James Islington - The Shadow Of What Was Lost

Davian scowled at the smuggler. “How do we know you won’t just kill us once you have the gold?” he asked, trying to keep his voice low.

Anaar smiled. “I did give you my word. Besides, if that were my intention, would I not just kill you and take the gold from your bodies? No,” he chided. “Too much mess to clean up. My men will take your payment by force if need be – but if you cooperate, you have my word that there will be no violence.”

Davian considered Anaar for a moment. The man wasn’t lying, exactly, and yet… something didn’t ring true.

“But you don’t want us to use Essence, either,” he said slowly. “If we do, it won’t give you enough time to get out of crossbow range before the patrol gets here. That’s why you haven’t tried to kill us. It isn’t worth the risk of our retaliating.”

Anaar shook his head, still relaxed. “Nonsense. Even if the patrol runs here, we have plenty of time to get away.”

Again Anaar was telling the truth and yet Davian saw the man standing behind Wirr shift, looking uneasy. It was all the encouragement he needed.

Taking a deep breath he ploughed on, ignoring Wirr’s warning glance. “But you won’t have time to cover your tracks. This has to be the only place to cross the Devliss by boat in, what… a hundred miles?” He crossed his arms. “The Gil’shar are obviously already aware it’s possible, seeing as they have a patrol passing so close by. If they found any sign the crossing was being used – especially if they thought Gifted were using it – well, I imagine that would make undertaking your business far more difficult. Impossible, one might say.”

Anaar’s face darkened. “Use Essence, and I will kill you,” he promised.

“Try to kill us, and we’ll use Essence,” responded Davian. “Look, we’re going to need to eat. Just let us keep a few of the coins. It’s not worth risking the profits of your entire operation here, is it?”

Anaar stared at Davian stonily for a few moments, then barked a low laugh.

“Clever boy,” he murmured, a touch of reluctant admiration in his voice. “You have nerve, I will give you that. Very well. Take three coins for yourself, then toss me the rest.”

Davian nodded; he wasn’t willing to push the issue further. He drew the small leather pouch from his pocket, drew three coins out, and tossed it to Anaar. The smuggler caught it neatly, opening it to look inside. There were a tense few moments as he examined the contents, and Davian felt sure he was about to ask for the bronze box as well.

Then Anaar drew the strings on the pouch, giving a satisfied nod. “It seems our business here is complete.”

The smuggler gave an absent wave to the two men behind Wirr and Davian, who moved towards the boat without a word. One of them was carrying a crate of something heavy, which he placed gently in the stern – no doubt whatever goods Anaar was illegally transporting back to Andarra – and soon they were dragging the boat back into the water.

Anaar hesitated as the boat bobbed away, then dug into the pouch he’d taken and flicked another coin towards them. Davian caught it before it disappeared into the long grass. It was gold.

He stared at the coin in surprise, then looked up at the smuggler again. Anaar gave him a brief, impish grin, then turned back to face the Andarran shore before Davian could respond.

“That was quick thinking, Dav,” Wirr said after a few seconds, watching the boat pull away from the shore. “Risky, but quick.”

“Thanks.” Davian exhaled heavily, finally feeling able to breathe again.

“We should get moving. The further we get from here in the next hour or two, the better.”

“Agreed.”

Wirr turned and headed into the forest, Davian trailing after him. In seconds the thick foliage had hidden the boat, river, and distant shore of Andarra from view.

They walked as fast as they dared, careful not to leave too obvious a trail behind them. It was unlikely a Desrielite patrol would notice their passing, but there was no reason to take the chance.

They moved with silent determination for the first hour or so, neither willing to make more sound than the snapping of twigs and rustling of leaves underfoot, which alone seemed thunderous in the hush of the night. After a while Wirr slowed to a stop in a copse of tall trees, looked around cautiously and then indicated a fallen log.

“We should rest,” he said, a little out of breath.

Davian nodded his acquiescence; he was not as fit as Wirr, and was feeling the fast pace. Wirr was doubtless tapping his Reserve for extra energy, too. His friend had assured him that it was safe to do so – that so long as the Essence remained within his own body, it could not be detected by Finders. More than ever, Davian hoped Wirr knew what he was talking about.

Wirr sat on the log, then began unlacing his boot.

“What are you doing?” asked Davian, sitting beside him.

Wirr upended the boot, holding out his hand. There was a jingling sound, and then five silver coins slid into his palm, glinting in the moonlight.

Davian stared at them for a few moments. “You thought something like this might happen,” he said eventually, not knowing whether to be impressed or irritated.

Wirr shrugged. “He was a smuggler, Dav. Not exactly an honest line of work.” He sighed. “Part of me wishes I’d taken gold instead of silver, but there would have been trouble if the purse had been too light. At least between the two of us, we’ve saved enough to keep us going for now.”

They sat in contemplative silence for a time. “It looks like he didn’t know about the Vessel after all,” Wirr remarked suddenly.

“Maybe.” Davian wasn’t convinced. He’d had a chance to think during their walk through the forest – to ponder that moment on the Andarran shore of the Devliss, when he had shaken hands with Anaar. He hadn’t imagined that fleeting look the smuggler had cast towards his pocket.

Wirr picked up on his doubt. “He wouldn’t have left it with us if he’d known,” he said. “It’s probably worth ten times what he took. I think he would have risked killing us for it, to be honest.”

Davian hesitated. “On the beach, just before we cast off. I think, maybe….” He shook his head. “I don’t know. I think I did something to him. Maybe made him forget, somehow.”

Wirr raised an eyebrow. “I see.” From his tone, he clearly didn’t.

Davian scrunched up his face, trying to think of how best to explain. “It felt a little like when I see someone lying.”

Wirr frowned, looking only a little less cynical. “I imagine it’s possible,” he said after a while. “The Augurs were supposed to be able to do all sorts of things. But if you’re not sure that’s what happened… well, I wouldn’t get too excited about it.” He clapped Davian on the back.

Davian nodded, letting the matter drop. Wirr was probably right. Still… something had happened. He was sure of it.

After a few minutes they stood, brushing away the scraps of bark that still clung to their clothing.

Without further conversation, they continued northward into Desriel.

Asha rode in silence.

She stared around listlessly as they made their way along Fedris Idri. The sole pass into Ilin Illan cut through the mountain in a narrow, surgically straight line; sheer cliffs towered hundreds of feet on either side, their dark brown rock flat and smooth, polished to an almost glass-like sheen by the ancient power of the Builders.

The famous sight should have filled her with wonder, but instead she felt nothing except the stares of people passing by. Most looked away if she turned to face them, though some met her gaze, openly disgusted or fascinated. And how could she blame them? She had seen her own reflection many times in the past few weeks since leaving Caladel, and the black lines across her face, radiating like burst veins from her eyes, would give anyone pause.