James Islington - The Shadow Of What Was Lost

Wirr frowned after a couple of seconds, not moving, letting his eyes adjust to the gloom. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but something was wrong.

A shadow shifted, and Wirr could just make out Taeris’ scarred features. They were set in fierce concentration; his crisscrossed forehead glistened with sweat as he stared intently at something he was holding, mesmerized by whatever it was. Wirr moved his head ever so slightly to get a better view. Taeris seemed not to notice.

Wirr caught the dull glint of steel. A knife.

Taeris sat completely still, almost as if in a trance, but his expression told a different story. He was labouring, struggling against something unseen. Something that scared him. Wirr watched, keeping his breathing deep and even to ensure it sounded like he was still asleep. Taeris just sat, motionless, staring at the knife with horror in his eyes, for a minute. Two minutes. Five.

Then, without warning, Taeris began to raise the blade towards his face – slowly, inch by inch. His breathing became shallower.

Just as Wirr was about to move, something seemed to break and Taeris' arm dropped again. His features relaxed; he pulled open his satchel, tucking the knife away. Once he was done he lay back down on his bed, and soon his breathing was deep and regular.

Wirr closed his eyes, trying to sleep again, but the image of Taeris’ face stayed in his mind. Straining. Terrified.

He was still awake when the dawn came.

Davian stared numbly at the rising sun.

“So you think he might be dangerous, now?” he asked, unable to summon enough energy to colour his tone with emotion.

“I don’t know.” Wirr sounded as exhausted as Davian felt. “I just thought I should tell you. The way he was staring at that knife… like he was fighting it, afraid of it… it scared me, Dav. And this might be our last chance to part ways with him.”

The knot of grief and anxiety tightened just a little more in Davian’s stomach. He’d barely slept, and those few hours he had, had been filled with nightmares. Asha, screaming for him to help as she died a bloody death. Mistress Alita, the Elders, Talean, all doing the same. No matter that he knew, rationally, that there was nothing he could have done. He still should have been there.

And now this.

“We won’t survive on our own,” he said.

“Karaliene was prepared to take just you and I. If we go back now, she still will be.”

Davian hesitated. Third-hand stories from the princess were one thing, but if Wirr had seen Taeris acting so strangely….

He glanced across at Caeden.

“No,” he said tiredly. “That’s the easy way out, but I’m not sure it’s the right way.”

Wirr just nodded, looking unsurprised and a little relieved. “I feel the same, I think – if there’s even a chance that what Taeris says about the Boundary is true, then we need to get Caeden back to Tol Athian. But we should watch Taeris closely from now on.”

“Agreed.”

There was silence for a while, and Davian glanced again over the early morning landscape. The sun had not been up long enough to banish the sharp chill from the air, nor completely burn away the light fog that lay across the nearby valleys. He stamped his feet to warm up, looking across once again at the archway of Thrindar’s northern gate. A few people were already making their way to and from the city, but no-one who looked like they were there to accompany them.

“Are you sure Karaliene hasn’t changed her mind?” he asked.

“They’ll come,” said Wirr, though he too glanced towards the gate again, searching for any sign of their promised allies.

They had been waiting for twenty minutes now. Taeris had been walking in aimless circles since dawn, occasionally muttering to himself as the sun rose higher and higher. The delay clearly wasn’t pleasing him; Davian was beginning to feel exposed too, standing as they were in plain sight of the city walls.

Suddenly there was a hail from the gate and he turned to see two figures approaching, leading several horses. He squinted. It was a young man and a young woman - both about his own age, slim and athletic-looking, and dressed in simple but well-made clothes that looked practical for travelling. Davian’s heart sank a little. If this was the protection the princess had promised Wirr, it had been barely worth the wait.

Apparently Taeris was thinking along the same lines. “Is this all Princess Karaliene has to offer?” he asked Wirr, irritated, though quietly enough that the newcomers could not overhear.

Wirr raised an eyebrow. “Take another look,” he replied.

Taeris frowned, turning back to those approaching. His eyes widened a little in recognition.

“Aelric Shainwiere,” Taeris said as the two reached the group.

The boy inclined his head, and Davian realised that it was indeed the same young man they’d watched the previous day in the arena. Wearing unassuming clothes, and with his hair no longer bound, he looked markedly different.

Davian recognised the girl, too, now that he could look at her up close – she was one of the princess’ attendants. Her dark hair was cropped to her shoulders, and she had lightly tanned skin that freckled beneath her eyes.

Aelric surveyed the group, his expression indicating that he was unimpressed with what he saw. “I have been ordered to accompany you on your journey,” he said. “The princess has told me who you are. Most of you, at least,” he amended, giving Wirr a baleful look. Davian’s initial rush of excitement faded as he saw the disinterest in the young man’s posture. Aelric clearly did not wish to be there.

The girl shot Aelric an irritated glare, then stepped forward. “My name is Dezia. I’m Aelric’s sister,” she said, looking vaguely embarrassed. “We’ve brought horses and some supplies. I hope there’s enough for wherever we are going.”

Davian glanced at the horses; their saddlebags looked full to bursting. They would have plenty of food for a while, at least.

Taeris quickly made some polite introductions, frowning all the while. “I mean no offense,” he said once everyone had been introduced, “ but why did Princess Karaliene send you? I’m sure she’s told you that we need to stay… inconspicuous on the road. If someone recognises you….”

Aelric snorted. “In these clothes? I barely recognise myself.”

Dezia sighed, shooting her brother another irritated look. “The truth is, Master Sarr, Aelric has gone and done something rather foolish. He got drunk and admitted a little too loudly that he didn’t… fight to his potential in the final bout yesterday.”

“He threw the fight?” Davian’s astonishment made him blurt out the question before he could stop himself.

Aelric scowled at him, but Dezia just nodded. “Yes,” she said, glancing sideways at a sulky-looking Aelric, an odd note of pride in her voice.

“Why?” asked Davian in disbelief.

Wirr had been nodding throughout the conversation. “Politics,” he said, in the tone of someone who had just put together several pieces of a puzzle. “An Andarran winning on Desriel’s soil would have been a slap in the face to the Gil’shar. Small by itself, but given the delicate state of things right now….”

Dezia nodded, looking at Wirr for the first time, who straightened unconsciously under her examination. “That’s right,” she said. “He gave up a chance at fame, to be remembered as one of the youngest swordsmen ever to win the Song, in the interests of diplomacy. Even though the Song is supposed to be above all of that.” Her expression darkened. “And then decided to risk his life hours later by having too much pride to pretend he’d lost fairly.”

Taeris had been listening with a perturbed expression. “The backers know?”