To Whatever End (Echoes of Imara Book 1)

by Claire Frank

  Bloody minstrels indeed, Cecily thought as she alighted the stairs. She knew Daro would be in a foul mood. No matter, she knew plenty of ways to draw her husband out of a bad mood. She paused on the stair as the minstrel’s song grew louder, his voice added to the strumming of his instrument. On a whim, she quested out with her Awareness and brushed the strings of his lute, then Reached and broke one of them with a quick snap. A discordant twang cut across the room as the minstrel almost dropped his instrument. He fumbled to keep it in his hands and looked around in surprise. A few patrons laughed into their drinks.

  Cecily smiled to herself and went upstairs to join her husband.

  3. ORDERS

  The voices were familiar. He awoke to them each day; they told him he was still alive. At first, the constant chaos in his mind had threatened to take his sanity. Day after day, the grind in his head had worn him down, taking away his will. Until he’d accepted the chaos. He’d embraced it, owned it, made it a part of him. Now he couldn’t imagine living without it. It gave him something to hold on to; an anchor for his being.

  He brushed back his long hair and tied it at the nape of his neck. His mask and hood sat next to his bed. He rubbed his bare face, feeling the night’s growth. He wondered what he would look like if he let it grow. Of course, that was a silly idea. Not shaving each morning was unthinkable. It was required.

  He stood and left the mask on the table. He felt exposed without it, the air prickling his bare skin. His dark, windowless room gave him no indication of what time it might be; he guessed before dawn. He didn’t sleep much anymore. Closing his eyes was dangerous. There were too many voices in the dark.

  He sat back down on the edge of his bed. There was little else in the room: a bed, just wide enough for him to sleep on, and a small table next to it. A normal room might have a window, a dressing table with a bowl of water for washing, hooks for hanging cloaks or clothing. This room had none of those things. Just the bed, the table and the chains.

  His eyes flicked over to the dull silver fetters and his fingers clenched, turning his knuckles white. Four chains were bolted to the floor, manacles for wrists and ankles at their ends. He could remember the cold bite of the metal, his skin rubbed raw to bleeding. Absently, he rubbed his wrists. He hadn’t needed to be bound in a long time, but they kept them in his room nonetheless, a constant reminder.

  He sat for a while in the dark and stared at nothing. He’d learned to embrace these moments of silence, cling to them. In the beginning, the silence had been his enemy. He’d paced around his room and walked in circles, trying to escape it. Now the early morning before they came for him was his time. It was the only thing left that belonged to him.

  He dressed, pulling on the loose black pants and tugging the black shirt over his body. The soft fabric hung from his lean frame. He slipped his feet into his black boots and fastened the silver buckles.

  Eventually, the door swung open, intruding on the silence like an unwanted guest at a dinner party. A servant came in and washed his face and hands, then shaved the stubble from his chin. He complied like a penitent child, sitting motionless and staring into nothing. It was easier this way.

  She left him to put his mask and hood on by himself. It slipped over his skin, close and warm. His breath was hot inside it, but he was used to the feeling of warmth over his mouth. It covered his face, the supple fabric clinging to the contours of his jaw, nose and forehead. A slit in the front allowed him to see. He adjusted the fit, pulling the mask into place so it didn’t intrude on his vision. It was a comfort, the pressure against his face and head. He had fought the mask in the beginning. He could no longer remember why.

  The wait wasn’t long. He was never sure what would happen when they led him out of his room. He’d memorized the labyrinthine hallways, the numbers of doors, the turns to each place they took him. They could cover his eyes and he could still find his way. His heartbeat rose; it felt like rebellion somehow, knowing the hallways. He briefly wondered if he was supposed to know them, and what they would do to him if they found out. Surely they realized. He had been there so long. Not that he could say how long; his sense of time had long since disappeared. He kept walking, following his guide, and pushed thoughts of time out of his mind. Thinking about time always led to thinking about the before, and the before couldn’t exist anymore.

  His stomach turned sour and his heart beat faster as the route became clear. One more hallway branched off to the left and he willed his guide to keep going straight. Don’t turn, please don’t turn. He didn’t want to go there, not today. A few more steps and he would know. His urge to flee was overwhelming, but he buried it, pushed it down with everything he had. Sweat dripped down his temple, soaking into his mask.

  His guide walked on, straight. He let out his breath and the tightness in his back and shoulders began to ease. As they passed the hallway to the left, he forced his eyes forward. Don’t even look. It was easier that way.

  His guide led him through a door into an open air courtyard at the center of the compound. A stone fountain crumbled in the middle, the water long since having stopped flowing. Ivy and moss crept through the cobblestones, nature working hard to retake the ruin. The cloudy sky was visible high above, towering over the sprawling building. He briefly wondered what this building had been, when it had been whole.

  “Number One,” a voice barked, and he snapped to attention, standing erect and staring obediently ahead.

  He heard footsteps behind him. Slow, patient. He knew the sound of those footsteps, the precise click, click, click of the shoes on the stones, the swish of the robes on the ground. The mere sound of those footsteps made his stomach clench with renewed fear. He held himself still and suffered the inspection, the scrutiny, as Nihil circled him, looking him up and down. Deep inside, he wanted to scoff, to turn up his nose at such treatment. He pushed the feeling down so hard he almost gasped. Such thoughts were dangerous.

  “I have orders for you, Number One,” Nihil said.

  Number One gave a brief nod, otherwise keeping still.

  “There is another guest I would like to invite into our”—he paused and gestured around at the crumbling courtyard—”home. This person will be a valuable contributor to the work we are doing here. I have very high hopes for him; high hopes indeed.” Nihil took a few steps toward him. “Inviting him here, however, is likely to prove… complicated. This situation requires great care and certain precautions.”

  Number One nodded again, a brisk up and down of his chin. Whatever questions he may have had never made it near his lips. You didn’t ask Nihil questions.

  “I need you to take Number Four and Number Five with you. Number Two will follow behind to clean up your trail. Sindre will give you the details. As I said, this is an important task. I trust you will keep things well in hand.”

  Who was Nihil after that he deemed so important? And why send four of them? Number One often extended Nihil’s so-called invitations alone. Curiosity, a long-since-forgotten sensation, rose in Number One.

  “Preparations are already underway,” Nihil continued. “I expect our new guest will be available in a few days’ time.” He crossed the distance to Number One in a few quick strides and peered into the slit in his mask. Nihil’s eyes were unnerving, a swirl of blue and green. Number One did his best not to flinch at his gaze. Do my eyes look like that now? “I expect you to bring our guest here and I expect him to be very much alive and in good condition when he arrives. Is that understood?”

  Number One gave another brisk nod.

  Nihil walked away, his careful stride clicking on the cobblestone. Number One reached to scratch the back of his neck as he awaited Sindre. Another new guest. If there had been any room left in him for pity, he would have felt it for whoever Nihil was sending him after.

  4. HALTHAS

  Cecily awoke shortly after dawn. She stretched her arms over her head and breathed deeply. The open window let in the chill morning air, but she didn’t mind. The
sound of the river was so soothing, she’d slept better than she had in months. She rolled over and curled up next to Daro. He was warm and she pressed her cold feet against his legs. He flinched a little in his sleep, but relaxed as she tucked her head against his shoulder and draped her arm across his chest. Breathing in his warm scent, she wished they could spend another day at the Float, rather than get up to board the riverboat.

  But get up they both did, if reluctantly. After a hearty breakfast in the common room, thankfully uninterrupted by minstrels or other guests, they made their way down the road to the riverboat dock.

  The dock was a bustle of activity, the dockworkers moving cargo and sailors preparing for departure. The riverboat was designed to ferry passengers and goods up and down the Bresne River. Its wide deck and deep hull had cabins and sleeping quarters, as well as a large cargo hold. At the back of the vessel, an enormous wheel towered over the deck, dripping water that sparkled in the pale light of the morning sun. Cecily marveled at the power it would take to turn the wheel. Halthas was downriver, but on the return journey, Wielders would generate the force to make the giant wheel turn and move the huge riverboat against the strong current of the river.

  Daro took care of the arrangements for their cargo and when all was set, the riverboat departed. Cecily and Daro were situated in a small cabin overlooking the water. Edson had felt uncomfortable taking a room for himself and opted for a hammock in the larger communal sleeping quarters.

  It took a week for the boat to make its way downriver toward Halthas, stopping at several port towns along the way. The large vessel slipped through the water as the river wheel turned under the clear summer sky. Cecily always enjoyed the trip more than Daro. His subtle wildness and inability to sit still for very long made him look a bit like a pacing animal as he wandered the deck each day.

  As they approached the city, Cecily and Daro stood with Edson on the forward deck, their hands resting on the railing. The wind swept through their hair as they squinted in the sun. The city of Halthas drew into view and Cecily glanced at Edson’s face, wondering what he would think of his first glimpse of the city.

  Halthas had been settled several hundred years before by Wielders and Shapers from the west, who had sought to escape the oppressive Attalonian Empire across the sea. The concentration of people with Wielding or Shaping abilities meant Halthas had grown into a kingdom where the majority of people had some degree of ability. Known across the world as the City of Wonders, the entire city had been built by Stone and Wood Shapers who were masters of their craft.

  “The palace is there on the hill,” Cecily said to Edson as she pointed toward the towering spires of the seat of the Crown. The streets flowed out from the palace in a starburst pattern, the estates of the oldest Halthian families spread out around it. “It looks even more amazing up close.” She pointed next to a hill on the other side of the city. “That’s the Lyceum. It’s a marvel in its own right. The library is incredible. You’ve never seen so many books.”

  “Cecily and her books,” Daro said. “But she’s right. The Lyceum is impressive.”

  Edson stared. “Everything is so grand.”

  “I think the Shapers who built the northern city were doing their best to outdo each other with their craftsmanship,” Daro said.

  As they drew closer to the city proper, the natural banks of the river gave way to docks, piers and buildings that lined the water on the south side. The riverbank sloped down to the water in front of the city wall, housing a crowded mass of warehouses and docks, busy with ships and vessels of all sizes. The northern city was surrounded by a thick stone wall that plunged directly into the river, with towers at regular intervals.

  “The wall was built after the Attalonian Empire attacked,” Cecily said to Edson. “It’s hard to imagine, looking at the defenses as they stand now, but Attalon nearly crushed Halthas. After the attempted invasion, the next few kings poured enormous resources into building the wall and the towers. Fire Wielders still patrol the wall, although we’ve been at peace with Attalon for as long as anyone can remember.”

  “Attalon seems like it must belong to another world,” Edson said. “Hard to believe anything exists across the sea. Is it true that they enslave Wielders and Shapers?”

  “Some of them,” Cecily said. “One of my classmates at the Lyceum was from Attalon. His family fled to Halthas so they wouldn’t have to hide his abilities.”

  “I’ve been all over the continent,” Daro said, “but never to Attalon. Can’t say I ever wanted to.”

  As they came in sight of the first of the three spans, Cecily pointed to the huge bridges. “The spans are the only way to get between northern and southern Halthas. The older part of the city is on the north side of the river. After the invasion, as they were rebuilding, people started settling the south side. Without the skill of Shapers and some specially trailed Wielders, it wouldn’t have been possible to build those bridges. The river is half a mile wide here.”

  Edson’s mouth opened as his head turned to follow the line of the first span. It soared across the river in a gentle arc.

  “Only in Halthas, or so people say,” Daro said. “There isn’t another city quite like it.”

  “What do you think?” Cecily asked Edson with a smile.

  “It’s so big,” he said, his voice soft.

  Cecily just nodded. It was big. Although she’d been born and raised in the city, the size of it still impressed her each time she visited. Towering buildings, sprawling streets, enormous gardens. So much of the city defied reason.

  Daro looked unimpressed, as usual. He raised an eyebrow and shrugged. “Too many people.”

  Cecily laughed. “For you, certainly, mountain man.”

  He made no move to argue. “The city is not my place. But don’t worry, Edson, I won’t let you get lost. Let’s go.” With a clap on the back and a smile, he turned from the railing to go collect their things.

  Cecily paused and leaned into the railing to look up at the city beyond. Halthas always brought mixed feelings, reminders of the complications she had left behind. From her vantage point she could still see the palace, the tips of its towers glinting in the sunlight. The Lyceum was hidden behind the wall. It seemed like a lifetime ago that she had lived in that world.

  However, most of her tasks in the city were pleasant ones, so she tried not to let her thoughts drift too far into the past. She set off to find her husband and help him with the unloading of their cargo.

  If the docks in East Haven were a bustle of activity, the docks in southern Halthas were absolute chaos. Yet it was a controlled chaos, with dockworkers and sailors, merchants and passengers all intent on gathering their belongings and cargo and dispersing into the city. The wagon and horses were led off the riverboat under Daro’s watchful eye. Edson stood to the side, doing his best to keep out of the way, with minimal success. Cecily felt a momentary pang of pity for the poor kid as another dockworker barked at him. She didn’t have time for more than a quick consoling glance in his direction. The dockworkers tended to be gruff, and the best thing for them all to do was to get their cargo off the dock as soon as they could.

  “There you are!” a familiar voice called out above the din. Cecily turned to see the bearded face of her old friend Griff. She hadn’t seen him in months, but he always seemed to look the same, his auburn hair short, his red beard neatly trimmed. He wore a leather vest over a crisp linen shirt, the sleeves rolled up over his thick forearms, with dark pants and sturdy black boots. As with all merchants, his belt gave an indication of his status. Made of supple leather and encrusted with more than a few shining jewels, it showed Griff was doing well.

  Daro walked forward to greet him. They clasped hands and made as if to shake before grasping each other in a sturdy hug. “It’s good to see you, old friend,” Daro said as he stepped away.

  Griff’s smile was warm. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you got bigger since the last time I saw you. Must be that wild Imaran
blood,” he said with a chuckle. Daro smiled at him and shook his head at his friend’s jest. “Well, at least we know that wife of yours is feeding you.” He turned to Cecily and held his arms wide. “Cecily, my dear! It seems putting up with that brute of a man hasn’t left you any worse for wear.”

  She smiled and stepped into his embrace, letting him crush her against his barrel chest. “I manage to hold my own.” He squeezed her arms and let her go. “Griff, may I present Edson. He is planning to enter the Lyceum next year. We thought it would be good to give him a taste of the city ahead of time.”

  “Good, good, another set of hands,” bellowed Griff with a laugh. “Will he be joining us tomorrow night?”

  “Of course,” Cecily said.

  “Excellent. Do we have some stories for you, my lad. You want to hear about the rages of war? We can tell you all about it. The battles, the blood, the heroism,” Griff said, and he swung his hand as if brandishing a sword.

  Edson’s eyes were wide and Cecily patted Griff’s arm. “Don’t get him too excited, Griff, you’re going to scare him.”

  As she checked the contents of their wagon, Cecily noticed another familiar face, quietly inspecting the hitch and lashings. She caught Serv’s eye and smiled. Griff and Serv had been friends and business partners as long as she had known them. Daro had worked with them as a merchant guard for years before he’d met Cecily. Serv had short sandy-blond hair and light blue eyes, and he kept his face clean shaven. He wore a vest that came to his waist in front and curved to trail down past his knees in back. Beneath was a long tunic of muted green and loose brown pants tucked into tall boots with brass buckles. He always wore his worn leather sword belt, and his curved northern-style blade hung at his hip. His Wielding ability was small but effective. A quick flick of Serv’s hand and an enemy would find their foot stuck to the floor or their blade stuck in its sheath. He gave her a slight nod and touched his hand to his forehead.