The Shadow Of What Was Lost by James Islington Page B

If
you're caught, you never met me. Understood?”
    Davian and Wirr both nodded
mutely. Anaar gestured for them to get into the boat, then hesitated.
    “One more thing,” he said. “Every
border soldier in Desriel has a Finder, so if you use your powers to so much as
blow your nose once you’re over there, they’ll know. And believe me, once they
know, they won’t stop hunting you until you’re dead.” He gave them a serious
look. “Which would be terribly inconvenient if Olsar and myself were still
nearby. So I want your word – nothing until at least an hour after we’ve parted
ways. Agreed?”
    “Agreed,” said Wirr, sticking out
his hand. Anaar shook it, then offered his hand to Davian, who grasped it
firmly.
    As he did, Anaar’s eyes strayed
downward, towards Davian’s pocket.
    Davian stiffened. The other man
knew.
    A flash of anxiety ran through
him, followed by… something else. A surge, rippling through his body and
coalescing in his palm before draining away – straight into Anaar. Davian
pulled his hand back sharply, fingertips tingling.
    Anaar gave him a confused look,
then shook his head as if to clear it. The smuggler turned away, and Davian
released a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. Whatever had just
happened – if something had just happened, and it hadn’t been Davian’s
imagination – Anaar was unaware of it.
    Soon they were in the tiny craft,
Anaar and Olsar pulling with long, practiced strokes towards the opposite
shore. Davian’s fears of the vessel being taken by the currents proved
unfounded. Both smugglers rowed with power and precision as they angled against
the flow of the river, their progress gradual but steady. For a while Davian
wondered if they would be able to keep up such a hard pace, but eventually he
began to relax. Neither man seemed close to tiring.
    The shore on the Desriel side of
the river grew slowly larger. The only sounds were the slight splashes of oars
dipping beneath the Devliss’ surface, the gentle creaking of the timbers, and
the occasional waterfowl warbling softly into the night.
    Davian felt every muscle tense as
individual trees resolved themselves out of the shadowy mass ahead. Whatever
the danger had been over the past three weeks, the moment they stepped onto
that shore it would be increased tenfold.
    The boat finally ground into the
soft, muddy bank; Olsar slipped out, barely making a splash, and dragged the craft
out of the water with the others still sitting in it. Davian marvelled at the
man’s strength. Anaar was at least short of breath from the constant rowing,
but Olsar was to all appearances unaffected.
    Unlike the sand of the Andarran
shore, there was only a muddy embankment where they had landed. Wincing as his
feet sank into the soft mud – the shoes he wore were his only pair – Davian
scrambled up the riverbank and into the long grass, exchanging relieved glances
with Wirr. It seemed that their arrival had gone undetected.
    Anaar soon joined them. He stood
for a few seconds, listening to the sounds of the forest. Apparently satisfied,
he put his fingers to his mouth and gave a low, musical whistle.
    Shadows stirred from deeper in
the trees and two burly men emerged from the darkness, silently taking up
positions behind the boys, their swords held at the ready.
    Davian’s stomach twisted as he
realised they had been betrayed.
     “What is this?” hissed Wirr,
rounding on Anaar.
    “Business,” replied Anaar,
spreading his hands apologetically. “I am in a position to renegotiate our
deal, and as such, I have decided that the price is a little higher than was
originally discussed.”
    There was a long silence. “You
mean all of it,” said Wirr eventually, resignation in his tone.
    “I am afraid so,” said Anaar with
a nod. He held up a cautionary finger. “And I know the First Tenet means you
cannot hurt us, but please also remember what I said about the soldiers around
here. They are very enthusiastic about