The Shadow Of What Was Lost

Chapter 33

Caeden stood in the courtyard. Sweating. Nervous.

The nine towers of Ilshan Tereth Kal rose high above him, surrounded him on all sides – improbably tall and impossibly beautiful, evoking calmness and strength in their design, just as the Builders had intended. The crystal walls glimmered and shone in the dawn, streaks of blue energy flowing through them, swirling and dancing, traversing the castle at random. They were the guardians of Tereth Kal, not quite sentient but not without intelligence. They, too, were beautiful to behold, though he had seen what they were capable of when the Velderan had attacked. A sight no man before him had seen. A sight no man was meant to witness, and live to tell of it.

Ordan glided into the courtyard. He had been around the Shalis enough now to recognise their moods, subtle though the signs usually were. Today, Ordan was determined.

The Shalis mage stopped in front of him, his sinuous red skin glistening in the light. He was at least nine feet tall at full extension, though out of politeness he tended to contort his body slightly, allowing him to speak to Caeden face-to-face. Despite the red serpentine body, and the complete lack of legs, there was a human aspect to Ordan that some of his brethren seemed to lack. But then, Ordan was the one who had spoken for him. Who had convinced the Cluster to let him train here, who had vouched for him despite his many struggles to learn what was needed. He was the most human of his kind.

“Is today the day, Tal’kamar?” Ordan asked, the hissing lisp of his voice barely noticeable now.

“May Dreth send it be so,” replied Caeden. The words were formal, but the sentiment was heartfelt.

“Then let us begin,” said the Shalis.

The energy crackled towards him, abruptly and so fast he barely had time to react. He connected to his Reserve and envisaged a shield, a pulsing barrier through which Ordan’s bolt could not pass. He threw up his hands to cast it just in time; it appeared and the bolt dissolved in a sputter of blue electrical fire.

“Good,” said Ordan. “But remember - no gestures, no words. These are the signs of a mind poor in discipline. A mind that needs trickery as a crutch to perform its tasks.”

Caeden grimaced, but bobbed his head in acknowledgement. He’d been here two years now, honing his focus, training himself mentally to do things other Gifted would consider impossible. And he could do them now – do wondrous feats that would make most men gasp in awe. Not the Shalis, though. They still looked at him as a child, or more accurately as an animal they were teaching to talk.

Ordan struck again, and this time Caeden forced his hands to his sides. His barrier still appeared but it was too weak; a small portion of the bolt sizzled through, striking him on the shoulder. He grunted in pain, gritting his teeth as he glanced down at the seared skin, which was already blistering. He knew the Shalis would not heal it for him, nor would they approve if he did it himself. It was only through trials, through pain, that mastery of Essence could be achieved.

He growled, mainly to himself. He was better than this. He circled Ordan warily, watching for the tell-tale glow – so small it was almost invisible – that indicated he was about to strike. When Caeden saw it, instead of raising a shield he dove to his left, going on the attack. He imagined Ordan’s chest bursting into flame, then let the power flow from his Reserve, as much as he could without risking Ordan’s life.

Ordan blocked the attack easily, then sighed. “You still hold back,” he said. To most people the words would have sounded angry – most of the Shalis’ speech sounded that way – but Caeden understood that this was a gentle reprimand, an almost fond rebuke. “When you fight for your life, will you do so then?”

Caeden shook his head. “Of course not. But I have no wish to injure you.”

Ordan just watched him, the sinuous lines of his body swaying gracefully. “You know my people will bring me back. You know you can defeat me. You could leave this place today, Tal’kamar. You could return to Silvithrin and fight the Shadowbreakers. Why do you hesitate?”

Caeden paused, searching his heart for the truth. “I fear that in returning to fight them, like this, I may become like them,” he said quietly. It was a hard thing to admit, but the Shalis did not believe in subtlety, false modesty, or lies. They were wise. Perhaps with this admission, Ordan could help him.

But the serpentine man only sighed. “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.”

Caeden nodded, though he had hoped for more reassurance. Still, what his friend had said made a lot of sense. He couldn’t hide from what was coming, just as his people could not.

“Again, then,” he said, tone grim, taking the stance.

They circled, and this time he felt oddly at peace, no longer nervous. When Ordan’s attack came he didn’t even break stride; the barrier dissolved the bolt long before it reached him. He dug inside himself, then pictured Ordan bursting into flame. Not just his skin, but his insides, his entire body from head to tail. The Shalis were vulnerable to fire, but he drew more from his Reserve, letting the power build up. More. More.

He released.

Ordan was expecting the blast, but his shield was nothing compared to the power of Caeden’s blow. The shield shattered and Ordan screamed in pain as tongues of fire engulfed him; his scaly skin began to shimmer and then melt as the intense heat devoured all. Caeden made himself watch, though it tore him up inside to do so. His friend would be reborn, as the Shalis always were. He knew it would be painful for Ordan, hated himself for doing this. Yet, it was necessary. Ordan was right. He needed to return home.

Another Shalis – Indral, he thought, though they all looked very similar – came and busied himself next to Ordan’s smoking body. Gently he picked it up, powerful arms having no trouble lifting the corpse. He turned to Caeden.

“He will be proud of you, Tal’kamar,” he said in his unusual, high-pitched voice. The words were blunt but Caeden thought he detected a hint of respect in them. That was something, coming from Indral, who had always been against his being allowed to train here.

Caeden stared at the corpse sadly. “Will I be able to speak to him before I leave?”

“No.” Indral was emphatic. “You have completed your training, and Ordan will not return for months yet. Rebirth in the Forges is a slow process. You will need to be gone before then.” Indral was not being rude, Caeden decided, only practical. The Shalis were like that: blunt, often difficult to read.

He felt a wave of regret as he glanced around. He would never see this place again, of that he was certain.

“Tell him it was an honour,” he said to Indral quietly.

“I will, Tal’kamar. Farewell.” Indral slithered off with Ordan’s body.

Caeden flexed his burnt shoulder, grimacing in pain, then moved off towards his quarters. He needed to pack.

He was going home.

Caeden woke, a light sheen of sweat on his brow.

He rolled onto his side, gazing up at the pre-dawn sky. Another dream. As with the others, this one was already fading; even now he could only grasp the odd detail here and there. The snake-like creature he’d been friends with – so similar to the dar’gaithin. The strange fortress where he’d lived, if only for a time.

He hadn’t told the others about the dreams. Alaris’ warning still echoed in his head, and like tonight, sometimes he saw things… if he told them the truth they’d think he was crazy, or worse, a threat. Taeris removing his Shackle had meant a lot. Caeden didn’t want to force him to put it back on.

Soon enough the others were awake, and they were travelling once again. The roads had been heavy with traffic over the past few days – and many of the travellers had borne ominous news. There was trouble in the north, an invasion of some kind. Details were scarce, but Caeden could see how Taeris was beginning to look more worried with each mention of it.

He rubbed the tattoo on his arm absently. The fact that this invasion was from the north - where the Boundary lay - had not been lost on him. That glowing wolf’s head, always in the corner of his vision, was a constant, unsettling reminder that he was likely connected somehow.

They proceeded for a while in companionable silence; at about midday the road forked, and the steady stream of people coming the other way suddenly stopped. For several hours after that, they walked without seeing anyone, and the silence of the group gradually became an anxious one.

Late in the afternoon, Taeris held up his hand, signalling they should halt.

“Do you smell that?” he asked. He turned to the others, seeing the answer to his question in their wrinkled noses, and Dezia holding a kerchief to her face.

There was a stench on the breeze that had just sprung up, the sickening smell of rotting meat. Not just a whiff, though, as would happen if an animal had died nearby. This was strong and constant.

“What is it?” asked Wirr, almost gagging.

Taeris shook his head. “I’m not sure,” he said in a worried tone, “ but I think we’re going to find out soon enough.”

They kept moving along the road, which was still deserted. As Caeden crested the next rise, he let out an involuntary gasp, freezing in his tracks as he took in the scene before him. Behind him, he could hear equally horrified sounds from his companions as they saw what he was seeing.

The bodies were everywhere.

They lined the road for hundreds of feet ahead, draped over piles of grey stone rubble. Many of the corpses were sliced open and already rotting under the hot sun; black carrion birds flocked wherever he looked, pecking at eyes and entrails with ecstatic fervour, barely bothered by the arrival of living humans.

To Caeden’s horror, he realised some of the bodies had been carefully arranged in lewd embraces. In some places, men’s heads had been removed and sewn onto the bodies of women. He forced himself to look even closer. Some of the men’s heads were on children’s bodies, too.

He turned and retched, vaguely relieved to hear he was not the only one doing so.

His stomach emptied, he forced himself to turn back to the scene. With a chill, Caeden realised that the piles of stones he could see were all that remained of a large township.

“Gahille,” said Taeris, dismay in his voice. “I’ve been here before. This was a big town. It had its own wall, and a garrison to protect it.”

The wall was gone, now, only a few stones jutting up from the grass a reminder of it. There were no buildings left standing. Just a flat expanse that stretched out ahead, broken by the small hills of stone that indicated something had once stood there.

“Who could have done this?” whispered Caeden. He felt another wave of nausea.

“The sha’teth?” asked Aelric. He was doing better than the others. Still, he looked a little unsteady as he surveyed the carnage.

Taeris took a deep breath, trying not to breathe through his nose. “No,” he said after a moment. “The sha’teth would not bother to do this. They haven’t changed that much. Whoever, or whatever, was here revelled in what they were doing.”

“We should see if there are any survivors,” said Wirr.

Taeris shook his head. “I’m not sure if that’s a good idea. It could still be dangerous.”

“I’ll not feel right if we leave without at least looking,” pressed Wirr.

Aelric stepped forward, nodding. “I agree. We need to look.”

Taeris sighed. “As you wish,” he said, though his tone was heavy with reluctance.

They walked forward slowly, checking for any sign of life, each of them now breathing through kerchiefs to lessen the chance of sickness. Some of the corpses were entirely rotten, while others looked almost fresh; the stench of death was overpowering at times, making Caeden’s eyes water.

Ahead of him, Taeris sent out a thin stream of Essence - nothing strong enough to be detected by any nearby Finders, presumably, but sufficient to clear most of the smell. It wasn’t enough to make the air entirely breathable, but it was an improvement.

From the line of trees up ahead, there was suddenly movement. Taeris held up a warning hand to the others.

Two people hurried towards them; they stopped in the middle of what would have been the town square, clearly unwilling to run the gauntlet of the dead. Taeris urged his companions towards them.

Thanks to a stiff breeze, the air was much clearer in the middle of the town, enough so that Caeden felt comfortable lowering his kerchief. As he drew closer to the newcomers – a woman and a young boy, perhaps fifteen - he could see their red eyes, their ragged clothing and the cuts and bruises on their hands. They had been running, then. Possibly for days.

“Who are you?” called the boy as they approached. “What are you doing here?”

Caeden and the others stopped just short of the two. “We are travellers,” said Taeris, tone gentle, seeing the fear and suspicion on the strangers’ faces. “On our way to Ilin Illan. What has happened here?”

Something seemed to break in the woman, and she rushed forward, embracing Taeris and beginning to sob. He stood there awkwardly for a few moments, unsure what to do.

“I’m sorry,” the woman said eventually, stepping back in embarrassment and wiping her eyes with a dirty sleeve. “We’ve not seen another living soul for three days. Not since it….” She broke down again, and the young boy hurried forward to comfort her.

“We were attacked,” said the boy. His tone was devoid of hope, and his eyes looked dead to Caeden. “Soldiers in armour black as night, men with no eyes. Our Watch tried to fight them, but they were so fast.” He shivered at the memory. “It wasn’t really a battle. None of the invaders died at all.”

Caeden took a step back, a chill running through his veins. He’d been worried about his potential involvement in whatever was going on, but this… this was worse than anything he’d feared.

Taeris, too, looked at the boy in dismay. “This was the invaders' doing?”

The boy nodded, still comforting the weeping woman, whom Caeden assumed was probably his mother. “Word came only a few hours before they got here.”

“Who are they?” Taeris asked, clearly unsettled. “Where did they come from?”

“The riders who came to warn us said they were from the North. From beyond the Boundary.” The boy rubbed his hands together nervously, glancing around as if he expected the enemy soldiers to reappear at any moment. “Don’t know about that, but they weren’t natural, I promise you that. Stronger and faster than normal men, and like I said, their helmets had no holes for them to see out of. It was something twisted, no doubt about that.” He spat to the side. “The Bleeders are rising up again, maybe.”

Taeris winced, and Caeden saw Wirr scowling from the corner of his eye. “The Gifted are still bound by the Tenets, lad,” said Taeris. “But I believe what you say.” He gestured to some of the larger stones left from the destroyed houses. “Please, sit. Tell me what happened. As much detail as you can.”

The boy shook his head. “I wish I could, but me and my mother ran once we saw what they were doing. Ran into the forest and just kept going for the entire night, until we were too tired to go any further.” He rubbed at the cuts on his arms. “They weren’t like our soldiers would have been. People were screaming for mercy, but they wouldn’t listen. They killed the men, and then what they did to the women….” He trailed off.

Taeris patted him on the shoulder. “It’s okay, lad. You’ve been a great help already.” He guided both the boy and his mother over to a stone on which they could sit. “What are your names?”

“I’m Jashel. My mother’s name is Llys,” the boy said, still scratching at his arms.

“I’m Taeris,” said the scarred man. He glanced towards the trees from which the two had emerged. “How long have you been hiding in the forest, Jashel?”

“Three days,” said Jashel. “We came back yesterday, and the soldiers were still here, camping in the town. They were pulling down the buildings one by one, and dragging the corpses out to the road. Placing them like they are now.” He bit his lip. “They left last night. We were still trying to decide what to do when you showed up - we would have gone for Naser, but my mother has something wrong with her leg. It would be too hard for her to walk all that way.”

Taeris nodded. He reached into his knapsack and drew out a loaf of bread, offering it to Jashel. The boy took it hungrily, breaking it in two, thrusting one half at his mother and then wolfing down the other.

Caeden watched him eat in silence. What this young boy had been through these past few days was beyond what any person should ever have to endure.

“We need to bury them,” announced Jashel, his mouth still full with the last chunk of bread.

Taeris blinked, glancing back along the road. Caeden followed his gaze. There were hundreds of bodies. “They’ll get a proper burial, Jashel, I promise,” Taeris said as gently as he could, “ but there are not enough of us to do it.”

Jashel’s face started to go red. “They’re my friends,” he said angrily. “My father is out there. He fought knowing he was going to die, so we could get away! He deserves a burial!”

Taeris tried to hold Jashel’s gaze, but couldn’t. He looked away. “I’m sorry, lad.”

“It’s not your fault, sir.” It was Llys, talking again for the first time since breaking down in Taeris’ arms. She moved across to give Jashel a fierce hug. “We can’t do it, Jashel,” she said to her son. “I understand. I want to as well. But there are too many.” She smiled sadly at him. “We are alive. We need to worry about surviving. Your father would have wanted that.”

Jashel looked like he was about to argue, then sagged, burying his face in his mother’s shoulder. He let out a couple of long, heaving sobs. Caeden looked away awkwardly.

“Is there any way we can help?” asked Taeris to Llys after a while. “We can give you supplies enough to see you to Naser.”

Llys shook her head. She drew up her skirt, revealing a blackened and swollen ankle. “I’m not going anywhere for a while.”

Taeris hesitated. Then he stepped forward, kneeling beside Llys and placing his hands around her evidently broken ankle. He closed his eyes.

Llys’ ankle began to glow as Essence flowed through Taeris. By the time he took his hands away – only a few seconds after he had begun – the ankle’s swelling and bruising had disappeared.

“That should make it easier,” he said with a small smile, looking drained.

Llys wiggled her ankle in astonishment. “You’re Gifted,” she said quietly.

The knife was in Taeris' belly before any of them realised what was happening, and everything seemed to move in slow motion after that.

Taeris emitted a single, low moan before collapsing, and Caeden knew straight away that the blade had gone in deep and long, a killing blow. Mother and son both had daggers in their hands, their dead eyes suddenly registering with Caeden. Absently, through the sudden fear, he wondered how he hadn’t seen it earlier. They weren’t just tired, terrified. It was like there was no life in them at all.

And though he couldn’t say why, he knew exactly what it meant.

Caeden dove at Llys, wresting the blade from her hand before she could stab Taeris again, but she kept fighting, clawing at his face, his arms, anything she could touch. She hissed, her eyes wild, feral and red-rimmed, moving with inhuman speed and strength.

To Caeden’s left, Aelric’s sword struck like lightning, spearing young Jashel through the neck just before the boy’s blade descended on Dezia’s exposed back. Then there was a blinding blast of Essence, and Caeden felt the attack stop, the woman in front of him slumping to the ground as if her bones had turned to jelly. He looked over his shoulder to see Wirr standing there, panting, his arms outstretched.

Caeden dropped to his knees beside Taeris as the others crowded around. A ghastly gash ran the length of Taeris' stomach, exposing intestines and other innards; blood pooled around him on the stone of the road, dark and smooth. The Gifted’s eyes were still open, but his breaths were shallow and had a horrible bubbling sound.

Taeris was dying.

Caeden turned to Wirr. “He needs healing,” he said urgently.

Wirr ran his hands through his hair. “I don’t have enough Essence left in my Reserve to heal him. Even if it were full, I’m not sure I could repair a wound that bad." He hesitated. "You need to do it.”

Caeden looked at Wirr, horrified. “I don’t know how.”

“You have to try and remember.” Wirr grabbed Caeden’s hand and forced it against Taeris’ stomach. “I know you can do this, Caeden. Close your eyes, try and sense your Reserve. Then you need to tap into it and infuse the wound with raw Essence. If Taeris gets enough, his own body will do the rest.”

Caeden swallowed, heart pounding. “I’ll do my best.” He began to close his eyes.

“Wait.” Wirr grimaced. “Maybe I spoke too soon. It’s not like firing a bolt of energy. It’s gentler than that, trickier. You don’t hurl it, you let it flow. Like a stream.” He bit his lip. “That’s very important, Caeden. If you can’t get the difference, the energy will be too forceful. That would kill him.”

Caeden paled. “Is there some way I can practice?”

“There’s no time.” It was Aelric. He placed a hand on Caeden’s shoulder. “He’s almost gone, Caeden.”

Caeden gave a resolute nod, turning his attention to Taeris. He positioned his hands over the gash in Taeris’ stomach, ignoring the blood soaking up between his fingers. Then he took a deep breath and closed his eyes, searching out his Reserve. Trying desperately to remember how he’d done it in his dream.

The warmth of Essence was flowing through him, out of him, before he knew what was happening.

As quickly as it had come the feeling faded and Caeden sat back, drained. The wound had closed, only the raw pink of a newly healed scar now visible, but Caeden could not see any indication of Taeris’ chest rising and falling. Wirr dropped to his knees beside the Gifted, ear over Taeris' mouth, listening for any sign of life.

There was nothing for several seconds… and then Taeris gave a violent, hacking cough, his entire body contorting with the effort. He sat up and turned, vomiting the remaining blood from his stomach. When he’d finished he slowly turned back to Caeden and the others, hand on the freshly healed wound.

“Seems taking that Shackle off was a good idea,” he said weakly.

Caeden gave him a relieved smiled and allowed his tense muscles to relax a little, from the corner of his eye seeing the others doing the same. He helped Taeris stand. The older man tested out his muscles gingerly for a few seconds; once satisfied he could move without pain, he wandered over to where his attacker had fallen. Llys' eyes were closed, but her chest rose and fell rhythmically.

“We need to take her with us,” said Wirr.

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.”

"I think he’s right," added Caeden. He flushed a little at everyone’s surprised looks. "I don’t know how I know, but I thought the same thing when they attacked."

Dezia stared at the woman in disbelief. “But she told us her name. They were upset about what had happened.”

Taeris shrugged. “And that was likely the case, before they were changed. But the people that they were no longer exist.”

Wirr scowled. “So you’re saying we should just kill her?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” said Taeris softly. “It gives me no pleasure, but it is what needs to be done. If we leave her, she’ll kill others.”

“We don’t know that!” protested Dezia.

Taeris gave her a sorrowful look. “Didn’t you notice how the last group of bodies we saw coming in to town didn’t match the others? They were fresher, and were wearing travelling cloaks, not work clothing. There were children amongst them. I thought it was odd at the time….”

Caeden’s stomach churned as he glanced back down the road. He hadn’t spotted that.

To his side, Dezia’s face twisted as she realised what Taeris was saying. She looked at Llys in horror. “We can’t kill her,” she said, though her voice was more uncertain now.

“What would you have us do?" asked Taeris. "There are three options. One, she comes with us. We don’t even have rope to tie her up with, let alone know anything about her capabilities given what’s been done to her. Two, we could leave her. She could come after us, or she could lay in wait for more people here. Or three, we can kill her.” He folded his arms. “She’s dead, understand. Something else is using her body and memories to trick people. She’s no longer human.” He raised an eyebrow at Wirr. “Unless you think you’ve somehow found a way around the First Tenet?”

Caeden grimaced, and Wirr turned away, looking sick. Taeris was right. Wirr had blasted Llys with Essence, something he shouldn’t have been able to do.

“We should at least wait until she wakes up,” Wirr said stubbornly. "We need to make sure."

Taeris groaned. “She will just try to fool you again, but….” He threw his hands up in the air. “Very well. You think you can restrain her?”

Wirr nodded. “I should be able to." He hesitated. "Do you think it’s still wise to be heading for Ilin Illan, now? Coming in behind this army?”

“Yes. If anything, this means it’s more important than ever we reach Tol Athian quickly, before they get to the city. Otherwise we may not be able to get inside to restore Caeden’s memories," said Taeris. "We’ll take the Eastern road, go around them. We should be able to get to Ilin Illan days before they arrive.”

Wirr shook his head. “The southern road is the quicker route. I doubt we can beat them there by much.”

“Look around you, Wirr.” Taeris gestured at the rubble that surrounded them. “This army isn’t in any hurry. Regardless of whether what Jashel told us was true, they certainly took the time to take down these buildings brick-by-brick. There are no signs of them using fire – probably because they didn’t want the smoke letting people know they were coming. But they have managed to destroy every structure here nonetheless, and done horrible, unspeakable things to the occupants. It all takes time, time a normal army wouldn’t bother wasting.”

Caeden stared at the remains of the town. “Why do you think they did it?”

Taeris scratched his beard. “Could be that they’re trying to draw the king’s forces out of Ilin Illan, to engage them in the field rather than meet them on the city’s walls. These things seemed designed to taunt.”

Suddenly there was a moan from the prostrate woman on the ground, and all five of them took a wary step back. Llys shook her head groggily, getting slowly to her feet. “What happened?” she asked in bemusement. Then her eyes fell on Jashel’s corpse and a scream ripped from her throat, a heart-rending sound full of pain. Heedless of the onlookers she rushed over to her son, cradling his head in her arms.

“No, no, no,” she sobbed, repeating the words over and over again as she rocked back and forth, the boy’s blood smearing across her already-dirty dress. “No, no, no.”

Taeris glanced sideways at Wirr, seeing the dismay and sorrow on his face. He groaned, grabbing the golden-haired boy by the shoulder.

“You are only making this more difficult for yourself,” he warned Wirr. “She’ll act exactly like Llys until the moment she can strike. The creature inside of her is making use of her memories, just as it is borrowing her body. Trust me on this.”

"Listen to him, Wirr," said Caeden worriedly. He too had no doubt the woman was still dangerous.

Wirr scowled at both of them. “You don’t know that! Either of you,” he protested. He turned to Taeris. “You say you’ve only seen this once before, and it was years ago. You don’t even know if there might be a way to cure her, to save her! We can’t just kill her.”

He shook off Taeris' grasp, moving over to the woman and kneeling beside her.

“I’m sorry,” he said, tone gentle. “What can we do to help?”

Llys just kept on weeping, her body wracked with deep sobs. Wirr turned to look at the others helplessly.

Behind him, Llys moved like a cat. She snatched the dagger from her dead son’s hands and spun, blade arcing towards Wirr’s heart.

Before anyone else could react, Dezia drew her bow and fired.

The arrow sped past Wirr’s ear and took Llys in the eye; the woman gave a single scream and then collapsed, motionless. Everyone else stood there, frozen to the spot; even Taeris looked shocked by the speed at which events had turned.

Wirr twisted in his crouching position to look at the corpse behind him, then rose.

“Thank-you, Dezia,” he said sadly.

Taeris grimaced, then stepped forward. “We need to move. There could be more of them out there, for all we know. This area isn’t safe.”

The others gave him silent acknowledgements and they moved onwards, away from the horrors of Gahille. Though no-one suggested it, they travelled late into the night. None of them wanted to be closer to the desecrated town than they had to be.

They walked in heavy, stunned silence, but every time someone glanced in his direction, Caeden couldn’t help but flinch a little. They didn’t show it, but his companions had to be wondering anew about his role in all this - what his connection was to these invaders. They had to be asking themselves just how far he could be trusted.

And after what he’d just seen, he couldn’t blame them.

He gritted his teeth and marched on.