he trudged forward, but otherwise he had neither seen nor heard anything of note.

Just as he was beginning to wonder if he’d somehow arrived at the wrong place, the tunnel began to level out.

Abruptly he realised that the walls ahead were widening into a small room, an antechamber of sorts, from which there were several exits. He came to a stuttering stop, hesitating. There were four passageways, each looking as menacing as the next. His light did not penetrate far into the tunnels, but he could see from the sloping floors that one led upward, one continued down, and two seemed to keep on level. Which way was correct? Was there a correct choice? He didn’t even know why he was here, so whatever decision he made would inevitably be a guess.

Suddenly there was a stirring in the darkness from the leftmost passageway, just beyond his light – a scratching of movement against stone, slight, but comparatively loud after the heavy silence of the past hour. Flinching towards it, Caeden instinctively drew Essence from his Reserve, extinguishing his sphere and directing a blast of energy at the tunnel. Enough to stun, but not kill.

The afterimage of the flash quickly faded, leaving only complete darkness and a sullen, tense silence. Nerves stretched taut, Caeden stood motionless for a few seconds, listening. There was nothing.

Then an unseen force gripped him like a great hand, raising him a full foot into the air and slamming him back hard against the stone wall. Dazed and not a little disoriented, he drew in Essence again – as much as he could, this time – and threw it wildly at whatever was holding him. To his dismay, the pressure on his chest and arms did not relent even a little.

Suddenly the room was lit; the illumination had no source he could pinpoint, as if darkness had simply been transformed into light. A man was standing in front of him, arms crossed and expression thoughtful as he studied his prisoner. He was older, nearly bald, with a lined face and a small beard of startling white. Still, his blue eyes glittered with a keen, strangely energetic intelligence.

“Tal’kamar. I’d begun to wonder if something had gone wrong,” said the old man. “But I see that all has gone as planned after all.” He indicated the sword hanging from Caeden’s belt.

Caeden struggled in vain against his invisible bonds. “Who are you? Where am I, and why am I here?” he demanded. He tried to reach for Licanius, but it was no use. His arms might as well have been encased in stone, for all he could move them.

His attacker smiled. “Good to see you too, old friend,” he said. “To answer each of your questions: I am Tae’shadon, the Keeper - Asar Shenelac to my friends. These are the Wells of Mor Aruil. And you, Tal’kamar, are here to remember.”

Caeden was silent for a moment as he processed the response, then forced himself to relax his tensed muscles. He appeared to be in no immediate danger. “The last part might be difficult,” he said in a dry tone. “My memories have been erased.”

“Not erased,” chided Asar gently. “Just hidden.”

Caeden scowled. “Then let me down and show them to me!” he snapped.

To his surprise, the pressure on his body vanished. He dropped to the floor awkwardly and stumbled forward, falling to his knees; he scrambled up again, wary, but Asar just watched him with an unperturbed expression.

“You know me?” asked Caeden once he had recovered, irritably trying to dust off his already ragged attire.

“We are acquainted,” said Asar. “You asked me to restore your memories, once you arrived here.”

Caeden stared at Asar for a moment, then just shrugged. He refused to be surprised, or concerned, by his own plans any more. “Very well. No point in wasting time.”

Asar shook his head. “There is more,” he said. “You have asked me to only restore specific memories – the ones that will help you fight in the coming war. No others.” He hesitated. “Against my advice.”

Caeden frowned. “Only some? Why would I want that?”

Asar sighed. “I think… I think you wanted to change who you were.” He leaned forward. “The problem, Tal’kamar, is that if you do not know who you were, you cannot know to change.”

A chill slid down Caeden’s spine. Who had he been, that he was so willing to leave parts of his past erased? “I will have to take your word on that,” he said slowly, “ but there is at least one extra memory I wish to have returned to me.”

Asar blinked, for the first time looking like he hadn’t anticipated something. “Which is?”

“The hours before I awoke in that forest. The most recent memory I do not have,” said Caeden softly. He knew he’d arranged all of this to fight Devaed, knew which side he was on - but the faces of those villagers, their accusations and their unbridled, unthinking hatred, still haunted him. He needed to know, with certainty, that it had been undeserved.

Asar hesitated, then nodded. “Then we shall do that first.”

Before Caeden could react, the old man stepped forward and placed two fingers against Caeden’s forehead.

Caeden’s heart pounded as he walked into the village.

It had worked; he’d appeared only a few hundred metres into the forest, exactly where he’d planned. No-one would think to look for him here in Desriel - at least not unless Tenvar talked, and he was fairly certain that taking the man’s finger had insured against that.

The Waters of Renewal had quickly begun to take effect; his days as a youth in the Shining Lands were already barely more than a fog. He’d estimated that it could take as little as an hour for all the memories to go - but they should at least fade in sequence, according to his experiments. That was fortunate. He only needed to remember the last few years to know what he had to do, and why.

He found he was clutching the hilt of his sword tightly, nervously; he took a deep breath, forcing the hand to his side again and trying his utmost to appear casual. He had no wish to do what came next, but he’d carefully considered the alternatives and had accepted that this was the only way. The Venerate between them knew each of his faces. If he were identified too soon, this would all be for naught.

A few people gave him a second glance as he walked by, but travellers were not uncommon, even this far from a major town. It didn’t really matter if they remembered what he looked like, anyway. He’d thought about choosing a more isolated spot – a farm, perhaps – but the risk had been too high. In that scenario, if no-one had been home, his memories could have been gone before he found a replacement.

After a minute or two of aimless wandering, he spotted a young man strolling up to a quaint, thatched-roof house that was set a little apart from the other buildings. Caeden checked to see that no-one was looking his way, then hurried up to the stranger. He was little more than a boy, Caeden realised with a slight pang of regret - reddish-brown hair, blue eyes and an easy smile. A farmer, probably. They almost all would be around here.

“Excuse me,” Caeden said in a polite tone. “I’m a little lost. I was wondering if you had a map of the area?” He knew it was unlikely, but any excuse would do.

The young man shook his head, then nodded to the door. “Sorry, friend,” he said. “No maps, but if you’d like to come inside, I’ll see if I can help you out with some directions.”

“I’d appreciate that,” said Caeden. He kept his face carefully neutral, even as his stomach twisted. The poor lad was so trusting.

They were soon inside, and the door shut. “Now,” said the boy, turning towards the simple hewn table. “If I can just -”

Caeden’s long, thin blade caught him in the side of the throat, stabbing upward into his brain. He was dead before he hit the floor.

Caeden checked his memories. Nothing before the Siege of Al’gast; that was worryingly recent, not too long before he’d realised the Darecians had escaped. He got to work, taking note of the boy’s features and then cutting into his face. It was horrible, stomach-turning work, but the body had to be unrecognisable. Even as he went about the grisly task, he concentrated, picturing the features of the young man he had just killed. Pain abruptly snapped through him, his bones breaking and reforming, muscles tearing, contorting and stretching. Caeden grimaced, but kept working as best he could. He was well accustomed to these transformations.

It was over in the space of a minute. Now, all he had to do was dispose of the body and –

“Caeden?” a cheerful female voice called from the front door. “Where are you, son?”

Caeden’s heart sank. There was no time, no way he could get the body out. He froze, keeping quiet, praying that the woman would not walk into this room.

An ear-piercing scream shattered that hope.

“Caeden!” the woman shrieked. She was looking wildly between Caeden and the disfigured body on the floor. “What are you doing?”

Caeden stood, his blade whipping out, slicing smoothly through the woman’s throat before she could say anything more. She gurgled as she stared at what she thought was her son, uncomprehending horror in her eyes. Caeden looked away. She’d seen him in this form, seen what he’d done. He couldn’t risk leaving her alive.

Before he could move, though, shouts from outside were followed by the sound of the front door crashing open. He closed his eyes for a second, breathing deeply.

Pretending it hadn’t gone so wrong.

There were thirty-one dead by the end – seventeen men, nine women and five children who had been drawn by the screams. Most of the village, he suspected.

He stared at the bodies morosely. It had all happened so fast, and it was getting harder to focus as more and more memories drained away. Could he have avoided this? Using Control hadn’t been an option - Alaris would have located him within minutes. Fleeing would have meant leaving witnesses, leading to his inevitable capture, a quick trial and a failed execution. Though the flow of information from Desriel to Talan Gol was still limited, word of something like that would have doubtless found its way back across the ilshara.

No. This way he’d probably be detained, suspected of what had happened here, but they wouldn’t have the evidence to execute him. It was still a risk, but it left him hidden from the people that mattered. He hardened his heart against the guilt, as he’d done so many times before. It had been the best course of action in a bad situation. The practical, necessary choice.

He put his hand against the still-warm skin of each corpse in turn, then carefully disfigured them. Their deaths would not be for nothing. Even though he wouldn’t remember them directly, their Imprints would remain with him; each one would eventually give him a new, untraceable identity, a body in which he could move freely outside of Talan Gol. He’d not wanted it to come to this, but now that it had, there was no point wasting the opportunity.

He checked his memories, startled to find that his oldest one was of speaking to the Ath. That was only a hundred years ago - not long before he’d finally rejected the name Aarkein Devaed, realised his mistakes and started along the path that had ultimately led here. He knew he’d hated what he’d done, hated what he’d become as Devaed, but he couldn’t remember the details any more. Odd, but he supposed it didn’t really matter now. He would be free of it all for good soon enough.

He finally turned away from the corpses, knowing he had only minutes left – nowhere near enough time to hide the bodies. He needed to flee, to get as far from here as he possibly could.

He ran.

He dashed into the forest heedlessly, ignoring how the twigs and branches scraped at his arms and legs, tugged and tore at his bloodied clothing. He only had to survive a few weeks, just until Davian arrived with the Portal Box. He had to get far enough away to give the Gil’shar reason to doubt his guilt. If they tried to execute him, the Venerate would get word. It would jeopardize everything. It would jeopardize….

He frowned in confusion. Why was he running? Where was he? He glanced down, horrified to see blood all over his hands. He quickly checked himself, but aside from minor cuts, he did not seem to be wounded.

He took a deep breath, tried to concentrate. Why was he here? Panic began to set in. Where was he from? What was his name? He stood for a long few minutes, heart pounding, trying to recall something. Anything. But it was of no use.

He started forward. Evening was coming, and whatever had happened to him, he needed help.

Caeden gasped as he came awake again.

He was on his knees, he realised numbly. Vomit spattered on the cold stone before him; his hands shook, and his entire body spasmed with heaving sobs.

“It’s not true,” he choked, staring up at Asar, who was watching him impassively.

“It is,” he replied.

“But it can’t be!” Caeden shook his head desperately, tears streaming down his face. The images of the people he’d killed flashed in a grisly parade before him. “No. I can’t be him. I can’t be Aarkein Devaed. No. I’m supposed to fight Devaed, to help save Andarra.” His voice broke. “I can’t be him.”

Asar just stared at him. For a moment, his expression was… pitying.

“You are who you are, Tal’kamar,” he said softly. “When you’re ready to know more, come and find me.”

Without another word he turned and vanished back into the darkened passageway, leaving Caeden – Tal’kamar – alone to his grief.