To Whatever End (Echoes of Imara Book 1)

by Claire Frank

  The man burst forward and she nearly lost him as he dashed away. She pushed her way through the people until she was able to run, keeping sight of him as he sprinted. He turned another corner and she veered toward him but he ran faster. She nearly stumbled as she turned, her feet slipping on the wet stones. Holding out her arms for balance, she skidded forward, her awkward steps slowing her.

  She stopped, only just keeping her balance. The street was nearly empty. The man ran ahead, but with a quick glance around to make sure she wouldn’t draw attention, she dropped her Awareness and Wielded, sending out a tendril of energy to grab his ankle. She Pulled and his leg flew backward, sending him sprawling out over the stones. He struggled to his feet but she grabbed his other leg, Pulling hard, and he crashed to the ground again.

  He rolled to his back, sat up, and backed away slowly. Cecily Pushed, heaving Pressure on his chest. He leaned backward, unable to hold himself up against her Push. “Who are you?” she called as she crossed the distance toward him. He held his arm up over his face and turned his head to the side. Cecily Pushed harder and he grunted as the Pressure grew heavier on his chest.

  Something Pushed back against Cecily’s Wielding Energy, the shock of it throwing her backward. She lost hold of her target. He scrambled to his feet and ran down the narrow street. Cecily tried to Wield, but something blocked her, like an invisible wall. She darted forward and slammed her Awareness against the wall. It opened, but as she turned the corner, the man was nowhere in sight, nor could she sense his presence. Only a handful of people moved up and down the open street, but there was no sign of the man dressed in black. She pushed her Awareness open further, probing the alleys and side streets that branched away. He was gone. It was as if he’d disappeared into thin air.

  Her breath caught in her throat and she put her back to one of the buildings. The Sensor. Could he be here, Shielding the man? Was it him who had snapped her Wielding Energy clean off like an axe through a piece of wood?

  She looked up and down the street but saw no sign of either the Sensor or her target. In the midst of the city, she’d never be able to sense a ripple in the Sensor’s Shield, even if she knew which direction they had gone.

  Her heart sank. She wasn’t going to find him and the chances of running into him again seemed slim. But who was he and why was he in the city? She opened her Awareness again to orient herself and find her way back to her inn. Her mind flashed back to the Sensor, standing on the edge of the ravine as the rushing water took her out of sight. Had he assumed her dead? If that had been him, slamming her with that Shield, he now knew she was still alive. Would he be back to finish her off?

  Her back prickled as she walked to her inn through the rain, her hair hanging limp around her face. Despite her Awareness telling her no one followed, she couldn’t help glancing behind, sure she’d see a man with a black mask peeking around every corner.

  19. SMOKE AND HINGES

  “Cecily, you should go to bed,” Serv said. He leaned his elbow on the table and fingered the handle of his mug.

  She blinked, her eyes locked on the table. “Is it past nightfall?”

  “The sun went down hours ago,” Griff said with a laugh, his voice slurring.

  She glanced to the side. Edson had his head down on the table, his eyes shut. His shoulders rose and fell with his slow breath. Griff leaned back in his chair, resting his hands on his belly, and his eyes drifted closed. Serv sat across from her, his eyes clear.

  She looked down at her empty cup. She hadn’t meant to drink herself into a stupor, but her mind swam with wine and exhaustion. After telling her friends about chasing the man with the strange eyes several days before, Griff and Serv, along with Edson, had taken up rooms at the Boar’s Head, insisting they needed to stay close to her. Although their search for Daro had come to a grinding halt, she welcomed their company. Merrick came in and out of Halthas, Beau always at his heels, checking in on her. She wasn’t sure where he stayed when he left, but she didn’t blame him. He wasn’t used to spending so much time in the city.

  She rose from her seat on trembling legs, pushed back her chair, and gripped the table. “You’ll be okay?” she asked Serv. Her voice sounded thick and strange.

  He stood and helped her to the stairs. “I’ll make sure everyone finds their beds. You go get some rest.” She climbed the stairs, clutching the railing for balance. Her legs felt awkward and she wobbled in front of her door and fumbled with the latch before finally the door swung open.

  She flopped onto her bed and nearly hit her head on the low ceiling. She’d chosen a little attic room at the top of the stairs, the roof pitched to a point in the center, low on the sides. Dim light filtered in through a tiny window, set high near the rafters, at the point of the ceiling. Cecily felt safer there, high above street level with no way in except the door.

  She closed her eyes and her head felt fuzzy. Had she really had so much wine? She only remembered drinking two cups. Her thoughts drifted and she couldn’t focus. Her limbs felt heavy and her arm dropped to hang over the edge of the bed. She tried to roll over but didn’t seem to have the strength. She had a fleeting thought that she shouldn’t be this tired, but it swam away as she sank into the darkness of an exhausted sleep.

  A noise made her jump and she felt something hard against her back. Her neck was tight and uncomfortable. The bed felt like the floor. Her eyes fluttered open and she sucked in a breath. Something was wrong. She tried to move her arms but they were held above her head. She pulled and heard the clank and scrape of metal as something hard bit into her wrists. Her eyes darted around, but all was black, not a sliver of light piercing the darkness. She tried to pull her arms again, but they wouldn’t respond. Her legs felt like dead weight and her head lolled to the side. Her breathing quickened and she tried to lift her head, but it wouldn’t budge.

  She squeezed her eyes shut and willed her body to move. Where was she? How had she been chained? Why couldn’t she move? Confusion swirled in her mind and she forced her eyes open again. Light assaulted her, and tears sprang to her eyes. She squinted against the brightness and raised her hands to cover her face. Where are the chains? Her body felt suddenly hot and sweat sprang out on her forehead, trickling down her temples. Something bit at the back of her neck. She tried to swipe it away but somehow she couldn’t reach. A face swirled before her eyes, hazy and indistinct, a smile curling its lips and the eyes a turbulent mix of color, brown melding into blue around a pinprick of black in the center.

  She gasped, her eyes flying open. The room was dark. Only the faint glow from the streetlamps enabled her to see the shadowy shapes of her room. The ceiling slanted above her, the wooden beams meeting in the middle. Her eyes felt heavy and she blinked hard as she struggled to wake herself up. She rubbed her wrists but found no sign of the chains, no redness or chafing. I must have been dreaming.

  Her eyes drifted closed; it was impossible to keep them open. Her breathing slowed and she felt herself sink again. Something in the back of her mind told her to wake up and check her room, but she couldn’t find consciousness. She felt as if she was moving, slowly rocking to the motion of waves, the steady rhythm calling her down, into the release of sleep.

  Noises intruded on the edge of her perception. She wondered vaguely if she was dreaming again. A loud crack jolted her eyes open and she thought she could hear voices. Was it morning already? Her room was still dark, the dull light from the window hazy and muddled. Her mind felt slow, as if her thoughts traveled through thick mud before reaching the surface. She blinked again and tried to force herself awake. Her eyes stung and she coughed, her throat dry and burning.

  She took another breath and something in her mind clicked back into place. Smoke. The noises outside her room took shape and she realized it was shouting. She heard another crash, followed by screaming. Her room was quickly filling with smoke, a thick haze in the warm air. She pulled her tunic up over her mouth and nose and squinted, as her eyes watered. The building is on fi
re.

  Shaking her head to clear it, she scurried off the bed and kept low to the ground. The shouting below was more distinct—cries for help, and someone yelling instructions. She crawled over to the door and felt it with the back of her hand. Smoke trickled in through the cracks, but the door was cool to the touch. She got up and tried to unlock it, but the lock wouldn’t budge. She pulled on the latch, but it was stuck tight. She pulled again, shaking the door, but it wouldn’t open.

  She shook the door again, and her heartbeat rose. The smoke made her cough and she held her tunic to her face to breathe through it. She tried kicking the door, to no avail; she wasn’t strong enough to kick it open.

  Whirling around, she eyed the window. It was tiny and set high in the wall, just below the center of the pitched ceiling. No one could get in through that window, but she couldn’t get out either, even if she could climb high enough to reach it. Cursing her choice of room, she turned her attention back to the door.

  Using her Awareness, she probed the lock. The mechanism was melted on the inside, the moving parts stuck, and the latch was bonded to the doorjamb. There was nothing for her to move, no way for her to free the lock. Running her hand along the door, she focused her Awareness on the grain of the wood, searching for cracks or weaknesses. The hinges! She gasped, but the flood of relief was short-lived. The hinges were melted, fused to the fasteners in the doorway. The door was welded shut.

  She crouched down low and pounded on the door for help. Tears streamed from her eyes as she coughed and choked. She looked back to find the window was lost in the haze, the room filling quickly. She clutched the fabric of her tunic to her face, coughing with every breath. As she cowered lower onto the floor, her eyes burned, her mouth bitter with the taste of ash. As the heat grew, sweat beaded on her forehead and ran down her back. She pounded on the door with her fist, unable to get enough air to cry out.

  I wonder if I’ll suffocate before I burn. A sob climbed her throat and she coughed again. She kicked at the door, but it made little noise. Her head felt as hazy as the room, as if her mind was filling with smoke. She squeezed her eyes closed as tears ran down her cheeks. The shouting outside stopped, replaced by a loud roar. Another crash rang out and the building shuddered. She pounded on the door again, hitting it with her free hand. Every breath was painful, like pulling sharp gravel down her throat. The smoke seared her lungs and her coughs came in uncontrollable spasms.

  Daro, I’m so sorry.

  Something hit the door with a loud crack, and the force reverberated through her body. She rolled away, desperately wishing for unconsciousness before the flames came to take her. Crack! Another bang came from the door, making Cecily jerk as she lay on the floor. Something assaulted the door again and through the smoke she thought she could see movement in the center of the door. Another bang and the door erupted in splinters of wood, the sharp edge of an axe sticking through.

  Scrambling to her feet, she kept clear and squinted against the smoke as she breathed through the fabric. The axe hit again and pulled to the side, opening a hole in the wood. The pounding continued and the center of the door dissolved into splinters. A head poked through, a swath of fabric tied around the face up to the eyes. A hand reached through the hole. Cecily grasped and stepped through the ruined door. Hands pulled her through as the heat assaulted her, beating at her in waves.

  Her rescuer pressed gently down on her head, beckoning her to stay low, and led her by the hand down the stairs. Cecily coughed, keeping the fabric up to her face, and crouched low as she walked. The inn was an inferno. Flames licked the walls and wood beams glowed bright red. Smoke filled the building and heat pounded against her, evaporating the sweat off her body instantly.

  She stumbled at the bottom of the stairs and nearly tripped on a piece of burning debris. Her rescuer grabbed her arms to keep her steady and pulled her forward. A loud crash from above sent sparks and ash raining down on them as they sprinted for an opening in the wall. The building shuddered and another crash rang out behind them as they dived out into the street.

  “Cecily!” a voice called out as she lay gasping, the stones cold and hard under her face. Someone grabbed under her arms and pulled her forward, away from the burning inn as she coughed and sputtered, struggling for air. They turned her over on her back, and cradled her head.

  A cool cloth pressed gently to her eyes and forehead, more wet cloth on her arms. She breathed deep of the clean air as her coughs subsided. Footsteps fell around her, people moving quickly. The sounds of yelling and commotion shifted into focus as her mind cleared. She coughed again and pressed the fabric to her eyes to wipe the burning tears.

  A billowing black cloud of smoke shrouded the stars as the Boar’s Head raged with fire. Orange and yellow flames spit out the windows and engulfed the walls and roof. The entire building was a roaring blaze. A fire brigade had arrived; Wielders Pulled water through a long tube and sprayed it on the flames.

  Someone took the cloth from her and dipped it in a bucket before handing it back to her. She squinted, her eyes still burning from the smoke, to find her head in Griff’s lap. His face was smudged with soot, but he smiled and helped her sit up.

  “What happened? Did everyone get out?” she asked, her voice hoarse and her throat dry.

  Griff nodded to the side and Cecily looked over to find Serv seated on the ground nearby, a strip of fabric bunched around his neck. Edson sat next to him and rubbed his eyes and face. Serv’s forehead was black, his cheeks flushed and red.

  “Can’t say I remember making it back to my room after dinner,” Griff said. “But I woke up choking on smoke. We all got out and realized you must still be inside. Before any of us could form a thought, Serv burst in there.” He gestured at the ruined building. “He was gone for what felt like hours. I thought for sure the two of you weren’t coming out.” He took a shuddering breath and blew it out through pursed lips. “Damn amazing thing, seeing you two come flying out of that inferno.”

  Edson came over and crouched in front of her. “Are you hurt?” he asked, worry plain on his face.

  Cecily looked down at herself. The skin on her arms was red and raw, but she didn’t see any serious burns. “No, I think I’m okay.” He handed her a waterskin and she drank deeply of the cool liquid. It soothed her dry throat, but it still hurt to breathe.

  Serv turned his head and met her gaze. Tears sprang to her eyes as she stared at him, and the enormity of what he had done washed over her. He rose and helped her to her feet. She opened her mouth, but didn’t know what to say or how she could possibly thank him. He pressed his lips in a small smile and shook his head. Still holding her hand, he raised it and covered it with his other hand.

  “Thank you,” she whispered. He let go of her hand and gave her a small nod.

  The Wielders appeared to be winning the battle. The flames died down as the building billowed smoke into the night sky. People milled about watching, some tending to the wounded while others stood in pairs, holding each other as they watched the inn burn.

  Griff stood up next to her and gently lifted her hand to inspect the burns on her arm. “These will sting something fierce, but you don’t look too bad,” he said.

  She nodded. “How did this happen?”

  He shrugged. “The fire started downstairs, probably in the kitchen. Spread through the building quick. Cecily, I’m sorry, I didn’t think we’d had quite so much wine. I still feel all muddled, but I suppose that could be the smoke.”

  “It wasn’t the smoke, or the wine,” Serv said, his voice quiet. He turned toward them. “We were drugged.”

  Cecily’s eyes shot toward her friend. “How do you know?”

  “Where I come from, these things are common. Many of my warrior brothers and I took it upon ourselves to build immunity to such narcotics, to protect us from these cowardly attacks. I’m familiar with the effects. I only wish I had realized it sooner.”

  “But why, and who… and how?” Griff sputtered.


  Serv shook his head. “The likely answer is in our wine. As to who or why, that I don’t know.”

  “My door was welded shut,” Cecily said. Serv looked at her, his brow furrowed. “That’s why I couldn’t get out. The lock, the doorknob, and the hinges, they were all melted. There’s no way the fire was hot enough to do that.”

  “What do you mean?” Griff asked.

  “I think I can answer the question of why. Someone is trying to kill me.”

  20. THE QUARRY

  “You should have told me,” Callum said.

  Cecily looked up. “What?”

  Callum rolled his eyes. “You haven’t heard a word I said, have you?” He paced around the room, agitated, and gestured as he spoke. “You didn’t tell me about the man you saw, the one who ran from you. That was days ago. Were you planning on saying anything? And last night you buried yourself in wine. I realize things aren’t exactly going well, but drinking yourself into a stupor isn’t going to help.”

  Cecily sighed and rubbed her eyes. Her head felt heavy, her thoughts thick and slow. She hadn’t slept much after the fire, and although it was midmorning the next day, the effect of the drug was still in her system. “I didn’t bury myself in wine. Someone drugged me, unless you’d like to doubt Serv’s word.” Her eyes flicked to Serv, who sat on a barrel at the edge of the gray stone room, sharpening his sword. Callum raised his eyebrows at her. No one doubted Serv’s word, not even Callum. “I can’t even be sure of who I saw. I only saw him for a moment, but I could have sworn his eyes looked like the eyes of the man who attacked me after Daro was taken.”