The Shadow Of What Was Lost (16 page)

Wirr glanced across at Davian,
who nodded grimly, trying to ignore his pounding heart. The men in their tents
should be asleep by now. It was as good a time as any to begin.

They stole forward at a slow,
crouched jog, approaching the wagon from an oblique angle, out of the guard’s
eye line. Wirr had located a sturdy tree branch a few minutes earlier; holding
it like a club, he slipped around the side of the wagon in front of Davian.
There was a dull crunching sound, followed by a heavy thud.

Davian cautiously rejoined his
friend and they stood stock-still for a few seconds, holding their breaths as
they listened for cries of alarm from the tents. None came.

Nodding to Wirr, Davian crept
forward, moving as lightly as he could. He ignored the motionless sentry,
examining the door to the wagon.

The latch mechanism was sturdy,
but seemed simple enough. He cast another nervous glance back towards the
tents. Wirr raised an eyebrow at him, but Davian made a quick motion with his
hands, indicating that everything was under control. No need for Wirr to use
Essence just yet.

Barely daring to breathe, he
undid the latch and slowly raised the thick wooden bar holding the door in
place. It was well-oiled and slid upward easily, with none of the squeaking
Davian had feared. He pulled the small door open and climbed the stairs,
peering inside into the gloom.

If it was dim outside, the
interior of the wagon was pitch-black. Davian stood at the doorway for a
moment, squinting, gagging a little at the smell as he allowed his eyes to
adjust to the murk. He had to bend almost double to avoid hitting his head
against the roof once inside; he eventually knelt, nearly jerking up again when
he discovered there was a pool of moisture on the floor. He wrinkled his nose,
praying that it was just water.

He could just make out a figure
slumped against the far wall of the wagon. It shifted and he realised that the
prisoner was awake, watching him.

Davian crawled towards them.

“I’m here to help,” he whispered.
“Ilseth Tenvar sent me.”

There was a long silence, and
then the figure shifted again. The clanking of chains made Davian’s heart sink;
he spun as fast as he could on his hands and knees, peering out the door. The
camp was still silent.

He exited, crept around to where
the guard lay, then hastily patted him down until he heard the faint jingle of
keys. Davian grabbed them from the soldier’s pocket and hurried back into the
wagon.

His eyes were able to adjust
quickly this time, and he drew up short as he took in the condition of the man
he was trying to free. Massive bruises covered his entire face with ugly
discoloured splotches; one eye was swollen shut, and his lip was split in more
than one place. Dried blood was smeared down the left side of his head and neck
from an older wound, staining a tunic which had been torn so much that it was
now little more than a rag. More bruises were evident through the tears in his
clothing; the man’s breath was laboured, but he was watching Davian closely and
at least seemed to be aware of what was going on.

As the two men considered each
other, Davian absently touched the Vessel in his pocket, his finger brushing
the metallic surface of the box. He paused. Near the manacle on the stranger’s
right wrist, a glow had appeared - gone again in an instant, but distinctive
against the darkness.

Davian put his finger against the
Vessel again, frowning, ignoring the uncomfortable heat. The same light flared
to life. He leaned forward for a closer look as the glow faded once again, then
nodded to himself.

The wolf symbol was tattooed in
thin, detailed black lines on the prisoner’s wrist. This was definitely whom he
had been sent to find.

There were only three keys on the
ring and the second one fit the keyhole. The lock fell open with a sharp click,
and Davian thought he saw what looked like gratitude sweep over the man’s face,
though it was replaced instantly by a grimace of pain as he tried to move his weight.

“Can you walk?” Davian whispered.

The man nodded; levering himself
up through what looked like sheer force of will, he crawled towards the door.
Davian helped him out of the wagon, wincing at the stranger’s condition. In the
moonlight, the man’s injuries looked even worse. Davian marvelled that he still
had the strength to stand.

Suddenly there was a shout from
within the cluster of tents. Davian’s heart lurched.

Wirr, who was waiting for them
outside, blanched when he saw the stranger’s poor condition but made no
comment. “They know we’re here,” he said, tone urgent as other shouts answered
the first. “We need to go.”

Davian looked at him, dismayed.
“We’re not going to get far.”

“We have to try.”

Time seemed to slow as Wirr
grabbed one of the stranger’s arms and Davian the other; they ran awkwardly
towards the forest as soldiers burst from their tents, swords at the ready.

Deep down, Davian knew it was
over. Had they been alone, they might have been able to disappear in the
forest. Carrying the prisoner, they wouldn’t make it more than fifty feet
before they were caught.

The man between them sagged onto
Davian as Wirr dropped him, spinning to face the oncoming soldiers. He
stretched out his hands; blinding white cords snaked forth from them, speeding
outward. Davian steadied the injured man and then turned too, watching in mute
fascination as the Finders on the soldiers’ wrists lit up a sharp blue.

Davian wasn’t sure what Wirr was
attempting to do – the Tenets restricted him from doing much that could help,
now – but even through his panic, he couldn’t help but be impressed. He’d
always known Wirr was strong, but had never seen him use all his power at once,
which he must surely be doing now. It was more energy in one burst than Davian
had ever seen.

And it was for naught. The last
of Davian’s hope vanished as the threads of light struck an invisible barrier
around the soldiers, evaporating before they got within a few feet. At least
one of the men had a Trap then, too - a device that dissipated all Essence
within its radius. Whatever Wirr had been trying to do, it had never had a
chance of succeeding.

Just as the soldiers were almost
upon them, the clearing exploded in white light, the force of the blast
knocking Davian to the ground.

The impact stole the breath from
his lungs, and for a few moments he just lay there on his stomach, gasping for
air and trying to make sense of what was happening. Had Wirr tried something
else, something new? However much power he had been using the first time, this
was ten times more. A hundred.

His vision cleared. The soldiers
were moving again, getting to their feet, dazed but apparently unharmed. It
took Davian a few seconds to spot the figure behind them, shrouded in a cloak
so black that it actually seemed to stand out against the darkness. It stood
there for a moment, motionless. Watching.

Then it moved.

It glided rather than walked
forward. Davian’s blood froze; it made no sound but it had a sinuous menace, a
sense of heavy danger that made his legs feel like lead. The soldiers sensed it
too, turning away from the boys. Davian couldn’t see their faces, but their
sharply drawn breaths were audible even from this distance.

A disconnected part of Davian's
mind registered that all other sounds had stopped – everything from the
nocturnal animals and birds, to the chirping crickets and buzzing mosquitoes.
It was as if the world was holding its breath.

The figure flowed forward,
difficult to follow in the darkness. It made a grasping motion with its hand as
if pulling something from the air, and suddenly there was something coalescing,
long and thin, as shadowy and indistinct as the figure itself. A dagger, Davian
realised. Fear clenched him so tightly that he couldn’t move, couldn’t make a
sound. Couldn’t shout, either in horror or in warning.

The creature – Davian could not
believe it was human – continued towards them, reaching the first soldier.
Without pausing, it flicked out its arm as it passed. The action was casual,
dismissive. Almost disdainful.

The soldier fell silently, dark
blood spraying from where his jugular had been opened. His body hit the grass
with a soft thud.

The sound seemed to snap the
other soldiers into motion; two scrambled for their swords while another held
out a long, thin Trap with a trembling hand like it was a ward against evil,
the whites of his eyes visible. Still no-one shouted, as if everyone feared
that doing so would draw the creature’s attention.

The scene had a surreal quality
to it. Davian still couldn’t move. He couldn’t tear his eyes away as another
soldier fell to the dagger, his bubbling final breath horrible in the hush. The
third soldier took a wild swing at the creature, but his sword stopped in
mid-air as if hitting a brick wall. He died like the other two.

The creature’s trajectory was
clear now. It was deviating slightly to remove the soldiers, but it was coming
for the boys.

The last soldier fell. It had all
happened within the space of about ten seconds; the shadow was moving so fast
that it was almost impossible to comprehend. It turned towards Davian, only a
few feet away now. It was human at least in shape, its face hidden by a deep
black hood. But its knife was not solid; it seemed to pulse and fade with
darkness, steel one second and translucent black glass the next.

“
Sha nashen tel. Erien des tu
nashen tel
,” it hissed. Its voice was deep and whispery, cold and angry. It
spoke of something ancient and terrible, and Davian felt himself getting
lightheaded at the words.

The hairs on the back of his neck
raised, and he felt a massive charge of energy from behind him.

Light roared past Davian and
crashed into the creature. Not a beam, but a torrent. A river. It did not touch
Davian, but he still felt as though he needed to grab onto something to keep
from being swept away.

It hit the creature squarely in
the chest, and for the briefest of moments its face was illuminated. Its
features were human-like, but twisted almost beyond recognition. Its skin was
bruised and sagging, its lips white and horribly scarred.

Its eyes were recognisable
though. They were wide with what was very clearly surprise.

Then the light stopped. When
Davian’s sight returned, the creature was gone.

Davian stood rooted to the spot
for a few more seconds, his body refusing to believe it was over.

Then with a shuddering chill he
dropped to his knees, gasping for air. He’d thought he’d been afraid when the
Hunters had caught them in Talmiel, and again when it had seemed that there was
no escape from the Desrielite soldiers tonight. But this had been something
else. It had been abject, crushing terror flowing through his veins. Now it was
gone, every part of his body felt tired, weak.

He finally came to his senses
enough to turn around. Wirr was sitting on the ground too, hugging himself with
his arms around his knees. Even in the dim light, Davian could tell his friend
was white as a sheet.

“That was amazing, Wirr,” said
Davian, awe making his tone hushed. “I never imagined you had anywhere
near
that much power! It was like… a god! It was -”

“I don’t.” Wirr cut him off, not
bothering to look up. “I didn’t do anything. It was him.” He nodded towards the
prone body lying a few feet away, the Shackle that had been around the
stranger's arm now embedded in the dirt next to him.

The man they had rescued.

For a moment Davian thought he
was dead, but the slight rise and fall of the man’s chest reassured him.

Davian watched a moment longer,
then shook his head disbelievingly. “Look at him, Wirr. He’s barely breathing.
He couldn’t have had enough Essence to light -”

“It was him. The Shackle fell off
when that last soldier died, and… it was him,” said Wirr. There was a finality
to his tone that made Davian snap his mouth shut. He still wasn’t sure he
believed his friend – not entirely – but now was not the time or place to
argue. His wits returning, he staggered to his feet and then offered his hand
to Wirr, helping him do the same.

“They would have seen that in
Thrindar,” he said.

“They would have seen that in the
Eastern Empire,” replied Wirr grimly. “Nothing for it. Let’s grab him and get
moving.”

“What about the soldiers?
Shouldn’t we… bury them or something?” wondered Davian.

Wirr shook his head. “There’s no
time." He rubbed his forehead. "Though it means that when they find
the bodies, they’ll think we did this.”

Davian shrugged. “It's not like
they can execute us more.”

Wirr gave a slightly hysterical
giggle at that, and suddenly they were both snorting with fits of nervous
laughter, relief and shock finally finding an outlet.

They were still chuckling when,
from the darkness behind them, there was yet another flash of light.

Then both Wirr and Davian were on
their knees, their hands forced behind their backs. Thin, pulsating cords
snaked around their wrists and ankles, binding them where they lay on the ground;
another cord coiled around the unconscious man, tying him just as securely.
Davian struggled against the bonds, laughter replaced in an instant by fear,
but it was of no use.