James Islington - The Shadow Of What Was Lost

“Trouble?” he asked.

Wirr looked the smuggler in the eye. “Nothing we couldn’t handle.”

Anaar nodded, his expression thoughtful, gazing at the two boys with a touch more respect than previously. Then he gestured towards the hallway; Davian leapt to his feet, stomach fluttering as he snatched up his small bag and followed Wirr out of the room.

Nothing was said as they left the inn and walked through the streets of Talmiel, steering clear of the remaining revellers, most of whom were convincingly drunk by this stage of the night. They followed what seemed to be a circuitous route; after ten minutes of walking without incident, Davian realised that Anaar must have known the Administrators’ scheduled patrols and had been deftly avoiding them.

Soon they were out of the town and into the nearby forest that lined the Devliss, gradually leaving the sounds of the festival behind. Still no-one spoke. There was little light beneath the trees, but the almost-full moon provided enough illumination to navigate. They walked at a brisk pace for another twenty minutes before Anaar held up a hand, bringing them to a halt.

“Just through here,” he said softly, indicating an almost indistinguishable break in the thick shrubbery.

They pushed through what appeared to be an impenetrable wall of foliage; suddenly Davian found himself stumbling onto the beach of a tiny natural cove, protected on all sides by either stone or forest. The Devliss rushed past just beyond the mouth of the inlet, quicksilver in the moonlight. The water was moving uncomfortably fast, but it at least appeared smooth here, with no jagged rocks to create the white-tipped rapids for which the river was famous.

A little way down the beach was a small boat, pulled out of the reach of the water. Davian stared at it dubiously. He’d never been in a boat before, but this one looked small to be making such a dangerous crossing; it would barely fit all four of them, particularly as Anaar’s companion counted for almost two.

Anaar saw Davian’s expression and grinned, slapping him on the back. “It’s perfectly safe, my friend. Not comfortable, perhaps, but it will get the job done.”

Wirr examined the boat with a concerned look. “Surely it will just be swept away by the current?”

Anaar shook his head. “That’s why I brought Olsar along,” he said, gesturing at the burly man who was now dragging the boat towards the water. “With the two of us rowing, we can make it to the other side without any problems.”

“We’ll have to take your word on that,” said Wirr, nervousness making his tone strained.

“Indeed,” said Anaar absently, his attention focused across the Devliss. Water stretched almost as far as the eye could see, but as Davian followed the smuggler’s gaze a darker mound resolved itself on the horizon, barely visible in the darkness. Suddenly a tiny orange light, little more than a dot, bobbed into view. Soon it was joined by several more, all in a line.

“Patrol,” Anaar explained to Wirr and Davian, not taking his eyes from the lights. “They pass by every few hours. It takes close to an hour to reach the other side, which gives you a little more than two to get well clear of the border.” He nodded to Olsar as the lights winked out again, the distant patrol moving on. The large man gave the boat a final shove, leaving it bobbing in the river. “No talking once we’re away – sounds carry over the water, especially at night. Once we touch the shore, you pay your fee and we have nothing more to do with one another. If you’re caught, you never met me. Understood?”

Davian and Wirr both nodded mutely. Anaar gestured for them to get into the boat, then hesitated.

“One more thing,” he said. “Every border soldier in Desriel has a Finder, so if you use your powers to so much as blow your nose once you’re over there, they’ll know. And believe me, once they know, they won’t stop hunting you until you’re dead.” He gave them a serious look. “Which would be terribly inconvenient if Olsar and myself were still nearby. So I want your word – nothing until at least an hour after we’ve parted ways. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” said Wirr, sticking out his hand. Anaar shook it, then offered his hand to Davian, who grasped it firmly.

As he did, Anaar’s eyes strayed downward, towards Davian’s pocket.

Davian stiffened. The other man knew.

A flash of anxiety ran through him, followed by… something else. A surge, rippling through his body and coalescing in his palm before draining away – straight into Anaar. Davian pulled his hand back sharply, fingertips tingling.

Anaar gave him a confused look, then shook his head as if to clear it. The smuggler turned away, and Davian released a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. Whatever had just happened – if something had just happened, and it hadn’t been Davian’s imagination – Anaar was unaware of it.

Soon they were in the tiny craft, Anaar and Olsar pulling with long, practiced strokes towards the opposite shore. Davian’s fears of the vessel being taken by the currents proved unfounded. Both smugglers rowed with power and precision as they angled against the flow of the river, their progress gradual but steady. For a while Davian wondered if they would be able to keep up such a hard pace, but eventually he began to relax. Neither man seemed close to tiring.

The shore on the Desriel side of the river grew slowly larger. The only sounds were the slight splashes of oars dipping beneath the Devliss’ surface, the gentle creaking of the timbers, and the occasional waterfowl warbling softly into the night.

Davian felt every muscle tense as individual trees resolved themselves out of the shadowy mass ahead. Whatever the danger had been over the past three weeks, the moment they stepped onto that shore it would be increased tenfold.

The boat finally ground into the soft, muddy bank; Olsar slipped out, barely making a splash, and dragged the craft out of the water with the others still sitting in it. Davian marvelled at the man’s strength. Anaar was at least short of breath from the constant rowing, but Olsar was to all appearances unaffected.

Unlike the sand of the Andarran shore, there was only a muddy embankment where they had landed. Wincing as his feet sank into the soft mud – the shoes he wore were his only pair – Davian scrambled up the riverbank and into the long grass, exchanging relieved glances with Wirr. It seemed that their arrival had gone undetected.

Anaar soon joined them. He stood for a few seconds, listening to the sounds of the forest. Apparently satisfied, he put his fingers to his mouth and gave a low, musical whistle.

Shadows stirred from deeper in the trees and two burly men emerged from the darkness, silently taking up positions behind the boys, their swords held at the ready.

Davian’s stomach twisted as he realised they had been betrayed.

“What is this?” hissed Wirr, rounding on Anaar.

“Business,” replied Anaar, spreading his hands apologetically. “I am in a position to renegotiate our deal, and as such, I have decided that the price is a little higher than was originally discussed.”

There was a long silence. “You mean all of it,” said Wirr eventually, resignation in his tone.

“I am afraid so,” said Anaar with a nod. He held up a cautionary finger. “And I know the First Tenet means you cannot hurt us, but please also remember what I said about the soldiers around here. They are very enthusiastic about their work. Try and escape us using your powers, and you will bring down a hundred times worse on your heads. You doubtless feel like you are getting the raw end of this bargain, but I am sure a few extra coins are not worth your lives.”