by Claire Frank
Merrick walked over to her, tugging on his brown leather gloves and flexing his fingers. His faded green cloak drifted behind him.
“Did you find anything?” she asked. Merrick had left the previous day to scout ahead.
“It looks clear. I got close to the complex, but there was little I could see. We will need to be prepared for anything,” he said.
Cecily nodded. “I agree.” Merrick reached out and squeezed her arm before walking away.
The back of her neck tingled and she turned to find Callum lounging against a stone pillar. “Kind of nice having the crown on our side this time, isn’t it?” he asked and gestured to the activity in the courtyard.
Cecily took a few steps toward him. “We have the advantage in numbers,” she said. “Unless he has an army of those Wielders hidden in his compound.”
One corner of Callum’s mouth turned up in a crooked smile. “If that’s the case, there’s not much hope for any of us. But I’m putting my money on us this time.”
“This time?” she asked. “Have you been wagering against us?”
He lifted his shoulders in a lazy shrug. “There was a time when I wasn’t so confident in our little band of rebels. The whole treason thing was a bit much, even for me. I am rather fond of my head staying attached to my neck.”
“Aren’t we all,” said Griff as he clapped Cecily on the back.
The other companions wandered over, lingering near Cecily while they waited for Rogan and Alastair. The company was nearly ready to depart. Cecily’s eyes roved around the courtyard and a calmness settled over her, heartened by the presence of her friends.
Rogan appeared on the palace steps, flanked by Alastair and several Royal Guard. Cecily sucked in a quick breath. He was dressed for travel, a dark shirt under leather armor, his black cloak cascading down his shoulders, a sword at his hip. He looked exactly as she remembered him from the war, a man not yet the king.
After quickly scanning the courtyard, Rogan walked over to Cecily, his hand resting on his sword hilt. “Everything is in order.” He nodded to the others, meeting their eyes in turn.
Cecily tipped her head to him as her thoughts drifted to Daro. She didn’t know what he would do when they arrived, or whether they would be able to contain him. She had to believe she could reach him this time, regardless of what they had done to him.
Thinking about Daro brought images of Pathius to her mind. It troubled her that his face drifted into her consciousness so often. He was like a blot of dark paint that drips into a lighter shade, permeating the color. She no longer dreamed of Daro, but woke in the night soaked in sweat, visions of Pathius still swimming in her mind.
Cecily turned and almost tripped over a young messenger boy. His hood was down, his cheeks pink with cold. He looked up at her with wide eyes, his mouth working as if to speak.
“I have a message for Cecily of the family Graymere,” he said as his eyes darted between her, Sumara, and Mira. “Is one of you Miss Cecily?”
Cecily narrowed her eyes and looked around. She caught Callum’s eyes and he shrugged; apparently the messenger wasn’t one of his. “I am Cecily,” she said. The boy held out the message, hovering with expectant eyes after she took it. She dug into a pocket and handed him a coin, and he scurried off, disappearing between the lines of horses.
As she opened the note and read, her throat clenched and she forced herself to swallow. She stood still, reading it several times while her friends shifted on their feet, looking back and forth between each other.
Callum spoke up. “The suspense is too much. What is it?”
Cecily tried to process what she read. She looked down at it again. The letters were slanted and messy, blots of ink dotting the margins. “It’s from Pathius,” she said.
Everyone erupted in a flurry of gasps and questions, leaning toward her, and some reached out to take the note. She clutched it to her chest as her mind reeled. “He says they are abandoning the compound. He and some others are still there, but they’ve sent Daro away. He’s telling me where to find him, and how to get there.”
She reached out and handed the note to Rogan. He read it over, his forehead creasing as his eyes flicked across the page. He lowered it as he finished. “This doesn’t change anything,” he said. “There’s no way we can trust his word, and even if we could, this doesn’t change our plans. We march for the compound.”
“Agreed,” Alastair said. “This must be some sort of trick.”
He passed it to Serv, who read it with Griff and Sumara looking over his shoulder. “One thing is certain,” Serv said as he looked up at the companions. “Nihil knows we’re coming. We need to be prepared for the worst. And it is quite possible Daro won’t be there by the time we get in.”
Cecily’s mind raced. There was much more at stake than one man’s life. Nihil needed to be stopped and Rogan’s force was the way to ensure that end. Serv handed her the note and she looked at it again. The pull of her bond with Daro stirred inside her, faded and weak. The words scrawled on the paper plucked at her. If they prevailed against Nihil, but Daro wasn’t there, how would they find him? Her doubt solidified into firm resolve.
“I know this is madness,” she said, “but I believe him. Pathius stopped Daro in Wesfell, and we know they had been sent to kill us. He must have put himself at great risk when he did that, and when he sent this.” Her friends went silent, their eyes flicking around as if they waited for the others to react. “Rogan is right—this doesn’t change the plan, except we have to assume Nihil knows we are coming and will have laid a trap. Merrick will take men to scout ahead and the rest of the force will attack the compound. Neutralize as many of his Wielders as possible; try not to kill them. I don’t know if we will be able to help them, but we have to try. Remember, these are all men like Daro, taken from their families. We have to assume they are being controlled, and there may still be a way to set them free.”
Callum brushed his hair from his eyes. “And what is it you’re going to do, exactly?”
Cecily took a breath. “I’m going after Daro.”
“Cecily, that’s madness,” Alastair cut in. “You can’t possibly believe this message. If Nihil is setting a trap, this is most certainly it. This is suicide.”
Serv’s voice carried over Alastair. “I’ll go with you.”
Cecily’s head whipped around to look at Serv. His face was serene, his blue eyes bright.
“We all admire your loyalty, Serv, but our plan is sound,” Alastair said. “You can’t go gallivanting off because of this. Be reasonable.”
“I know, it doesn’t make sense,” Cecily said. “And I can’t ask any of you to go with me based on my gut feeling. But I’m telling you, I know this is real. Pathius sent this, and he isn’t lying. He’s trying to help us.”
Callum stepped forward, his head tilted to one side. “I’m in.” Everyone’s eyes swung to look at him. He shrugged. “If Cecily thinks this is what needs to be done, I’m inclined to believe her.”
“You’re not going anywhere without me,” Griff said with a wide grin.
“I’m with you too,” Edson said.
Rogan met her eyes and stared hard for a long moment. He gripped the hilt of his sword and pursed his lips. “Very well. Merrick will take Mira and a small group of my men to scout the compound. Alastair and I will lead the main force. The rest of you, go with Cecily. If this message is correct, you can intercept Daro and bring him to the Lyceum. If not, we will retrieve him from Nihil’s compound. But,” he said and paused with one finger raised, “be wary. I suspect we will all be walking into a trap.” He reached out and gripped Cecily’s hand. “I won’t lie to you. I can’t promise anything about the fate of Nihil’s other Wielders. The Paragon was adamant that it would be far too dangerous to let them live, and I tend to agree. But I will keep your words in mind.” He squeezed her hand. “Be safe.”
She nodded. “You too.”
He turned on his heel and walked away, and his purposeful ste
ps took him quickly out of sight. Alastair followed, his sable cloak flowing behind him.
Mira leaned in and gave her a hug. “Be careful,” she whispered.
Cecily squeezed her back. “You too.”
Merrick nodded as he and Mira turned to follow Rogan and Alastair.
The rest of her friends looked at her. She glanced down at the note one last time before she folded it up and tucked it into a pocket. Her shoulders relaxed and her mind was clear. She couldn’t explain why she knew this was right, but something deep inside told her to trust Pathius.
39. COLLAPSE
The stillness of the forest was a lie. Violence dwelled beneath the branches of the trees, hiding in wait, ready to strike. Pathius couldn’t see the king’s force, but he knew it was coming. He strained his ears, anxious to hear some sign of the impending battle. The sun had crested past midday, the shadows growing long, yet there was still no sign of them.
From his vantage point atop the building, he couldn’t see far into the forest. The trees were thick and there was no clear road or path leading to the compound. Rogan would have a difficult time bringing a large number of men through. No doubt the new king already knew the lay of the land. Pathius had not seen his scouts, but he was certain they had been there.
His mind drifted back to an earlier time, the before. He heard the voice of his father, lecturing him on tactics and strategies. He let the memory come, no longer trying to suppress his former self. He was Pathius now, once a prince of Halthas. He was no longer Number One. Nihil just didn’t know it yet.
He crouched down and kept his head low as the first of Rogan’s forces appeared through the trees. They crept amongst the underbrush and took up their positions behind the tree line. Pathius could see the forest begin to shift as a great mass of men moved into place. His gaze swept from side to side, taking in the numbers. He couldn’t tell for sure how many were coming, but it appeared to be a sizeable force. He laughed to himself as he thought about how few of Nihil’s men were left in the compound. Rogan had come expecting a battle. Pathius would have to do his best to give him what he came for.
A voice called out from the trees and Pathius braced himself. A great roaring sound rose from the trees and a line of fireballs shot toward the building. They brought Fire Wielders. Excitement grew in Pathius as he stood, reached out his hands, and Absorbed the energy from the fire. The flames arced toward his hands, lines of fire reaching for him through the open air. The heat poured into his body, racing through his arms and filling his chest. He closed his eyes, arms spread wide, and let the heat sear through him.
Noises from below brought him back to the moment. There were shouts and commands as men scuffled through the trees. Another volley of fire flew into the air. Brilliant streaks of flame soared up, ready to come down and rain fire on the compound. Pathius paused, watching the raging orange balls flickering with heat and light. He gasped and a shudder ran through him. All that power. It was so beautiful.
He sucked in the energy from the fire, and the flames once again surged toward him. The heat burst into his body and nearly knocked him backward. He pulled in his arms, reveling in the scorching heat as it ripped through him. As he looked down at his hands, he could see shimmers of heat radiating away from his body. He couldn’t hold this much energy; he let it dissipate, knowing there was plenty more to come.
A volley of flaming stones streaked toward the trees, each landing with a loud pop as it hit. Number Four was below, helping Pathius mount their token defense. He shot out another scattering of stones, and the explosions reverberated off the trees. Number Five was on the other side of the compound and Pathius saw arrows firing, bending around the trees to find their targets.
Another set of fireballs arced through the air, this time aimed at the far ends of the compound. Pathius managed to drain the two closest to him, but the others hit the building, making it shudder under his feet.
More men stepped forward from the tree line and raised bows. The Fire Wielders lit the arrows and at a yell from their commander, they let loose. The flaming arrows flew toward the compound, many of them pointed at Pathius. He ducked down behind the ledge, as some of the arrows stuck into the outer wall. A few clattered behind him and he pulled in their heat, leaving nothing but withered arrows trailing lines of black smoke into the air.
He looked over the ledge to find the archers preparing for another volley. Two archers went down in quick succession, hit by Number Five’s arrows. Pathius centered on another one, reaching out his hand toward him. He concentrated, feeling the energy inside the man, and Reached for it. He got a hold of it and tugged, sucking in an abrupt burst of energy. The archer’s head and arms rocked back as if he’d been hit in the chest, and his body slumped to the ground.
Pathius trembled with all the energy he had pulled, the air around him shimmering as it dissipated. He hit another archer with his energy drain, Absorbing his heat, and watched the man hit the ground. Rogan’s men were shouting orders, pointing up at him. He ducked down and hurried across the roof, keeping low, and ran to the other side. Another clatter of arrows hit where he’d been standing.
Peeking out over the ledge, he could see Rogan’s line push out of the trees, the men forming up in the clearing. Archers hit the building with their flaming arrows, but Pathius let them burn. He reached his hand toward the nearest archer. Heat from the man poured into Pathius, a line of energy streaking from the man’s chest into Pathius’s hand. The man stood frozen, his mouth open in a silent scream as his skin turned blue and frost spread out from his chest. A crackling sheen of ice coated him and he fell to the ground, stiff.
Pathius breathed hard, the heat sending rivulets of sweat dripping down his back. The men below were yelling, pointing up at him while exploding bits of stone popped and sent sprays of dirt into the air. Another ball of fire exploded against the far side of the compound. Pathius briefly wondered if Number Five had fallen back or if he was caught in the blast of flame.
More of Number Five’s arrows streaked toward Rogan’s force just then, answering his question. The men below held their line and sent more fire at the building. The blasts hit with a boom, the sharp crack of broken glass and splintering wood ringing out through the air. The outer wall of the building burned, black smoke muddling the air.
Pathius pulled energy from the flames, if only to glory in the heat raging through him. His head swam with euphoria and his body felt light, as if he could leap off the building and hover in the air. He pulled the energy from another blast of fire and let it sear through him. The mix of pain and exhilaration was intoxicating and he found himself laughing, his voice ringing out amidst the din of the attack.
Holding so much energy threatened to unmake him, but he didn’t care. His skin tingled as the energy poured off him in waves and his hands almost seemed to glow. He reached out his hands and Pushed, feeling the heat rush through his body and out his fingertips. A blast hit the ground in front of Rogan’s line, sending up a burst of dirt and rocks. Pathius looked at his hands, his eyes wide. This is new.
His mouth curled in a smile beneath his mask. He moved across the ledge and took up a new position. The flat roof was beginning to feel warm. He placed his hands on the roof and Absorbed the heat, sending a crackling circle of frost spreading around him. He sucked in a breath, glorying in the power that swelled within. Curious to see if he could do it again, he Pushed the energy out and let it surge from his fingertips. Another blast exploded in the clearing, sending rock and dirt flying.
His mind swirled with the elation of power that raged through him. The voices in his head seethed, their sounds mingling with the shouts of Rogan’s men, the roar of flames and the surge of energy churning within him.
Pathius glanced down through the haze of smoke. The line of Rogan’s force held strong. A man walked up and down the lines, shouting orders and encouragement. He wore no uniform, just leather armor with a black cloak streaming behind him. He held a sword aloft, pointing with the tip
. He raised it and brought it down as the archers loosed, his head turning to watch the volley. I know you.
Rogan himself. The new king. Pathius knew his father was dead. Nihil had told him years ago, probably as a means to tighten his grip on Pathius’s mind. It had been so long since Pathius had thought of himself as the prince that hearing of the new king had done little to affect him. But seeing him there in the flesh, standing tall amidst the battle and shouting orders at his men, made Pathius rage.
The building shuddered beneath him and Pathius had to stumble to keep his footing. The lower levels must be burning. It was almost time. He looked back over the side of the ledge. Rogan walked further down the line, his stride sure and his bearing tall. Pathius let him go. He wanted to face Rogan man to man, not strike at him from afar like a filthy assassin. His father would have railed at him for throwing away the chance to kill an enemy. But Pathius was not his father, nor did he wish to be.
The smoke thickened, obscuring Pathius’s view of the force below. A clear whistle called out from the courtyard behind him, the signal to retreat. He stood up and threw his hands out to the sides, pulling heat from the ground just in front of Rogan’s men. A thick line of cracking ice erupted, running across the ground in both directions. Sparkling frost spread as weeds and scrub withered and died along the line. Men shouted, jumping back to avoid the spreading ice and pulling each other out of the way.
Pathius turned, reluctant to leave the fray, still buzzing with energy. He ran toward the trapdoor in the floor of the roof, pulled it open, and dashed down the steps. Smoke crept into the interior of the building, billowing in from the front. Nihil would be pleased; the fire would make their job easier.
He raced through the courtyard to the other side of the compound and flew down a hallway that led to the cellar. Number Four and Number Five were ahead of him, already heading down the steps. Number Five peeled off, angling toward the lower stairs that led into the tunnel. Pathius followed Number Four into the cellar.