James Islington - The Shadow Of What Was Lost

Nashrel looked at him with vague surprise. “Of course,” he said sincerely.

Taeris glanced at Caeden, giving him the slightest of nods. "He means it. You will be fine," he murmured.

Caeden gritted his teeth but nodded back, forcing himself to relax.

Taeris turned back to Nashrel. "Very well."

Nashrel hesitated. "One other thing. We will need to take custody of the Vessel."

"What?" Taeris frowned. "I would prefer -"

"This isn’t negotiable, Taeris."

Taeris grimaced, then inclined his head, reaching into a pocket and drawing out the bronze box. As always, it shone like the sun to Caeden’s eyes.

Taeris reluctantly gave it to Nashrel. "Can I at least hang onto the other one?" he asked.

Nashrel paused in his examination of the box. "The other one?"

"The other Vessel I found in Desriel." Taeris held up a smooth black stone, about the size of his palm. "I haven’t been able to determine what it does yet, but it seems harmless enough. Nothing to do with Caeden, though."

Nashrel stared at the stone for a long moment, and Caeden thought he saw a glimmer of recognition in the Elder’s eyes.

"What is it?" asked Ciahn.

Nashrel didn’t respond for a few seconds.

"I… don’t know," he said slowly. "But we should hang onto it."

Taeris scowled, giving up the second Vessel to Nashrel too. But as he did so, Caeden thought he saw a flicker of acknowledgement pass between the two men. An understanding.

Then it was done, and Taeris was gripping Caeden’s shoulder. “Don’t worry. You won’t be locked up for long,” he said in a reassuring tone.

After Nashrel had talked to someone outside, Caeden found himself being led away. He and his escort descended a flight of stairs until they came to some basic cells, carved out of the bedrock of Ilin Tora itself. They were little more than small caves with doors made of steel bars; once Caeden was inside he realised there would only just be room to lie flat on the ground, and when he stood straight, his head was only inches from the roof. He felt a flash of gratitude that fate had not made him any taller, and that despite his experiences, he had no particular fear of confined spaces.

The jailor locked the door and moved a little way down the hall to a more open part of the passageway, where his desk and chair sat. “No funny business, and we’ll get along just fine,” he called as he wandered away.

Glowing Essence orbs lined the hallway outside, but the cells themselves were quite dark. Caeden shifted, trying to see if there was anyone in the cell opposite. He moved forward to the bars, squinting as the light hit his eyes.

Suddenly a face appeared in the opposite cell, and Caeden could see a Shackle glinting on the other man’s arm. The stranger smiled, a wide grin of triumph.

Even through the bars, Caeden could tell that the man was staring at the bared tattoo on his wrist. The glow of the wolf’s head was weaker – Taeris and the Vessel must be a good deal further away, now. The other prisoner wouldn’t be able to discern the light, of course, but the tattoo itself was still plain enough to see.

“ Dreh Kaaren si ,” the stranger said quickly. “ Sha tehl me’athris dar ?” It was clearly a question, but Caeden had no idea what the man was saying.

Caeden shook his head. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I have no idea what language you’re speaking.”

The man looked at him in shock for a few moments, then vanished from his doorway, retreating into the gloom of his cell.

The jailor called out from his desk. “Nonsense words, lad,” he confided. “Ignore him. That one’s scheduled for the lower dungeons - he’s just here temporarily. We think his mind’s gone. Only stands to reason the first thing he says since being locked up is gibberish.”

Caeden frowned. He hadn’t understood what the prisoner had said, but the sound was too regular, too structured to be nonsense. And the language was… familiar. As if, if he concentrated hard enough, he might be able to ascertain the meaning of the prisoner’s words.

“Who is he?” he called out.

Caeden could hear the jailor spitting on the ground. “Name’s Ilseth Tenvar,” he said. “He had something to do with that bad business in the schools recently. Not sure what, exactly; they don’t tell me much. But he’s supposed to be in here, don’t you worry about that. Not a man you want to be making friends with.”

Caeden nodded, though mostly to himself as he knew the jailor couldn’t see him. He stared at the cell across the hallway, trying to see into the murk. He remembered Davian and Wirr talking about this man. The one who had tried to send him the Vessel.

And Tenvar had seemed to know him, to recognise him, despite what the jailor said.

He settled down in the corner to wait, knees drawn up to his chest, all the while keeping a close eye on the cell opposite.

Despite the two layers of thick steel bars between them, he did not feel particularly safe.

It was hours later when someone finally unlocked his cell door, escorting him back to the main tunnel.

He smiled in relief when he saw Taeris waiting for him.

"What did they say?"

Taeris scowled. "Exactly what Haemish said. There’s no proof. There’s no indication that the Blind are anything more than men. Helping you is too much of a risk." He shook his head in disgust. "Their theory is that the Blind are a race of people descended from us - from the Andarrans that were trapped behind the Boundary during the Eternity War. The Council agrees that they’re dangerous, but not that they are anything… worse. "

"So they won’t restore my memories?"

"They were almost willing to, and then…." Taeris sighed. "I have a long history with the Council, Caeden, and that has gone against us. I’m sorry for that. A few of them argued that the risk was worth it. Some even believed me, but most of them are just… angry, at the moment. They feel betrayed by the king. The argument was, why take a chance restoring your memories for the good of the city, when the city doesn’t even seem to want their help."

"But they’re in danger too," Caeden protested.

"They don’t see it that way. Tol Athian withstood everything Vardin Shal and the Loyalists could throw at it during the Unseen War. They don’t believe the Blind will be any different."

Caeden was silent for a moment. "So what now?"

"We go to the palace. I was speaking to Aelric and Dezia earlier today, and they think there’s a chance they can convince the princess to help. With her influence behind us, we might still be able to change some minds at the Tol."

Caeden gave Taeris a dubious frown, remembering the disdainful way Karaliene had looked at him in Thrindar. "Are you sure that’s a good idea?"

"I never said it was a good idea," observed Taeris dryly. "But it’s the only option we have right now."

They walked out of the Tol. It was mid-afternoon, and the streets were busier now. Taeris appeared lost in his own thoughts, but eventually Caeden tapped him on the arm.

Taeris turned. “What is it, lad?”

“I have something to ask you,” Caeden said hesitantly. “I heard someone say something in the dungeons. I couldn’t translate it, this time, but… it sounded like the same language the sha’teth use. Is that possible?”

Taeris frowned. “I don’t know. Maybe,” he said slowly. “Do you remember what they said?”

Caeden screwed up his face, trying his best to remember the words. “ Dreh Kaaren si, sha tehl me’athris dar .”

Taeris' eyebrows rose. “Honoured lord, has the time finally come,” he translated. His expression became focused. “Who said this, Caeden? This language is… old. Rare.” He stopped, forcing Caeden to look him square in the eye. “It’s important.”