The Shadow Of What Was Lost by James Islington

a
mixture of fear, warning and query. “We got them first, fair and square. I
don’t understand why you’re doing this.”
    “I know,” said Breshada softly.
    It was over in seconds. Breshada
was quick and elegant despite the size of her sword and the confined space;
even with Renmar and Gawn trying to use the boys as shields, they stood no
chance. There were no cries of pain, no lingering deaths. When Breshada’s sword
touched their flesh, they simply crumpled to the ground, eyes glassy. Davian
and Wirr just watched in mute, horrified shock.
    Once Gawn’s lifeless form had
joined Renmar’s on the floor, Breshada stood for a moment in front of the boys,
examining them through narrowed eyes. She was barely breathing hard, though the
exertion had brought a slight flush to her cheeks.
    She shook her head. “I don’t see
it,” she muttered, disgust thick in her voice. She grabbed Davian by the
shoulder; at first he was sure she was going to strike him, but instead she
simply steadied him before slicing through the cords binding his hands. Then
she did the same for Wirr.
    Davian felt a loosening around
his arm, and suddenly his Shackle was clattering to the floor. A few moments
later, Wirr’s was doing the same. Davian stared at the open metal torcs in
confusion.
    “Death breaks the Contract,” an
impatient-sounding Breshada said by way of explanation, seeing Davian’s
expression. She looked at them warily. “Do not attack me. And do not use your
powers, else there will be an army of Administrators here within minutes. My
saving you will have been for naught.”
    Wirr inclined his head. “I wasn’t
going to,” he said cautiously. “And thank-you.”
    Breshada scowled, and Wirr and
Davian both took an involuntary step back. The look of hatred and disgust that
suddenly raged in her eyes was unmistakable. “Do not thank me,” she
hissed. “I have killed my brethren here to save your worthless lives. Two
skilled Hunters for two stupid gaa’vesh . Tell Tal’kamar that the debt is
repaid, a thousand times over.” She paused, looking like she was going to be
sick. “If I see you again, I will kill you.” She spun, flung open the
door and stormed out of the room, not looking back.
    Wirr moved slowly over to the
door, shutting it again. He looked at Davian with a dazed expression. “Are you
okay?”
    “I’ll live,” Davian said shakily.
“You?” He rubbed his wrists to restore the circulation, then grabbed a cloth,
dabbing at his nose and grimacing when the material came away soaked a dark
red.
    “The same.” Wirr touched his head
where he’d been struck, looking pale, though he seemed to be suffering no
serious ill effects from the blow. “I wonder what that was about.”
    Davian stared at the door. “A
Hunter saving Gifted. That must be a first.”
    “Not that she was particularly
happy about it,” pointed out Wirr. He paused. “And who in fates is Tal’kamar?”
    Davian shook his head, grunting
as it exacerbated the pounding inside his skull. “No idea. But I think we owe
him a drink if we ever meet him.”
    “I won’t argue with that.” Wirr
glanced down at the two corpses lying on their floor, his brief smile fading
and tone sobering, as if what had just transpired was finally sinking in. “I
won’t argue that at all.”
     
    ***
     
    A soft knock at the door made Davian
start fully awake.
    He hadn’t really been asleep but
rather lying drowsily, his concerns mixing together in his head to create a
disquieting sense of unease. He sat bolt upright and took a quick glance out
the window. It was late night; there was still noise from outside, but less
than there had been earlier. The blue lanterns had burned down to a dull glow,
and the streets looked almost empty.
    Wirr was moving before Davian
could stand, cocking his head as he listened for anything suspicious outside the
door. “Who is it?”
    “Anaar,” came the reply. The
smuggler’s gravelly voice was unmistakable.
    Wirr