James Islington - The Shadow Of What Was Lost

Davian chewed his lip; the subject made him a little nervous. “Honestly? I think it’s likely the Gil’shar lied about you. Taeris says you’re probably a pawn in something larger that’s going on, the same as me, and I think he’s right. Besides - I’ve seen your face whenever you think about those accusations. I know the whole thing makes you sick to your stomach.”

Caeden nodded slowly. “But?”

Davian took a deep breath. “ But … everything’s been so backward, this past month. I’m not sure I can trust my own judgment any more.” A stab of grief and fury cut through him as he thought about Ilseth Tenvar and Caladel, and he gritted his teeth. “I hope you’re the person you seem to be, Caeden, truly. I like you. But I probably won’t feel certain of anything until we reach Tol Athian and you get your memories back.” He looked Caeden in the eye. “What do you think?”

Caeden grimaced. “I… don’t know. Part of me wishes I could remember, so I don’t have to wonder.”

“And the other part is afraid of what you will find if you do?”

“Yes.” Caeden didn’t show much outward emotion, but Davian could see the pain in his eyes.

Davian hesitated, unsure of what to say. “I suppose… even if you find what you’re afraid of, you’ll still have a choice moving forward,” he said eventually. “If you’re a good man now… well, what you did in the past, is in the past. There’s no reason you can’t continue to be a good man in the future.”

Caeden thought for a while, then inclined his head. “That’s good advice,” he said softly. “And I appreciate the honesty.”

Their horses drifted closer to the rest of the group, and the conversation died away after that, leaving Davian to his own thoughts again. To his grief. It was no longer sharp or threatened to come out in a burst of emotion, like the previous night; instead it sat as a constant, grinding emptiness in the pit of his stomach, an ache that felt as though it would never recede.

For a while he brooded on his and Wirr’s escape from Caladel. Elder Tenvar had obviously known what was going to happen; was he then involved somehow? Perhaps even responsible? The more Davian thought about it, the more it seemed likely, and the angrier he became.

The day passed slowly, the group travelling in silence for the most part, constantly tense as they watched for any sign of pursuit from Thrindar. There was none, though, and they found a sheltered patch of ground suitable for making camp just as the rim of the sun was disappearing below the horizon.

Dusk was properly turning into night when they heard the sounds of a horse trotting up the road.

Other people had been scarce on the northern road, so Davian turned curiously from the newly-made fire to watch as the figure rode at a steady pace towards them. The horse was reined in as the traveller came within range of the fire, and a familiar voice called out.

“El take you, Taeris, but you could have come by the temple before you left!”

Davian relaxed as the horse was urged a little further forward, and Nihim’s face became visible beneath his hood. Wirr grabbed the reins of Nihim’s mount as he dismounted, leading it away to be tied with the others.

Taeris greeted the priest with a bemused look. “Nihim, what are you doing here?”

The tall man shrugged. “I heard the princess was less than gracious with your little party, and thought you might be headed this way. Despite omitting that minor detail when last we talked.” He gave Taeris a meaningful stare.

Taeris just nodded, looking resigned.

Aelric, who had been listening, interjected indignantly. “Princess Karaliene was more than gracious!” he protested. “These men are criminals here; she gave them more than most others would have.”

“That she did,” Taeris assured Aelric soothingly.

Nihim glanced at Aelric, then raised an eyebrow at Taeris. “Don’t tell me you’ve added a Loyalist to your group, old friend?”

Taeris smiled. “Nihim Sethi, meet Aelric Shainwiere, the finest swordsman to ever deliberately lose the Song of Swords.”

Aelric scowled at the introduction, but Nihim chuckled. “Shainwiere, is it? Yes, I heard some mutterings about you before I left this morning,” he said in amusement. “I suppose I can see why you might have joined Taeris' excursion out of the country. Nobody likes giving their life’s savings to a man who deliberately and publicly dumps it into the nearest sewer. Makes them look somewhat foolish, one might say.”

Aelric flushed, but didn’t respond.

Nihim grabbed Taeris by the arm, murmuring something to him in a low tone. Taeris nodded, expression grave, and turned to the others. “I need to speak with Nihim privately for a time,” he said. “Make sure someone’s on watch while I’m gone.” Without further explanation, he and the priest walked out of the firelight and started down the road.

Davian frowned after them, wondering at Nihim’s sudden appearance. The older men’s secrecy hadn’t bothered Davian back at the temple, but out here on the road was different. If Nihim was coming with them, they should be told what was going on.

After a moment, Wirr came to stand beside him, looking in the same direction.

“Do you want to go after them, or shall I?” the blond-haired boy asked in a conversational tone.

Davian smiled slightly. “I’ll go. Tell the others I’m… relieving myself, or something.”

Wirr just nodded, wandering back towards the rest of the group.

Following Taeris and Nihim wasn’t difficult; the light was fading, and the two men strolled along the road, chatting amiably. At first the conversation seemed inconsequential, but then there was a sudden silence, and when Taeris spoke again his tone was heavy.

“Is there any chance you’ll turn back?”

Nihim smiled, shaking his head. “It’s my time. We both knew it from the moment you walked into the temple with those boys. El help me, but I’ll not hide from it any longer.”

“So you’re finally done with Marat Jha?”

Nihim spat to one side. “Every day I wore those robes I felt dirty. Yes, I believe I finally am. I can only pray that El forgives me for the things I’ve done while wearing them.”

Davian crept a little closer, keeping to the thick brush on the side of the road. Nocturnal creatures were beginning to stir around him, masking any small noises he might have made.

“I wish I could have properly repaid you for saving her,” Nihim said suddenly.

“There was never a need. You know that,” said Taeris. “I’d make the same choice again if the opportunity came.”

Nihim grimaced. “But it lost you your chance to go home, sins forgiven. I know how much that meant. Now, even more than I did back then.”

“And now here I am, about to go home anyway, but this time with evidence. And if I can convince the Council of the danger, they’ll trip over themselves in their haste to make amends. Who knows. Maybe they’ll even decide not to hand me over for execution.” Taeris shrugged. “Everything for a reason, old friend.”

Nihim raised an eyebrow. “So you’re going with them now?”

“I have to. When they were going to be travelling with the other Gifted, the risk was acceptable. But by themselves… even once we’re through Deilannis, I can’t just send them off with Caeden and hope for the best, not without knowing his purpose in all of this. There’s still a very real chance he’s dangerous.”

Nihim inclined his head. “You won’t hear any argument from me. Just… be careful.”

Taeris grunted in acknowledgement, staring at the ground in contemplative silence for a few seconds. “Do you have any regrets?”

Nihim didn’t respond for a moment, lost in thought. Then he exhaled heavily. “I do. Of course I do. But there’s nothing that stands out - nothing that breaks my heart or plays on my mind. I served El as best I thought; beyond that, nothing is important.”