To Whatever End (Echoes of Imara Book 1) (17 page)

She paused outside the open door of a classroom. A Magister stood at the far end, delivering a lecture to a group of about fifty students. The rows of seats bowed around the stage at the front, most holding students in varying states of attentiveness. Some slumped in their chairs, while others leaned forward, appearing to hang on every word. Cecily had once imagined she would someday be standing in front of a crowded lecture hall filled with bright-eyed students such as these.

Magister Brunell’s office was on the sixth floor of the Vision Tower. She trekked up the winding staircase, her shoulders tight with growing anxiety. The stairs ended at an open landing, a slatted wood railing along the edge. Beyond was a hallway with doors on each side, some leading into offices, others to smaller libraries and study rooms.

Although a bit unsure of her memory, she walked directly to the Magister’s office and found his name etched on a brass plate on the closed door. She knocked and waited with a pounding heart for the sound of an answer. No one responded, and she knocked again, louder this time, in case her first had been too timid. She hoped she wasn’t interrupting something important.

No answer came. She paused, her fist held up as if to knock again, but opened her Awareness and peered into the room. It was empty. Her hand moved to the doorknob, and she twisted it back and forth, to no avail. It was locked. With a quick glance up and down the hallway, she focused her Awareness on the lock and probed the insides. She Wielded a small slice of Pressure to disengage the lock with a click.

The office looked exactly as she remembered it. Heavy curtains were pulled shut, shrouding the room in gloomy darkness. A thick burgundy carpet covered the floor, woven with swirls of green and gold. His desk stood off to the side, piled high with books, papers, and scrolls that created a cozy mess. Two large bookshelves lined the walls, filled with stacks of books piled two deep. Another small table had diagrams spread out, weighed down with shiny, black paperweights.

The air was stale and musty. She crept in and closed the door behind her with a gentle hand. She reached with a finger and swept it across the surface of his desk, then rubbed her fingers together. A light layer of dust covered everything.
He hasn’t been here in a while.

She walked around the office and peered at his stacks of books, rolled scrolls and diagrams. Magister Brunell had always struck Cecily as an avid academic. Some Magisters seemed to love their life of teaching, passionate about guiding the next generation. Magister Brunell seemed to teach his classes in order to have access to the Lyceum’s resources for research and learning. He’d told Cecily many times that he believed there was significant potential in many Wielders that remained hidden, and he was determined to find a way to unlock it. He’d pushed Cecily relentlessly in her training and sent her off to work closely with King Hadran, always insisting on detailed descriptions of how she’d accomplished her tasks. She wondered how many of the clutter of books on his shelves held accounts of her doings while she was his student.

A noise outside the office made her neck prickle with anxiety. She didn’t want someone to find her here. Her Awareness told her someone walked by, but was moving down the hallway. She waited until they had gone before she stole out the door and snapped the lock shut again.

If it hadn’t been for the dust, she’d have assumed he was simply occupied elsewhere. But it was clear he hadn’t been in his office recently. She decided to go down to the entry hall of the Vision Tower. There would be clerks and secretaries working and she could ask about Magister Brunell.

The ground floor was as busy as the classroom wing had been. Students, clerks, messengers and other staff came and went, everyone in a hurry. A clerk sat at a long desk facing the front door, scratching something on a piece of parchment with a quill. He was the only person who wasn’t rushing off to one task or another, so Cecily approached the desk.

“Excuse me?” she said, resolve winning out over any lingering nervousness. “I’m looking for a Magister. He wasn’t in his office.”

The clerk stopped writing and slowly raised his eyes, his head still pointed down at his work. “Then he’s probably teaching a class.”

Cecily glanced around and wondered how to press the issue without admitting she’d been in his deserted office. “Yes, but I don’t know where his class would be. Could you tell me where I might find Magister Brunell?”

The clerk’s eyes rose again, quickly this time. He looked her up and down. “What business do you have with Magister Brunell?”

Cecily hesitated. “I’m Cecily Imaran. I used to be one of his students.”

He narrowed his eyes at her as he stood. “Wait here.”

Cecily crossed her arms and glanced around as she waited. After what felt like an eternity, the clerk returned. “Follow me.” He turned and walked away without looking to see if she followed.

He led her back up the stairs to the third floor and stopped outside an office. Her heart sank when she saw the name etched on the brass nameplate.
Magister Evan
. After waving her in, the clerk turned and left, his swift stride taking him quickly out of sight.

Magister Evan’s office was bathed in light from a large window overlooking the library. It was as neat and orderly as Brunell’s office had been cluttered and dusty. Every book was tucked carefully in place and even his small collection of statues was precisely arrayed on a shelf. Evan himself sat behind a polished wood desk. He had a wisp of gray hair, and round spectacles perched on his small, upturned nose. Lines creased his forehead and the corners of his eyes, and his bony shoulders were enveloped in a dark green robe.

He looked up at her over the rims of his glasses. “This is unexpected.”

“Yes, I apologize for dropping in on you like this,” Cecily said. Magister Evan had been another of her teachers during her time at the Lyceum and had been particularly critical when she had left. “I was hoping to speak with Magister Brunell.”

“What do you want with Magister Brunell?” he asked, as he pitched his fingertips together.

Cecily paused, unsure of how to answer. She glanced over her shoulder at the sound of footsteps. Two Lyceum Guards placed themselves in the doorway behind her. “I had business with him, of a personal nature.”

“Magister Brunell is unavailable,” Evan said. He adjusted his spectacles. “He is currently on sabbatical. You may leave a message with a clerk downstairs.”

“Sabbatical? I was in contact with Magister Brunell recently and he didn’t mention anything about going on sabbatical.”

“He has taken an extended leave of absence. Whether or not he notified you is none of my concern. If you will excuse me, I am extremely busy and must return to my duties.” Evan waved a hand and the two guards stepped up beside Cecily. “Odlem, Vanhem, please see Lady Imaran to the outer gates.”

One of the guards put his hand on her elbow and she pulled her arm away, shrugging him off. Her heart pounded and her stomach fluttered with a surge of adrenaline but she knew there was nothing she could do. She turned and glided past the guards with her chin held high, hoping to leave with at least a shred of her dignity intact.

“Lady Cecily,” Evan’s voice came from behind her. She stopped and looked back over her shoulder. “You’ve spent a number of years avoiding our hallowed institution. I highly suggest that henceforth, you keep it that way.”

Cecily shot him a poisonous glare, but he looked back down at his desk, robbing her of the satisfaction of a sharp look.

The guards followed her brisk pace all the way to the outer gate. She didn’t bother turning to see if they watched her leave. Frustration boiled inside as she replayed the scene with Evan in her mind. Should she have pressed harder? She wanted to kick herself for letting him run her off so quickly. She should have at least tried to get him to speak with her. Even if he couldn’t locate Magister Brunell, he might have been able to tell her something that would help her find Daro.

She turned south, heading down the hill to the lower part of the city, and fought down a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach.

17. CONDITIONING

Daro sucked in a breath and opened his eyes. Fear flooded through him as he remembered where he was. The room was dark, but he could see. He carefully tested his limbs, wiggling his fingers and toes. Relief crept in as his eyes and body responded. He moved his arms and legs, relishing the sensation. Sindre often left him paralyzed, unable to move or see. He would wake up, gasping as if he’d been drowning, shaking and drenched in sweat.

His breath felt hot against his face, and he realized he still wore the mask. He sat up, pulled the mask off, and tossed it aside. He tried not to think about what Sindre would do when she came back as his hand strayed to the back of his neck. The stone was still there, as it always was, embedded in his skin. He brushed his fingers across its smooth surface, feeling the edges. The line from the stone to his upper back was smooth, as if it had always been there. There was a symbol etched into it, but he couldn’t make out what it might be.

Someone had left a plate of food, the smell of pungent herbs drifting into the air. He got up, tested the door, and found it locked. No surprise there. He’d have been wary if it opened, assuming some kind of trap. He decided to eat, if only to keep up his strength, then sat on the edge of the bed to wait.

It was difficult to track the passage of time. There were no windows, no way to see the rising and setting of the sun. He was often left in his room, alone for what felt like days. He tried to keep track, scratching a mark under his bed each time he thought it was morning. He reached down and scratched another mark, then carefully picked the bits of wood from his fingernail so Sindre wouldn’t notice what he had done.

His thoughts strayed to Cecily and he wondered where she was. He half expected to hear the clicking of the lock, only to have his wife appear at the door. He imagined her face, flushed with exertion, her dark hair windswept and wild, urging him to come. She’d hand him his sword and they’d fight their way out, passing the unconscious forms of the guards who never saw her coming. She would lead him back out into the sun where their horses awaited and they would ride off together, leaving this terrible place behind.

It was a nice fantasy. He leaned back against the wall, closed his eyes, and allowed his mind to focus on her face. He could see every detail with such clarity: the curve of her chin, her brown eyes. He kept the vision firmly in his mind, resolving to return to it whenever he was threatened.

His mind strayed to Sindre, the hungry look in her color-mingled eyes. She possessed an inordinate amount of power over him and the thought made him sick. The pain he could handle, but the way she rendered him blind and paralyzed was terrifying. She’d taken his body from him and locked him inside. What else could she do? He tried to imagine the possibilities, to prepare himself. Could she control his body and make him do what she wished? What about his mind? That thought terrified him further. Could she control his thoughts? So far it didn’t appear that she could, but he felt he needed to be prepared for anything.

He waited, trying to keep his mind firmly on Cecily. His discipline faded as time passed and restlessness set in. The walls of the room seemed to close in, the air getting warm and stale. His nervous energy built as he sat. When he could no longer sit still, he got up and paced about the small room. He brought his wife back into his mind, doing his best to be calm. His muscles twitched and he thought about trying to kick the door open.

The lock clicked. He stopped his pacing and turned to face the door. Sindre entered, her marbled stone necklace hanging loose around her neck. She closed the door behind her and Daro thought he could hear the shuffling of feet on the other side. Guards, perhaps?

He stood still and stared at her like a frightened deer. A knot of fear clenched his stomach as he wondered if she would incapacitate him again.

“Here we are again,” she said with a cold smile. “But I see we still have some work to do.” She looked around the room and gestured to the corner with the mask crumpled on the floor. “There it is.” She picked it up and smoothed it out. “I assure you, this is only a tool to help you. Now let us see if we have learned anything.” She held it out to him. “Put it on.”

His breath caught in his throat. Giving in was not an option, but he knew exactly what was coming. He steeled himself for her retaliation and said, “No.”

She sighed and took a step closer to him. “I had hoped we understood each other.” He flinched as she held out the mask. Her voice shifted from cold to soothing, as if she were speaking to a small child. “Such a simple thing. Let’s not fight over such a simple thing.”

Daro remained still and silent, his back clenched with dread.

“No?” she said. “Very well. On your knees.”

A jolt of pain shot down his back and despite his attempt to stay standing, he crumpled under the strain. The pain lessened but still pressed at him, an aching knot in his back.