James Islington - The Shadow Of What Was Lost

Aelric seated himself beside Wirr on the stone, not responding. They sat like that in silence for several minutes, just watching the mists; the moon had risen, and the fog glowed with an ethereal silvery light in the middle of the gorge. Wirr thought about asking Aelric to leave, but his heart wasn’t in it. As much as he wanted to lash out at something – anything, in fact - he was grateful for the company.

“It wasn’t your fault,” said Aelric suddenly.

Wirr didn’t react for a moment, but for some reason he didn’t understand, the words ignited a cold rage inside of him.

“What makes you think I blame myself?” It came out as more as a snarl than anything else.

Aelric ignored his tone. “Because I can see it. Right now you’re sitting here, playing back every moment from today and thinking of all the things you could have done differently that would have saved your friend. You’re feeling guilty for a single moment, a single mistake. An accident.” He looked at Wirr with a serious expression. “Tell me I’m wrong, and I won’t say anything more about it.”

Wirr opened his mouth to do just that, but shut it again without making a sound. Aelric was right. He had been playing back every moment of the day in his head, wondering what he could have done differently. Cursing himself for not having enough self-control to be silent, not being smart enough to resist reaching for Essence in a panic.

He gave a heavy sigh, then pondered the tone of Aelric’s voice for a moment.

“You sound like you might know what that feels like,” he said grudgingly.

Aelric chuckled, though there was no joy to the sound. “There’s some truth to that.”

Wirr looked at him, frowning. “What happened?” The pain in Aelric’s voice had caught him by surprise. Since they’d met, Wirr had seen only bluster, swagger and no small amount of belligerence from the young man.

Aelric stared into the chasm. “Do you know how Dezia and I came to be at court?”

Wirr shook his head. “Not the details. Dezia only said that after your father died, King Andras took you in.”

Aelric nodded. “We lived with my father,” he said, voice soft as he remembered. “He was vassal to Gerren Tel’An, a nobleman, but with no holdings of his own. The Tel’Ans all looked down on him, but he didn’t mind so long as we had a roof over our heads and food on the table.

“One day I was playing with Lein Tel’An. We used to practice against each other with training swords, but that day we broke into the armoury and found some real shortswords. We were fourteen, thought the swordmaster was an old fool who couldn’t see we were ready for the real thing.”

Wirr leaned forward. He remembered Lein: a skinny boy with golden hair and a shy smile. He’d been one of the better Tel’Ans. One of the few boys his age he hadn’t completely disliked, in fact, though they’d not spoken often.

Aelric continued, “We were careful at first, but once we got used to the weight of the blades, we were swinging hard and fast. Just like real warriors.” He grimaced at the memory.

Wirr stared at Aelric, aghast. “You killed him?”

Aelric blinked in surprise, then gave a slight smile. “Fates, no,” he said with a chuckle. The smile faded. “I cut off his right hand. I was overconfident and slipped, and the sword went clean through his wrist.” Aelric shook his head, and Wirr could see him reliving the moment in his mind. “The second son of House Tel’An was crippled, and I was at fault.”

“And Lord Tel’An wanted you punished?”

“He wanted me flogged.”

Wirr stiffened. “But… at that age….”

“It could have killed me,” finished Aelric. “A fact my father knew all too well. He demanded that the king be consulted before the punishment was carried out, but Tel’An was having none of it. The day after the accident, I was brought into the town square and tied to the flogging post. My father tried to stop them, first with words, then with his blade.” He stared at the ground. “He was never much of a swordsman, and there were just too many of Tel’An’s men. They killed him.”

Wirr gazed at Aelric for a moment. “I’m sorry.”

Aelric inclined his head. “It was a long time ago.”

“Did they still flog you?”

“No.” Aelric sighed. “My father’s death put a stop to the proceedings. That night, the king received word of what Tel’An had done, and sent for Dezia and myself. Tel’An was furious, but even he was not fool enough to defy the king.”

He paused for a few moments in remembrance, then turned to face Wirr. “What happened with Lein… it was an accident. Carelessness. A moment of madness that changed the course of my life, and Dezia’s, forever. I still regret it, every day, but… it gets better. The pain is still there, even now… but it does fade.”

Wirr nodded slowly. Taeris and the others had told him that he shouldn’t feel guilty for what had happened in Deilannis, but their words had been hollow, meaningless, however well-intentioned. Aelric, though, understood that the pain of his mistake wouldn’t be so easy to simply put aside. Strangely, Wirr found that more comforting.

They were silent for a time. “So is that why you became so good with a sword?” Wirr asked eventually.

Aelric hesitated. “In part, I think that’s probably true. It took me a while to pick up a blade again, though. Almost a year after I got to court.” He gave a rueful smile. “To be honest, I was… not highly regarded at the palace, to begin with. I shirked my responsibilities and hid from my tutors. I suspect it was only Dezia’s friendship with Karaliene that saved me from being sent back to Tel’An within the first few months.”

“What changed?”

Aelric chuckled. “Unguin heard that I’d been showing some promise, before the accident. Once he found out all the details, he insisted on training me – wouldn’t take no for an answer. Made my life such a misery that it ended up being easier to just turn up for drills every morning.”

Wirr looked up in interest. Unguin was the palace Swordmaster; Wirr had been given many – mostly unsuccessful, but still beneficial – lessons under his tutelage. “He must have seen something in you, for him to be so persistent.” That was the truth. Unguin was a no-nonsense man, straight as an arrow and with little patience for the pretensions of the nobility. If he’d gone out of his way to tutor Aelric, there was more to the young man than Wirr had initially credited.

Aelric shrugged. “He said that my skills weren’t anything special, but my motivations were. That I wouldn’t just understand why control was more important than strength or speed – I’d live by the concept.” He gave a short laugh. “And I suppose he was right. Once I picked up a blade again, I didn’t stop working at it until I was certain that what happened with Lein would never happen again. I worked as hard as I could, as long as I could, every day… though Unguin would tell you otherwise, of course.”

Wirr smiled. “He sounds like a hard man to please.”

“You would know, I suppose.”

There was silence for a few seconds as Wirr hesitated, processing the comment, trying to see if there was a meaning he had somehow missed. Finally he looked sideways at Aelric, who was still staring into the chasm.

“Karaliene and Dezia are like sisters,” said Aelric, not looking at Wirr. “After I walked in on you hugging Karaliene, Dezia swore to me there was nothing between you. She wouldn’t betray Karaliene’s confidence, but I know she wouldn’t lie to me, either.” He shrugged. “If it wasn’t that, the only other person who could be that familiar with the princess would have to be a relative. It was easy from there. You look a lot like your father.”