James Islington - The Shadow Of What Was Lost

“I know. But the Boundary’s a long way north; we were always going to have to go further. And if the sig’nari are in Desriel, that’s where I need to go.” He hadn’t come this far to turn back. “If you don’t want to come, though, I will understand.”

Wirr hesitated, for a moment looking as though he was considering the offer before shaking his head irritably. “You can stop staying things like that. Given where we are, I think I’ve proven that I’m with you the rest of the way.” He sighed. “Can I safely assume you have absolutely no plan to get over the border?”

“Elder Olin always said you were very astute.”

“He always said you were the sensible one, too,” pointed out Wirr, his tone dry. He thought for a moment. “The bridge over the Devliss is like a fortress; people get stopped and checked with Finders on both shores, even on a night as busy as tonight. Not to mention that this makeup on our arms won’t stand up to close inspection - we wouldn’t even make it past the Administrators on this side. So the first thing will be to find another way across the river.”

Davian raised an eyebrow. “You’ve been here before?”

Wirr was silent for a few moments, then nodded. “I have. Briefly. Let’s leave it at that.”

Davian inclined his head. The two of them had an unspoken agreement to never discuss Wirr’s life before the school; whatever had happened to him, it was clearly too painful to talk about. Wirr had simply lied about it to the other students, but he hadn’t had that luxury with Davian.

“So we find a boat,” said Davian.

Wirr shook his head. “The Devliss is all rapids and waterfalls. Wide, too. There’s a reason that Talmiel is the only crossing.”

There was silence as they both thought for a few seconds, then Wirr blinked in surprise as his stomach emitted a low growl. “Perhaps we can think on it further over dinner?”

Davian hesitated. “What if there are Administrators in the common room?”

“In a place like this? Unlikely. They’ll be out there, soaking up the attention.” Wirr gestured at the window as he spoke, through which the faint sounds of music and laughter were drifting up to them. “Besides, it would be suspicious if we stayed holed up in this room tonight. That innkeep may be friendly, but I doubt he’d be shy about mentioning unusual behaviour to a passing Administrator.”

Davian conceded the point, and they made their way back downstairs. The common room was crowded; a few tables here and there were unoccupied, but for the most part everything looked just as one would expect on the night of a festival.

Wirr nodded towards an empty table against the wall, slightly apart from the rest of the room. They gave their orders to a pretty serving girl with a put-upon expression on her face, then sat in companionable silence for a few minutes, watching the proceedings, each lost in their own thoughts.

They ate with gusto when their food came; with their careful shunning of built-up areas over the past few weeks, hot meals had been a rarity. The fare was plain but filling, and it wasn’t until Davian was settling back with a sigh of contentment that he noticed the strange warmth emanating from his pocket.

Frowning, he surreptitiously reached down and took out the Vessel, still wrapped in its cloth. A gentle but palpable heat pulsed through the fabric.

“What are you doing?” murmured Wirr, noticing what was in Davian’s hand.

Davian hesitated, not taking his eyes from the cloth-covered bundle. “Something’s happening, Wirr,” he said softly. “It’s getting warmer.”

His friend looked at him uncertainly. Wirr had examined the Vessel on their first day out of the school and on several occasions since; each time he had denied being able to feel any unusual heat. “Give it to me,” he said eventually, holding out his hand. Davian passed it across; Wirr held it for a few seconds, brow furrowing in concentration. Then he shook his head.

“Still nothing. I believe you, Dav, but I don’t feel anything. You’re certain?”

Davian nodded. “I wouldn’t bring it up otherwise."

Wirr looked at the cloth-covered lump in his hand, his expression troubled. “Then it’s specific to you somehow. I don’t know how that’s possible, but… fates, I can’t say I like it.” Sighing, he handed the box back to Davian.

As he did so, a flap of the cloth slipped and the skin on Davian’s palm made contact with the bare metal beneath. The touch wasn’t hot enough to burn, but sharp and unexpected enough that Davian flinched. The cube slipped from his grasp, its covering falling away as it tumbled to the timber floor with a dull thud.

Davian moved swiftly to pick it up again, then froze as he looked at the now-exposed Vessel.

The faint outline of a symbol had appeared on one face of the box, superimposed over the writing. It was glowing – not brightly, but enough to be distinct. A wolf, he thought from his brief glimpse.

Opposite him, Wirr leaned down and collected the Vessel himself, grimacing in Davian’s direction before grabbing the cloth and calmly concealing it from view again. Davian recovered himself enough to glance around at the other patrons. None seemed to be taking any notice of them.

Wirr thrust the now-covered cube back into Davian’s hands. “Best put it in your pocket and leave it there, Dav,” he said after looking around too, exhaling. “The only thing I know about that box is that it’s valuable, regardless of what it actually does. Administration have a massive bounty out on Vessels. Flashing it around a place like this is just asking for trouble.”

Davian nodded and was about to say more when he caught movement from the corner of his eye. He looked up as a man he had never seen before stopped at their table and proceeded to sit, his smile friendly.

“Act like you know me, understand?” said the man, slapping a bemused-looking Wirr on the shoulder. “My name is Anaar. That Hunter in the corner has been staring at you two like a hawk at rabbits for the last few minutes. I hope you had not planned for a quiet evening.” He watched them, waiting for a response.

Davian’s mind raced. He had noted the woman in question earlier – an attractive girl, alone, but none of the men had gone anywhere near her. He’d thought it odd at the time.

Then he remembered the cloth-covered box, still in his hand. Was that why Anaar had come over? Davian slipped it back into his pocket. For a moment he thought Anaar’s eyes flicked towards him, but it was so fast it could have been his imagination.

Wirr gave a sudden laugh, leaning back in his chair. He waved over one of the serving girls. “A drink for my friend Anaar here,” he said, loud enough to be audible to anyone listening.

Davian forced himself to lean back too, though he doubted his effort to look relaxed would be convincing. He studied Anaar in silence. Approaching middle age, the swarthy, strongly-built man had a neatly trimmed beard and close-cropped, thick black hair. His voice was gravelly, and had the confident sound of a man who was accustomed to giving orders and having them obeyed.

“So you think she’s a Hunter,” said Wirr, still smiling, though his tone was flat.

“I know she’s a Hunter,” replied the older man smoothly. “And she can’t stop staring at you two. There is usually a reason for that.”

“We’re handsome men,” said Wirr with a shrug.

Anaar chuckled. “No doubt. But even if it’s just because you’re easy on the eyes, I’d still suggest leaving Talmiel soon. Tonight, if you can; the festival should provide you with ample cover. People that Breshada takes an interest in have a tendency to… disappear… after a few days.” He shrugged. “And usually reappear in Thrindar with a noose around their neck.”