“Are you sure Karaliene hasn’t changed her mind?” he asked.
“They’ll come,” said Wirr, though he too glanced toward the gate again, searching for any sign of their promised allies.
They had been waiting for twenty minutes now. Taeris had been walking in aimless circles since dawn, occasionally muttering to himself as the sun rose higher and higher. The delay clearly wasn’t pleasing him; Davian was beginning to feel exposed, too, standing as they were in plain sight of the city walls.
Suddenly there was a hail from the gate and he turned to see two figures approaching, leading several horses. He squinted. It was a young man and a young woman—both about his own age, slim and athletic-looking, and dressed in simple but well-made clothes that looked practical for traveling. Davian’s heart sank a little. If this was the protection the princess had promised Wirr, it had barely been worth the wait.
Apparently Taeris was thinking along the same lines. “Is this all Princess Karaliene has to offer?” he asked Wirr, irritated, though quietly enough that the newcomers could not overhear.
Wirr raised an eyebrow. “Take another look,” he replied.
Taeris frowned, turning back to those approaching. His eyes widened a little in recognition.
“Aelric Shainwiere,” Taeris said as the two reached the group.
The boy inclined his head, and Davian realized that it was indeed the same young man they’d watched the previous day in the arena. Wearing unassuming clothes, and with his hair no longer bound, he looked markedly different.
Davian recognized the girl, too, now that he could look at her up close—she was one of the princess’s attendants. Her dark hair was cropped to her shoulders, and she had lightly tanned skin that freckled beneath her eyes.
Aelric surveyed the group, his expression indicating that he was unimpressed with what he saw. “I have been ordered to accompany you on your journey,” he said. “The princess has told me who you are. Most of you, at least,” he amended, giving Wirr a baleful look. Davian’s initial rush of excitement faded as he saw the disinterest in the young man’s posture. Aelric clearly did not wish to be there.
The girl shot Aelric an irritated glare, then stepped forward. “My name is Dezia. I’m Aelric’s sister,” she said, looking vaguely embarrassed. “We’ve brought horses and some supplies. I hope there’s enough for wherever we are going.”
Davian glanced at the horses; their saddlebags looked full to bursting. They would have plenty of food for a while, at least.
Taeris quickly made some polite introductions, frowning all the while. “I mean no offense,” he said once everyone had been introduced, “but why did Princess Karaliene send you? I’m sure she’s told you that we need to stay… inconspicuous on the road. If someone recognizes you…”
Aelric snorted. “In these clothes? I barely recognize myself.”
Dezia sighed, shooting her brother another irritated look. “The truth is, Master Sarr, Aelric has gone and done something rather foolish. He got drunk and admitted a little too loudly that he didn’t… fight to his potential in the final bout yesterday.”
“He threw the fight?” Davian’s astonishment made him blurt out the question before he could stop himself.
Aelric scowled at him, but Dezia just nodded. “Yes,” she said, glancing sideways at a sulky-looking Aelric, an odd note of pride in her voice.
“Why?” asked Davian in disbelief.
Wirr had been nodding throughout the conversation. “Politics,” he said, in the tone of someone who had just put together several pieces of a puzzle. “An Andarran winning on Desriel’s soil would have been a slap in the face to the Gil’shar. Small by itself, but given the delicate state of things right now…”
Dezia nodded, looking for the first time at Wirr, who straightened unconsciously under her examination. “That’s right,” she said. “He gave up a chance at fame, to be remembered as one of the youngest swordsmen ever to win the Song, in the interests of diplomacy. Even though the Song is supposed to be above all of that.” Her expression darkened. “And then decided to risk his life hours later by having too much pride to pretend he’d lost fairly.”
Taeris had been listening with a perturbed expression. “The backers know?”
Dezia turned to him, her concern showing through. “Yes.”
Taeris grunted. “So you are in as dire need of escape from Desriel as us.” Dezia nodded again, and Taeris sighed. “I suppose it could be worse.”
Aelric gave him a fierce scowl. “You weren’t my first choice, either, bleeder,” he said in a low voice.
Davian stiffened, unexpected anger abruptly boiling at the forefront of his emotions. He walked over to Aelric until the two were face-to-face.
“I don’t mind that you don’t want to be here,” he said softly, “but if you ever—ever—call one of us that again, we will set you and your sister adrift. Only one person needs to overhear that word being used, and we’ll have the entire Desrielite army bearing down on us before we can blink.”
Aelric didn’t back down, but he gave a short nod. “As you wish,” he said, the slightest note of contrition in his voice.
Taeris sighed as he watched the exchange. He turned back to Dezia. “And why are you here?”
“He’s my brother. As embarrassing as that can be sometimes,” she said with a scowl in Aelric’s direction. Then she added, “But I can fight if I need to.”
Taeris raised an eyebrow. “Sword?”
Dezia reached into a pack on the side of one of the horses. “Bow,” she said, unwrapping an oiled cloth to reveal a well-made bow and a quiver full of arrows.
Taeris considered, then nodded. “Keep it close,” he said. “There’s no telling if, or when, we’ll find trouble.”
“Speaking of which. Where are we going?” asked Aelric. “Karaliene said that there was no way you’d risk trying to cross at Talmiel.”
Taeris hesitated. “Deilannis,” he said eventually.
There was a moment of silence as everyone stared at him. “Deilannis?” repeated Wirr, sounding slightly disbelieving. “Does it even exist?”
Taeris smiled, though there was little humor in the expression. “It’s very much real,” he assured Wirr. “I’ve been there once before.”
Aelric frowned. “I’ve never heard of it.”
“It was an ancient city. Built on an island in the middle of the river Lantarche, bordering Desriel, Andarra, and Narut,” Davian supplied. He looked at Taeris worriedly. “I’ve read about it. I thought it was supposed to be… dangerous. Cursed, somehow.” The stories varied as to what made the city so unsafe, but he remembered one thing clearly enough: they were unanimous in saying that those who went into the City of Mists did not return.
Aelric gave a scornful laugh. “Cursed?”
“Occupied would be a better word,” said Taeris, unruffled by Aelric’s reaction. “Something lives in there—and whatever it is, it is dangerous.”
“Just stories, though, surely. Superstitious nonsense.”
Wirr shot Aelric an irritated glare. “You’d never even heard of it a moment ago.” The newcomer’s attitude was obviously grating on Wirr as much as it was on Davian.
Aelric opened his mouth to retort, but Taeris cut in. “No one guards the bridges to and from the city, so it’s our best chance of escape. It’s also an indication of how perilous the city itself is,” he added with a pointed look in Aelric’s direction. “I wouldn’t even suggest it if there were an alternative.”
Aelric hesitated, then inclined his head reluctantly. “I suppose if the Gil’shar ignore it, it cannot be easy to pass through,” he admitted.
“There is another benefit to crossing there.” Taeris paused, glancing at Aelric and Dezia. “There are creatures pursuing us.”
Dezia nodded. “The sha’teth. Yes, Karaliene explained.”
“I see. Good. I’m… glad you know.” Taeris shot a half-curious, half-irritated glance at Wirr. “I suspect that if we can avoid the sh
a’teth until we reach Deilannis, they won’t follow us through. Years ago Tol Athian ordered them to investigate the ruins, and all five of the creatures refused to enter. Until last week it was the only time I’d ever seen them defy a direct order. We never found out why.”
“Because entering the city would kill them.”
There was a sudden silence as everyone turned to look at Caeden.
Taeris stared at the young man curiously. “Why do you say that?”
Caeden suddenly looked uncertain. “I… just know.” He shook his head. “The same way I knew a Shackle would kill the one in Anabir.”
Taeris rubbed his chin. “It’s possible,” he admitted. “The Law of Decay—the rate at which unprotected Essence normally dissipates—seems to work differently inside the city, which makes it all but impossible to use Essence there. So if a Shackle can kill a sha’teth, Deilannis could affect them in the same way, I suppose.” He shrugged, though he continued to look at Caeden with slightly narrowed eyes. “Regardless, it’s our only option now. And it’s past time we were on our way.” Leading by example, he took the reins of a horse from Dezia and mounted it in one smooth motion.
There were six horses, so each of the boys picked a mount he thought he could handle without too much trouble, and they started northward. Davian had a little difficulty adjusting; his horse was nothing like Jeni back at Caladel, his only prior mount. He winced as he bounced along, knowing without asking that he was going to be sore by the end of the day.
They rode without incident for a time, silent for the most part. Occasionally Dezia exchanged conversation with one or another of the boys, but she usually stopped under Aelric’s disapproving glare. After she spoke briefly to Caeden, though, Aelric pulled the red-haired boy aside as they rode—away from the others, but close enough that Davian could still hear them.
Aelric’s expression was affable enough, but his words were cold steel. “I know who you are,” he said to Caeden softly. “I don’t know whether you’re innocent, as everyone else here seems so eager to believe—and I don’t care. Under no circumstances on this journey are you to talk to my sister.”
Caeden’s eyebrows rose, but he remained otherwise impassive. “And if she talks to me?”
Aelric slapped Caeden on the back as if they were having a friendly chat, clearly unaware that Davian could hear him. “Politely remove yourself from the conversation.”
For a moment Davian thought he saw a flash of anger on Caeden’s face, but if it had been there, it was covered immediately with a pleasant smile and nod. “As you wish,” said Caeden, not a trace of offense in his tone.
Aelric, apparently satisfied, rode on ahead. Caeden saw Davian looking at him and gave an uncomfortable shrug. The two rode side by side for a few minutes in silence.
“Do you dream at all, Davian?” Caeden asked suddenly.
Davian blinked at the question. “Sometimes,” he answered. “Not often, though… and I don’t really remember much after.”
“I’ve been having dreams. Nightmares.” Caeden shivered. “I can’t remember much of them, either, mostly, but… they’re bad. I wake up shaking and sweating most nights.”
The admission came hard, Davian could tell. He gave Caeden a sympathetic look. “Given what you’ve been through—”
“No.” Caeden cut him off. “It’s not that. It’s not about getting beaten. I dream about that sometimes, too, and it’s awful. But this is something worse. Much worse.” He was quiet for several seconds, and Davian wondered whether he should ask anything further about it. He was just about to speak again when Caeden shifted in his saddle, leaning closer.
“Do you think I did it?”
Davian stared at Caeden for a long moment. “Did what?”
“You know what I’m talking about,” said Caeden, his tone reproachful. He jerked his head toward Aelric. “People like him tend to assume the worst about me—but I don’t care what they think. You and Wirr, though… you’re a different story. You’ve been nothing but friendly to me, but at the same time, I can see you holding back. Being cautious.” He shrugged. “I don’t blame you, I just want to know what you think of me. Honestly.”
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, as on 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. Ilseth had likely known what was going to happen; had he then been involved somehow? Perhaps even responsible? The more Davian thought about it, the more likely it seemed, and the angrier he became.
The day passed slowly, the group traveling 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 toward them. The horse was reined in as the traveler 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 farther forward, and Nihim’s face became visible beneath his hood. Wirr grabbed the reins of Nihim’s animal 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’s 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 it 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 toward 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. Their conversation was inconsequential enough at first, 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.”
The Shadow of What Was Lost Page 26
