The Shadow Of What Was Lost by James Islington Page A

unlatched the door, opening
it a crack and peering through before swinging it wide. Anaar and an
impressively muscular man stood in the hallway, both looking as calm as if they
were about to retire for the evening. Anaar’s eyes widened when he looked
through the doorway and took in the corpses lying on the floor, though. He
examined the boys’ faces, taking particular note of Davian’s bloodied nose.
    “Trouble?” he asked.
    Wirr looked the smuggler in the
eye. “Nothing we couldn’t handle.”
    Anaar nodded, his expression
thoughtful, gazing at the two boys with a touch more respect than previously.
Then he gestured towards the hallway; Davian leapt to his feet, stomach
fluttering as he snatched up his small bag and followed Wirr out of the room.
    Nothing was said as they left the
inn and walked through the streets of Talmiel, steering clear of the remaining
revellers, most of whom were convincingly drunk by this stage of the night.
They followed what seemed to be a circuitous route; after ten minutes of
walking without incident, Davian realised that Anaar must have known the
Administrators’ scheduled patrols and had been deftly avoiding them.
    Soon they were out of the town
and into the nearby forest that lined the Devliss, gradually leaving the sounds
of the festival behind. Still no-one spoke. There was little light beneath the
trees, but the almost-full moon provided enough illumination to navigate. They
walked at a brisk pace for another twenty minutes before Anaar held up a hand,
bringing them to a halt.
    “Just through here,” he said
softly, indicating an almost indistinguishable break in the thick shrubbery.
    They pushed through what appeared
to be an impenetrable wall of foliage; suddenly Davian found himself stumbling
onto the beach of a tiny natural cove, protected on all sides by either stone
or forest. The Devliss rushed past just beyond the mouth of the inlet,
quicksilver in the moonlight. The water was moving uncomfortably fast, but it
at least appeared smooth here, with no jagged rocks to create the white-tipped
rapids for which the river was famous.
    A little way down the beach was a
small boat, pulled out of the reach of the water. Davian stared at it
dubiously. He’d never been in a boat before, but this one looked small to be
making such a dangerous crossing; it would barely fit all four of them,
particularly as Anaar’s companion counted for almost two.
    Anaar saw Davian's expression and
grinned, slapping him on the back. “It’s perfectly safe, my friend. Not
comfortable, perhaps, but it will get the job done.”
    Wirr examined the boat with a
concerned look. “Surely it will just be swept away by the current?”
    Anaar shook his head. “That’s why
I brought Olsar along,” he said, gesturing at the burly man who was now
dragging the boat towards the water. “With the two of us rowing, we can make it
to the other side without any problems.”
    “We’ll have to take your word on
that,” said Wirr, nervousness making his tone strained.
    “Indeed,” said Anaar absently,
his attention focused across the Devliss. Water stretched almost as far as the
eye could see, but as Davian followed the smuggler’s gaze a darker mound
resolved itself on the horizon, barely visible in the darkness. Suddenly a tiny
orange light, little more than a dot, bobbed into view. Soon it was joined by
several more, all in a line.
    “Patrol,” Anaar explained to Wirr
and Davian, not taking his eyes from the lights. “They pass by every few hours.
It takes close to an hour to reach the other side, which gives you a little
more than two to get well clear of the border.” He nodded to Olsar as the
lights winked out again, the distant patrol moving on. The large man gave the
boat a final shove, leaving it bobbing in the river. “No talking once we’re
away – sounds carry over the water, especially at night. Once we touch the
shore, you pay your fee and we have nothing more to do with one another.