The Shadow Of What Was Lost (64 page)

“I concur, Your Majesty.” It was
Dras. “I can have a contingent from Tol Shen ready to defend the city walls by
dusk tomorrow.” Michal, reluctant though he looked to be agreeing with Dras,
nodded too.

“You know my thoughts, Your
Majesty,” interjected Ionis. “Administration has an obligation to protect the
people, and the Tenets are what allow us to perform that function. Changing
them is taking a short-term view.” He shot a hard look at the duke, as if
daring the other man to reprimand him. Elocien scowled, but said nothing.

The king stared vacantly at the
table for a few moments, then shook his head. “No.”

There was silence as everyone
exchanged questioning looks, then Elocien cleared his throat. “Brother, surely
you don’t mean -”

The king slammed his fist down
onto the table, suddenly and violently, making everyone jump. “I mean
NO
!”
he roared. His face had turned bright red, and spittle came out of his mouth
when he spoke. Sweat clung to his brow in great beads, now, and there was no
doubt in Asha’s mind that he was a very sick man. “Don’t you see, Elocien?
Ionis is right. This is what they want. It's what they've always wanted.” He
sneered at Dras, then twisted to glare at Michal and Asha. “You Bleeders are
probably behind all of this. I should have you all hung for traitors. Every
last one.” He stood as if to carry out his threat immediately.

Dras had gone deathly pale. “Your
Majesty, I….” He trailed off helplessly, clearly not sure what to say.

“Kevran, please sit down.”
Elocien looked more troubled than Asha had ever seen him. “We can lay blame
later, but right now we need a plan to defend Ilin Illan. The Gifted are our
only -”

“We have our six thousand. We
have the city guard,” interrupted the king. He had calmed again, though was
still a little wild-eyed. “We have the four hundred returning to us. We have
citizens who will fight. The Blind have no ships; they cannot come by river, so
the only way into the city is through Fedris Idri. This is the most defensible
city ever built. We will prevail without the Gifted.” He gestured. “I tell you
this as a courtesy, not to seek your advice. It is my decision, and mine alone,
to make.”

Parathe opened his mouth to
protest, but a quick glance from the duke silenced him. The general gave the
slightest of nods to the Northwarden, unseen by the king. Elocien could
obviously see that arguing the point now would only cause more trouble.

“And what of the Gifted, Your
Majesty?” asked Wirr quietly.

“The Gifted can fight like real
men if they wish, with sword and shield. Or heal the wounded if they are too
afraid. But they will not use their powers for violence whilst I rule.” The
king looked around, his glare defying anyone to gainsay him. “You are
dismissed.”

They rose silently, stunned, and
began filing out of the room. Asha glanced towards Wirr, hoping to catch his
eye, but he appeared to have been waylaid by the king and was not looking in
her direction.

Once outside, she found herself
walking alongside Michal as the others went their separate ways.

“What did you make of all that?”
asked Michal, keeping his voice low.

Asha made a face. “I think those
rumours about the king being ill were fairly accurate. He's not in
control."

Michal sighed and gave a grim
nod. “I agree. And suddenly it seems I share your concern about Tol Athian's
recent decision, too. I'm just not sure what anyone can do about it.” He
glanced across at her. "Are you going to leave?"

"Leave?" Asha looked at
him in surprise. "No. Of course not."

Michal watched her for a long
moment, then let out a breath, evidently satisfied. "Good. A lot of the
nobility will, once they find out - first thing tomorrow morning, I suspect.
Maybe even tonight." He smiled, shaking his head. "I would understand
if you decided to go, but... just let me know if you do. Seems I'm becoming
fond of you, Ashalia. I'd be worried if you suddenly disappeared again."

Asha smiled back. "You're
staying?" She hadn't thought for a moment about leaving, but she suddenly
realised how tempting it must be for a lot of people.

"Yes. I'm going to go back
to the feast now, try to convince as many people as possible to stay and fight.
Try and get as many people as we can behind the idea that now is the time for
the Tenets to be changed, too. I know how King Andras looked, but maybe, if
there's enough pressure...." He sighed. "It would help if you were to
join me. Would look less like I was arguing for my own interests."

Asha nodded, was about to agree
when she caught sight of Elocien down the hallway. She hesitated.

"I'll come if I can,"
she promised, " but there's something I must discuss with the duke
first."

Michal looked about to protest,
then nodded reluctantly. "If you can, then," he agreed.

Asha gave him an apologetic
glance, then hurried after Elocien, falling into stride alongside him just
before he turned the corner.

"Representative
Chaedris," the duke said politely, nodding to her. He glanced around,
seeing that there was no-one within hearing distance. "I know we shouldn't
be surprised, but I hadn't imagined it would be this bad. Or happen so
quickly."

Asha watched the duke as he
walked. "I know," she said. "And I think it's time we reached
out for some aid."

The duke grimaced and shook his
head, though not with his usual air of certainty. "No. These are dangerous
people, Ashalia, and they still think you owe them something. I'm not going to
send you to beg for their help, not after everything you've been through."

"But it's my choice to go,
and it's something we need to do," observed Asha. "The Shadraehin can
organise the Shadows, and we can provide them with weapons that may make the
difference when the Blind get here. I know you can't do this officially, that
Administration will never go for it. But let me try. If we don't try everything
in our power to save the city, it's no different from your brother refusing to
change the Tenets."

Elocien said nothing for a few
seconds, but eventually he slowed, then stopped altogether. He looked Asha in
the eye, silent for a long moment.

Then he gave a reluctant nod.

"Let's discuss the details
in my study," he said quietly.

***

Wirr rose to leave, head still
spinning from what Parathe had just told them.

Almost nine thousand men, dead in
some sort of ambush. It didn't take a military mind to understand that those
losses were extraordinary. Unthinkable.

“Torin.” It was the king. “Stay.
I would like to speak with you.”

Wirr gave a slight bow and sat
again, waiting patiently for the others to file past.

Once everyone was gone, Wirr cast
a cautious glance across at his uncle. Karaliene hadn’t been wrong about his
condition. He was drawn, sweating and grey, a shadow of the man Wirr
remembered.

“What can I do for you, uncle?”
he asked eventually as the silence began to stretch.

Kevran didn’t reply for a moment,
then leaned forward so that his face was close to Wirr’s.

“I have only one question for
you, Torin. Whose side are you on?”

Wirr resisted the urge to flinch
back. “What do you mean?”

The king grimaced. “Don’t play the
fool. I know where you’ve been, these past few years,” he said, irritation
thick in his tone. “I helped send you there, remember. You’re one of them. Or
you were. So my question is, are you Gifted or are you a prince?
Whose side
are you on
?”

Wirr shook his head. “I would
like to think it is not a case of ‘sides’.”

“The Treaty would suggest
otherwise,” observed Kevran. “Or perhaps you have forgotten the meaning of that
word. Treaties cannot be made without there first having been a war.”

Wirr bit his lip. His uncle spoke
in a slightly breathless, manic way; anyone else and Wirr would have said he
was insane. “I will always do what is best for Andarra, uncle,” he said after a
moment. “But I don't see myself as being on one side or another.”

“Then you have grown up to be a
fool.” Kevran leaned back, looking disappointed. “The Gifted are traitors.
Their power is a disease, a stain on the world. They are untrustworthy. Each
and every one of them.”

Wirr bit back an angry retort.
The way the king was acting, he knew that to protest would only be putting
himself on dangerous ground.

“Is that all, Your Majesty?” he
asked stiffly.

The king inclined his head,
making a dismissive gesture.

Wirr stood slowly and left,
shaken. What had happened to his uncle? The man he remembered had had no love
for the Gifted, but nor had he hated them. If anything, it had always been
Kevran that had the calm head, and Elocien who had spouted the rhetoric.

He was so caught up in his
worries that he almost walked straight into Dras Lothlar, who had been waiting
in the hallway outside. Wirr excused himself but when he tried to move around
the other man, Dras stepped into his path again.

Wirr scowled as his already
frayed temper threatened to snap, but held his tongue and looked at the Shen
Representative steadily.

“Can I help you?”

Dras smiled at him, a look so
predatory that it made Wirr shiver. “I just thought I should introduce myself,
Your Highness,” he said in an obsequious tone. “I am Dras Lothlar,
Representative for Tol Shen.”

“I know who you are,
Representative Lothlar,” said Wirr, trying to sound irritated rather than
anxious. Had Dras recognised him from Thrindar? Wirr looked different now: hair
trimmed, a light beard, fine clothes rather than rags. And in Desriel, they had
only spent a few minutes in each others’ presence. “As you can imagine, I have
some very important things to discuss with my father. So if you wouldn’t
mind….”

Dras didn’t move. “How was
Calandra, these past few years, Your Highness?” he asked, his gaze intent.
“Whereabouts were you stationed?”

“Ildora,” said Wirr
automatically. He’d had these details drilled into him over the past few days.

“Ah, I remember Ildora. Lovely
place.” Dras sounded relaxed, but Wirr could still see the focus behind his
eyes.

“I don’t know about that. I saw
plenty of good men die defending against the barbarians. It doesn’t bring back
fond memories.”

Dras’ expression didn’t change.
“I suppose you’ve been to the inn there? The Juggler?”

Wirr hesitated. He’d been told
plenty about Ildora, but he had no information on the names of the inns there.

And… it was the same inn that
Karaliene had sent them to in Thrindar. His heart sank.

“No,” he replied.

“No?” Dras looked surprised. “Not
once? I remember it being very popular when I was there.” He frowned. “Perhaps
I’m misremembering. Perhaps that inn was somewhere else.”

Wirr forced himself to keep his
breathing steady. The man knew. “If you don’t want anything, Representative,
get out of my way,” he growled.

Dras smiled. “I don’t want anything...
for now. Your Highness.” He stepped to the side.

Wirr stalked away, not looking
back but unable to stop picturing the smarmy expression on the Representative’s
face. The Shen Gifted should have been thinking of ways to defend the city, not
playing these games as if nothing were amiss.

Doing his best to banish Lothlar
from his mind, he headed for his father's study, arriving just as the door
opened and Asha emerged into the hallway. They stared at each other in mild
surprise for a second, and then Wirr gave her a rueful smile.

"Interesting night," he
observed.

Asha nodded her agreement.
"Remind me to stay away from your parties in the future," she said
dryly. She slipped something into her pocket - a key, Wirr thought - then gave
him an apologetic squeeze on the shoulder. "I'd stay to talk, but Michal
needs my help, and then after that -"

"It's okay. Go." Wirr
hesitated. "And Ash, if I don't see you again before the Blind get
here...."

Asha smiled at him. "Then
I'll see you after," she said firmly.

Wirr watched her go, even now
still barely believing it was really her. Asha’s survival of the attack at
Caladel was astonishing, miraculous. And her new place here at the palace -
what his father had been building with the Augurs, these past few years - was
even moreso.

He sighed, then walked inside to
find Elocien flicking through some papers. The duke glanced up as Wirr entered.

"I'm glad you're here,
Torin. We need to go back to the feast," he said, pushing himself to his
feet.

Wirr gave him a blank look.
"The feast? Surely everyone will have gone."

"They won't know what's
happening for another couple of hours." Elocien ushered him out the door.
"Which means we have exactly that amount of time to convince anyone
capable of fighting that there's still a chance. That there's no need to
panic."