To Whatever End (Echoes of Imara Book 1) (28 page)

“We have to get out of here,” Cecily said. “We don’t know if Isley is dead or whether someone else is coming.” A few sailors peeked out from the docked ships. She whistled again for Merrick, signaling retreat. The answer came from across the river.

***

They limped back to the entrance to the Quarry at the Ale Stone to find Edson waiting for them. A messenger dashed by and Edson stood. He looked Cecily up and down, his eyes wide and his mouth open.

“We need a Serum Shaper for Mira,” Cecily said. Her leg was soaked with blood and she could barely move her arm for the pain in her shoulder and back, but Mira remained unconscious.

“They’re already here,” Edson said. “Someone tried to kill Callum.”

27. KEYS

“Get off, get off, I’m fine.” Callum’s voice carried through the stone hallway.

Cecily peeked around the doorway. Callum was in bed, propped up on pillows. Both eyes were black and swollen, his cheeks a mess of purpling bruises. Cecily entered, keeping her hurt arm tucked close to her body. A Serum Shaper had probed her to assess her injuries, concluding she hadn’t broken any bones. The small woman had wrapped the wound on her leg and assured her that her shoulder and back were merely bruised, though they would be painful for a while.

The Serum Shaper rolled her eyes at Callum. “Very well, you know best,” she said, her long skirts swishing as she walked out of the room.

Cecily sank into a chair next to the bed. Her body ached and she longed for sleep. Another Serum Shaper had been sent to help Mira, with Griff and Serv promising to stay by her side. At Cecily’s insistence, Sumara had gone to find rest. Merrick hadn’t returned, and she desperately hoped he was somehow following the smugglers’ trail.

“What happened?” she asked and gestured to his mangled face. “You look terrible.”

Callum shook his head. “Remember that house I found, where my prisoner said the slaves were being taken?” Cecily nodded. “I left this morning because I got word it burned to the ground. By the time I got there, the fire brigade had put it out, but it was gone. Nothing left but ash and some smoldering timbers. I’d been hoping to get inside, see if we could find anything, but it’s gone.”

Cecily sighed. It felt as if every time they made the slightest bit of progress, they were jerked back to the start again.

“That isn’t the worst of it,” Callum continued. “Someone killed my prisoner while I was at the site of the fire.”

“What?” Cecily breathed. Callum had secret locations stashed all over the city. Few people who weren’t of high rank in the Underground knew about the Quarry, and Cecily knew Callum had plenty of other places at his disposal.

Callum winced and touched the bandage at his neck. “The lock was all warped, as if it had been heated and broken. They didn’t just kill him. They left pieces of him all over the cell. I had that place guarded like a vault full of gold, and whoever did this tore through everybody.”

“The lock on my room at the inn was melted shut. Heated.”

He nodded. “Exactly.”

“What about all that?” she said, gesturing at his face.

“Two of the smugglers’ men jumped me. Apparently they took it a little personally that I’d gotten one of theirs. They threw a bag over my head, tied me up and beat me quite nicely.” He shifted, groaning as he moved. “It was rather effective, I have to give them that. Then they hauled me up on top of the wall, manacled me with weighted chains and tossed me into the river.”

Cecily’s mouth dropped open. “You can’t be serious. How did you survive?”

Callum smiled. He drew out a chain from around his neck and jingled a key. “Swiped this off one of them before they dropped me. Not exactly a trick I’d care to repeat, but it worked out okay for me in the end.” He tucked the key back under his shirt. “You look almost as bad as I do,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “I take it things didn’t go so well down at the docks.”

“You could say that,” she said and winced as she stretched out her leg. She told him what they had seen: the mist, the man who’d dissipated the side of the boat, the route through the drain system, and their attacker.

“The woman who attacked you, this Isley. You said you knew her?” Callum asked.

“I did. I’d know that voice anywhere. She was the bane of my existence at the Lyceum.” She rubbed her aching eyes. “She was a Light Wielder, an Illusionist. Her illusions were impressive, but she had a reputation for practical jokes, mean ones. She was disciplined quite a few times when her tricks wound up hurting people. I had to work with her sometimes, when I was in the Lyceum of Power. Hadran thought we made a good team.”

“I bet you did,” Callum said.

“She was masked, like the men who took Daro. It was Isley, but she wasn’t the same. Her illusions had substance. She was beating us to pieces with them. It shouldn’t be possible.”

“At this point, I’m going with the assumption that nothing is impossible anymore,” Callum said in a low voice. “Nihil seems to be doing something to people, changing their abilities. I’m worried he’s done something to Daro.”

“I am too,” Cecily said, her voice quiet.

“We don’t know where they took that shipment of slaves tonight. The manor house is still a smoldering pile of ash and broken timbers. We won’t find anything there. Our only break will be if Merrick manages to follow that boat through the storm drains and figure out where they wind up.”

A thought coalesced in Cecily’s mind. “There’s one thing we’ve been missing in all this,” she said. “The Lyceum.”

Callum raised his eyebrows. “What about the Lyceum?”

“Something has been going on up there. My old professor sent me a note and after everything that has happened, it sounds an awful lot like a warning, and maybe a goodbye. Then he went missing. They claim he’s on sabbatical, but that man hasn’t taken a break from his work in his life, as far as I know.” She paused, and the pieces clicked together in her mind like a children’s puzzle. “We keep getting attacked by men with impossible Wielding abilities. And one of them was one of my cohorts at the Lyceum of Power.”

“You think the Lyceum is behind this?”

“Who else would be putting out Wielders with bizarre abilities? I kept assuming it couldn’t be the Lyceum, but why not? The Lyceum of Power is notorious for bending the rules, if not outright breaking them. Goodness knows I did plenty of it when I was there. Nihil must be part of the Lyceum of Power.”

“You don’t think Daro is there, do you?”

Cecily shook her head. “Probably not. But the Lyceum of Power operates out of the lower levels of the library. If I can get in there, I can probably find out how they’re involved, and hopefully where to find him.”

“Getting in will be touchy. Didn’t they escort you out the last time you were there?”

Cecily gave him a tired smile. “There’s a certain irony in breaking into the place where I learned how to do it, isn’t there?”

28. WATCHTOWER

Daro crouched behind a boulder and stared up at the watchtower that loomed over the mountain pass. Built of massive stone bricks, the circular tower provided a lookout and means of defense for the main pass into the northern kingdom of Thaya. It was connected to a gate that joined to the rock on the other side, with a wide parapet above. A heavy portcullis could be lowered, sealing the gate if necessary. Daro seemed to remember traveling this way, but it seemed like a life that belonged to another person, the memories faded and weak.

The wind whipped through the pass, creating a high-pitched whistle. Snow topped the peaks, and the cold air pressed against his eyes and forehead. The rest of his face stayed warm under his mask, and he pulled the top of it down closer to his eyes.

Number One squatted next to Daro. “Nihil is expecting an important shipment from Thaya,” he said. “Our job is simple: we need to make sure the shipment gets through. It won’t be brought through the main gate, but the garrison sends out regular patrols of the surrounding area. We need to create enough of a distraction that the garrison won’t send out a patrol for a few days.”

Daro chose not to wonder about what sort of shipment Nihil was expecting that had to be smuggled through an alternate route. It was best not to consider such questions.

“Only a small garrison of men is stationed here, especially in winter,” Number One said. “This will be quick and easy. Number Four and Number Twelve will start a fire in the bunkhouse over there.” He pointed to a squat rectangular building near the tower and turned to Daro. “Your job is to get up into the tower and disable their beacon. It will be in the center, up there on top, a set of mirrors facing out that their Light Wielder can use to signal the next tower. We don’t want them able to call for help.”

Daro nodded, but something deep inside prickled at the instructions. What was he doing here? His heart began to beat faster and his body tingled with anticipation. He reached down and touched the hilt of his sword. He’d been training with it daily and found solace in the work. He could lose himself in his forms, letting his mind go blank as he practiced. Number One encouraged him to direct the flow of energy within him into the sword. Daro found himself swinging faster and harder than ever before. But he held back, keeping a tight rein on himself, fearful of letting all that power loose.

Number One had taught him to contain his power so he maintained a greater degree of control. There was a raging flood within him, and the only thing that truly helped was when Number One Absorbed some of his energy. The other man had incredible Absorption power. He could draw on Daro’s seemingly endless well of energy, pulling it from Daro and offering respite, if only briefly.

Daro’s fingers twitched as he looked back up at the tower. It seemed to grow taller before his eyes. He pushed down the fear and buried it under the burning energy. Fear was always present; he was learning to live with it, to own it, as Number One said. His implant itched and he resisted the urge to reach back and scratch it.

Number One was still talking. “There shouldn’t be more than one or two men up there, so you won’t have much trouble,” he said. “I’ll be down here, to make sure everything goes according to plan and take care of any loose ends.”

The sun was already low on the horizon, disappearing behind the peaks, and the light faded to twilight. Daro was anxious to complete their mission and get back to the compound. Sindre had warned him before they left that his implant was designed to kill him if she didn’t trigger it regularly. He would have six days, perhaps a week, before it hit, but in the end, he would die a slow, painful death. She said they had designed it that way to ensure the subjects’ continuing cooperation. He thought about asking Number One whether it was true, but in the end he decided it felt like too personal a question somehow.

They waited for darkness to settle. A few torches on the tower and on the barracks wall gave the only light. The sky was thick with clouds, obscuring the stars. Daro narrowed his eyes and thought about seeing better, feeling some of his well of energy flow to his eyes. The landscape sharpened and the tower stood out against the black mountains behind.

Number One gave the signal, and Daro crept toward the tower, circling around to the back. He made sure his sword was secure at his belt, found his first footholds, and hoisted himself up onto the wall face. The bricks were large, rough stones with plenty of places to grip. The higher he climbed, the more he felt his power swell within him. He scrambled up the side of the wall, surprising himself with his strength. He almost felt as if he could pull with his arms and simply launch himself all the way to the top.

The wind whipped at his face, pulling at his mask, and his clothes rustled against his body. He felt warm, as if heat radiated from within. He climbed closer to the lookout ledge and his heart pounded faster. He brought his image of Cecily to his mind, but her face was hazy, beginning to fade. Clinging to the side of a tower, high above the ground, the mountain wind beating at him, he tried to focus and find calm. The torrent of voices, some whispers, some screams, tore at him from inside. He clung to the faint vision of his wife, grasping at the only stability he had left.