James Islington - The Shadow Of What Was Lost

The symbols on the shield had begun to glow with an intense blue light. It was working.

Wirr continued, “I swear I will not use Essence with the intent to deceive, intimidate, or otherwise work to the detriment of non-Gifted, except in cases of self-defence or for the purposes of protecting Andarra.”

“I swear I will not use Essence with the intent to deceive, intimidate, or otherwise work to the detriment of non-Gifted, except in cases of self-defence or for the purposes of protecting Andarra.”

Wirr smiled as the symbols glowed blue again. “I swear that as no Administrator may kill or bring harm of any kind to me, I shall not kill or bring harm of any kind to an Administrator.” After Ionis, Wirr had decided to tweak that Tenet a little.

Davian repeated the phrase word-for-word. When he was done, Wirr took a deep breath, then gave Davian a shaky grin.

“That’s it,” he said softly.

Davian let out a long breath as the symbols on the shield began to fade.

He should have felt ecstatic at changing the Tenets – felt something – but instead his gaze was drawn to the pile of dust that had once been Ionis.

Leaving the Administrator alive had been too great a risk. If Ionis had had even a few more seconds, managed to finish his sentence, then Davian’s only option would have been to stop Wirr in the same manner. Even with so many lives at stake, he wasn’t sure he could have done that.

He frowned as he thought about what he’d done. A detached part of him understood, perhaps for the first time, how deeply experiencing Malshash’s memory had affected him. Killing a man in cold blood – even a man such as Ionis, even in defence of something far greater than himself – should have shaken him to his core.

It hadn’t.

He rubbed his forehead, glancing down at the smooth skin on his forearm. After all of that, had it been worth it? He exchanged glances with Wirr. Nothing seemed to be happening.

“I did everything I was supposed to do,” Davian said worriedly. “Did it –“

Wirr’s eyes rolled into the back of his head, and he collapsed.

Davian dashed forward to help him, but a sudden flash of pain – mild, but noticeable – on his exposed forearm made him hesitate. He glanced down to see the familiar tattoo forming, glowing slightly, just as the symbols on the shield had a moment ago. He’d bound himself to the Tenets again, even if they were different this time. Bound all of the Gifted, in fact.

He felt a stab of concern, of doubt. Had he done the right thing? He turned his attention to the Council members, watching as they each examined their own forearms in fascination.

As quickly as it had come, the pain and the light faded.

“Is it done?” asked one of the Council members.

Nashrel stared at his arm, then at Wirr’s prostrate form. “I believe it is,” he said slowly. “There is only one way to find out, though. Marshal everyone.” The other Council members began filing out, whispering amongst themselves.

Davian knelt by Wirr. He was still unconscious, but his breathing was regular and deep.

“He’s alive,” said Davian with relief. He took off his well-worn cloak, creating a makeshift pillow. Wirr’s head had hit the stone floor hard when he’d fallen, but there was no blood.

Nashrel nodded his acknowledgement. He crouched down on the other side of Wirr and placed his hand on the prince’s forehead, a small stream of Essence trickling out of him.

"He’s fine," said Nashrel after a moment. "We’re a long way from any beds here, though. It’s probably safer if we wait until he wakes up before moving him."

Davian nodded. "I’ll stay," he said. "I’m sure you have other things to attend to."

Nashrel inclined his head, turning to go. Then he hesitated.

"Nobody would have blamed you, you know," the Elder said quietly. "I saw your expression. You were tempted to change what he said, at least a little."

Davian shook his head. "No. He trusted me, and he’s thought about this a lot longer than I have. It wouldn’t have been right."

Nashrel gave a thoughtful nod. "I’m not sure any of us would have felt the same," he admitted. "But maybe it’s for the best. And those new Tenets may still be restricting, but fates take me if they aren’t an improvement."

Suddenly there was a flurry of activity at the door, and a younger man in a red cloak hurried inside.

"Elder Eilinar," he said, out of breath. "We’re getting reports that some of the Blind are inside the Tol."

Nashrel stared for a moment, then snorted. "In the Tol? How? They cannot have breached the Resolute Door," he said dismissively. "Someone is seeing things, Ralyse. The Blind haven’t even made it past Fedris Idri yet, else we would have heard. And there is no other way…."

He trailed off, paling.

"Most of our people are already on their way to the Shields?" he asked. Ralyse nodded, and Nashrel bit his lip. "Warn everyone else to be wary, then. And have someone watch the El-cursed stairwells to the lower levels." He turned to Davian. "Can you carry him?"

Davian grimaced. "I think so."

"Then we need to seal this room, and get moving."

Davian grabbed Wirr by the waist, slinging him awkwardly over his shoulder. His friend was heavy, but not so much so that Davian couldn’t manage the weight.

"Taeris warned us," Nashrel muttered to himself as they hurried along the tunnels, back towards the main part of the Tol. "He said the sha’teth had turned, and we didn’t listen."

"Probably the one thing he didn’t lie about," murmured Davian under his breath.

Soon enough they reached a part of the Tol Davian recognised. The passageways, normally full of red cloaks, were completely empty. Nashrel frowned at the deserted corridors but said nothing, pressing on.

Just as Wirr was becoming too heavy a burden for Davian to bear, Nashrel gestured to a nearby room.

"There’s a bed. Set him down in there and rest for a few moments; I’ll return when I find out what in fates is going on."

Davian did as Nashrel suggested, closing the door behind him. The silence of the Tol was making him nervous, as it obviously had been for the Elder, too. The Gifted had sent on several of their people to the Shields already; Wirr had insisted that happen before he changed the Tenets. Even so… there still should have been someone left in this section.

Davian waited for a while, occasionally checking on Wirr, trying to stay calm. Ten minutes passed. Thirty. An hour.

Then the shouting began.

Davian’s first reaction was to open the door to see what was going on, but suddenly a scream of pain broke through the commotion, cut short as abruptly as it had begun.

Then a brief silence, followed by the sounds of heavy footsteps in the hallway outside.

Davian hurried over to where Wirr lay on the bed, looking around and trying not to panic. There was nothing in here he could use as a weapon, and he knew that neither kan nor Essence would be effective against the Blind, even if he was willing to risk a close-quarters fight in the same room as his unconscious friend.

Clenching his fists to stop them from shaking, he carefully drew a mesh of kan around both himself and Wirr.

There was a scratching at the door, and the handle turned. Davian hardened the layer of kan, praying fervently he was remembering how to do it correctly.

He turned, holding his breath as the door swung open to reveal the Blind soldier.

The man had removed his helmet, but the black-plated armour was the same as Davian had seen in his vision. The soldier’s eyes swept the room, and for an instant they paused on the bed, as if he’d noticed something amiss. Davian held completely motionless, willing Wirr not to choose this moment to stir in his sleep.