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

by James Islington

“I was so sure. So sure. Perhaps the old fool was right after all.” The energy went out of him. “Are…are you going to kill me?” Davian asked, unable to keep the nervousness from his voice. The man seemed completely mad.

Malshash rubbed his forehead, for some reason looking shaken. “I suppose not. But for you to have survived the rift with no training, no idea what you were doing…it’s remarkable.” “The rift?” Davian leaned forward, but even as he did so he realized that his eyelids were getting heavy. He yawned, long and loudly. The heat of the fire, combined with his full stomach, was making him drowsy—but far more so than it should have been. “What is this?” he said through another yawn. “You drugged me?” “No. It’s just a side effect. The shock must have kept you awake until now.” Davian felt his head getting heavy. He leaned forward until his head touched the table. “Side effect of what?” he mumbled. If Malshash answered, Davian didn’t hear it. He slept.

“Is this a dream?” asked Asha, dazed. “You…you’re not real. They said you died. At Caladel.” “They lied.” Davian made an awkward step back as Asha swung out of bed. “Please, don’t come any closer. It’s dangerous.” Asha stopped. She wanted to go to him, touch him, just to make sure he was really there. “Why?” Davian grimaced, staring at the ground. “I don’t have time to explain. I’m…restricted in what I can say. Who is the Shadraehin?”

The chains froze, turned gray as steel. Davian kept his eyes closed. “They can’t hear us now, but I can’t do this for long, either,” he said calmly, his voice finally gaining a hint of the warmth she remembered. “I know this must be confusing, but there’s no time to explain so you are going to have to trust me. You’ll be making a deal with the Shadraehin soon—the real one. When you do, I need you to tell her that Tal’kamar is taking Licanius to the Wells, and that the information is a gift from me. Can you do that?”

“Good. Thank you, Ash.” Davian took a deep breath. “Now, this is equally important. When you find out that I’m at Ilshan Gathdel Teth, don’t come after me. I’m fine. The Venerate can’t kill me, but they will kill you—you are the one they want. I’m just the bait. Remember that.”

drained of blood, of life. “Don’t tell anyone else that you saw me. Especially not me. They’ve Read…they’ve Read so many of us now. There’s no telling whose mind is safe, these days.” He shook his head as he saw her baffled expression. “I’m so sorry. You’ll understand when the time comes.”

Malshash nodded. “You stepped through time to get here,” he explained in a calm, matter-of-fact tone. “Or, more to the point, you stepped outside of time. For a moment—a millionth of a millionth of a moment, and an eternity—you existed elsewhere.” Davian gave a humorless laugh. “I don’t understand a word of what you just said.” Malshash sighed. “You will. Or at least you’ll need to, if you ever hope to return to your own time.” Davian paused midbite. “What do you mean?” Malshash looked at him, expression serious. “This moment here, now? It is about seventy or so years before you were born.”

“That’s actually called a Jha’vett. It is set in the very center of the city. The exact midpoint.” He looked up expectantly, but Davian just gave him a blank stare back, not understanding the significance of what Malshash was saying. Malshash sighed. “Three thousand years ago, a race called the Darecians came to Andarra as refugees, fleeing the destruction of their homeland. They conquered this continent and immediately began building Deilannis—a city that no native Andarran was allowed to enter, in which only High Darecians could live. They did all this because the city was, in fact, a weapon.” “The entire city?”

Malshash nodded. “Possibly the greatest weapon ever made, though in some ways even the Darecians didn’t understand that at the time. Every building here, every street, every stone, is made to capture Essence—and it all leads to the Jha’vett. That ‘altar,’ as you called it, is the focus of immense energies. The High Darecians, at the height of their knowledge and power, spent a hundred and fifty years making it.”

itself, to step outside the stream of time and shift themselves elsewhere along it. Forwards. Backwards. Whenever they wish.” He shook his head. “They built it so that they could go back, to before the Shining Lands were destroyed. They wanted to warn their people of what was coming. To perhaps kill the man who destroyed them, before he could do it.” Davian gaped. “Is that possible?” “No one really knows, but…I am beginning to think not.” Malshash sighed, deeply and with regret. “So they failed?”

“There were apparitions, just before the Orkoth attacked,” said Davian, remembering. “People appearing and disappearing right in front of us. Would that have been caused by one of these…ripples?” Malshash gave a thoughtful nod. “I would think

Malshash raised an eyebrow. “It’s your ring.” Davian shook his head. “I’ve never seen it before. It’s not mine.” The ring was distinctive; he’d certainly know if he’d ever owned something so fine. “Ah. Then it will be,” said Malshash with a slight shrug. Davian scowled. “How is that possible? How can something be important to me if I’ve never even seen it before?” Malshash shrugged again. “Remember, you were outside of time when it drew you. There was no future, no past. When it is important to you is not relevant. At some point it will be.” Davian stared at him for a few seconds. “I think I’m going to have to take your word on that.”

“Wait! One more question.” Caeden clenched his fists; he was afraid to ask, but he had to know. “I was accused of a crime, from before I can remember. Killing people…slaughtering them for no reason.” He watched Alaris closely, dreading the answer. “Is that the kind of man I am? Would I have done that?” Alaris hesitated. “No, Tal’kamar,” he said softly. “Never without a reason.” He faded just as the shadow touched Caeden.

Havran Das. He fixed the name in his mind as he began helping the others break camp. He didn’t know if he could trust Alaris, but one thing was certain. He was going to find out more once they reached Ilin Illan.

Malshash gave a delighted laugh. “That’s the trick, Davian! You’re using kan to get it. You draw it in from around you—any source you can find. The body does not need much, truth be told.”

“It’s very simple.” Malshash sat in a chair, gesturing for Davian to do the same. “At some point in your life, you died. I don’t know when—probably very young, though, earlier than you’d be able to even remember. So your ability to produce Essence failed. But somehow your instincts kicked in, and you began drawing Essence from around you using kan instead.” He shrugged. “You must have been doing it ever since. Stealing a little from here, a little from there. Sometimes from people, sometimes from your environment. If you were raised around the Gifted, it would have been too easy.” Davian felt a chill run through him. “You mean…I’m dead?”

“We each have our temptations, Tal’kamar. We each have our own battles that must be fought.” He paused. “But you must fight them, my friend. You cannot hide from them. Otherwise you will never be more than you are.”

Taeris sighed. “No, lad. I saw her eyes, just before she stabbed me. Her body may still be sound, but her mind is gone. Following orders, but making use of her memories to achieve them.” He rubbed his beard, expression thoughtful. “I’ve seen this once before, a long time ago—we called them Echoes. These ones were left behind deliberately, a trap for anyone who came after. Especially Gifted, apparently.”

It meant that becoming a Shadow hadn’t destroyed her Reserve, only blocked it off. It meant that, just maybe,

Malshash sighed. “Such is the way of weak men,” he murmured. “Daring to believe only in what can be seen, touched, and measured.”

“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.

The sha’teth lowered its hand, and the bubble disappeared. It gave a rasping laugh. “You truly have forgotten, haven’t you, Tal’kamar,” it said to Caeden softly. Pityingly. “Aelrith was caught by surprise when you attacked him, and Khaerish and Methaniel were craven. But I am neither unprepared nor afraid.” It stood motionless, waiting.

“Who do you serve?” he asked the sha’teth suddenly, muscles tensed in case the creature attacked. The creature chuckled. “Are you not the one who set us free? Who do you serve, Tal’kamar?” it replied, quietly enough that the others could not overhear. “I can never keep track.” Caeden felt the blood drain from his face. He dared not look back at the others. “I serve my friends, and Andarra. Whatever ties I had in my past life are gone.” He said the words with as much confidence as he could muster. The sha’teth laughed again in its raspy voice. “You cannot escape yourself forever.”

“You should know. I was the one who killed him,” it whispered. It wasn’t a confession; there was no trace of sadness in the statement. It was gleeful. Caeden frowned. “Who?”

Elocien nodded. Then his expression sobered. “Erran told us what happened. What you saw, before Tenvar made you a Shadow.” He shook his head. “That note from Torin…I never knew about it. I suspect

Asha stared at him in disbelief. “But he made me a Shadow against my will. He lied about Davian. I remember. And Erran saw, too—”

was still not enough. There was a scream from somewhere in the castle as the first person fell, dead, drained of Essence. Screams started up elsewhere, but they were cut off as Davian snatched away their life force, taking it into himself and then letting it flow into Ell.

familiar. The man from the wedding, the one who had tried to comfort him. Ilrin. It took him only a moment longer to make other connections. None he could put names to, but many of which he remembered clearly. All of them men whose form, at one time or another over the last couple of weeks, Malshash had chosen to take. Malshash just stood for a few more moments, staring at Davian, panting as if he had been running a race. “Prepare yourself, Davian,” he snarled eventually. “You leave this place today.” He spun without another word, stalking off down the road and into the mists.

“But why? Why give away your ability?” He frowned. “And to whom?” Malshash sighed. “I gave it away because of what you saw before,” he said quietly. “Seeing can work in both directions, forwards and backwards. Not many people know that. Most people with the talent are naturally focused on what is to come. But I…” He shook his head. “When I See, I go back there. I was reliving it, again and again, every time I closed my eyes. I couldn’t make it stop any other way.” He paused. “Whom I gave it to is not your concern, though.”

“Why do you wear the faces of the people at the wedding? The ones who…” “The ones I killed,” finished Malshash. He looked at Davian with an expression of immense sadness. “You haven’t figured it out yet, have you?” “Figured out what?” Malshash hesitated. “A

Idly he wondered again about the identity of the blond-haired man he had changed into. Whoever it had been was dead?

have something I need you to remember. A message from me,” he said. “That it was worth it. It changed me. And…I am so very sorry.” Davian frowned, repeating the message as he noticed a glow beginning

shine out from beneath Malshash’s hand. “Who is it for?” Malshash didn’t reply for a few moments, then lifted his hand. All that remained of the ring was a small pool of molten metal on the ground. He stood, turning toward Davian. Even as he moved, Davian realized he was beginning to fade. “It’s for you, Davian,” said Malshash softly. “You’ll understand one day.” The gray torrent washed him from view. Davian was once again within the rift.

It was time to go to Ilin Illan.

“Who is he?” he called out. Caeden could hear the jailer spitting on the ground. “Name’s Ilseth Tenvar,” he said. “He had something to do with that bad business in the schools recently. Not sure what, exactly; they don’t tell me much. But he’s supposed to be in here, don’t you worry about that. Not a man you want to be making friends with.” Caeden nodded, though mostly to himself, as he knew the jailer couldn’t

“Their theory is that the Blind are a race of people descended from us—from the Andarrans that were trapped behind the Boundary during the Eternity War. The Council agrees that they’re dangerous, but not that they are anything…worse.” “So they won’t restore my memories?”

Taeris frowned. “I don’t know. Maybe,” he said slowly. “Do you remember what they said?” Caeden screwed up his face, trying his best to remember the words. “Dreh Kaaren si, sha tehl me’athris dar.” Taeris’s eyebrows rose. “‘Honored lord, has the time finally come?’” he translated. His expression became focused. “Who said this, Caeden? And who did they say it to? This language is…old. Rare.” He stopped, forcing Caeden to look him square in the eye. Caeden shook his head, suddenly sick to his stomach. He knew what it would look like if he told the truth. What it would do to Taeris’s trust in him. “I don’t know. I couldn’t see them from my cell, just heard the words.” Taeris bit his lip. “I know Ilseth Tenvar was in those cells,” he said, almost to himself. “But it sounds like perhaps Athian has more than one traitor in its midst.” He started walking again, lost in thought. Caeden stared after him for a moment, then trotted to catch up, grimly returning his attention to the road ahead. Perhaps the Council had been right not to trust him after all.

Wirr exhaled in relief. “Thank you, Kara. I owe you,” he said sincerely. Then he leaned forward in his seat. “How is your father?” Karaliene looked sick. “What have you heard?” “That he’s been ranting against the Gifted. That it doesn’t seem like he will be willing to change the Tenets, no matter the cost.” Wirr frowned. “It doesn’t sound like him.” Karaliene sighed. “It’s not,” she said, pain evident in her voice. “He’s…sick, I think. I can’t explain it. One moment he’ll be fine—almost normal—and then the next he’ll fly into a rage. He’s always tired, and paranoid about everything and everyone. Especially Tol Athian. When word of the invasion came, he thought it was a trick. A trick by the Gifted to get him to change the Tenets.” She shivered. “That was his first thought.”

The Shackle retracted, dropping noiselessly from his arm and onto the quilt. Caeden stared at it, stunned, for a few moments. It had come off. He’d done it, though he had no idea how. Then he felt a flash of panic. Karaliene would know. Wouldn’t she? The princess was most probably asleep at this hour; perhaps it would go unnoticed, at least for a time. He waited in

“What do you want, lad?” he asked sharply. “Do you know what hour it is?” Caeden gave a nervous cough. “I’m looking for Havran Das.” The man stared at him for a moment, sizing him up. Evidently deciding Caeden did not pose much of a threat, he opened the door a little wider. “I am Havran Das,” he said, suspicion thick in his tone. “Who in fates are you?” “My name is Caeden.” When the man still stared at him blankly, he added, “Alaris said you would be expecting

“So,” said Havran as he sat opposite. “Alaris told me a little about your situation, but even he didn’t know much. He certainly didn’t tell me you would be in this body. Perhaps if—”

If Caeden’s senses had not already been so heightened from nervousness, he might not have noticed it at all. As it was he reacted on instinct, spinning to the side and to his feet. A blade cleaved the air where he had just been sitting, splintering the chair in two. Caeden moved without thinking, elbowing his would-be attacker in the face. He heard the crunching sound of a nose breaking but didn’t pause, allowing his momentum to take him behind the armored man’s back. In one smooth motion he grabbed both sides of the assassin’s helmetless head and twisted it as hard as he could, downward and to the side. The snap of the man’s neck was deafening in the silence of the shop.

“Why?” he hissed. Havran cringed away, refusing to meet Caeden’s gaze. “Tal’kamar, wait! It’s not what you think!” he shrieked, plainly terrified.

For a moment the man’s hand slipped, and Caeden got a good look at the woman’s face. He paled as he recognized the fair skin, the delicate features. It was Karaliene.

“Who are you?” he asked, breathing heavily. “Why are you here?” The man stopped, blinking as if surprised by the question. “We are here to stop you, Tal’kamar,” he eventually

Caeden found himself coloring, and he let the Shackle fall to the ground with a clatter. The full toll of the night finally crashed down on him, and he sank back onto the bed, holding his head in his hands. “I’m sorry,” he said. He truly was. He’d betrayed Taeris’s trust, hedged his bets so that he didn’t have to choose a side. He realized now that it was time to make that choice. Taeris gave him the slightest of smiles, though his expression was still stern. “You came back. That’s a start.” He walked over to the bed, seating himself next to Caeden and putting a hand on his shoulder. “But it certainly seems we have much to talk about,” he added quietly.

Caeden calculated. “Just after Deilannis. A month ago, perhaps?” Taeris nodded to himself. “A week before the invasion began. Those men could have been sent ahead to help Das kill you—they could have slipped into the city as recently as a couple of weeks ago.” He stared worriedly into space as another possibility occurred to him. “Or they may have been sent ahead for a different purpose entirely, and Alaris simply took advantage of their presence here.” Caeden swallowed. “A different purpose…like what?”

“Regardless—the Blind are clearly afraid of you, Caeden. Whatever is locked away in that memory of yours, it’s evidently something they don’t want uncovered.” He rubbed his chin. “When you spoke to Alaris, did you tell him where you were going?”

And if they were sent by Aarkein Devaed, why just a thousand men? We know there are at least dar’gaithin out there as well, so why not send them, too—everything he has?” He leaned forward. “But think about the timing of all this. If you’re such a threat to them…maybe when Alaris made contact with you and realized that you might get your memories back, it forced them to act early. The Boundary is weak, but we know it hasn’t collapsed yet, not completely—why not wait until that happens, and send everything they have at once?” He nodded to himself. “I think…there’s a possibility this entire attack is about you, Caeden. I think they may have lured you here, and are coming for you before you can remember anything. While you’re vulnerable.” Caeden felt a chill as he considered the possibility. “So I’m responsible for even more deaths,” he observed, his tone heavy.

“Then nothing changes. I keep pressing Tol Athian to use the memory device, and hope that Karaliene’s contacts are helping our cause in the background.”