James Islington - The Shadow Of What Was Lost

He lunged forward, slipping gracefully between two whirring blades, one so close that he felt it brush a few strands of his hair. Caeden brought his own blade around in a vicious arc, the edge slicing into the exposed neck of the man to his left. His opponent began to fall without a sound; before the body could hit the ground Caeden snatched a dagger from its belt and spun, throwing it at one of the men who had moved behind him. It caught the unsuspecting soldier in the eye, blood fountaining through his fingers as he died clutching his face.

Three. Two. Their armour was well-made – almost impenetrable to a normal weapon, he suspected – but these men had neglected to wear their helmets. Their laziness, or overconfidence, was going to kill them.

The two remaining soldiers faced him grimly, spacing themselves so that he would have to concentrate on one or the other. He’d vaguely hoped that they would run, having seen what had become of their comrades. But the expressions on their faces were intent, focused. As if his success so far had only intrigued them.

The one to his right feinted; when Caeden flinched towards him the one to his left came in hard and fast, stabbing with lethal accuracy. Caeden was faster, though. He moved forward , towards the thrust and slightly to the side, spinning so that the steel passed just by his ribs. He went down on one knee in the same motion, grabbing the man’s leg with his free hand and lifting.

Before his opponent hit the ground Caeden rolled towards the other soldier, anticipating the attack. Steel sparked as it hit the stone of the street where he had been a moment ago. Caeden focused, then thrust upward at the second man, into the thin slit that allowed movement for the knee. He was rewarded with a scream of pain as his blade bit home.

He slid the blade back out before it could get caught, then rose, severing the man’s head from his shoulders as he tumbled forward.

One .

The soldier he had tripped was back on his feet, panting but still with an oddly intent look in his eye. There was no fear that Caeden could see. At first he thought that was strange, but then he considered what he must look like to his opponent. Calm. Composed. Focused.

Exactly the same.

Before he could think on it any further, the final soldier was upon him, raining down a fierce array of blows. Caeden blocked them all – not easily, but not feeling that he was likely to lose now, either. He allowed the soldier to exhaust his attack, then put several feet between them.

“Who are you?” he asked, breathing heavily. “Why are you here?”

The man stopped, blinking as if surprised by the question.

“We are here to stop you, Tal’kamar,” he eventually replied, his voice emotionless.

The soldier threw himself forward, but it was a tired thrust and Caeden sidestepped it with ease. He acted on instinct, bringing his sword up so that his opponent’s momentum carried him into it. The blade sliced across his face, biting deep but not a killing blow.

The man growled, blood spurting down his cheek, then turned to face him again.

Caeden stretched out his hand without thinking.

A blinding torrent of power and light washed through him, exploding from his palm and slamming into the man’s chest. It should have vaporized the soldier where he stood, but much to Caeden’s astonishment he simply stood there, neither advancing nor retreating as his armour seemed to drink in the Essence, extinguishing it.

Caeden stopped, cursing as he realised that every Finder in the city would now be pointed at him. He had to end this, and quickly.

He swivelled, flicking his sword underhand at the other man. The blade caught the soldier square through the mouth, blood fountaining everywhere as the man stared at Caeden in horrified disbelief. He was dead before he hit the ground.

Caeden stood there for a few more moments in silence, breathing hard, surveying the scene. Bloodied bodies lay everywhere. In the distance he could hear the whistle of the city watch; the fight had taken only a minute, perhaps less, but someone must have heard the clash of steel. There was doubtless a legion of Administrators heading in his direction now, too. He had to move.

He knelt by Karaliene, emitting a sigh of relief when he saw she was breathing. He hoisted her onto his shoulder – mentally apologising for the indignity – then hurried away as fast as he could, disappearing down a darkened side street just as the urgent whistles of the watch sounded like they made it onto the scene.

Havran Das – who hadn’t shown his face during the entire fight - would have to wait for another day.

Caeden suddenly discovered he was tired. Exhausted, in fact. The adrenaline was wearing off, and whatever he’d been doing to slow down time was no longer working. He had to think of what to do with Karaliene.

She knew, of course. She knew he’d slipped his Shackle, left the grounds - breaking the only two conditions she’d set for her hospitality. If he took her back to the palace, she would have him thrown in a dungeon as soon as she awoke. At the least.

Then he thought of what he’d done, how easily he’d killed those men. He shivered a little as the reality of it set in; it had been surreal at the time, almost like he was watching himself do those things. He hadn’t taken pleasure in it, certainly - but it hadn’t upset him as he knew it should have, either.

He swallowed. Perhaps he belonged in a dungeon.

He thought furiously as he half-walked, half-jogged along the deserted streets. Was there even an alternative? He couldn’t prevent Karaliene from returning to the palace; one thing of which he was certain was that he wasn’t capable of kidnapping or killing her. He was relieved to discover that, though in his current situation it presented its own series of problems.

In the end, he decided that there was nothing for it but to return to the palace and accept the consequences. Even though she had been unconscious for most of the fight, Karaliene would hopefully feel some sliver of gratitude towards him for saving her. The prospect seemed slim at this point, but he clung to it.

He made it back to the supply gate without any issues, relieved to find that it was still unlatched, despite the princess presumably having used it after him. He shut it properly behind him, then hid in the bushes until the patrol passed by again, covering Karaliene’s mouth for fear she would wake up and give him away. Heart pounding so loud he was worried he wouldn’t hear the guards coming, he made it back inside without incident.

The trip to Karaliene’s quarters was trickier. He already knew where to go thanks to Aelric’s thorough rundown of off-limits areas earlier that day - the problem was that there would be plenty of guards stationed along the hallways leading up to the royal chambers. Caeden found a safe corner and let Karaliene’s limp body rest against the wall, flexing his tired shoulder. She was heavier than she looked.

He stared at her for a moment. She looked strangely peaceful, her hair tousled but still shining in the dim light.

Then he shook himself. If anyone found him with her like this, it was unlikely he’d even last until the princess awoke to explain matters. He needed to get her back to her chambers.

He closed his eyes, taking a deep, steadying breath. She must have slipped away from her bedroom without being noticed; none of the guards would have let her wander off alone in the middle of the night. And, therefore, she must have had a plan to get back in.

He carefully picked her up again, then found the nearest exit, moving around the outside of the palace until he was reasonably sure he was below Karaliene’s rooms. They were on the top floor, but Caeden had remembered seeing a slender set of spiral stairs leading up to the balcony.