James Islington - The Shadow Of What Was Lost

He opened it cautiously, then used a sliver of Essence – so small it would surely be undetectable – to hold the latch up, leaving the gate accessible from outside. By his estimate, the Essence wouldn’t decay for at least a few hours. To a casual glance from any passing patrols, though, nothing would seem amiss.

He slipped out into a side alley, unlit and without shops or buildings of any kind. He kept his pace steady as he walked towards the main street, trying not to run despite his instincts. If anyone saw him, he wanted to look as innocuous as possible.

At the end of the alleyway he stopped, mentally revisiting the route he needed to take as he peered cautiously around the corner. In the distance he could see the four men standing guard in front of the palace’s main gate, from their body language more bored than anything else. That was good. The last thing he needed was to be challenged by an overzealous sentry.

He waited for a few moments until he thought none were looking in his direction, then exited the alley and began walking away, keeping to the shadows where possible. He didn’t look back, and there were no shouts from behind him.

Caeden’s racing heartbeat slowed a little once the palace was lost to view, though he remained tense as he hurried along. Despite the late hour, several buildings still had windows illuminated, and he overheard more than one heated conversation emanating from the grounds of Ilin Illan’s wealthiest residents. He couldn’t make out the specifics of any of them, but the entire city just felt… uneasy.

He soon arrived at Havran Das’ shopfront. He considered the building for a few minutes; the street was well-lit, so there was little chance of him breaking in unnoticed. However there did appear to be an upper floor to the shop - it was possible Das lived here as well as traded.

Taking a deep breath, Caeden walked up to the door and rapped on it as loudly as he dared.

He stood in silence for what seemed like minutes; he was almost about to leave when the sound of a bolt being slid back echoed around the street, and the door opened a crack. A bespectacled, middle-aged man peered out at him.

“What do you want, lad?” he asked sharply. “Do you know what hour it is?”

Caeden gave a nervous cough. “I’m looking for Havran Das.”

The man stared at him for a moment, sizing him up. Evidently deciding Caeden did not pose much of a threat, he opened the door a little wider. “I am Havran Das,” he said, suspicion thick in his tone. “Who in fates are you?”

“My name is Caeden.” When the man still stared at him blankly, he added, “Alaris said you would be expecting me.”

Havran took an unconscious step back at the last part, his entire demeanour changing. He smiled, but for a moment Caeden saw a combination of fascination and fear in the merchant’s eyes.

“Of course. Of course,” Havran said, opening the door wide and gesturing for Caeden to enter. “Please. Come in.”

Caeden did as he was asked, and the other man shut the door behind him, sliding the bolt back into place. He held his candle high, providing enough light for Caeden to navigate between the shelves of bottles. Finally they came to the back of the shop, where Havran indicated he should take a seat at a long table. Caeden did so uncertainly, still not sure what to expect from this meeting.

“So,” said Havran as he sat opposite. “Alaris told me a little about your situation, but even he didn’t know much. He certainly didn’t tell me you would be in this body. Perhaps if -”

It was the slightest flicker of the eye, from Caeden’s face to over his shoulder. If Caeden’s senses had not already been so heightened from nervousness, he might not have noticed it at all.

As it was, he reacted on instinct, spinning to the side and to his feet.

A blade cleaved the air where he had just been sitting, splintering the chair in two.

Caeden moved without thinking, elbowing his would-be attacker in the face. He heard the crunching sound of a nose breaking but didn’t pause, allowing his momentum to take him behind the armoured man’s back. In one smooth motion he grabbed both sides of the assassin’s helmetless head and twisted it as hard as he could, downward and to the side.

The snap of the man’s neck was deafening in the silence of the shop.

Then Havran was scrambling backward away from Caeden, who felt a sudden rage burning in his stomach. He’d been set up, betrayed. Had anything Alaris told him been real? He started towards the cowering merchant, picking him up by the shoulders with Essence-enhanced arms and slamming him against the wall.

“Why?” he hissed.

Havran cringed away, refusing to meet Caeden’s gaze. “Tal’kamar, wait! It’s not what you think!” he shrieked, plainly terrified.

A woman’s scream from outside cut through the quiet of the night.

Caeden hesitated for only a moment; then he released the merchant and was moving, heading for the door. He heard Havran dashing out of the room behind him, but another shriek came, this time clearly only just outside. He slammed back the bolt and burst out of the shop, freezing as he took in the scene before him.

Fifty or so feet down the road a young woman was surrounded by five armoured men, four of them watching as the other held her from behind, hand over her mouth. She was kicking and clearly trying to bite her attacker’s hand, but Caeden could see her struggles were already weakening.

For a moment the man’s hand slipped, and Caeden got a good look at the woman’s face. He paled as he recognised the fair skin, the delicate features.

It was Karaliene.

She’d felt him take off the Shackle and decided to follow him, almost certainly, but there was no time to worry about that now. He gritted his teeth, then took off at a dead run towards the group.

He was still thirty feet away when he was first noticed; the man who had seen him murmured a word of warning, and all five men were facing Caeden in an instant. His heart skipped a beat as each one of them drew a sword, their black armour barely visible in the gloom.

Though none of the men were wearing the distinctive helmets, Caeden had no doubt who they were. He kept running. He was not going to leave Karaliene to the Blind.

The man closest gave a wide, greedy smile when he realised Caeden was unarmed; he stood calmly in an attack stance, perfectly still, as Caeden rushed towards him. Just as Caeden came within range the man moved, cat-like, far quicker than should have been possible. His sword snaked out, streaking towards Caeden’s neck.

Time slowed and Caeden let his instincts take over, just as he had against Aelric.

He slid beneath the arc of the sword, coming in under the man’s defences. Then he twisted and kicked upward into the left knee of his opponent, intuitively knowing that his altered passage through time meant that the blow would be delivered many times faster, and therefore many times harder, in reality. He winced as he felt the man’s ligaments snap, the knee bending sideways; a shout of surprised pain ripped from the soldier’s throat as he crumpled to the ground.

Caeden regained his footing smoothly, snatching the man’s sword from the air as it fell and then spinning forward, slashing his attacker’s throat in one fluid motion. Four .

The smiles of the dead man’s companions had vanished now. The one holding Karaliene hit her hard on the head, sending her slumping to the ground. Caeden watched her fall helplessly, hoping that the blow had not caused her any serious injury.

The four remaining soldiers moved as one towards him, panning out, surrounding him so that he was no longer able to see them all at once. He knew he was still slowing time – Karaliene’s fall appeared to take several seconds – but these men seemed less affected. A little sluggish compared to him, perhaps, but not as much as he would like. He couldn’t allow them to settle, to get any advantage.