The Shadow Of What Was Lost (69 page)

Caeden watched her go, then
turned to Taeris and opened his mouth to explain.

"I... don't want to
know," said Taeris gruffly, shaking his head. There was something
approaching an amused smile on his lips, though it faded almost straight away.
"You've heard about the Blind?"

"Just then," said
Caeden. He hesitated. "The Travel Stone is really our only option?"

Taeris nodded. "It is now,
and we should think about using it straight away. It's early enough that we
might catch some of the Gifted still asleep in the Tol, maybe buy ourselves a
couple of extra minutes to get the memory device working." He glanced
around. "We can't just open the portal out in the open, though; the last
thing we need is someone seeing and trying to interfere. Doing it from my
quarters would be best."

Caeden nodded, and they started
towards Taeris' rooms.

After a few minutes they rounded
a corner and Taeris issued a soft, panicked curse. Caeden looked up at him in
alarm as the scarred man faltered, breaking his stride for a moment as he
stared down the hallway ahead.

Caeden followed his gaze. A
blond-haired man in a fine blue cloak was walking towards them, though he was
absorbed in reading some papers in his hand and hadn't yet noticed their presence.
Caeden glanced at Taeris, who had now bowed his head, evidently doing his best
to hide his face from the stranger.

The Administrator looked up just
before they were past and came to an abrupt halt, holding up a hand to indicate
that they should do the same.

"Taeris Sarr," he said
once Taeris had stopped, a quiet certainty in his voice.

Taeris' shoulders slumped, and he
nodded. "Duke Andras," he responded dully.

Caeden's stomach twisted. The
duke was one of the people that they had been desperate to avoid, that Taeris
was certain would turn them over to Administration.

The duke studied Taeris and
Caeden for a long moment.

"Try not to be seen,"
he said.

He turned his attention back to
his papers and walked off without another word.

Taeris and Caeden both gaped
after the Administrator for a few seconds.

"Why didn't he raise the
alarm?" asked Caeden.

Taeris shook his head in
confusion. "I... I don't know," he admitted. "But let's get
moving before he changes his mind."

They made it to Taeris' rooms
without further incident; the few other people they passed in the hallways all
seemed distracted, hurrying about their business and paying little heed to the
two men.

Once they were inside Taeris
turned to Caeden, still looking a little shaken.

"Before we do this - I need
to make one thing clear, Caeden. This was a last resort for good reason. I can
get us in, but not out again. If we let the Gifted catch us, they will lock us
up and we'll be of no help to anyone... so whatever happens, you're going to
need to get free. Fight your way out if you have to, but make sure you get to
the Shields by the time the Blind get here. Even if that means leaving me
behind."

Caeden didn't reply for a moment,
wanting to protest, knowing that this was his last chance to change his mind.
He'd suspected that this would be the way of things, ever since Taeris had told
him the plan... was he really was capable of fighting his way out of Tol
Athian, though? He knew he probably had the raw strength; if his memories were
fully returned, he would hopefully have the skill as well.

But whether he would be able to
do it without hurting anyone was another matter entirely. Despite their
stubbornness, the Gifted were to a large extent innocent in all of this, and
Caeden had no desire to injure anyone at the Tol. Deep down, though, he
understood that an escape without casualties may turn out to be impossible.

And he
did
need to escape
- needed to do everything he could to fight the Blind.

"I understand," he said
reluctantly.

Taeris gave him a relieved nod.
"Are you ready? Once we start this process, Administrators will be on
their way. We won't get a second chance at it."

Caeden took a couple of steadying
breaths. "Ready."

Taeris put his hand above the
Travel Stone and closed his eyes. A stream of white energy started pouring from
him into the stone; he stayed like that for several seconds before stopping the
flow with a slight shudder.

He picked up the stone from the
table and held it out, away from his body. The Vessel began to glow; a shimmering
line of light appeared in front of Taeris, growing, spinning and expanding
until it was twice Caeden's height and just as wide.

Then it vanished, replaced by a
hole that simply hung in the air. Caeden peered through it into what appeared
to be a vast storage room.

He glanced at Taeris, who made an
impatient gesture.

“Go. Quickly,” the Elder said
through gritted teeth. "I can't hold it open for more than a few
seconds."

Caeden braced himself, then
tentatively stepped through the hole. He'd expected some sort of sensation or
resistance, but it was no different to stepping through a doorway.

Taeris followed and the portal
blinked shut behind him. He stepped quickly over to a nearby table, scooping up
a polished black stone and pocketing it before turning to Caeden.

“Now,” he said, “Let’s find this
device.”

Caeden barely heard the words.

On a shelf, not far from where
the stone had been, was the bronze box.

To Caeden’s eyes it burned like
the sun, though he knew only he and Davian saw it that way. Taeris probably
hadn't even noticed it yet.

The tattoo on Caeden’s wrist was
shining brighter than ever, too, even through the fabric of his shirt.

“Where should we look?” asked
Caeden, not taking his eyes from the Vessel.

Taeris shuffled his feet, casting
a nervous glance towards the door. “It’s large. A pillar of stone, about three
feet tall if I remember correctly. If we just -”

Taeris' voice faded into the
background.

Caeden stepped forward, reached
out his hand, and picked up the bronze Vessel from the shelf.

The explosion nearly tore him
from his feet.

He stumbled backward, throwing a
hand to his eyes to shield them from the intense red light that had erupted in
front of him. Taeris was yelling something at him, screaming it, but there was
a roar of power that drowned out everything else.

When Caeden's eyes finally
adjusted to the brightness, he felt a stab of fear. Before him was an enormous
vortex of pure red fire, swirling and coalescing, stretching from roof to
ceiling. He stared at it for a few moments in shock, then glanced down at the
box in his hand. It was warm, but its glow – so bright a moment ago – had
vanished.

As had the glow from his wrist.

“What is it?” he screamed to
Taeris.

“I don’t know!” Taeris yelled
back, only just audible. “We should leave it be, though! There’s no telling
what it does!”

To his left, the door to the
storeroom burst open.

Caeden turned to see a wild-eyed
Davian rushing inside, followed closely by a red-cloaked man he recognised as
Elder Eilinar. Both men stared at the vortex in shock, then headed straight for
Caeden.

"Caeden!" screamed
Davian, seeing the box in his hands. "Put it down!"

Caeden barely heard, even his
shocked delight at seeing Davian alive registering as only a minor distraction.
Somehow he knew that the vortex was meant for him. He was supposed to step into
it. It would take him… he wasn’t sure where, but it was somewhere he wanted to
go. Somewhere he
needed
to go.

He shook his head.

“I’m sorry,” he yelled, including
both Davian and Taeris in the apology. “I have to do this.”

"Caeden! Don't!" It was
Taeris. "We need you here!"

Caeden closed his eyes. Breathed
steadily.

Then he spun, sprinting as hard
as he could towards the tunnel of fire. He could sense Taeris and Davian both
moving to stop him, but he was too fast. He was always going to be too fast.

He leapt into the vortex at full
speed, bracing himself.

There was heat, the briefest
instant of feeling like the flames were dancing on his skin. The shouts behind
him faded.

And then he was somewhere else.

Wirr stood alongside Aelric and
Dezia atop the First Shield, staring apprehensively out over the plains beyond
Fedris Idri as they waited for the first sign of the enemy.

The Blind were coming, and fast.
The report had arrived an hour ago from one of General Parathe's scouts, who
had ridden his horse near to death in his urgency to return. The invaders were
no longer taking their time; they had seemingly marched throughout the previous
night, pausing for neither sleep nor food. They were likely to reach the city
walls by nightfall.

Now afternoon was waning to dusk,
and the gates below were finally shutting. Wirr flinched as the massive doors
sealed the city, the ominous boom echoing around the narrow pass.

Then the sound faded, leaving
almost utter silence. At least a few minutes ago there had been the low murmur
of voices from the several hundred men manning the First Shield, even the
occasional nervous laugh. Now that had died away too as the sun began to slip
below the horizon.

Wirr felt a hand on his shoulder,
and he turned to see Aelric looking at him with a serious expression.

"Are you sure you want to be
up here?" the young swordsman asked quietly. He glanced across at his
sister, including her in the query. "It's not like the Second Shield isn't
going to need defenders."

Wirr winced, glancing around to
check that no-one had overheard. His father had warned him that the fighting
would reach Ilin Illan itself, and Wirr in turn had felt the need to tell Dezia
and Aelric. That didn't mean he wanted the soldiers to know, though. For most
of the men, their hope of victory - their belief that it was attainable - was
what gave them the courage to fight.

Dezia evidently knew that too and
gave her brother a withering look, shaking her bow at him. "We've already
discussed this. My skills are going to be all but useless once it comes to
hand-to-hand combat," she said in a whisper. "I may as well make a
difference while I can."

"And I can be most effective
healing the wounded from up here, getting them back in the fight quickly,"
added Wirr. "No different to the Shen Gifted." He glanced across at
the nervous cluster of red-cloaked men and women, who stood together at the
city end of the wall, back a little from the front lines. There weren't many of
them, but it was more than Wirr had expected from Tol Shen. And their presence
would make a real difference.

Aelric grunted as he followed
Wirr's gaze. "Fair enough. Just... stay as far back as you can once
everything starts, both of you. You're no good to anyone if you get hurt,"
he said gruffly, turning his gaze back out onto the plains.

Wirr exchanged a small grin with
Dezia; her brother had already said something similar a few times in the past
hour. He clapped Aelric on the back. "We will," he assured the young
man.

On a whim Wirr wandered closer to
the edge of the wall, tentatively leaning forward to see the hard stone below,
marvelling again at just how high up they were. A mild wave of vertigo washed
over him before he drew back. The First Shield – the outermost of Fedris Idri’s
defences, atop which he now stood – was at least fifty feet tall, allowing
anyone manning it to see for miles across the plains in any direction.

Height wasn’t its only advantage.
Despite the narrow pass, the Shield's depth allowed hundreds of men to be atop
it at once. At the front, its thin parapet tapered upward everywhere into sharp
points, jagged but elegantly symmetrical, as if rows of enormous swords had
been carved from the stone itself.

He’d tested one of the edges of
those impossibly thin stone spikes himself, drawing blood from the lightest of
touches. His father had once explained that the Builders had created every edge
of the parapet to be razor-sharp; any attackers clambering over it would
inevitably be cut. And the tapering shape of the parapet itself meant that
ladders could never sit flat against it, could never jut out over it in order
to bypass its dangers altogether.

Even so, none of it made Wirr
feel any safer.

"So what news from General
Parathe?" he asked after a moment. "I saw you speaking to him a few
minutes ago."

Aelric shrugged. "He says
there's likely to be about a thousand of the Blind. They're not going to fit
more than a couple of hundred into the pass at once, though, so that's something."
He hesitated, glancing along the line and lowering his voice. "He's
worried about how these men are going to hold up in a battle. Many of them were
left out of Jash'tar's force for a reason - Parathe said a lot of them have had
discipline issues, lately. Difficulty completing their drills sometimes. Gone
for a day or so doing fates know what, then back and pretending like nothing's
wrong. Not men he particularly wanted to have to rely on."

Wirr grimaced. "Just what we
need."

Aelric grunted his agreement. The
three of them stood side-by-side for a while, the heavy silence pressing on
Wirr's shoulders like a physical weight. He was so lost in thought that he
jumped when a hand clapped him on the shoulder.

Wirr turned.

"Davian!" he exclaimed.

Davian smiled tiredly, then gave
a short laugh of surprise as he was enveloped by embraces from Aelric and
Dezia.

"Wirr said you were alive,
but I wasn't sure I believed him until now. It's good to see you, Davian,"
said Aelric.

"You too," said Davian.
"I just wish it were under better circumstances."

Wirr's heart sank as he saw the
expression on his friend's face. "Tol Athian...?"

"Did not go well."
Davian paused, then gave Aelric and Dezia a hesitant glance.

"They know about you,
Dav," said Wirr, a little apologetically. "There didn't seem to be
much point hiding the truth after Deilannis."

Davian inclined his head, looking
more relieved than anything else, and related what had happened at the Tol.

"Fates," murmured Wirr
when he was done, a sick feeling in his stomach. "So only the Shen Gifted
to heal the wounded, and now we have to keep an eye out for Caeden, too. And
the Council locked Taeris up?"

Davian nodded. He looked about to
say more when there was a shout from down the wall, followed by a low murmuring
as soldiers began to point out towards the plains. Wirr looked up, squinting in
the fading light.

Fires had begun to dot the
horizon.

Aelric turned to Davian, his
voice tight. "Things are going to get messy up here soon. Are you going to
be able to fight?"

Davian didn't respond for a
moment, staring out over the plains as if he could see something the others
couldn't. Then he shook his head slightly as if to clear it. "There's no
point me trying to use Essence - there aren't enough sources nearby, and even
if there were, I'd be bound by the Tenets as soon as I drew enough to be
useful. I might be able to use kan, though." He bit his lip. "I could
use a sword, too, if there are any spare."

Wirr gave him a sceptical look.
"A sword? Dav, we can find one for you, but... is there really any
point?"

Davian hesitated, then glanced
across at Aelric.

"Aelric. I will understand
if you don't want me to, but... may I Read you? If you let me, I can access
your memories, relive some of your training. I don't think it will give me
anywhere near your level of ability, unfortunately - I've read that physical
skills don't translate very well due to the bodies being different - but even
just knowing some of the basics would help."

Aelric stared at Davian,
wide-eyed, for a long few moments. He licked his lips, looking nervous, and
Wirr felt sure he was going to refuse.

Then he sighed. "That's all
you'll see?"

"Yes," Davian assured
him.

Aelric gave a slow nod.
"Anything I can do to help."

Davian inclined his head
gratefully, then stepped forward. He touched Aelric lightly on the forehead and
closed his eyes, standing like that for several seconds. Wirr and Dezia looked
on with silent curiosity. As far as Wirr could see, there was nothing to
indicate anything unusual was happening.

After a few more moments Davian
opened his eyes again, stepping back. "Thank-you."

"That's all?" Aelric
rubbed his forehead where Davian's hand had been, looking uneasy. "I
didn't feel anything."

"That's all," said
Davian with a smile.

Wirr stared at his friend,
fascinated. "Did it work?"

Davian shrugged. "I should
get myself a sword... after that, I suppose we'll know soon enough."

Wirr went to help Davian secure a
weapon; by the time they returned to Aelric and Dezia sunset was vanishing into
dusk, leaving only a slowly fading glow and plunging the flat plains that
approached Ilin Tora into a deep murk.

They had been standing there for
less than a minute when Wirr spotted a flicker of movement in the distance. A
few moments later, a horn blasted from somewhere down the wall.

"Here they come,"
muttered Aelric.

A mass of glinting black resolved
itself from the gloom that covered the plains, moving faster than Wirr would
have believed possible as it surged forward into the narrow pass. It was hard
to tell in the fading light, but Wirr thought there were a couple of hundred
men rushing into the enclosed space below - three hundred at most.

"Where are the rest of
them?" he wondered aloud, nerves making his voice tight.

Aelric shook his head. "This
is just the first wave. They know that having more than two hundred men in here
at once is a waste of energy."

Wirr didn't respond, chewing at
his lip as Dezia walked forward to join the other Andarran archers at the front
of the wall. The order to draw rang out, and Dezia notched an arrow, her
actions deliberate and her hands steady. Wirr couldn't help but admire her
composure.

Then the Blind were in range and
arrows were raining down upon them. Wirr's heart sank as he watched the men
below rush onward, unfazed. The archers fired again, and again, but it didn't
seem to matter. Wirr didn't see a single enemy soldier falter, let alone fall.

The oncoming black mass hit the
wall like a wave as the last of the light faded from the sky.

The next few minutes passed in
chaos.

All along the First Shield,
screams rang out as attackers started appearing like wraiths along the
battlements, reaching over with preternatural speed and strength to pull
soldiers over the wall and to their deaths. They were little more than black
shadows, silent, appearing from nowhere and vanishing behind the parapet again
within moments.

Wirr had already begun retreating
when a darker shape against the night sky shifted in the corner of his eye.
Davian leapt forward, blade whipping out; there was no sound except that of
metal on metal, but his sword met solid resistance and the owner of the armour
was sent flying backward into the darkness.

“They’re not using ladders,”
Davian warned Wirr. “You should get further back. They could be coming up
anywhere.”

“How is that possible?” asked
Wirr.

“It has to be the armour,”
interjected Dezia, who had also retreated a little, but was still smoothly
firing off arrows whenever she caught sight of movement. She allowed herself a
quick glance along the battlements. “It must allow them to climb the wall
somehow.”

Wirr followed her gaze. There
were plenty of men crowding along the parapet, but already it seemed as though
the Andarran front line was thinning. Replacements were being ushered up the
stairs at the back, but Wirr could already see the futility of it. The Blind
might be heavily outnumbered, but each attacker was going to be worth too many
defenders.

"It's blocking kan,
too," added Davian grimly, his sword lashing out at another Shadow. His
movements didn't look anywhere near as assured as Aelric's, but Wirr could tell
Davian knew how to handle a blade now. "I can't push it past those
El-cursed helmets."

"Wonderful," said
Aelric, already a little out of breath. He flinched back as another blade
slashed out from the black. "We're not going to last an hour if we can't
see them. I take it neither of you can do anything about that?"

Wirr hesitated, then closed his
eyes, tapping his Reserve. Focused inward. Cautiously, he drew from the pool of
molten light, then...
twisted
it. Condensed it, made it brighter, as
he'd done countless times before.

Nothing happened.

"El-cursed Tenets," he
muttered. He issued a frustrated shake of the head to Aelric as the other man
backed away from the edge of the wall for a moment, giving Wirr a questioning
glance. "It's still trying to use Essence with the intent to cause harm to
non-Gifted."

Things passed in a blur after
that. Wirr was reluctant to leave his friends, but he knew he was needed
elsewhere; soon enough he had joined the Gifted from Tol Shen, healing those
soldiers who were still able to stagger away from the front lines. Wirr was the
strongest of the group, and he threw himself into the work. It was all he could
do to concentrate, to block out the screams of the injured, the scent of men
soiling themselves, and the hot, sticky feel of blood.