The Shadow of What Was Lost (The Licanius Trilogy, #1)

by James Islington

The Shadraehin nodded. “He uses the catacombs to come and go—they run for miles, have exits everywhere from in the city to out past the mountains. But we don’t know our way around most of them, even if we wanted to go hunting someone as dangerous as Aelrith. We’ve sent people too deep in there before, and they haven’t come back.” His tone softened as he saw her expression. “I wouldn’t worry. From what you said, I don’t think he’s a threat to you. If anything, it sounds like we may never see him again.”

Asha shuddered at the memory. “What do you think Aelrith is?” The Shadraehin sighed. “I don’t know for sure. There were rumors after the war ended that Tol Athian had been experimenting on some of their people, trying to create soldiers that were immune to Traps and Shackles…if I had to guess, I’d say maybe he’s one of them. Whether the Council knows he’s still down here, though, I have no idea.”

He felt his resolve wilt under the stranger’s steady, calm stare. “I…I don’t know where to start,” he said, a little shakily. The man leaned forward in his chair. “From the beginning, lad,” he said quietly. “Start from the beginning.”

“This box cannot be just a Wayfinder. It’s ancient, whatever it is. You truly don’t have any idea what it does?”

The man grunted, staring at the bronze box as if he could see the same thing if he just looked hard enough. “The symbol you’re talking about, the one tattooed on his wrist—it’s the symbol of Tar Anan. The symbol found all across the Boundary.”

This was Taeris Sarr. “It’s…it’s an honor to meet you, Elder Sarr,” said Davian when he’d recovered enough to speak. “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve wished I could thank you for what you did.”

Taeris hesitated, then drew two small stones from his pocket, one black and one white. “These are Travel Stones,” he explained. “Vessels that create a portal between each other. They’ve come in rather handy, over the years. That day was no exception. Nor was last night, actually.”

Taeris winced. “I have some bad news for you, lad. The man who sent you here—Tenvar—has misled you. There are no sig’nari in Desriel.”

“I found a stream and tried to wash the blood out of my clothes, but most of it had already stained. I wandered for a few hours until I found a road, and eventually a group of men came across me. When I told them I couldn’t remember anything, they offered me shelter in their village and food for the evening. One of them thought he recognized me, said I’d probably been attacked and beaten by bandits. They seemed like good people at the time.” Caeden grimaced at that. “The next day word came that my village had been wiped out. Someone had gone through the town and put everyone to death. Everyone. The people who’d seen the aftermath said there were women and children lying in the streets, blood everywhere. And that all the faces had been…disfigured. Mutilated beyond recognition.” He shuddered. “Many of the people where I was staying had friends and family that had died. There was a lot of grief, a lot of fear.

“They were going to hang me—there were enough people who wanted it to happen—but the Gil’shar sent word that they wanted a public execution in Thrindar. So they put a Shackle on me, and kept me locked up for another week.” His hands shook as he remembered; he clasped them together to stop them from trembling. “They beat you?” interjected Taeris, his tone gentler now. Caeden nodded. “Every day,” he said softly. “And when the soldiers came to take me to Thrindar, they took me out every evening and did the same. Gave me just enough time to heal so that I would be conscious for the next night.” He hesitated. “I am grateful we didn’t reach Thrindar, though.”

She tried to talk only once. “Do you really mean to make me a Representative?” she asked the duke. “Yes.” “Why?” Elocien shook his head slightly, not taking his eyes from the road. “All in good time,” he murmured. They walked the rest of the way in silence.

He looked down in horror, reddening, and quickly bent to help his victim to her feet. She was about his age, pretty, with long black hair and green eyes that sparkled as they looked up at him with amusement. Her hands were soft and smooth as he pulled her up, stammering his apologies.

“Say nothing,” Davian warned. “It was an accident.” “Of course it was,” said Wirr. “Girls who look like that are easy to miss. Practically invisible, really.”

Nihim smiled at that. “I wouldn’t go that far, but it will be a start.” He clapped Taeris on the back. “So beyond giving you a roof over your heads, what can I do for you?” “I need to get a message to the king,” said Taeris. “Before he leaves Thrindar.” “Ah.” Nihim nodded. “Of course. Safe passage across the border. A good thought, I’ll give you that.” He shrugged apologetically. “One problem. The king isn’t here.”

“Wishing you hadn’t come with me?” asked Davian. “Fates, yes,” said Wirr with a grin. “But you wouldn’t have made it a day without me, so maybe it was worth it.” Davian gave a half smile, half grimace back; the words were said in jest, but a pang of guilt stabbed at him anyway. “I’m sorry I got you into this mess,” he said softly, so only his friend could hear.

Wirr followed Karaliene, silently cursing his bad luck. He’d known this moment would come eventually, but he’d wanted it to be on his terms, not like this. They reached another small room, not too far from the one they had just left, but empty. They entered, and Karaliene closed the door behind them with a cold anger that made Wirr even more certain of the trouble he had caused. He braced himself. Karaliene turned to him, arms crossed, assessing him with those calculating green eyes he remembered from so many years earlier. “Hello, Cousin,” she said darkly.

“Fates, Torin, where have you been?

“Running away?” repeated Karaliene, nonplussed. “Torin…” She hesitated. A range of emotions flashed across her face, from confusion to understanding to pity. “Oh, Tor. You haven’t heard. Something terrible happened. Someone…” She trailed off, suddenly flustered. She stepped closer, giving his arm a comforting squeeze. “The night you left, someone, or something, attacked. Everyone who was still there…they died.” Wirr stared at Karaliene. “That’s a poor joke, Kara.” Karaliene just looked at him sadly.

Whoever had attacked had been looking for him. It was his fault.

Wirr laughed. “Do that, and I’ll just come forward and tell everyone that I’m Torin Wirrander Andras, Prince of Andarra. Then I’ll grant asylum for Davian, Taeris, and Caeden myself.” Karaliene scowled.

“I still can’t believe Wirr’s your son,” she said after a while, even now bemused at the thought. “Sorry—Torin. It’s going to take me a while to get used to that.”

Stop. She crumpled the piece of paper and shoved it in her pocket, fear and horror melting away beneath sudden, white-hot rage. She should have known he was responsible for this. The Shadraehin had gone too far this

The girl called Fessi stared after him, her face set in a confused frown. “I apologize, Ashalia,” she said, pushing a long wisp of hair from her face. “He’s not usually like this…I don’t know what came over him. We’ll get better acquainted later, I’m sure.” She hurried out the door after Kol. “I think I know,” murmured Elocien, so quietly that Asha wasn’t sure she was supposed to hear it.

Erran spoke up. “You get to tell Elocien when to panic.” Elocien grunted at that. “Before the Unseen War, no one was allowed to act on an Augur’s vision unless it had been confirmed,” he explained. “The Augurs weren’t allowed to discuss what they’d Seen with anyone, even amongst themselves—instead they had to write it all down and deliver it to the Scribe, who would then try and find other visions that contained similarities. If two Augurs had Seen the same thing, it was considered confirmation that it was going to happen.” Asha frowned.

“No—there are several Lockrooms, actually, all around the palace. A relic from the Gifted era.” He pointed to the doorknob. “They each have the same keyhole symbol, just above the handle. It’s worth remembering because around here, you’ll find that there is always someone listening. You should avoid even mentioning the word ‘Augur’ unless you’re inside one of these rooms.”

“Let me say this straight out—I don’t believe that is the reason. Not for a second. Fortunately, I also don’t care. You’re here, and you’re my assistant. As long as you do this job to the best of your ability, whatever else you do in the palace is your own business.” Asha swallowed, but nodded. “I’ll work hard,” she promised. Michal stared at her for a moment, then inclined his head. “Good.” He leaned back, looking a little more relaxed. “Then let’s begin.”

“You look like you might be better company than my brother right now,” she said cheerfully as she sat. Wirr gave her a polite smile, trying not to show any of the grief still sharp in his chest. “That’s a low bar, but I’ll take it.” He winced as soon as the words were out of his mouth. “Sorry. I didn’t mean…”

Caeden merely raised an eyebrow at the insult. “‘Every man who holds a sword in his hand, holds murder in his heart.’”

“Caeden,” he called out. The sound seemed to break something within Caeden, who slowly lowered his sword, eventually tossing it aside to join Aelric’s. “If you want to act the fool in future, be prepared for someone to call you on it,” he said softly.

“Everyone has a darker nature, Caeden. Everyone. Good men fear it, and evil men embrace it. Good men are still tempted to do the wrong thing, but they resist those urges. As you did. You have nothing to worry about.”

That’s the natural arrogance of man, sadly. We want to believe that free will means complete independence from the plans of our creator.”

Nihim. “You can put your trust in something that’s obvious, that’s measurable or predictable—but that’s not faith. Nor is believing in something that gives you no pause for doubt, no reason or desire to question. Faith is something more than that. By definition, it cannot have proof as its foundation.”

“Because it strikes me that a man needs to know what he believes before he can really know who he is.”

she came to the end. “There are pages missing,” she said, pointing to some ragged edges near the spine. “Quite a few,” agreed Erran. “We think whoever recovered the Journal after the Night of Ravens must have taken them before handing it over to Administration. With the Augurs and their Scribe dead, there was no way to know what was in them.”

Dezia frowned. “What about me?” Wirr gestured around him. “You said you came because of your brother, but I remember most of the girls from the Houses—even if they were somehow forced to come on a journey like this, they would be kicking and screaming most of the way. I haven’t heard a word of complaint from you.”

Davian frowned at the dusty plain stretching out before him.

“Two thousand years our people have waited for justice. Two thousand years of survival, of struggle, of sacrifice. But our time has finally come! We have broken free of our prison. We are at last ready to face our ancient foe, and you who have passed through the ilshara unscathed are truly worthy of this fight. “You all know me, or know of me. My name is Andan Mash’aan, Slayer of Lih’khaag, Second Sword of Danaris. My trust is in the steel on my hip and the men at my side. My faith is in the plans of the Protector and our resolve to carry them out.”

“No. The first must have been waiting for the second. He just got here too late.” He bit his lip as he stared at the sha’teth. “First she speaks Andarran. Then she waits for reinforcements at the risk of losing us. A survival instinct. Something is different,” he murmured, almost to himself.

Suddenly one of the creatures—Davian could not tell which one—spoke. “He belongs to us, Taeris Sarr,” it hissed. “Give him over and you may yet live.” The voice was not angry, or even insistent. It was completely devoid of emotion. Taeris just motioned in the other direction. “Ignore them,” he said quietly. “Let’s move.”

Caeden shrugged. “I just do,” he said distantly, gaze shifting to the stone structure itself. Then he frowned, turning to Taeris. “I…would not have thought this was the fastest way to the Andarran bridge.” Taeris had stopped in front of the archway. He looked at Caeden for a long moment, his gaze inscrutable. “You’re right,” he said. “This is the southern entrance to the inner city. I only know the way from maps—the originals of which are almost two thousand years old. I didn’t want to get lost.”

“Caeden!” he hissed in a harried whisper. The sound jerked Caeden into action; the young man took a last look at the archway and hurried after them into the inner city. Davian took a long glance at the archway himself, wondering what Caeden had been looking at. The Door of Iladriel, he’d called it. A memory. Had there been something else, though? Something he wasn’t telling them? He shivered again as he looked up at the skull piked atop

Then he strangled a yell. He’d been looking at one of the buildings, and for the briefest of moments there had been someone standing in the doorway and staring straight at them. The expression on the man’s face had been…quizzical, with neither alarm nor malice in his gaze. Then the stranger was gone again. Vanished.

man. It was unlike any man Davian had seen before, though; its skin was completely black and glistened in the dull gray light. Its hands were curved and elongated, more clawlike than anything else, and its limbs and torso were unnaturally thin. A horrible snuffling sound erupted from it; it turned toward him and Davian sank back, covering his mouth in horror. Though its face was distorted by the fog, he could see that the creature had no eyes, a mouth filled with rows of razor-sharp teeth, and a gaping, circular hole where its nose should have been.

“It knew your name,” he said eventually. His tone would have been conversational had it not been forced out through gritted teeth. “That’s odd.” “Yes.” Davian rubbed his eyes, still trying to process what had happened. “You made it leave,” said Nihim, his voice weak. “How? What did it say to you?” “No! No, I didn’t do anything. It sounded…it sounded like Darecian, but I don’t know what it said.” Davian ran his hands through his hair, mindless of the fact that they were still covered in blood. “We need to get you back to the others. Taeris will be able to help you.”

Nihim nodded, even that small movement causing his face to twist in pain. “By an old Augur friend, more than twenty years ago. I’ve been wondering for a long time when this day would come.” He gave a short laugh, a desperate, almost delirious sound. “It seems it’s finally here.”

Nihim was dying, and there was nothing, nothing he could do about it. Nihim looked up at him. “Listen, lad, there are some things you should know. Taeris hasn’t told you everything.” “You should save your strength.” Nihim shook his head. “He’s been waiting for you, Davian. He knew you would come,” he said weakly. “There’s a text from the Old Religion, written by a man called Alchesh, an Augur from two thousand years ago. It talks of the man who will one day stop Aarkein Devaed from destroying the world. Taeris believes that man is you. He thinks that…” He trailed off into a coughing fit, blood seeping from his mouth. Davian frowned; delirium

“Someone whom the Augurs had seen on so many occasions in their visions, over the years, that they considered him to be the center point of this time—the fulcrum on which things in this era turn.”

“Who’s there? How do you know my name?” The disembodied voice chuckled, though it was a joyless sound. “That is a story.”

There was movement from the shadows, and a man stepped forward into the light. His appearance was unremarkable—mousy-brown hair cropped short, a plain, slightly lumpy face, neither tall nor short, fat nor thin. Yet he carried himself with an air of authority. There was something else, too, something almost unnoticeable but definitely there. Though there were no physical signs of it, the man’s eyes were old. Weary beyond reckoning.

“You have only one scar,” said the man in disbelief. He looked shaken. “Yes. One scar. Now tell me who you are and what I’m doing here!” Davian tried not to let panic seep into his tone.