James Islington - The Shadow Of What Was Lost

"No. I’ve seen this before." He turned to Parathe. "They’re called Echoes, general. I don’t know a lot about it, but the Blind are controlling them, somehow."

"They’re not doing this of their own volition?" Parathe gave Wirr a hopeful look. "Is there any way to snap them out of it?"

Wirr grimaced. "No. It’s not them any more," he said reluctantly. "Anyone who’s an Echo is already dead. Tell your men not to hesitate."

"He’s right." It was Davian, who was staring at the nearest Echoes with a perturbed expression. "I can’t Read them. They’re just… empty," he finished, shivering.

Parathe gave Davian an uneasy glance, then turned back to Wirr. "Are you certain about this, Your Highness?"

"Quite." Wirr extended a hand as one of the Echoes nearby made straight for their group. There wasn’t much left in his Reserve after all the healing he’d performed, but it was enough.

A bolt of white light sped from his fingertips, blasting the man he’d spotted backward.

"They’re dead," he repeated grimly in response to the surprised look of the others. "Or at least no longer human. I wouldn’t have been able to do that, otherwise."

Parathe looked sick. "We have to fall back to the Third Shield," he concluded in a heavy tone. Before he could give the order though, Parathe’s second-in-command, Hael, rushed through the fighting towards them.

“Sir,” he gasped to Parathe. “The enemy have taken the harbour and the Lower District. They’re pressing us hard, trying to get to the Third Shield. If they reach it, we’ll be trapped.”

Parathe paled. “How is that possible?” he demanded.

“No-one knows, sir. Only that they’re inside the walls. We need to fall back if we hope to defend the Upper District.”

Parathe didn’t hesitate. "You’re right. There’s no way we can fight the Blind if they’re coming at us from both sides." He cursed. “Sound the retreat, Hael. We’ll regroup at the palace.”

Parathe turned to Elocien. "We need the El-cursed Gifted, Northwarden. No two ways about it,” he said, his expression grim. “The palace is the strongest defensible position in the city, but even with the Shadows I don’t know how long we’ll be able to hold it.”

A horn blast sounded the retreat, and the Essence lighting the pass abruptly blinked out. Suddenly Wirr froze, glancing up at the top of the Second Shield, where the chaos sounded worst.

"What is it?" Davian asked, seeing his expression.

"Asha is up there."

Davian was moving before Wirr realised what was happening.

He sprinted after his friend; they made it almost halfway to the stairs before two armour-clad Echoes stepped into their path.

"I don’t have any Essence left, Dav," Wirr warned. He saw Davian hesitating. "They’re not human any more. Trust me."

Davian nodded silently. He stretched out his hand as the Echoes closed in on them.

For a moment nothing happened. Then one of the attackers roared, knees buckling as a line of pulsing Essence appeared between him and Davian. The man’s face seemed to… whither, as if it were aging at an incredible rate; his skin became sallow before finally disintegrating, leaving only a fine white dust that drifted, smoke-like in the wind.

The second Echo hadn’t paused in his wild rush towards them; Davian turned to face him, releasing the Essence he’d drawn. It wasn’t a bolt though, as Wirr would have expected, but something… thinner. Harder.

The energy sped towards their attacker, taking him in the neck and slicing clean through. The soldier’s head bounced grotesquely on the ground towards them, carried by his momentum.

Neither boy moved for a moment.

"So… I see you can use Essence now, too," said Wirr, a little out of breath as they stepped over the decapitated body and pressed forward.

Davian nodded, eyes fixed on the way ahead. "As long as I don’t draw too much at once," he muttered, more to himself than to Wirr. Wirr didn’t understand the comment, but Davian didn’t elaborate and there was no time to ask about it.

They managed to avoid further confrontation until they reached the top of the Second Shield, where they were once again brought to an abrupt halt. This time four Echoes stood in their way, not moving yet, but their dead eyes focused on the two boys.

"I don’t think I can take them all. I’m tired, and it’s getting harder and harder to use kan," said Davian as he drew his sword, his tone grim. "But I’m not leaving her. I -"

The Echoes sailed clear over the parapet, spinning away to crash to their deaths on the hard stone below.

Davian and Wirr both flinched back; when they looked up again, Asha was hurrying through the space where the Echoes had just been.

"You need to get out of here," she said bluntly as soon as she saw them. "Follow me. I don’t have a lot left in my Reserve, but it should be enough to get us back to the Third Shield."

She slipped past them without waiting for a response.

Davian exchanged a vaguely rueful glance with Wirr, and then the two of them turned and hurried after her.

Asha cleared their path twice more before they reached the temporary refuge of the Third Shield. Wirr’s father was waiting for them there, a clearly anxious Parathe and Hael standing by the duke’s side.

Elocien nodded his relief to Wirr, and without a word the group headed towards the city. As they emerged from Fedris Idri though, Parathe held up a hand, bringing them to an abrupt halt.

He frowned, cocking his head to one side.

“I don’t hear any fighting,” he realised. “We should have been able to -”

He cut off mid-sentence with a choking sound, eyes wide with pain.

Behind him Hael stepped away, the dagger in his hand dripping blood. He bared his teeth, eyes glazed as Parathe dropped to the ground, dead before he hit the cobblestones.

Before anyone could react he leapt forward towards a paralysed Wirr, dagger lashing out in slow motion.

It all happened in a moment. Elocien roared as he leapt in front of his son, taking the blade squarely in the stomach. Davian, who had been several strides ahead with Asha, was suddenly there and ramming his sword through Hael’s chest. Both Elocien and Hael crumpled to the ground, the former moaning in pain, the latter twitching once and laying still.

Wirr finally found the ability to move; he dropped to his knees beside his gasping father, pressing his hands in vain against the fountain of blood pumping from Elocien’s rent flesh. He closed his eyes. Healing a wound this severe would take a lot of Essence; he would need to use everything he had left. He just hoped it would be enough.

“No, Torin.” Flecks of foamy blood appeared at the corner of the duke’s mouth, but his tone was firm, even at a whisper. “No healing.”

Wirr stared at his father in shock. “But you’ll die!” he protested. He furiously wiped away tears that he hadn’t even realised he’d begun to shed. “I can save you!”

Elocien gave him a sad, affectionate smile, clasping Wirr’s hand in his own. “But you must not,” he murmured. “We’ve been tricked, Torin. They’ll be coming through Fedris Idri. We need the Gifted to fight, else we all die, not just me.”

“But -”

“ Promise me , Torin.” Elocien’s grip began to weaken, but his tone was edged with urgency. “I’m starting to lose focus; if I get confused, I need you to know that this is what I want. Changing the Tenets is all that matters now. I need you to swear to me that you will let me go.”

Wirr stared at him for a long moment, then sat back, letting his shoulders slump. The tears ran freely down his face now. “I promise.”

The duke sighed in satisfaction. His eyes glazed for just a second and he coughed, then moaned in pain. When he looked up at Wirr again, his gaze seemed… different. Panicked.