An Echo of Things to Come

by James Islington

  “Only that the ambassador appeared rather agitated when he arrived, Sire,” said Andyn, Wirr’s irritation seeming to slide right by him.

  Wirr groaned, rubbing his forehead. “Wonderful.” He sighed, then gave his bodyguard a rueful smile. “Very well, Andyn. Let’s go and have a polite conversation with our newest Desrielite friend.”

  “Ah. The gaa’vesh. Now we come to the heart of the matter,” sneered Ambassador Daresh Thurin, the large, muscular man’s finger pointed directly at Wirr as he walked into the hall.

  Wirr glanced around and adjusted his long coat, waiting for the men outside to shut the heavy double doors behind him before responding. Despite its name, the Blue Hall displayed mostly the same pure white walls found everywhere else in the palace; instead, its moniker came from the distinctive swirling design over the southern door that was made entirely of inlaid lapis lazuli. Today the hall’s occupants consisted mostly of the ambassador’s retinue, though a couple of men in blue cloaks also stood over to the side, no doubt there in order to officially witness whatever was going on.

  Pria herself sat opposite Ambassador Thurin, her curly black hair neatly tied back. The willowy woman met Wirr’s cold gaze calmly, with no hint of either surprise or guilt. Probably, he realized, because she was experiencing neither.

  Once the doors had thudded closed behind him, Wirr took a deep breath.

  “I apologize for my tardiness, Ambassador,” he said smoothly, walking over and dragging a chair across to the table. He made himself ignore the uncertain looks of the ambassador’s men, as well as the way their hands slid unconsciously toward where their weapons would be, had they not been disarmed upon entry.

  He sat, nodding for Andyn to stand a little to his left, between himself and the Gil’shar soldiers. Unarmed or not, it never hurt to be careful.

  Then he turned back, smiling cheerfully at both Pria and Daresh as they glared at him. “What have I missed?”

  The ambassador’s lip curled. “You have missed nothing meant for your ears, gaa’vesh.”

  Wirr sighed. “Please, Ambassador Thurin. I am the Northwarden. If you have business with Administration, then you have business with me.”

  Daresh looked over at Pria, jaw clenched. “By the Nine, Administrator si’Bellara, I will say no more until we are able to speak in private.”

  There was silence, every eye in the room now on Wirr.

  Wirr just shook his head, more exasperated than angry. An obvious test. The ambassador had to have known that he would need to deal with Wirr eventually.

  “Such … bluntness,” mused Wirr. “An interesting choice, but it hardly seems very ambassadorlike. Ambassadorish. Ambassadorial?” He turned and gave Andyn a querying look.

  “It is a word, Sire,” Andyn confirmed.

  “Excellent. Not very ambassadorial,” concluded Wirr cheerfully. “Perhaps the Gil’shar picked the wrong man for the job? Because the wrong man for the job probably wouldn’t be welcome here. In this country,” he clarified.

  Ambassador Thurin’s face darkened. “Are you suggesting—”

  “Yes, Ambassador. If we are going to dispense with pleasantries, then let us dispense with pleasantries. You are a guest—a guest of both my land and my family. No matter how you feel about me personally, if you cannot behave in a civil manner when representing your own country, then you have no place here, and I will be more than happy to see you on the road back to Thrindar. Immediately. However. If you would like to discuss the problem at hand—whatever that may be—then I am willing to listen.”

  Wirr kept his voice calm, steady. As little as a month ago, confrontation like this would have made him more than uncomfortable. Now? He coaxed, argued, dealt with people blinded by their irrational fears and prejudices on a close to daily basis.

  And as both Laiman and his uncle had drilled into him mercilessly, he was the prince. Insults were not something to which he could simply turn a blind eye.

  Still, Ambassador Thurin blinked, clearly taken aback by the ultimatum in Wirr’s response. Even Pria, normally unreadable, glanced at him with undisguised surprise.

  There was silence again, this one longer than before.

  Then the ambassador inclined his head. It was the slightest of acknowledgments from the powerfully built man, but it was enough.

  “Very well. Firstly, and most importantly, I am here to discuss the surrender of your spy into our custody,” said Daresh, his tone as if nothing unusual had transpired.

  “Spy?” Wirr ignored the ambassador’s refusal to use his title—there was no point pushing his luck—and shot a glance over at Pria, who just shrugged.

  “The one you managed to plant within the Gil’shar. The one who was chosen to be amongst my bodyguards for the journey here.” Daresh’s expression was grim. “Unfortunately for you, our guards at the Talmiel crossing are thorough. Your agent set off a Finder.”

  “You had a Gifted hiding within the Gil’shar?” Wirr stared at the man for a few seconds and then shook his head, dazed at the thought. “Ambassador, surely you must know that he’s not one of ours.”

  “There is no point in denying it,” said Daresh, his tone hardening. “Meldier knows, it is impossible that a gaa’vesh could have gained entry into the Gil’shar without significant, well-resourced assistance. Had they not been chosen to accompany me, it is possible that they would never have been discovered.”

  Wirr rubbed his forehead. “Do you really think that we would send one of the Gifted to Desriel? And if we did, do you think that we would send someone foolish enough to allow themselves to be tested by a Finder right in front of you?” He gestured. “What did this supposed spy say when you questioned him?”

  The ambassador watched Wirr with narrowed eyes. “They tried to deny it, at first—acted surprised, demanded that they be tested again. When they failed a second time, they cut their way free. Escaped.” His face darkened at the memory. “Three Desrielites were killed.”

  Wirr grimaced, softening his tone a little. “Then I am sorry for your loss, Ambassador,” he said genuinely. No wonder the man was furious. “But again, I tell you that I have no knowledge of any Gifted in Desriel, let alone inside the Gil’shar.”

  “Do I have your word, in front of these witnesses and the Nine Gods, on this?” Daresh leaned forward. “This is your only chance to avail yourself of Desriel’s mercy, Northwarden. Concede involvement, work with us, and we will negotiate the proper reparations in good faith. Should your word be proven worthless, though, the matter will not be so easily resolved.”

  “You have my word,” said Wirr, ignoring the sneer in the other man’s use of his title. He had no idea how any of the Gifted could have possibly infiltrated the Gil’shar—or why they would even have wanted to. “If you give me this man’s description, I can let my Administrators—”

  “That will not be necessary.” The ambassador continued to watch Wirr but appeared convinced, at least for now. “It seems I spoke in haste. Let us just … forget this unpleasantness.”

  “Thank you, Ambassador. Perhaps we should move on to the purpose of your visit,” Pria interjected smoothly before Wirr could say anything more.

  Wirr barely avoided glaring at her. Both the ambassador and Pria knew that Wirr would have used the spy’s description to protect him, try to keep him out of the hands of the Hunters who were undoubtedly already searching for him. Not to mention, of course, that getting to this Gifted first would mean that he could find out how in El’s name they had managed to avoid detection within the Gil’shar.

  Eventually, though, he hid his irritation beneath a smile and polite nod, and they began the meeting in earnest.

  Wirr exhaled as he watched Ambassador Thurin leave the hall, retinue trailing behind him.

  The last two hours had felt like ten. Wirr had forced himself to be calm, polite and methodical as he’d guided Daresh through the minutia of the new Tenets, carefully navigating each of the sharply observed hypothetical scenarios that the ambassador h
ad posed. The man’s questions had been often rudely phrased, but the course of the meeting had eventually driven most of the venom from his tone. By the end, Wirr felt as though he’d at least held his own against the Desrielite.

  “I think that actually went better than it did with Ambassador Aganaki,” he observed quietly to Pria as the door finally shut, leaving them alone. “And Ambassador Whylir.”

  Pria began straightening the papers on the table in front of her. “Probably because, unlike the Eastern Empire and Narut, Desriel don’t have any citizens who can now use their powers ‘in self-defense or to protect Andarra,’” she observed drily.

  Wirr flushed. Though Andarra had by far the largest population of Gifted—even after the war twenty years ago—his wording of the Tenets had not gone over well with their neighbors.

  He scowled, then shook his head, suddenly remembering how the meeting had begun. “You should have let me know that the ambassador was here, Pria.”

  His second-in-command gave a small shrug, unfazed by his tone. The woman was perhaps ten years older than Wirr—young for her position, but that was no longer uncommon. Many of the Administrators who had worked closely with his father had been replaced over the past month. Some had abruptly resigned, some had been demoted after reports of substandard work or sudden revelations of supposed indiscretions. It wasn’t hard to see the connection, though.

  “I thought it prudent to have the meeting without you, Your Highness. I don’t believe I was wrong, given the ambassador’s initial reaction.”

  “An option we could have discussed, had you let me know about it.” Wirr kept his voice calm and even, despite the aching tiredness pressing against his eyeballs. “We need to communicate, Pria. If we do not, it will only cause embarrassment to Administration.”

  “I apologize, Your Highness. It won’t happen again.”

  Wirr nodded, restraining a sigh. Like many Administrators, Pria chose very specifically to address him as “Sire” and “Your Highness,” but never as “Northwarden.” It was perfectly acceptable for them to do so, and he knew he couldn’t ask them to change without sounding petty. But it was one of the many little acts of defiance that had plagued him for the past month.

  “How goes communicating the new Tenets?” he asked, changing the subject.

  Pria grimaced, sweeping back a strand of curly black hair that had come loose. “A good portion of our people now know. Most realized that something had changed when their Marks renewed themselves, and the rest figured it out fairly quickly when they heard that the Gifted had fought at the Shields. They’ve been proactive in finding out the details, for the most part.” She shook her head, and Wirr could see her latent anger in the motion. “And those who haven’t been are discovering fairly quickly that something’s changed, regardless.”

  “But no one has been able to circumvent them?”

  “No, Your Highness. Not that I’ve heard.”

  Wirr nodded an acknowledgment, as always feeling a vague sense of relief at the confirmation. Until a month ago, he’d considered the Tenets to be akin to subconscious rules; certainly his own experience had shown him that there was no way to consciously disobey them. Administrator Ionis’s twisting of the Third Tenet during Wirr’s attempt to change them, though, had badly shaken that belief.

  Fortunately, the last month appeared to be proving that his fears were for naught. All reports said that the Administrators were bound to the new rules, regardless of whether they knew their wording. It meant—at least, Wirr fervently hoped it did—that Ionis had been a unique case, empowered only by his specific, unhinged perspective. In trying to have Wirr kill all of the Gifted, the Administrator had seemingly truly believed that he was helping rather than harming them.

  Even now, the thought still made him shiver.

  “Good,” he said eventually, shaking himself from his dark thoughts. “Any new reports from the north?”

  Pria kept her face smooth, but something in her eyes reflected her disdain for the question. “Nothing to indicate any threat, Sire.”

  Wirr sighed. “You know that’s not what I’m asking. This is important, Pria.” He held her gaze. “Have there been more sightings?”

  “More panicked farmers claiming to have seen monsters? A few, but nothing that we haven’t already heard. Nothing from reliable sources,” Pria said dismissively. “Our people stationed up there have reported nothing unusual.”

  “The three of them living twenty miles south of the Boundary, you mean?” Wirr didn’t bother keeping the irritation from his tone. He had tried to have Administrators assigned to the Boundary itself, but Pria and others had argued—fairly, to an extent—that it was not within Administration’s mandate to be there. Their purpose was civic rather than military; Administrators were not soldiers, had not joined with the expectation of having to man a hostile border. And while there were some Gifted at the Boundary now, the new laws passed by the Assembly meant that those Gifted did not specifically require oversight. With Administration in Ilin Illan already decimated after the attack, Wirr had known from the start that he was facing an uphill battle to send any of their few remaining people away.

  He rubbed his forehead tiredly. The eventual compromise had been to have the Administrators from Taenir—Administration’s northernmost outpost—make the journey to the Boundary once per week, to inspect and report back. Unfortunately, the trio stationed in Taenir had appeared less than enthusiastic about the assignment, and their updates had been a frustrating combination of brief and dismissive.

  Pria just shrugged at the cynicism in his voice. “The Administrators up there are still in a good position to observe, Sire, and we have to trust what our own people are telling us. An overreaction to the news that the Boundary is weakening was to be expected, but we must ensure that we do not get caught up in it. The size of our army was more than halved only a month ago, and we have already sent enough soldiers north to prevent another attack from easily breaking through. Sending more men as a precautionary measure would only weaken our borders with Desriel, Nesk, and anyone else who might be taking notice of our already tenuous position.”

  She held up a hand, forestalling his evidently expected protest. “The Augur Amnesty”—Pria’s face twisted at the mention—“was passed for this very reason, Sire. Tol Shen has repeatedly indicated that they have the situation well in hand. And I know what you’ve said in the past about your … theories … on what else may be in Talan Gol, but you cannot expect the rest of us to believe the same without evidence. So argue for sending more soldiers north all you wish in the Assembly, Highness, but unless our own people up there say it is necessary, Administration will continue to stand behind what it feels is best for the country.”

  Wirr grimaced. Despite Pria’s minor outburst—unusual, for her—he still considered pressing the issue once again. The Administrator’s dour expression, though, suggested that there was little point in trying.

  He sighed, frustration beginning to well up again before he hurriedly pushed it back down. He’d already presented his case to the Assembly weeks ago, explaining the horrors he’d seen, covering the mysterious events surrounding Caeden in exhaustive detail. Then Taeris had come forward to verify everything, adding what Wirr had felt were eloquent and legitimate concerns to how the defense of the north was being handled. For a few hopeful minutes, Wirr had thought that the Houses might be swayed to action.

  But then Pria and the other Administrators present had spoken up, forcing Wirr to concede that his position did not reflect the official one of Administration. Dras Lothlar had pressed an obviously frustrated Taeris, who had admitted that the Athian Council were also not convinced about the nature of the threat. Taeris’s claims of having seen a dar’gaithin were questioned by some, openly mocked by others. Aarkein Devaed was referred to as a myth, a religious legend.

  And just like that, any momentum they’d had was gone.

  Wirr took a deep breath. “I can only encourage you to go and read those
other reports again, Pria,” he said calmly. “Refusing to believe evidence is not the same thing as lacking it.”

  Pria scowled this time. “Then perhaps, Sire, it is time for you to finally address some of the reports we’ve been receiving regarding the Augurs? To raise them as a serious issue to the Assembly? Because if I am understanding you correctly, then those accounts are ‘evidence,’ too.”

  Wirr closed his eyes for a moment in frustration. As soon as the Augur Amnesty had been announced, the claims had begun. A shopkeeper turned murderer from Variden, who said he didn’t remember anything about his crime. A seamstress from Alsir caught having an affair in which she insisted she hadn’t been a willing participant. Representatives from somewhere he’d never even heard of, alleging their entire village had been Controlled for months. They were intent on denying responsibility for their wrongdoings, of course, but often equally intent on getting what they assumed would be seen as justice—sure that their words would cause the Assembly to rethink the Amnesty.

  He shook his head. “That’s different, Pria, and you know it. Those people may be being honest, but they have too much incentive to lie. If we take everyone saying ‘Augurs made me do it’ at their word, then we give a free pass for anybody even thinking about committing a crime.”

  Pria stared at him. “How unfortunate for anyone actually telling the truth, then,” she eventually observed stonily. “I have other work to which I need to attend, Sire. May I go?”

  Wirr just inclined his head, too tired to argue further.

  He gazed after Pria as she left, standing there for a few moments, lost in thought until a gentle cough interrupted his reverie. He turned toward Andyn, who had been standing a discreet distance back throughout the conversation.

  The bodyguard hesitated, and then nodded to the nearest window.