Laiman flicked the last drawer in the desk shut. "There is another possibility."
Taeris frowned for a few seconds in puzzlement, then grunted as he realised what Laiman was hinting at. "You still think they have the Journal pages."
Laiman gave a grim nod and walked over to sit opposite Taeris, apparently satisfied with the results of his search. “You know I’ve always had my suspicions as to who took them. And we both know that Seeing twenty years ahead wasn't a stretch for the likes of Jakarris, Eleran or Siks.” He sighed. "There's no proof, of course - Shen could equally have an Augur working for them. But if they did know this attack was coming since the war, their political manoeuvring over the past ten years suddenly has more logic behind it. The Houses they chose to ally with never really made sense to me until today."
Taeris sat in silence for a few moments, then nodded reluctantly. “So the king looks like a bigoted fool, everyone sees how valuable the Gifted truly are, and Shen takes the most difficult step back towards power. They gain the trust of the people again, while simultaneously undermining the Loyalists." He sighed. "I can see what you're saying. It's unlikely Shen got into a position like that by coincidence.”
"Exactly," said Laiman quietly.
Still standing motionless in the corner, Asha stared at the two men in horror. Could it be true? The Journal Erran had shown her had pages missing; that must be what the king's advisor was referring to. Though how he thought Tol Shen could rely on those visions, when the others in the book had been so clearly wrong, she had no idea.
Regardless - she hadn't even considered, hadn't imagined that anyone except the Blind could be Controlling the king. The very thought made her nauseous.
Taeris, though, just looked annoyed. “Fates. Shen were playing a dangerous game, even by their standards."
“And now it's paying off - they're going to be more powerful than they have been for a very long time. When I raised the possibility of the king being Controlled, they went so far as to suggest that the palace was trying to invent a story to cover up its own incompetence.” Laiman's lip curled in disgust. “This success has made them bolder.”
Asha shook her head in disbelief, almost forgetting for a moment that she was invisible. Tol Shen had used foreknowledge of the invasion, the deaths of thousands, to play politics? And Davian had left only hours ago to work with them....
"And now Davian, of all people, has thrown in his lot with them," Taeris noted, echoing Asha's thoughts. He scowled, rubbing his forehead. “I tried to find him after the battle, but the lad had already left. He doesn't trust me any more - which is my fault, I suppose, but it makes it no less of a problem. I still think he’s the key, Thell. We’ve both read Alchesh. He's as important as Caeden, maybe moreso.”
“I agree,” said Laiman, making a calming motion. “Shen have pursued him more aggressively than I would have expected; if they really do have the missing Journal pages, that could be significant in and of itself. All we can do for now, though, is try to find their purpose for him. Once we know that, we can figure out our next move.” He paused. “And Taeris? It’s Laiman, now. Always Laiman, even in here.”
Thell. Asha's brow furrowed, and she made a mental note of the name. If the king's advisor wasn't using his real name, it was worth finding out why.
Taeris acknowledged the rebuke with a nod. “Sorry.” He frowned contemplatively, then exhaled. “At least I still know where he is, I suppose.”
Laiman looked at his friend, expression worried. “He could break the connection now. I think he would if you asked, no matter how he feels about you.”
“No. It’s too important to be able to find him,” said Taeris, his tone firm. “Besides, I don’t think he even knows what he did, all those years ago. Not unless Torin or Karaliene told him.”
"Karaliene knows too?"
"It was the only way she'd let me into the palace. Torin told her - before he realised Davian was still alive, of course." Taeris made a face.
Asha frowned; she had no idea what they were talking about... but it sounded as though Wirr knew. She'd have to ask him about it, when she next had the opportunity.
Laiman leaned forward. “Still - it’s too dangerous. You only need to lose control once, and you’ll be dead. Don’t think I can’t tell that scar is fresh,” he added accusingly.
Taeris made a dismissive gesture. “I’ve managed for three years. A while longer won’t make a difference.”
Laiman frowned. “Fine. Just… be careful.”
“I will." Taeris shifted in his seat, clearly wanting to change the subject. "Have you heard anything more about the remaining Blind in the city?”
“All dead, as far as we can tell. Caeden was effective, I'll give him that,” said Laiman. “I’ve had a closer look at the Blind's armour, by the way. It was made up of these.” He dug into a pocket and held up a shiny black disc, careful not to let the edges touch his skin.
Taeris shivered, and behind him, Asha felt herself doing the same at the sight. “Dar’gaithin scales?”
Laiman nodded grimly. “Melded together into plates somehow.”
“So that's our confirmation, then, if we needed any. Devaed was behind the invasion.”
“It would appear so." Laiman shook his head, a hint of frustration in the motion. “But as to the 'why' - the reason for this focused attack, before the Boundary has weakened enough for him to send his real forces through... I have no idea." He sighed. "Your theory about Caeden is probably our best guess; this entire thing seems to revolve around him. Did you get to speak with him after the battle, before he disappeared again?”
“No... but Torin did. Caeden told him that this was only Devaed’s first strike - and said that we were to prepare for worse." Taeris hesitated. "Much worse.”
The sick feeling in Asha's stomach stirred again. Davian had already told her about Caeden's warning, but this was the first time it really struck home. The city had barely survived the attack last night. She didn't care to think about what anything worse would mean.
Laiman was silent for a moment. “Did he at least suggest how we were to prepare?”
“Nothing so specific, I’m afraid. But... he did have a sword, Laiman. A blade that made the sha’teth turn tail as soon as he drew it.”
Laiman raised an eyebrow. “Did he now," he breathed, and Asha could see a spark of intense interest in his eyes. "I hadn't heard that little piece of information. You think…?”
Taeris sighed. “Maybe. I didn’t get a good look at it, so I don’t know,” he admitted. “And Caeden is not around to ask.”
There was silence for a few seconds as Laiman stared into the fire. Then he drew a deep, reluctant breath.
“Speaking of the sha'teth."
Taeris nodded. "I know. All three got away."
Laiman's expression twisted, and this time Asha could see real pain there. "They showed the Blind how to get access to Tol Athian, Taeris,” he said, the burden evident in his tone. “We were responsible for many deaths today.”
Taeris nodded bitterly. “Just one of our many mistakes, I fear.”
They sat in silence for some time, Asha barely daring to breathe. She didn't know what to make of that last exchange... but if there had been any doubt before, she was certain now that there would be unpleasant consequences should she be discovered eavesdropping.
Finally Laiman straightened and shook himself back into the present, glancing across at Taeris.
"I do have some good news. I wasn't going to tell you until it was official, but...."
Taeris raised an eyebrow at him. "I'm listening."
"I spoke to both Torin and Karaliene earlier, and I mentioned that Representative Alac had fallen in battle. They thought that young Ashalia should stay on, but agreed that she will still need someone with more experience to guide her. When I put forward your name, they both seemed amenable to the idea." He shrugged. "Torin was going to speak to Ashalia once everything had died down, but assuming neither she nor the kin
g have any objections...."
Taeris stared at him in disbelief. "Ah... have you forgotten I'm still a wanted criminal?"
“A matter I believe our young Northwarden is clearing up as we speak,” said Laiman cheerfully. “Nothing is set in stone, yet, but he has the power to reverse his father's verdict. And despite Administration's protests it looks like both the king and Karaliene want him to keep his new position, so I don't foresee any problems on that front, either." He gave Taeris a slight smile. "Welcome back, old friend.”
Taeris was silent for several seconds, stunned. “And… and Athian?”
Laiman chuckled. “I assume that when you are named their Representative, they will have to take you back, like it or not. It might just force them to give what you've been saying a little more consideration, too.”
Taeris barked a disbelieving laugh, then leaned back in his chair. “You’ve been busy.” He shook his head incredulously. “I truly don’t know how to thank you.”
Laiman inclined his head, smiling. “No need.” He gestured to the door. "All the same, we should find somewhere out of the way for you to stay tonight. We don't want some overzealous Administrator recognising you before everything's sorted out."
Taeris rose, a renewed vigour in the way he bore himself. "Lead the way."
They moved into the passageway and paused just outside the doorway, blocking it. Asha took a hesitant half-step forward, but there was no gap for her to slip through. She clenched a fist in silent frustration. If she couldn't get out now, she'd have to wait until they were long gone.
Laiman grinned at his friend as they stood in the hallway, unaware of Asha's dilemma. “So. After all these years you're finally going to have some resources at your disposal, a bit of freedom to move around again. What's your first order of business?”
Taeris thought for a few moments, tapping a finger absently against the side of the door. Then he leaned forward, eyes glinting.
“Laiman,” he said quietly, “ I think it's time we organised a trip back to Deilannis.”
He flicked the door shut, cutting off Laiman's response.
Asha was alone once again.
***
Caeden crept forward, parting the darkness ahead with a small sphere of pulsing white Essence.
He was underground again, though his surrounds were markedly different to Res Kartha. This place was silent, dead: just a long, narrow, gritty shaft that seemed intent on going nowhere but deeper into the damp, musty earth. He’d been walking for at least an hour now, and in all that time there had been no side tunnels, no rooms, no change in slope or direction. No sound except the soft pad of his own footsteps, either. Veins of quartz and other metals occasionally sparkled in the wall as he trudged forward, but otherwise he had neither seen nor heard anything of note.
Just as he was beginning to wonder if he’d somehow arrived at the wrong place, the tunnel began to level out.
Abruptly he realised that the walls ahead were widening into a small room, an antechamber of sorts, from which there were several exits. He came to a stuttering stop, hesitating. There were four passageways, each looking as menacing as the next. His light did not penetrate far into the tunnels, but he could see from the sloping floors that one led upward, one continued down, and two seemed to keep on level. Which way was correct? Was there a correct choice? He didn’t even know why he was here, so whatever decision he made would inevitably be a guess.
Suddenly there was a stirring in the darkness from the leftmost passageway, just beyond his light – a scratching of movement against stone, slight, but comparatively loud after the heavy silence of the past hour. Flinching towards it, Caeden instinctively drew Essence from his Reserve, extinguishing his sphere and directing a blast of energy at the tunnel. Enough to stun, but not kill.
The afterimage of the flash quickly faded, leaving only complete darkness and a sullen, tense silence. Nerves stretched taut, Caeden stood motionless for a few seconds, listening. There was nothing.
Then an unseen force gripped him like a great hand, raising him a full foot into the air and slamming him back hard against the stone wall. Dazed and not a little disoriented, he drew in Essence again – as much as he could, this time – and threw it wildly at whatever was holding him. To his dismay, the pressure on his chest and arms did not relent even a little.
Suddenly the room was lit; the illumination had no source he could pinpoint, as if darkness had simply been transformed into light. A man was standing in front of him, arms crossed and expression thoughtful as he studied his prisoner. He was older, nearly bald, with a lined face and a small beard of startling white. Still, his blue eyes glittered with a keen, strangely energetic intelligence.
“Tal’kamar. I’d begun to wonder if something had gone wrong,” said the old man. “But I see that all has gone as planned after all.” He indicated the sword hanging from Caeden’s belt.
Caeden struggled in vain against his invisible bonds. “Who are you? Where am I, and why am I here?” he demanded. He tried to reach for Licanius, but it was no use. His arms might as well have been encased in stone, for all he could move them.
His attacker smiled. “Good to see you too, old friend,” he said. “To answer each of your questions: I am Tae’shadon, the Keeper - Asar Shenelac to my friends. These are the Wells of Mor Aruil. And you, Tal’kamar, are here to remember.”
Caeden was silent for a moment as he processed the response, then forced himself to relax his tensed muscles. He appeared to be in no immediate danger. “The last part might be difficult,” he said in a dry tone. “My memories have been erased.”
“Not erased,” chided Asar gently. “Just hidden.”
Caeden scowled. “Then let me down and show them to me!” he snapped.
To his surprise, the pressure on his body vanished. He dropped to the floor awkwardly and stumbled forward, falling to his knees; he scrambled up again, wary, but Asar just watched him with an unperturbed expression.
“You know me?” asked Caeden once he had recovered, irritably trying to dust off his already ragged attire.
“We are acquainted,” said Asar. “You asked me to restore your memories, once you arrived here.”
Caeden stared at Asar for a moment, then just shrugged. He refused to be surprised, or concerned, by his own plans any more. “Very well. No point in wasting time.”
Asar shook his head. “There is more,” he said. “You have asked me to only restore specific memories – the ones that will help you fight in the coming war. No others.” He hesitated. “Against my advice.”
Caeden frowned. “Only some? Why would I want that?”
Asar sighed. “I think… I think you wanted to change who you were.” He leaned forward. “The problem, Tal’kamar, is that if you do not know who you were, you cannot know to change.”
A chill slid down Caeden’s spine. Who had he been, that he was so willing to leave parts of his past erased? “I will have to take your word on that,” he said slowly, “ but there is at least one extra memory I wish to have returned to me.”
Asar blinked, for the first time looking like he hadn’t anticipated something. “Which is?”
“The hours before I awoke in that forest. The most recent memory I do not have,” said Caeden softly. He knew he’d arranged all of this to fight Devaed, knew which side he was on - but the faces of those villagers, their accusations and their unbridled, unthinking hatred, still haunted him. He needed to know, with certainty, that it had been undeserved.
Asar hesitated, then nodded. “Then we shall do that first.”
Before Caeden could react, the old man stepped forward and placed two fingers against Caeden’s forehead.
Caeden’s heart pounded as he walked into the village.
It had worked; he’d appeared only a few hundred metres into the forest, exactly where he’d planned. No-one would think to look for him here in Desriel - at least not unless Tenvar talked, and he was fairly certain that taking the man's finger had insured a
gainst that.
The Waters of Renewal had quickly begun to take effect; his days as a youth in the Shining Lands were already barely more than a fog. He’d estimated that it could take as little as an hour for all the memories to go - but they should at least fade in sequence, according to his experiments. That was fortunate. He only needed to remember the last few years to know what he had to do, and why.
He found he was clutching the hilt of his sword tightly, nervously; he took a deep breath, forcing the hand to his side again and trying his utmost to appear casual. He had no wish to do what came next, but he’d carefully considered the alternatives and had accepted that this was the only way. The Venerate between them knew each of his faces. If he were identified too soon, this would all be for naught.
A few people gave him a second glance as he walked by, but travellers were not uncommon, even this far from a major town. It didn’t really matter if they remembered what he looked like, anyway. He’d thought about choosing a more isolated spot – a farm, perhaps – but the risk had been too high. In that scenario, if no-one had been home, his memories could have been gone before he found a replacement.
After a minute or two of aimless wandering, he spotted a young man strolling up to a quaint, thatched-roof house that was set a little apart from the other buildings. Caeden checked to see that no-one was looking his way, then hurried up to the stranger. He was little more than a boy, Caeden realised with a slight pang of regret - reddish-brown hair, blue eyes and an easy smile. A farmer, probably. They almost all would be around here.
“Excuse me,” Caeden said in a polite tone. “I’m a little lost. I was wondering if you had a map of the area?” He knew it was unlikely, but any excuse would do.
The Shadow Of What Was Lost (Book 1) Page 71
