James Islington - The Shadow Of What Was Lost

Davian’s entire body was bound by a black, glistening chain with thick links; the metal seemed to writhe in the lamplight as if alive. He shifted, and the metallic clinking echoed through the room again.

Worst of all, though, were his eyes. They were old. Full of pain as he looked at her.

"Is this a dream?" asked Asha, dazed. "You… you’re not real. They said you died. At Caladel."

"They lied." Davian made an awkward step back as Asha swung out of bed. "Please, don’t come any closer. It’s dangerous."

Asha stopped. She wanted to go to him, touch him, just to make sure he was really there. "Why?"

Davian grimaced, staring at the ground. "I don’t have time to explain. I’m… restricted in what I can say. Who is the Shadraehin?"

Asha shook her head in confusion at the sudden switch. Was this some kind of elaborate trick? "A man called Scyner," she said slowly. "Why?"

Davian grimaced again, still staring at her. "She’s telling the truth. She doesn’t know." He gave a moan of pain as the black chains tightened around him. "You have my word, Rethgar," he added through gritted teeth.

"Dav?" Asha took a hesitant half-step forward in concern before remembering Davian’s warning. "What’s going on?"

"We know you have met with the Shadraehin. You helped her." Davian spoke in monotone, and he stared at her intently, trying to communicate… something. A warning.

"Her?" Asha shook her head. "Scyner is a man."

"Scyner is just the Shadraehin’s lieutenant. A pre-war, though. Don’t trust him." The black chains flexed; though Davian didn’t cry out this time, she could see from his expression how much it hurt.

"Dav -" Asha made to move forward.

" Stay back ." Davian’s words were like a whip, stopping her in place. "Ashalia Chaedris, for your part in assisting the Shadows, you have been found guilty." He hesitated, clearly reluctant to say the next part. "The sentence is death."

A chill ran through Asha at the words. " I’m a Shadow, Dav," she said softly, holding the lamp higher in case he hadn’t been able to see her face.

Davian gave her a tight smile. "You won’t always be, though."

The black chains seemed to shiver, and Davian let out an involuntary groan, sinking to his knees. "She doesn’t know anything. And this is the furthest we can go before Tal’kamar -"

The chains tightened again, and this time Davian’s expression turned to one of grim anger. He closed his eyes.

The chains froze, turned grey as steel.

Davian kept his eyes closed. "They can’t hear us now, but I can’t do this for long, either," he said calmly, his voice finally gaining a hint of the warmth she remembered. "I know this must be confusing, but there’s no time to explain so you are going to have to trust me. You’ll be making a deal with the Shadraehin soon - the real one. When you do, I need you to tell her that Tal’kamar is taking Licanius to the Wells, and that the information is a gift from me. Can you do that?"

Asha swallowed the myriad questions she wanted to ask, instead giving a bemused nod and repeating the message.

"Good. Thank-you, Ash." Davian took a deep breath. "Now, this is equally important. When you find out that I’m at Ilshan Gathdel Teth, don’t come after me. I’m fine. The Venerate can’t kill me, but they will kill you - you are the one they want. I’m just the bait. Remember that."

He opened his eyes, and the chains began slowly moving again, starting to bleed back to their original oily black. A shiver ran through Davian’s body, and he looked as though he’d been drained of blood, of life. "Don’t tell anyone else that you saw me. Especially not me. They’ve Read… they’ve Read so many of us, now. There’s no telling whose mind is safe, these days." He grimaced as he saw her baffled expression. "I’m so sorry. You’ll understand when the time comes."

The chains tightened, jerked backwards. Davian silently locked eyes with her as he was pulled into the shadows.

Then he was gone.

Davian frowned.

He was atop a low hill, which afforded a good view over the entire moonlit valley below. All around him were tents, some with lights still burning inside, but most dark. The moon was at its zenith and almost full; the night was clear, allowing the silvery light to illuminate his surroundings almost as if it were daytime. The air was cold and crisp, and he shivered, rubbing his hands together for warmth - even though he suspected he was not truly there. Just like before.

At the edges of the camp, quite some distance away, he could see sentries patrolling. In other areas campfires burned, and a few men still gathered around them, laughing bawdily at jokes or stories being told by their comrades. Davian spotted the banner of King Andras flying at the camp’s centre. This was the king’s army, then - perhaps sent out to meet the invading force he had foreseen last time? Why was he here, Seeing this? All seemed well.

Then he saw it. A shadow, silent, flitting from one tent to another. He stared, squinting, wondering for a second if he were imagining the whole thing. Then it came again, the slightest of movements, black against black. It moved into the next tent, noiseless, unnoticed by any of the men still awake.

Davian walked over to the tent, hesitant despite knowing that nothing here could see or harm him. He slipped inside, restraining a gasp as his eyes adjusted to the gloom.

The tent housed ten men, all lying motionless on their camp beds. Even in the dim light he could see the dark gashes running along each of their throats, and the slow, muted sound of dripping echoed dully around the tent. Blood onto the dirt, Davian realised sickly. He stumbled outside again, straining for another glimpse of the shadow. He had a suspicion, but he needed to find out exactly what it was before the vision ended.

Another flicker of movement caught his eye, and he dashed over to where he’d seen it. This time, as he entered the tent, he knew it was still there. The sounds of men breathing as they slept indicated it had not yet finished its grisly work.

He took an involuntary step back as he finally saw what was responsible for the killings. A figure stood above one of the beds, swathed in black, a dagger in its hand. Yet the dagger seemed not to be made of metal, but rather shifted and swirled, forged from shadow itself. The blade caressed another man’s neck, and blood fountained forth. The creature silently moved onto the next camp bed, its unsettling, flowing gait all too familiar.

A sha’teth.

Then it froze. It turned slowly until it was facing Davian.

Davian stood stock-still. It could not see him; it must have been startled by something else. These were events yet to come. He was not actually here.

A wet, snuffling sound came from beneath the creature’s hood; it bowed its head and began moving towards him, not directly, but testing the air like a dog closing in on a scent. Much like the Orkoth had.

“I can smell you, Shalician,” it whispered. The voice was harsh and low, rasping.

Davian clenched his fists, terrified. It couldn’t know he was there. The creature crept closer and closer, Davian still too afraid to move, until it stopped in front of him.

It looked up, into his eyes, and Davian saw the hideous face beneath its hood. Pale skin was crisscrossed with unmentionable scars; its eyes were disturbingly human, its gaze unseeing and yet focused. Its ruined lips curled in contempt.

“You should not be here,” it hissed into his face.

Davian awoke with a shout.

He thrashed on his bed for a few seconds, pain arcing through his head. Malshash was above him, wide-eyed, holding him down by the shoulders. Davian forced a hand up to his face; when he took it away again it was covered with blood.