The Shadow Of What Was Lost by James Islington Page B

of contentment that he
noticed the strange warmth emanating from his pocket.
    Frowning, he surreptitiously
reached down and took out the Vessel, still wrapped in its cloth. A gentle but
palpable heat pulsed through the fabric.
    “What are you doing?” murmured
Wirr, noticing what was in Davian’s hand.
    Davian hesitated, not taking his
eyes from the cloth-covered bundle. “Something’s happening, Wirr,” he said
softly. “It’s getting warmer.”
    His friend looked at him
uncertainly. Wirr had examined the Vessel on their first day out of the school
and on several occasions since; each time he had denied being able to feel any
unusual heat. “Give it to me,” he said eventually, holding out his hand. Davian
passed it across; Wirr held it for a few seconds, brow furrowing in
concentration. Then he shook his head.
    “Still nothing. I believe you,
Dav, but I don't feel anything. You're certain?”
    Davian nodded. “I wouldn't bring
it up otherwise."
    Wirr looked at the cloth-covered
lump in his hand, his expression troubled. “Then it's specific to you somehow.
I don't know how that's possible, but... fates, I can't say I like it.”
Sighing, he handed the box back to Davian.
    As he did so, a flap of the cloth
slipped and the skin on Davian's palm made contact with the bare metal beneath.
The touch wasn't hot enough to burn, but sharp and unexpected enough that
Davian flinched. The cube slipped from his grasp, its covering falling away as
it tumbled to the timber floor with a dull thud.
    Davian moved swiftly to pick it
up again, then froze as he looked at the now-exposed Vessel.
    The faint outline of a symbol had
appeared on one face of the box, superimposed over the writing. It was glowing – not brightly, but enough to be distinct. A wolf, he thought from his brief
glimpse.
    Opposite him, Wirr leaned down
and collected the Vessel himself, grimacing in Davian’s direction before
grabbing the cloth and calmly concealing it from view again. Davian recovered
himself enough to glance around at the other patrons. None seemed to be taking
any notice of them.
    Wirr thrust the now-covered cube
back into Davian's hands. “Best put it in your pocket and leave it there, Dav,”
he said after looking around too, exhaling. “The only thing I know about that
box is that it’s valuable, regardless of what it actually does. Administration
have a massive bounty out on Vessels. Flashing it around a place like this is
just asking for trouble.”
    Davian nodded and was about to
say more when he caught movement from the corner of his eye. He looked up as a
man he had never seen before stopped at their table and proceeded to sit, his
smile friendly.
    “Act like you know me,
understand?” said the man, slapping a bemused-looking Wirr on the shoulder. “My
name is Anaar. That Hunter in the corner has been staring at you two like a
hawk at rabbits for the last few minutes. I hope you had not planned for a
quiet evening.” He watched them, waiting for a response.
    Davian’s mind raced. He had noted
the woman in question earlier – an attractive girl, alone, but none of the men
had gone anywhere near her. He’d thought it odd at the time.
    Then he remembered the
cloth-covered box, still in his hand. Was that why Anaar had come over? Davian
slipped it back into his pocket. For a moment he thought Anaar’s eyes flicked
towards him, but it was so fast it could have been his imagination.
    Wirr gave a sudden laugh, leaning
back in his chair. He waved over one of the serving girls. “A drink for my
friend Anaar here,” he said, loud enough to be audible to anyone listening.
    Davian forced himself to lean
back too, though he doubted his effort to look relaxed would be convincing. He
studied Anaar in silence. Approaching middle age, the swarthy, strongly-built
man had a neatly trimmed beard and close-cropped, thick black hair. His voice
was gravelly, and had the confident sound of a man who was accustomed to giving
orders and having