“It’s me,” he said, hanging his head. “I shape-shifted. I… I’m sorry.”
There was silence. Davian raised his head again to find Malshash just looking at him, seeming more horrified than angry.
“Whose form is this?” asked Malshash eventually, sounding shaken.
Davian grimaced. “I’m not sure. I pictured my friend Wirr, but ended up like this. They look vaguely similar, but I don’t believe I’ve ever seen this man before.”
Malshash swallowed, looking disturbed. He waved his hand in the air, and Davian found he could move again. “You must have seen him before,” Malshash said softly. “There is no other explanation.” He seemed… off. Not just concerned, or shocked. He appeared suddenly wary of Davian. As if he’d arrived expecting a mouse and instead found a lion.
Davian shrugged. Even without the odd sensation of being in someone else’s skin, he didn’t like this body at all. It ached everywhere, particularly the fingers, which he could barely move without a dull pain shooting through his hand. “I’m sorry,” he repeated, his tone heavy with contrition. “It was a foolish thing to do. And it hurt.” He scratched his head. “Can you help me change back? Preferably without the pain this time,” he added with a shallow smile.
Malshash shook his head. “If you did this safely one way, all you need to do is picture your own face and do the same.” He sighed. “As for the pain… I’m afraid that’s unavoidable. It happens every time you change.”
Davian paled. He desperately didn’t want to go through that again.
Then he realized what Malshash was saying.
“But that means…” His eyes widened. “You do that every day?”
Malshash grunted. “It certainly wakes me up in the morning.”
“But why?” exclaimed Davian. The thought of facing that pain each and every day chilled him to his core. “Why not just return to your own form?”
Malshash sighed. “I’ve already told you, Davian. The talent I have for it now was taken from the Ath herself. If I don’t use it once during each day, it will return to her and the consequences would be… unpleasant. Much worse than the pain. Not to mention that I’d be stuck in whatever form I happen to be in at the time.” He shrugged dismissively. “Believe me, if there were a better choice I would take it in a heartbeat.”
Davian gave a reluctant nod. “I suppose I should just get this over and done with, then.”
“Do you want me to leave?”
“No. It’s probably safer if someone is watching over me.”
Malshash inclined his head, moving over to a nearby chair and taking a seat.
As Malshash had said, the process of shape-shifting was just as painful in reverse. By the time the echoes of Davian’s screams had faded from the Great Library, though, he found himself fully aware of his surroundings. That was one thing, at least. The disorientation was not so bad changing back.
Malshash walked over to where he lay, offering his hand and dragging Davian to his feet. “You’re back,” he confirmed after a moment. He shook his head in amazement. “You pick things up so quickly it’s frightening, Davian.” His expression hardened. “But never try something like that again. Understand? These early lessons are by far the most dangerous. You may not kill yourself, but there are plenty of ways you could be badly injured playing around with kan.”
Davian bowed his head. “Of course,” he said in a penitent tone, his face burning. Inwardly he kicked himself for his impatient overconfidence. Malshash had said these powers took a year and a day each to learn under normal circumstances. His teacher knew how important it was for Davian to grasp them; Malshash was pushing as hard as he thought possible. Davian had to trust him.
Malshash clapped Davian on the back. “I think this afternoon we should revisit what we’ve done so far. Make sure you haven’t forgotten anything.”
Davian smiled. “You mean I should slow down for a few hours.” He shrugged. “Agreed.”
They sat down to eat the meal Malshash had brought. Davian wolfed down his generous portion of bread and fruit, a little surprised at the end that his stomach was still growling. He’d been eating more and more the last few days, but it rarely satisfied his hunger. Still, he’d been working harder than he ever had before. No doubt it was simply a side effect of that.
They eventually resumed their work, Malshash acting as if nothing untoward had happened that morning. Still, to begin with, the image of the stranger’s face in the mirror bothered Davian from time to time. He was sure he’d never seen the man before. There had to be a good explanation for it.
Eventually he became engrossed in the drills Malshash had set him, forgetting about it and all his other troubles for a time.
He didn’t even pay any attention to Malshash’s occasional glances toward him. Uncertain. Contemplating.
Worried.
Chapter 36
Wirr stretched, his muscles taut more from nervousness than from traveling.
Though he’d already begun to suspect, Taeris had just informed them that they were now less than a half day’s travel away from Ilin Illan. The place where he’d grown up; the place where he was not simply Wirr, but Torin Wirrander Andras, prince of the realm. People would be bowing and scraping whenever he was around. They would always smile at him, even if it was through gritted teeth. He was leaving a world and a life he loved to return to one where most people he met wore a mask.
He’d begun seeing familiar landmarks over the past couple of days. They’d passed the Eloin Marshes this morning; yesterday they’d traveled through the midsize town of Goeth, where he had distant relatives with estates. Now, in the distance, the tip of Ilin Tora was just barely visible against the horizon. Every step he took felt heavier with reluctant inevitability. He’d known this day would come, though he’d wished against it constantly.
“Which problem are you worrying about?” came a soft voice at his side.
He started, whipping his head around. Dezia was walking beside him, looking torn between amusement and concern.
He smiled at her, though he knew the effort was a weak one at best. “I’m trying to give them all a fair shot at ruining my day,” he said lightly. He couldn’t help but widen his smile as the corners of Dezia’s mouth turned upward. A moment later he looked away, feeling as if he’d been punched in the stomach. Being home meant seeing Dezia far less, too. If at all.
“Which one is winning at the moment?” she asked.
Wirr grunted, glancing around. They were slightly separate from the others, able to have a conversation without being in danger of anyone’s overhearing. “Going back to court,” he admitted. “Pretending to be someone I’m not.”
Dezia’s eyebrow rose a little. “As opposed to the last few years?”
Wirr sighed. “You know what I mean. I won’t even be able to look sideways at one of the Gifted for the next few years. And there will be… other restrictions on what I can do, too. Who I can spend time with.”
Dezia nodded slowly. “I know.” She gave a small smile. “Though that doesn’t mean you won’t run into people. Coincidentally.”
Wirr grinned. “Certainly. Sometimes you can’t avoid running into people,” he agreed readily. His smile faded. “But still… it won’t be the same as out here.” He shook his head in frustration. “I won’t even be able to help to find out what happened at the school. It will be nothing but lessons in politics, and maybe military tactics, for the foreseeable future.”
“As long as there is a foreseeable future,” observed Dezia, “the rest will work itself out.” She reached over and squeezed his arm, a reassuring touch.
Wirr gave a grim nod in response. The past couple of days they had been moving very much against the flow of travelers; the closer they got to the city, the more people there appeared to be leaving it. Many were hauling carts and wagons filled to the brim with personal items. Some said they were leaving the city only as a precaution against the oncoming army, and expected to return once word came tha
t the king’s forces had defeated the enemy. But others were not so certain.
“Do you believe what people are saying about the invaders?” he asked. “That they’re stronger and faster than normal men should be?”
Dezia shrugged. “I’m not sure. On one hand it’s only a rumor, and it could be blown entirely out of proportion—I doubt we can trust what Jashel and Llys told us. On the other… we saw ourselves what they’re capable of. They obviously have some powers.” She sighed. “It is going to be a difficult time for your uncle.”
Wirr nodded. They had already heard murmurs against the king—rumors suggesting he had started to take a hard line against the Gifted, just when he should be courting them and considering the possibility of modifying the Tenets. It was hard to know how much was true, and how much was just people’s nervousness—it was only grumbling, the odd word here and there—but the message was clear enough. People were frightened by what they’d heard of the Blind. They wanted the invaders defeated by any means necessary.
“Whatever the Blind are, it sounds like what we saw was hardly the worst of what they’ve done,” Wirr noted. Word had begun to trickle in a couple of days earlier from those refugees who were brave, or foolish, enough to come to Ilin Illan to help fight. Villages burned to the ground, entire towns razed. Men, women, and children—regardless of whether they resisted, fled, or surrendered—being slaughtered and left for the animals. “I hope we’re making the right choice, going back to the city.”
“Given the circumstances, it’s the only thing we can do.” It was Taeris interjecting; he’d drifted closer to them and had evidently overheard. He lowered his voice, looking at Wirr. “Before we reach Fedris Idri, Caeden and I will need to part ways with the rest of you.”
Wirr nodded; he’d known it would probably be necessary. “If there’s any way I can help…”
Taeris shook his head, looking up ahead at the steadily growing silhouette of Ilin Tora. “No. Needless to say, Wirr, even though it’s been a few years and my face has… changed, once inside the city I’ll need to tread lightly. I was known to a lot of the Administrators. If I’m caught… well, the last thing you need is to be associated with me.”
Wirr acknowledged the advice with a nod, though it left a bitter taste in his mouth. Taeris was right; he couldn’t afford to be found traveling with any of the Gifted, let alone with two accused of murder.
“Still. There must be something I can do, even if it’s not directly,” he said. “My name won’t carry much weight in political circles just yet, but Karaliene will be back from Desriel by now. I can probably convince her to use her connections, put pressure on the Council to help you, should things not go well at the Tol.”
Taeris raised an eyebrow. “To do that you would need to tell her that Caeden and I were in the city. And she didn’t exactly take a shine to us when we last met.”
Wirr nodded. “True—but a lot has changed since Thrindar. You warned us about the Boundary weakening before the invasion began, and that will count for something. I know my father and uncle won’t believe a word of your theory, but Karaliene’s always made up her own mind about things. I think I can convince her.”
Taeris looked dubious, but nodded. “I leave it to your judgment, Wirr,” he said quietly.
“Then I’ll try. If you fail at the Tol, come to the palace and ask for Aelric or Dezia. I’ll make sure they know what to do. At worst, they have to turn you away.”
Taeris clapped Wirr on the shoulder. “That’s very generous. I hope it won’t come to that, but should the Council be unwilling to listen, I’ll take you up on that offer. There won’t be many other places for us to turn, to be honest.”
Wirr inclined his head. “I’ll also be listening for any notable arrests in the city. If the worst should happen and you get caught, I’ll see what I can do with Administration. It will be risky, but aside from anything else, getting Caeden’s memories restored is too important at the moment.”
Taeris smiled slightly. “You’re a handy man to have around, Wirr.” He glanced over at Caeden. “I should let him know what to expect, I suppose,” he murmured to himself, detaching himself from the group.
Wirr took a deep breath, glancing across at Dezia. “So I suppose this is it. Everything changes,” he said, tone grim despite his best efforts. Ilin Tora was now clearly visible up ahead; Wirr could even make out the gap in the mountains where Fedris Idri lay.
Dezia nodded, almost to herself. “Everything changes,” she repeated quietly.
* * *
Caeden looked up as Taeris tapped him on the shoulder.
“We’re nearly at the city,” the scarred man informed him. “We should talk about what’s going to happen next.”
Caeden nodded. “I’d been wondering.” He’d already gathered that Taeris was not on the best of terms with the Tol, and actively wanted by Administration. The end of their trip was going to be no easier than the rest of it, it seemed.
“First, we’re going to split up from the others soon. Before we reach the city.”
Caeden frowned. “Why?”
Taeris shrugged. “Justified or not, we’ve been accused of crimes, and the others have not. Aelric and Dezia have reputations to protect, and it’s in Wirr’s best interests if he’s not associated with us, either. Starting out in the Tol can be hard enough without that sort of introduction.”
“Oh.” It made sense… still, he felt the slightest sting of betrayal. It was irrational, he knew, but the others were his closest—only—friends.
Taeris saw his expression and gave him a sympathetic smile. “It was my decision. I insisted,” he added. “The others understand the logic behind it, but it’s not something they would have asked for.”
Caeden opened his mouth to reply.
Without warning, screams split the air.
Everyone froze as chaos erupted on the road just ahead of them. Travelers in front of them scattered, fleeing across fields, away from a figure swathed in black. A figure hard to focus on, as if somehow deep in shadow despite the noonday sun shining on it.
It was surrounded by bodies—four, Caeden thought. None of them moved.
Taeris gripped his shoulder. “Get ready,” he muttered. “There’s nowhere to run this time. We can’t beat it without you.”
The sha’teth was coming now, walking steadily toward them, though it was covering the distance at an unnatural speed for its gait. Dezia had already unslung her bow and was notching an arrow; Caeden watched in stunned fascination as she loosed and the creature moved smoothly to one side, impossibly fast, the arrow clattering harmlessly to the road behind it. Aelric was trying to push his way forward, sword drawn, but to Caeden’s relief Wirr dragged the other boy back again. Steel would have no place in this battle.
In moments the creature was standing only twenty feet away.
“You were warned, Taeris Sarr,” it hissed. Its face was covered by its hood, but Caeden could feel the malice of its gaze on him. “I told you that all you needed to do was relinquish him, and no one else would die. Now your companions will all pay for your foolishness.”
Caeden closed his eyes, concentrating. He knew what to do.
He moved several paces in front of the others, stretching out his hands toward the sha’teth and tapping his Reserve.
A torrent of energy exploded from him, a blinding wave of yellow-white light. This was power. He gloried in the strength he felt, how vivid the colors of the world were, how right the feeling was.
He released Essence, panting a little from the exertion, almost laughing at how easily it had come to him.
Then he stumbled as the memory crashed into him.
The cold wind of Talan Gol swept silently through the deserted stone streets, sending a shiver down his spine. He increased his pace. Seclusion was an area of Ilshan Gathdel Teth where no living thing survived for long, and powerful though he was, he had no desire to find out why.
He glanced to his right; Gellen was walking alongside
him, lost in thought, apparently unperturbed by where they were. That was his way, though. Unflappable, silent unless spoken to but always observing, always thinking. A strong successor to Chane.
“What do you think?” he asked Gellen.
Gellen continued as if he hadn’t heard for a few moments, then sighed. “I think even from here, there must be a way to use them. To turn their existence to our advantage. The Gifted have no idea of the powers they are meddling with, creating these sha’teth—I doubt they would be able to stop us taking their new toys away from them.”
Caeden nodded; he had been thinking much the same thing. “To do that, He would need to send one of us across.”
Gellen didn’t look at him, but Caeden saw the slightest tensing of muscles in the other man’s face. “Dangerous ground, Tal’kamar,” he said softly.
Caeden grimaced, but nodded. It was dangerous ground. Still. “Vote for me.”
“I’ve voted for you the last three times. People are beginning to talk. He is already suspicious.”
Caeden shrugged. “That doesn’t matter. We can’t create sha’teth ourselves, and won’t be able to until the power of the ilshara has been broken. When that happens, the attack will already be underway. The Andarrans have five of them. Five! If they still control them when the time comes, what do you think will happen to our forces?” He paused. “I am the only one who can do this, Gellen. You know that.”
Gellen grunted noncommittally, but Caeden knew his point had been made. They walked on in silence for a while, then Gellen said, “He thinks you are planning to overthrow him, you know.”
Caeden blanched. “What?” The exclamation rang out over the empty streets, and he clapped his hand over his mouth. Whatever lurked in Seclusion, the last thing he wanted was to attract its attention.
Gellen glanced around, more from caution than from any nervousness. “All your trips Outside. You’re neglecting your duties at the Cyrarium. And the incident with Nethgalla didn’t go over well, either.”
Caeden snorted. Inwardly he didn’t know whether to be amused or fearful. “Where did you hear that?”
The Shadow of What Was Lost Page 45
