James Islington - The Shadow Of What Was Lost

For Sonja.

Without your enthusiasm, love and support,

this would never have been possible.

Abig thank-you, firstly, is owed to all my alpha and beta readers - Ross, Nicki,Chiara, Aiden, Brett, Jeremy, Dean, David, Rex, Callum, Tim, Stuart and (ofcourse) Sonja. Its no small commitment to test-read a book of this size, andtheir feedback proved invaluable in honing The Shadow Of What Was Lost.

Thanksalso go to Pat, who read what was a very rough first draft and still managed tospot the promise in amongst its many flaws. To this day it amazes me thatdespite how much more work the story needed, he somehow delivered his critiquewith enough encouragement and tact that I ended up being inspired rather thandeflated.

Finally,Id like to thank my family for all their encouragement over the past couple ofyears - and in particular my wife, Sonja, whose love, constant optimism, andability to soothe my fragile ego kept me sane as I worked through each draft.This book is dedicated to her, as it could not possibly have existed if it werenot for her enduring support.

Lightning.

For a moment the waters of ErythMmorg were lit, roiling and churning as though a great knife had plunged deepinto the pools murky heart. A dark wave shattered against a barely discernibleoutcrop of black rocks, hissing, spitting spray a hundred feet into the airbefore subsiding. The world flickered back into darkness, but the waves, ifanything, increased their intensity. Another roared, hissed, sighed, evenlouder than the peals of thunder that followed. Another.

Tal watched impassively from hisrocky perch, high above even the spray. Only his cloak moved as it flowed outbehind him, billowing and snapping in the gusting wind. Old eyes set againstyouthful features stared unblinking into the night, fixed upon the point wherehe knew the gaping maw of Eryth Mmorg lay. Another flash illuminated the ovalof jagged rocks; the waves licked at them hungrily, waiting to devour any whoventured close.

Behind him lay the flat, barrenrock that was Taags Peak. No life grew there, not even the hard, poisonousfoliage that survived elsewhere in the wilderness. The obsidian surface wasworn smooth by the constant buffeting wind; twenty paces from Tal it ended inanother precipice, almost as sheer as the one he currently overlooked. Few mencould gain Taags Peak, and fewer still desired to.

To the north, on the horizonbeyond the pool, the darkness was suddenly broken by a dull red glow risingfrom Tawwas, last of the Broken Cities. Tals eyes cleared after a moment,flicked towards the light. The beacon seemed about to fade before blossominginto a ball of brilliant orange flame, searing light across the wastelands andburning into Tals head. He gasped, shutting his eyes for a moment, steadying.

How long had he gazed into thedepths of Eryth Mmorg? Too long; the alarm was raised and his flightdiscovered. A cold, sharp pain clawed at his chest, something he had not feltin some time. Fear.

Hold, he murmured to himself,fixing his gaze once again upon the angry waters. Hold. It was very nearlydone, despite his lapse in concentration.

You are running, Talkamar. Iwarned you against running. The sound rumbled around the peak, a presencerather than a voice.

Tals stomach twisted and heturned, searching for his pursuer.

I know the truth, he saidquietly. He could see it now, at the far end of the peak but crawling towardshim. A shadow, darker than the rest. A being not quite there. His master.

The creature chuckled, asickening sound. You do not know what truth is anymore. He was one man,Talkamar. He lied; you said it yourself. You slew him for his falsehood. Youtook his head and set it on a pike. You placed it at the Door of Iladriel as areminder, for all to see! Do you not remember? The shadow stopped, watchingTal. Waiting.

Tal hesitated, staring for a longmoment into the gloom.

Yes, he whispered hoarsely. Hismasters presence was almost overpowering; for a moment Tal wanted only togrovel before his lord, beg that all be forgiven.

Then the moment passed, and hesensed a feeling of anticipation from the shadow and something more, barelydiscernible. Something he had never felt before from his master.

Nervousness.

He continued, growing moreconfident with each word. Yes, he repeated slowly, but I was mistaken. Ifollowed the path he set me upon. I found proof. He paused, his voice strongernow. I went to Res Kartha. I asked the Lyth. Stronger again. I went to theWells of Mor Aruil and spoke with the Keeper. I found Nethgalla at the Crossroadsand tortured her until she told me all she knew. Now he shouted, the rage ofso many years finally released, a mighty roar that seemed to echo across all ofTalan Gol and beyond. I went deep beneath the mountains, beneath Ilin Toraitself. I found the Mirrors. I gazed into them and found one thing! Hestopped, panting, face twisted in grim triumph. One truth above all others.

The shadow crept closer, menacingnow, the silver gone from its voice. What did you find, Talkamar? it hissedmockingly.

Tal drew a deep breath. You arefalse. He said it calmly, staring defiantly at the dark mass. Completely,utterly false.

He turned, gesturing downwardtowards the waters. A bright blue circle began to glow just above the waves,spinning ever-faster. When he turned back the shadow was at his face, fillinghis vision, its breath a foul stench on the air. It laughed, a filthy soundthat contained only contempt.

You cannot escape this place,it snarled. You cannot escape me.

For the first time in years, Talsmiled.

You are wrong. This time I gowhere Aarkein Devaed cannot follow, he said softly.

He stepped backward, over theedge. Fell.

The shadow slithered forward,watching as Tal passed through the Gate and beyond reach. The whirling ring ofblue fire flickered white for but a moment; then it was gone, with no trace ofit ever having existed.

The creature stared at where ithad been. The waves below were quieter now, as if appeased.

Suddenly it understood.

The Waters of Renewal, ithissed.

Its screams seemed to fill theworld.

The blade traced a slow line offire down his face.

He desperately tried to cry out,to jerk away, but the hand over his mouth prevented both. Steel filled hisvision, grey and dirty. Warm blood trickled down the left side of his face,onto his neck, under his shirt.

There were only fragments afterthat.

Laughter. The hot stink of wineon his attackers breath.

A lessening of the pain, andscreams - not his own.

Voices, high-pitched with fear,begging.

Then silence. Darkness.

Davians eyes snapped open.

The young man sat there for sometime, heart pounding, breathing deeply to calm himself. Eventually he stirredfrom where hed dozed off at his desk and rubbed at his face, absently tracingthe raised scar that ran from the corner of his left eye down to his chin. Itwas pinkish-white now, had healed years ago. It still ached whenever the oldmemories threatened to surface, though.

He stood, stretching musclesstiff from disuse and grimacing as he looked outside. His small room high inthe North Tower overlooked most of the school, and the windows below had allfallen dark. The courtyard torches flared and sputtered in their sockets, too,only barely clinging to life.

Another evening gone, then. Hewas running out of those much faster than he would like.

Davian sighed, then adjusted hislamp and began sifting through the myriad books that were scattered haphazardlyin front of him. Hed read them all, of course, most several times. None hadprovided him with any answers - but even so he took a seat, selected a tome atrandom, and tiredly began to thumb through it.