To Whatever End (Echoes of Imara Book 1) (33 page)

Cecily looked back at her opponent. Cold emanated from him as he drew close. She Reached, hitting him with Pressure, and attacked his knees. He paused to look down, and his eyes rose again to meet hers. Even in the darkness she could see the unnerving multicolored swirl, an unnatural blend of bright colors surrounding his black pupil.

Her breathing quickened and her heart pounded. The big one clashed with Griff and Serv, flashes of metal glinting in the weak lamplight. The third kept his distance from Merrick and Sumara and threw burning chunks of rock that burst upon impact. Sumara flung herself to the side and hit the hard ground to avoid a blast of flame. Merrick’s cloak had caught fire. He whipped it off and tossed it to the side.

“You didn’t come here thinking you could win, did you?” The cold man in front of her spoke, his voice unnervingly familiar. Something tugged at her memory, like an echo of a dream.

Cecily attacked again, grabbing his throat with Pressure. Such a precise Wield was difficult when her opponent was ready to defend against her. He lifted his hand and the air sucked out of her lungs. Her limbs went cold and her back clenched. It felt as if he was pulling the life out of her.

Her hood fell back, leaving her hair loose and blowing in the wind. Her opponent’s strange eyes went wide and the pulling sensation instantly left her. Clutching her throat, she stepped backward as his round eyes stared. She caught her breath and looked around as the man backed away. Griff and Serv still fought the tall one, but Sumara was in trouble. Her opponent had her nearly surrounded with burning chunks of rock and Merrick was out of arrows. Cecily could see her trying to gather enough strength to fire lightning at him again. Cecily Pushed, tossing the burning rocks away, and gave Sumara some space. Merrick rushed in, his short sword drawn, but the man hit him with another projectile that burst at his chest and knocked him back.

The sound of footsteps grew from the street behind them.
Thank the gods, Edson!
The Town Guard was coming. She glanced back at the two men guarding the other side of the square. One dug into his pouch and poured something into his hands. The other reached his arms out and the ground around him began to rumble, pebbles and dirt rattling as if the ground was vibrating. Chunks of cobblestone ripped free from the ground and flew up to surround his body, piece by piece. Her mouth dropped open as she watched him construct armor from the very rocks in the ground. He beat his fists together, rolled his arms, and stretched out his legs.

The Town Guard poured into the square. Cecily’s relief was short-lived as one man threw something into the air that hung like a cloud of dust. The Guards in the front began choking, doubling over and gasping for breath. The stone man bellowed, and his howl reverberated off the buildings. He charged into the Guards, swung his heavy arms and knocked men in all directions.

Cecily glanced at the man shrouded in cold. He didn’t attack, but backed away, his eyes still wide. She turned back to the rock Wielder and Pushed, trying to throw him off balance with a blast of air. He stumbled to the side but turned and threw a pebble toward her. It ignited as it flew, a lick of flame bursting from the top like a rider on a horse. Cecily Pushed it and easily knocked it to the side. He threw more, one after another, and she Pushed to send them flying in all directions. They exploded with a loud pop every time they hit the ground.

Sumara threw lightning at the rock Wielder again, but her bolt lacked strength. The stone man cut through the Town Guard, and the other tossed something that stuck into their legs and made them buckle. The big man knocked Griff backward and sent him sprawling onto his back. He turned and clashed swords with Serv. His unnatural speed and obvious strength sent Serv stumbling backward. Serv recovered his feet and his sword sliced through the air, but the big man countered. Their swords hit with a metallic ring and the big man’s blade flew from his hand. Serv struck again, but the big man dodged and backhanded him hard across the face. He fell and both he and Griff lay on the ground, unmoving.

Cecily turned back to the cold man. He stood back, looking bewildered as he stared at her, his eyes still wide. She turned to attack the rock Wielder, but a rumble behind her made her whip around. The big man ran for her at full speed. In a panic, she lashed out at him, trying to grip his throat with Pressure. He reached her first and wrapped his big hand around her neck.

He lifted her up, his hand at her throat, and her feet dangled in the air. She gasped, trying to suck in a breath, but his grip was iron. As she looked down, her heart nearly burst. Through the mask, she could see his eyes, the telltale swirl of color surrounding a black pupil. Streaks of silver gray melded with brown, green and blue. She knew those eyes, that face, his hands and the set of his shoulders.

“Daro.” The word came out as nothing more than a croak, the last of her breath gone as he choked her. Tears sprang to her eyes and poured down her cheeks as her feet flailed in the air. She thought she heard someone calling her name. “Please,” she tried to say, but there was no air left. Her vision began to go dark.
Daro, I’m so sorry. I was too late.

“Stop!” The word rang in her ears and a blast of cold hit her from the side, like a rush of freezing wind. The grip on her throat released and she dropped to the ground. She wheezed, sucking in air, and gripped her throat. Her neck throbbed as she got up to her knees, her breath coming in panicked gasps.
Not Daro, please it can’t be Daro.

She looked up to see the big man standing tall above her. There was no way she could deny it was him. The mask covered most of his face, but the way he stood, the shape of his arms, his shoulders, the set of his chin. It was Daro. He was silent, staring down at her without a shred of recognition. “No.” Her mouth moved, but no sound would come, and she let out a choked sob.

A wide swath of ice shimmered across the courtyard. The cold man stood above it, his arms stretched out wide to each side. He looked at Cecily, as his shoulders heaved. He drew in his arms and stood tall. “We’re done here,” he called out, his voice heavy with authority. The other masked men shifted on their feet and looked around at each other.

Sumara was crouched on the ground, helping Merrick sit up. Griff and Serv both struggled to their feet. Edson stood on the far side of the square, favoring one leg, his sword still gripped tight in his hand. A number of the Town Guard lay still on the ground. Others had come around from different streets. They stood with swords in hand, eyes squinting against the dark.

“Go,” the cold man yelled again as ice spread from his feet. “That’s an order.”

The stone man dropped his armor, and the cobblestones clattered to the ground. He and the other two turned and jogged out of the courtyard, heading west toward the edge of town. Daro hesitated and looked down at Cecily before turning to follow.

“Daro!” Cecily gasped and reached out for him. Tears streaked down her cheeks and her throat closed in a heaving sob. He didn’t stop, but moved into the shadows and disappeared from sight.

The cold man crouched down, his face still obscured by his mask, and reached out a hand toward Cecily. She recoiled and scooted backward. Her mind raced as she looked back to where Daro had disappeared.

“No, wait,” the man said as he held his hand toward her. The line of ice he had made glinted in the starlight.

Cecily froze, her heart racing. The voice sounded so familiar. It reminded her of the face in her dreams.

He crept toward her, staying low. “It’s okay,” he said, his voice quiet. He reached up to his throat and pulled his mask up over his face to reveal his sharp cheekbones and clean-shaven jaw, his straight blond hair pulled back to the nape of his neck. His voice was gentle. “I would never hurt you.”

Her breath caught in her throat, and her heart felt as if it had stopped as recognition washed over her. It wasn’t possible. “Pathius?” she said.

He leaned back as if the word stung, his eyes wide. The world seemed to slow, the water that shot up from the fountain hanging in the air, the sound of the others in the square drifting away as if carried off by the wind. “Pathius.” She mouthed the name again, no sound escaping her lips. The Prince, son of King Hadran, presumed dead since the war.

He looked around wildly as he stood. Then he turned and ran in the direction of the others without glancing behind, his black mask clutched in his hand.

Cecily’s friends drifted toward her as she struggled to her feet, her hand gripping her throat. Her heart felt as if would burst, her stomach in a tight knot. Tears ran unchecked down her face. He had been right here.

Daro. What have they done to you?

33. TRUTHS

Cecily walked up the road from the dock, her eyes focused on nothing. They had fled Wesfell and taken their small riverboat back to Halthas in the dark of night. Merrick had attempted to pick up the trail of Nihil’s men, but as before, they had Swept it clean. They were gone without a trace.

Sumara and Merrick had suffered minor burns, and Edson had a swollen wound in his leg where one of the men had pierced him with a two-inch thorn. Griff and Serv were battered from their fight with Daro, or the man who had once been Daro. Cecily’s hand stole to her throat, still sore and no doubt bruised. The image of Daro’s face flooded back into her mind, his hard stare as he choked the life out of her. His eyes weren’t simply changed; they were dead, lifeless. There had been no recognition, no sign that he knew who she was. Her link to him was weak, a mere whisper of what it had once been.

Another face passed through her memory. Pathius. She was beginning to believe there was no such thing as the impossible. Pathius was dead. He’d died in the war. Everyone knew that. Cecily remembered the prince from a life that seemed ages ago. She was practically a child. She had been presented to the prince by her father, with King Hadran looking down from his throne. Her mother had insisted she wear blue. She remembered dipping in a curtsy, feeling bewildered and confused. No one had asked whether she might wish to marry the prince. They’d simply pushed her along, expecting her to fall in line with their plans. They’d brought her to the parties and banquets at the palace, expecting her to smile and play their games.

It had been years since she’d seen Pathius, but there was no mistaking that face. He looked just like his father. Thinking about Hadran made her nauseous stomach worse. How could Pathius be alive? More importantly, if he was one of Nihil’s men, why did he stop Daro?

As the companions walked in silence, she caught them stealing furtive glances her way. They’d all seen Daro, watched him try to kill her. She was grateful they didn’t push her with questions. Her limbs felt heavy, as if she could barely put one foot in front of the other, and her chest felt empty. She needed time to understand what had happened and couldn’t stop the tears that poured down her face.

They found the entrance to the Quarry and descended down the long staircase. Cecily wanted nothing more than to fall into bed and shut out the world. She stared down at her feet and shuffled along as she let Serv lead her gently by the elbow.

As they turned down the stone hallway at the bottom of the stairs, Serv gripped her arm and pushed her behind him. She blinked, feeling as if awakening from a heavy sleep. Serv drew his sword, and her other companions fanned out around her and looked around with weapons ready. Sound drifted back into her attention and she realized it was fighting, coming from deeper in the Quarry.

They crept down the hallway toward Callum’s rooms, as the noise grew. Cecily looked down, disbelieving her own eyes.
Is that a body?
Callum’s door was covered in scratches and dents, as if someone had been beating on it. Serv tried the latch, but it was stuck. He looked up and down the hallway and called into the door. “Callum?”

He pressed his ear to the door and furrowed his brow. Cecily moved forward but Griff held his arm out to keep her back. Serv called through the door again and they heard a faint answer.

“Serv, is that you?” It was Mira, her voice muffled through the door.

“Yes, we’re here,” Serv replied. “What’s going on? Are you okay in there?”

“Hold on,” she said. The low sound of something heavy scraping across the ground came from behind the door. “Thank the gods,” Mira said through the door. “I don’t think I can get the door open. We broke the lock.”

Serv twisted and tugged at the latch. “Sumara?”

Sumara held her hand up to the lock and jolted it with electricity. The metal sparked and sizzled and soon the door loosened. Serv pushed against it a few times with his shoulder and managed to wedge it open.

Mira poked her head out and looked around, before ushering them inside. “Get in, quick.”

They crowded into the room to find the furniture in disarray. Several pieces stood on end near the door. Callum winced as he stood. “I don’t think I’ve ever been happier to see anyone in my life,” he said, his voice breathless.

Cecily stared, her gaze flicking from Callum to Mira. Callum’s purpling bruises were starting to fade but he held his arm against his body. Mira still had a bandage across her head, and a fresh cut on her upper arm dripped blood.