The Strength to Serve (Echoes of Imara Book 3)

by Claire Frank

  The door opened and Alastair walked in, looking trim and proper as ever. He was smart enough not to dress too courtly here, so no sigil was emblazoned on his doublet, but his clothes were well-tailored. Wrinkling his nose, he spotted Callum and walked to the table.

  “Do we always have to meet here?” Alastair asked, as he pulled out a chair and sat. “This place smells like vomit.”

  “It is particularly aromatic today, isn’t it?” Callum said. Truth be told, he didn’t enjoy the Ale Stone any more than Alastair, but it suited his purposes. It attracted people who didn’t want undue attention and generally ignored each other, making it an easy place to conduct business. “Besides, it isn’t as if our illustrious majesty can invite me in for tea. Would you like a drink?”

  Alastair raised an eyebrow. “Thank you, no. I’d like to live out the day at least.”

  “Good choice. So tell me, what brings you to my little corner of the city?”

  Alastair paused and glanced around the room as if concerned that others might be listening. Placing his elbow on the table, he leaned in and lowered his voice. “General Vandrel was killed last night.”

  Callum closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose to ward off a sudden headache. “And here I thought maybe you’d bring good news. What makes you say ‘was killed’ instead of simply ‘died’? If I recall, he wasn’t exactly the epitome of health.”

  “It was made to look accidental, but this is the third military commander to die in less than a month. They are clearly assassinations.”

  “Assuming you’re right, why are you telling me?” Callum asked.

  “The king needs you to find out who is behind it,” Alastair said.

  “Does he? I’m not sure when I became Rogan’s errand boy, but did it occur to you that I might have my own problems to deal with?”

  “Errand boy? Hardly.”

  “I have spent the last several months running all over this kingdom for Rogan,” Callum said. “Quite honestly, it’s growing a bit tiresome. Being able to throw around the weight of the crown now and then has its advantages, I’ll admit, but I have obligations too. What do you expect me to do, drop everything just because the king comes calling?”

  Mouth open, Alastair looked at Callum for a moment before answering. “Yes, that’s exactly what I expect you to do. He’s your king. Generally that’s how this works.”

  Callum scowled. “For you, maybe. I’m not interested in being the king’s pet, kept on a short leash.”

  “You aren’t going to goad me into an argument, so don’t try. I don’t know what sorts of things you have going on down in that Quarry of yours, and I don’t suppose I want to. You are who you are and, for some reason I can’t possibly fathom, Rogan trusts you.”

  “That’s simple,” Callum said. “Our interests are quite thoroughly aligned. A kingdom at war is far too disruptive. The prosperity of peacetime has been good for both of us.”

  Alastair shook his head. He was probably thinking about his notions of loyalty or some such nonsense. “If you think we are in a time of peace, your information must be failing you.”

  “Oh no, I’m aware of the precariousness of our current times,” Callum said.

  “Are you?” Alastair asked. “Are you aware that there have been sightings of Attalonian soldiers in Sahaar, and their emissaries are in Thaya? We have reports of men in strange clothing in our own countryside, not to mention the men who showed up in Caerven who took that altered Wielder, Isley Paven. And now we’ve lost our third military leader to an untimely death. We’re under attack already.”

  “Add to that list the unrest in the Sahaaran quarter, here in southern Halthas,” Callum said. He threw out his own tidbit of information, not wanting to admit that some of what Alastair said surprised him. He hadn’t known about the Attalonian emissaries in Thaya. Their northern neighbor had the potential to be a terrifying military power, if they ever united under a single leader. He did not like the idea of Thaya treating with Attalon.

  How did I get so damn involved in politics?

  “Exactly,” Alastair said. “This is serious.”

  Callum blew out a breath and looked away. “How am I supposed to find an assassin in this mess of a city?”

  Alastair shrugged and leaned back in his chair. “Start with the ones you know.”

  “I’m hurt, Alastair, truly,” Callum said, although there was no sincerity in his voice. He was already going through a mental list of people he should look into.

  Alastair pulled out a pouch and slid it across the table. “As usual, the king has nothing to do with this.”

  “And if it comes out that the king has been working with the Underground since before the beginning of his reign?” Callum asked with a smirk, as he pocketed the pouch. “Do you take the fall?”

  “If I have to.”

  “Always so noble, Alastair. You’re really quite the example for the rest of us.”

  Alastair glowered at him. “Just find out who is behind these deaths. We know something is coming and we’re doing everything we can to prepare for it, but if we keep losing our military commanders, we won’t stand a chance.”

  Callum fingered his coin and spun it. Assassinations, armies, threats from every direction. What had happened to his days of simple, honest thievery? Not a care in the world, except for avoiding the city guard. Of course, it had never been that simple, and he certainly ate better now. He sighed and stood, thinking he should see if any of his messengers had seen Wraith. Not that it was likely any of them had. People generally didn’t see Wraith, as a rule. It was a large part of what made the man so useful, and Callum would need all the help he could get if he was going to find an assassin hiding in the city. Leaving the coin still spinning on the table, he walked out a back door toward the entrance to the Quarry. Apparently he had work to do.

  12. SPRING TRADING

  Winter passed with quiet slowness until spring bloomed, bringing a surge of life around the cabin. Daro spent the gradually lengthening days in his workshop. He enjoyed the simple rhythm of his old routine, working on his wares and making repairs to the cabin in between snows. Stoker and Shale worked alongside him, honing their own abilities, and he’d invited them to join him for the start of the spring trading season.

  Daro rode alongside a wagon, now only partially laden with goods. It was the tail end of a two-week trip that took them south across the Bresne River, along a trading route with a number of stops. His merchant friends, Griff and Serv, led the large group of traders as they made the loop, the first of several journeys they would make before their annual trip to the city. Shale and Stoker had come along, anxious to be of help, while Cecily had stayed behind to tend to their cabin and begin illuminating a new set of manuscripts. Although Daro missed her when he was gone, the return to normalcy was satisfying and he smiled to himself at the thought of his wife, bent low over a thick piece of paper, a tiny paintbrush in her hand.

  “Halt!” a voice called out from the front of the caravan. The road curved around a large outcropping of rock on one side and Daro couldn’t see around it to the first wagons. With a nudge, he urged his horse forward to see what was happening.

  Serv rode toward him. “There’s a landslide, blocking the road up ahead,” he said. “We’ll need to clear it before we can get past.”

  Daro followed Serv up to the front of the caravan. The line of wagons was indeed stopped in front of a large pile of boulders and rubble, spread across the road in a heap. The ground on the other side was uneven and littered with rocks and debris; it would be nearly impossible to get the heavy wagons through without risking broken wheels.

  One of the other merchants paced back and forth in front of the rubble. “This is impossible,” he said, his voice tight with worry. “It will take us the rest of the day to move all this.”

  Daro dismounted and handed his reins to Serv. The pile was formidable, but he and Shale would be able to move it faster than the other men. “Don’t worry,” he sai
d, patting the merchant on his shoulder. “We can handle this.”

  Some of the other men started moving pieces of rock to the side as Daro hoisted a large boulder. It was becoming natural to augment his strength when necessary; it hardly took any concentration anymore and he could feel a surge of power running through him. A couple of the other men paused to watch him with wide eyes as he hauled a heavy chunk of rock and hurled it off the road.

  “What happened here?” Shale asked as he approached on horseback.

  “Rock slide, apparently,” Daro said as he walked past, carrying another boulder. “I can get the large pieces, but it’s still going to take a while to get this clear.”

  Shale cocked his head to the side and frowned, scratching his thick beard. “Maybe you all stand aside and let me see if I can take care of this.”

  Daro tossed the boulder away from the road and turned to walk toward Shale, who dismounted and held the reins out to Daro.

  “Are you sure you want to do that in front of all these people?” Daro asked in a quiet voice as he took the reins.

  Shale shrugged. “I might as well make myself useful, even if it does earn me some odd looks.”

  Daro nodded. “Clear out,” he said, while Shale stepped forward. The other men looked confused, but at a nod from the other merchant, they moved out of the way.

  With a deep breath, Shale extended his arms to one side and opened his hands. The rock on the far side of the collapse rumbled, loose pebbles clattering from the top of the pile onto the ground. With a sweeping motion, Shale moved his hands to his other side and the rock and debris on the end scraped across the ground. The rest of the pile settled, the stone on top tumbling down to fill the space that had been cleared. Shale extended his hands again and swept them across, moving another heap of rock away from the road.

  Section by section, Shale moved the pile, letting the rock settle in between each move. Sweat beaded on his bald head and Daro could see the signs of exertion as his energy ebbed and flowed, but he cleared the road in a fraction of the time it would have taken the rest of them, even with Daro’s strength. More of the merchants, assistants, guardsmen, and others traveling with the caravan gathered, watching with wide eyes and open mouths as Shale pushed the debris aside.

  Wiping his hands down his shirt as if he’d soiled them, Shale turned and blew out a breath. Daro glanced around, concerned about the reaction of the crowd. Thus far, none of them had tried to hide their abilities, but Shale’s feat wasn’t something people were accustomed to seeing.

  A cheer rose up behind them, as one man whooped and began to clap. The rest of the small crowd followed, clapping and cheering. Even the head merchant, a rotund man with a surly disposition, smiled wide and stepped up to pat Shale on the back.

  Shale’s face went crimson, and he waved off the praise. “None of that, now.”

  Daro laughed as he handed Shale the reins, then mounted his own horse as people disbursed to the calls of “Load up! Let’s move!” that went down the line.

  ***

  Smoke burned in Daro’s nostrils, rousing him from a deep sleep. For a moment, he wondered why he’d slept so close to the campfire. He thought someone must have put on more wood, and the wind was carrying the smoke his direction. Coughing as another burst of smoke billowed across his face, Daro opened his eyes. The campfire was nearly out, only a few flickering coals left below a piece of charred wood.

  Jumping to his feet, suddenly alert, Daro blinked against the sting in his eyes. Their camp was a large circle, with the wagons on the outside and the traders and guards finding places to sleep in their wagons or on the ground in the center. Across the circle, one of the wagons billowed smoke; flames licked the undersides and sprouted from the top.

  “Fire,” Daro yelled as he scrambled toward the burning wagon. Where were the guards on watch? Serv was already on his feet, shouting orders to make a chain from the nearby stream to get water. Men and women burst into action, some wiping their eyes, groggy from sleep, others snapping to life as the nature of the emergency became clear.

  The horses stomped and snorted as smoke poured from the fire. Three of the other wagons were also aflame, the heat building from the spreading fires. Daro’s mind raced as he wondered what had started the blaze. Most people used Imaran glowstones for light, but someone could have had an oil lantern or fallen asleep with their campfire burning too close to their wagon.

  With a heave, Daro pushed one of the other wagons clear, before the fire could spread further. Chaos built as people ran, tripping and running into each other in the dark, everyone trying desperately to put out the flames.

  Voices yelled orders, and people scrambled to carry water from the stream. Daro could see well despite the darkness, but the flames glared in his vision, leaving afterimages that flashed across his sight. He ran to the other side and pushed more wagons out of the way, opening the circle and keeping them from catching, as people poured more water onto the burning wagons.

  Renewed shouts burst out behind him and the horses reared up, agitated by the smoke and pandemonium. Daro’s large mount pulled against her rope, struggling to break free, and the men and women trying to calm the animals had to jump back to avoid her thrashing hooves. With a glance to ensure the fires were being seen to, Daro rushed across the grass to the horses.

  Some had already been led away from the fire and stood near the stream, but the other caravan workers had cleared away from Daro’s horse. As Daro approached, she snorted and tossed her head, her ears stiff and pinned back against her head.

  “Easy,” Daro said, keeping his voice calm and even as he took careful steps toward her. Moving slow so as not to agitate her further, he reached out his hand to take her reins. She blew air out of her nostrils and tried to pull back as he grasped the rope, but he held fast. “You’re okay.”

  Daro’s calm demeanor soothed the animal enough that he could untie her and turn her away from the fires. He took the reins of another horse and drew them both toward the stream. The smoke still billowed and people called out, hustling through the darkness, but the horses relaxed as they moved farther from the chaos. Their strength and power rippled through them, a robust stream of energy to Daro’s Sight.

  Several caravan workers had already struck new stakes to secure the horses. Daro led the mounts to the far end, and made sure their leads were tight so they couldn’t pull free if they spooked.

  A line of people still stretched from the water to the burning wagons, passing water along the chain. One of the wagons had been doused and the other two were nearly under control. Daro checked the other horses before running back to the camp to help extinguish the last of the flames.

  As dawn broke, the haze of smoke was still heavy in the early morning air. Three wagons had been burned to charred heaps, their contents completely ruined. A fourth had been damaged on one side, but the flames put out quickly, so the wares inside were untouched and the wagon still sound enough to travel. The merchants, guards, and caravan workers sorted through the camp, some poking through the wreckage, others looking for signs of what had caused the fire.

  “Tough business,” Griff said as he wiped his soot-stained face with a dingy cloth. His wagons hadn’t been among the fires, but the caravan was made up of other merchants he knew. “We’re fortunate this didn’t happen when the wagons were full, but the money those men lost is no small thing.”

  “Something feels wrong,” Daro said as he gazed over the smoldering remains. He couldn’t make sense of how the fires had started. No one had been sleeping in the wagons that had burned, so it couldn’t have been a dropped lantern. The cook fires were all in the center of the circle and had largely died down by the time the majority of the camp had gone to bed. “What happened to the men who were on watch? Did they see anything?”

  Griff tucked his thumbs into his jeweled belt. “I haven’t spoken to them yet. In fact,” he said as he looked around the camp, “I’m not rightly sure where they are.”

  As G
riff walked over to speak with another of the lead merchants, Daro took a closer look at the wagons. Using his Imaran Sight, he watched the flows of energy. Heat still emanated from the thickest pieces of burned wood and he could see it drifting into the air, like water evaporating from a boiling pot. The area surrounding the wagons was wet and muddy, the dirt churned up from the bustle of trying to put the fires out.

  “Any idea how these fires might have started?” Daro asked Stoker as he wandered up beside him.

  Stoker looked over the remains. “Hard to say. The traders seem convinced it was an accident. Odd that nobody saw anything though.”

  Daro could tell from Stoker’s tone that he wasn’t certain it had been accidental. Neither was Daro. “It could have been, and I don’t know why someone would sneak over here and set wagons on fire. It isn’t as if we were attacked in the midst of the chaos last night. If it had been bandits, they could have raided the camp while we were trying to put out the fire. But I don’t think anything’s missing.”

  “Doesn’t make much sense to me either,” Stoker said. “That was quick thinking with the horses though. I heard them making a ruckus and I thought for sure we’d lose them in the turmoil. Bad enough that we’re down wagons. Losing horses would be a shame.”

  “Yes, it would be.” Daro looked up and scanned the camp again. Griff was still consulting with one of the other merchants, and Serv was helping another to repack his remaining wagon, while the rest of the men and women cleaned up and made ready to move. “Have you seen Shale? I haven’t seen him all morning.”

  Sudden concern rose as Daro looked, stepping over a piece of blackened wood as he made his way back to the center of the camp. Stoker followed Daro and they made a circuit around the perimeter, checking the outside of the wagon circle, as well as the stream and the area where they kept the horses. He saw no sign of Shale.