James Islington - The Shadow Of What Was Lost

“Good.” Suddenly the stranger was moving, striding across the room; Davian pressed further back against the wall, as if trying to sink into the stone itself. The man stopped directly in front of him, towering over him.

Then, in one smooth motion, he retrieved something from beneath his robes. He held it out to Davian.

“Take it,” he instructed.

Davian leaned forward hesitantly, then removed the item from the man’s gloved hand, almost snatching it in his haste to retreat again. He managed to drag his gaze downward for a moment, giving the object a quick glance. It was small, small enough to fit snugly in his palm, and appeared to be a metallic cube of some kind.

As Davian took the object, the man’s sleeve pulled back slightly. Davian saw it for only a moment, but there was a symbol tattooed on his wrist – the ilsharat, the symbol of the Boundary, he thought – that seemed to glow as Davian touched the box. He looked back up straight away, knowing he was not supposed to have seen what he had. The other man, fortunately, appeared not to notice.

“There is a boy in the school at Caladel called Davian. He is an Augur - barely aware of his abilities, however he knows how to discern deception. You know how to counter that?”

“Of course,” said Davian, still dazed.

“Good. You are to give him that box, and tell him that he needs to deliver it for you. It doesn’t matter what reason you give, just ensure it is something that he can believe, and that it motivates him sufficiently to go through with it. Allow him to leave the school safely and undetected.”

Davian nodded. He had a hundred questions, but he knew better than to ask most of them. “Where is he to take it?”

“North,” replied the man. “Tell him to head north. He will know where to go thereafter.”

Davian coughed. “My lord, if there were something more specific, perhaps it would be easier to….” He trailed off, realising what he was saying. “As our master wishes. What of the heir?”

“He dies, as planned. Along with the rest,” said the man. “No survivors, no-one to confirm that Davian is missing. Understand: this is even more important than killing Torin Andras. Davian must deliver the box at all costs.”

Davian repressed a frown. That was explicitly different from what he’d been told before. Still, there could be no doubt that this man had been sent by Aarkein Devaed. Whatever had caused the change in plan, it seemed he was not to be privy to it.

He gave a weak nod. “It must be important,” he said cautiously.

The man paused. “It will ensure our master’s return from his exile in Talan Gol. It will ensure our victory, Tenvar.” He leaned forward. “Is that motivation enough for you?”

“I will not fail you,” Davian managed to stutter out, but the other man had already spun, heading towards the door. A shadowy swirl of kan covered the messenger as he reached the heavy oak, and he seemed to melt through the wood, vanishing from sight. As soon as he had gone, the room was once more plunged into darkness.

Davian huddled further into the corner, eyes squeezed shut, nursing his hand and choking back the sobs that threatened to explode out of him now that he was alone.

He did not move for a very, very long time.

Davian gasped as he dragged himself out of Tenvar’s mind, stumbling backward and then crashing to the ground as Nashrel tackled him.

He allowed himself to be dragged to his feet and shoved bodily against the wall, mind still reeling from the impact of forcing his way into Tenvar’s thoughts, as well as what he’d just seen.

"Give me the knife," said Nashrel, his voice high with tension. "And don’t move."

Davian released his grip on the bloodstained blade, letting it fall to the ground, his mind spinning. The stranger had been linked to the box, just as Caeden was. What did that mean? That Caeden was associated with him, somehow? That the box had been linked to someone else initially? It hadn’t been Caeden himself; the man in the hood had been too tall, too thin - and the hand Davian had seen was wrinkled, the hand of an older man.

Another thought struck him. Given what the stranger had said at the end, why would Malshash have told him to follow through on getting the box to Caeden… unless Malshash wanted Devaed to be freed? Davian went cold at the thought. He’d never once considered it before, but after what he’d just seen….

He clenched his fists. The memory had told him a little… but not enough. And in many ways, it had only raised more questions.

"What did you do to him?" Nashrel’s voice broke through Davian’s train of thought.

"I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to kill him," Davian reassured the Elder. "I just needed to disrupt his concentration so I could get to his memories. I knew you’d be able to heal the wound. He’ll be okay."

"I’m not so sure about that."

Davian frowned, twisting from his position pressed up against the stone wall to see what the Elder was talking about.

Ilseth lay, mouth and eyes wide open, on the floor. Nashrel had already used Essence to heal his leg wound, but the man’s expression was… vacant. Lifeless. His chest rose and fell, but it was as if a light had gone out behind his eyes.

Davian grimaced. Malshash had warned him about the possibility of doing permanent damage.

For a moment he felt glad, like perhaps some form of justice had been done.

Then he recoiled at the thought, felt bile swirling in his stomach. He’d wanted vengeance for those who had died at Caladel, certainly. For what had happened to Asha. But he wasn’t the kind of man to take it with violence.

Was he?

Davian swallowed. His emotions had been… murky, ever since accessing Malshash’s memory back in Deilannis. He still felt like he’d done those things at the wedding, killed all those people. Just as he now rubbed at his forefinger, vaguely surprised to find it intact.

He shook his head to clear it. He would deal with whatever this was later. For the moment, he had more important things to worry about.

He shivered as he remembered the hooded man’s words to Ilseth. It will ensure our victory.

Then he froze.

"We need to leave," he said to Nashrel suddenly.

The Elder grunted. " You certainly do. Because I warned you what would happen if you used that knife."

"No." Davian looked at him, urgent. "There’s something you need to know. We need to get to wherever you store your Vessels."

Davian’s heart pounded as he explained. Whatever else happened, whether he was an enemy or just a pawn in all that was happening, Caeden needed to be kept far, far away from that box.

Caeden sat on the low stone wall next to Kara, silent as he digested what the princess had just told him.

He stared out over the empty courtyard, the only other people in view a pair of distant guards as they went about their pre-dawn patrol. The space would be full of soldiers soon enough, and given the news, today more than ever the mood during their training would be sombre. The Blind had defeated General Jash’tar’s army. Were coming straight for the city.

Caeden shivered a little, and he wasn’t entirely sure it was just from the crisp night air.

He glanced across at the princess, chest constricting a little as he realised that it meant his time with her was rapidly drawing to a close, too. These early morning conversations between them had become a routine over the past week; Kara would slip out of her rooms without her father’s guards realising, knock at his door, and the two of them would come out here and spend hours just… talking.