The Strength to Serve (Echoes of Imara Book 3)

by Claire Frank

  “Good,” Rogan said. “You’ll report directly to General Coryn. I’ll send word ahead so she’s expecting you. And bring the other altered Wielders with you. We could use them.”

  “I’ll speak to Stoker and Shale,” Cecily said.

  Rogan nodded and stood, and Cecily and Alastair followed. “Alastair will ensure you have the resources you need for your journey south,” Rogan said as he walked from around his desk, stopping in front of Daro. “As your king, I have every right to ask this of you. But as your friend, I don’t. When this is over, I am going to find a way to repay you, even if that’s nothing more than a promise never to bother you again.”

  Cecily swallowed hard as she watched Daro and Rogan nod to each other, then shake hands. She gave a small bow to Rogan and nodded to Alastair, then followed Daro out of the room.

  They walked in silence through the halls, down a wide staircase, and out through the entry foyer. Daro’s pace felt unhurried and she sensed he was choosing his words before speaking as they wandered through the palace grounds, heading for the outer gate.

  “He tries too hard to be both a good man and a good king,” Daro said.

  “What?” she asked.

  “Rogan. He wants to be a good man while still being a good king. I’m not sure that’s possible.”

  “Of course it is,” Cecily said. What was he talking about? “A king should be a good man. It’s certainly better than having a bad man on the throne. At least Rogan tries to do the right thing.”

  “There isn’t always a right thing in war,” Daro said.

  Cecily stiffened. “You say that to me as if I wasn’t there the last time we fought a war.”

  Daro stopped and looked at her. “I know you were, and you suffered as much as anyone for it. I just don’t want to put you through that again.”

  “Do not even suggest that I shouldn’t come with you,” she said.

  A smile softened his face and he reached out to caress her cheek. “No.”

  Cecily smiled, but there was no warmth in it. Her mind swirled with all she would need to do before they left, and the fact that she now had reason to search for the Arcstone at the southern stronghold was small comfort. The threat of war hung heavy as they walked back to their inn in silence.

  35. THIS IS WHO YOU ARE

  The sound of the great waterfalls plunging from the plateau was a dull roar as the light began to fade. Pathius sat with Ara on the banks of the clear lake, watching the spray glimmer in the last rays of the sun. It had been several days since he’d seen the Raeswa and been told about the army advancing on Halthas. Although he hadn’t changed his mind about leaving, he hadn’t yet found the courage to tell Ara.

  “I think Raed may take you hunting soon,” Ara said. She sat with her legs tucked under on one side, leaning close with her shoulder brushing his.

  “Hunting for what?” Pathius asked.

  “Food,” Ara said with a laugh. “Halthians hunt, yes?”

  “Yes, obviously,” he said. “I mean what sort of things do Imarans hunt?”

  “Grazing animals, for the most part,” she said. “There are herds of moose and elk that provide well for us, and wild boar come near during certain times of the year.”

  “I see. I was never much of a hunter.”

  “Why not?” Ara asked.

  Pathius shrugged. “I grew up in a palace. Food was always provided. To be honest, I never knew where it came from. Some of the men I knew loved to hunt, but they did it for sport.”

  “For sport? I do not know this word,” Ara said.

  “They didn’t need the animals they hunted for food,” Pathius said. “They would hunt because it was a challenge. I suppose it made them feel powerful.”

  Ara was quiet for a moment. “I think I understand, although I do not know why one would hunt if one did not intend to use the animal.”

  Pathius gazed out over the water and watched a fish jump, and little bugs skittered across the surface. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

  Ara sat up and turned, her face solemn.

  “I spoke with the Raeswa recently,” he said. “They no longer consider me dangerous, which means I’m not their prisoner anymore.”

  “This does not surprise me,” she said. “You have not been watched for some time now. At least not by anyone other than me.”

  Pathius nodded. “This means I’m free to do what I will.”

  Her face paled slightly. “Free to leave, you mean.”

  “They said I am permitted to stay here,” he said.

  “Is this what you will choose to do?” she asked.

  He hesitated. “No.”

  A spasm passed across her eyes, but her face smoothed almost immediately. “Why?”

  He looked out across the lake, wondering how to make her understand. “I have to return. Halthas will soon be at war.”

  “You feel you must fight?”

  “Yes,” he said. “It’s my home. I can’t hide here while others defend it.”

  Ara sat quietly for a long moment. Pathius wished he knew what she was thinking.

  “It was your home,” she said.

  “That hasn’t changed,” he said. “I was born to be king of Halthas, Ara. That place is a part of who I am.”

  “This is not something that I can understand,” she said. “Halthas has a king, and it is not you. What good will it do for you to return? What is one man against an army?”

  “Well, to be fair, I’m not quite the same as just one man,” he said.

  “You will be their weapon, then?” she asked.

  “I will be my own weapon,” he said, “and defend my homeland.”

  Ara stood and walked a few paces to the edge of the water. “If you go, it will bring out the darkness in you. I have read the accounts of war in the Halls of Memory. They are full of sadness and regret.”

  “I’m no longer so naïve as to think war will be glorious,” he said, as he stood and moved toward her. “I don’t relish the thought of battle, but an army is threatening my kingdom. If Attalon prevails, even Imara won’t be safe.”

  “Imara will endure,” she said. “It has always endured.”

  “That’s what the Raeswa told me,” he said.

  She turned her head to speak over her shoulder, her voice soft. “You could have peace here.”

  Pathius let out a breath and closed his eyes. Peace. He felt the life of the forest, the movement of the water, the call of Ara’s spirit. Imara was peace for him. But something smoldered within. Defiance. Indignation. Vengeance. To let Halthas fall would be to fail utterly, to prove his father had been right. He simply couldn’t let that happen.

  “I can’t have peace while Halthas is threatened,” he said. “This isn’t what I wanted, but I can’t ignore what’s happening.”

  Ara shook her head. “The circumstances of your life will always define you, unless you choose otherwise. In this moment, you can choose to let go of the man you will never again be. You are not the prince of Halthas any longer. It is no more your home than it is mine.”

  “Ara—”

  “No,” she said, whirling around to face him. “I saw what you did, in your mind. You were overcome with such rage, and you answered with violence and destruction. This is what you will do, and I fear it will destroy you.”

  Pathius stared at her. Her eyes were tight, her eyebrows drawn in. “I can’t have peace,” he said, “especially if Halthas is destroyed. I would never be able to live with myself.”

  Ara straightened and tilted her chin. “Then I will come.”

  His mouth dropped open and he shook his head. “No, I can’t let you do that.”

  “This is not your choice, it is mine.”

  “I know,” he said and stepped closer, reaching out to run his hands down her arms. “So I’m asking you, please, stay here.”

  Her nostrils flared and she pressed her lips together as he held her gaze. “Why? And do not flatter yourself with some ridiculous notion of keepin
g me safe. I am Imaran. I know the way of the spear better than you do.”

  “No, that isn’t why.” He paused again and touched her face, feeling her soft skin under his fingertips. “You’re right, I do have violence within me. I won’t deny that. If I’m going to walk into a war, I need that violence. I need that rage. I can’t be what I need to be if you’re there, Ara. I don’t want you to see that part of me.”

  She reached up and pressed her palm against the back of his hand. “You do not understand what it means to be an aewan, if you think you can keep this from me.”

  “Aewan means husband,” he said.

  “It means bonded,” she said. “I would say the words now if you wanted, this very moment, and bind my soul to yours.”

  He slipped his hand around her waist and drew her close. “No,” he whispered. “I can’t do that to you. Not now.”

  She rested against him, her cheek against his, her arms twined around his neck. He closed his eyes as he felt the warmth of her body and the gentle prodding of her spirit. “I won’t stay after it’s over,” he said as he pulled back to look her in the eyes. “I’ll come back. I swear it.”

  “It is likely that you will not,” she said.

  “No, I will. I’ll do my duty to my kingdom, but I’ll come back to you, and then we can live wherever you want.” He brushed the hair back from her face. “We can stay in Imara, or go to Halthas, or travel east of the Deep Forest if you want. Wherever would make you happy, I’ll take you there.”

  Her lips turned up in a small smile. “That is a lovely dream. If we are fortunate, perhaps it may come true.”

  “It will,” he said, as much to convince himself as comfort her, and he leaned forward to kiss her.

  “When will you leave?”

  “Two days,” he said.

  “I will have something for you before you go,” she said. “Something I need you to take to Halthas.”

  He nodded and ran his fingers across her face again. “I want to show you something.”

  Turning toward the waterfalls, Pathius raised a hand and focused on the energy of the cascading water. He had practiced endlessly with the water flowing into his dwelling, but this felt like the difference between moving a pebble and a mountain. He delved inside, feeling the sheer power of the deluge, and separated the individual streams as they fell. The water moved into thin strands as he manipulated it, twirling around each other in an intricate pattern, reflecting the lights from the glowstones in the cliff side. Frost sparkled in the air around him as he worked, making the flows move and spin.

  “You told me I could do more than take,” he said. “I think you were right.”

  She shook her head slowly. “I did not foresee this. It’s beautiful.” She turned to face him, her eyes shining silver in the fading light. “Don’t forget this,” she said, nodding her head to the falls. “This is who you are.”

  36. THE SAHAARAN CHASM

  Curls of smoke from cook fires came into view before Daro could see the encampment, and as he topped a hill, the reinforced stronghold spread out before them. The journey south had passed without incident, just the usual discomforts of the road. Daro reined in his horse and paused, letting the others catch up.

  “It looks rather different than the last time we went south,” Griff said. “The stronghold was always manned, but nothing like this.”

  Tents were arranged in precise lines with fires at regular intervals, everything laid out in careful order. The stronghold itself was perched on the edge of the chasm, the natural boundary between Halthas and Sahaar, guarding the huge bridge that crossed the gap. During normal times, the gates would be open wide to allow trading caravans to pass in both directions, and the land outside the stronghold would be empty. Now it crawled with thousands of men, and the gates—the only thing holding the Attalonian army on the other side—were closed tight.

  “Honestly, I’d hoped there would be more men,” Daro said. After agreeing to ride south to assist with the defense of the stronghold, Daro had insisted that his orders include a provision for bringing a group of his own choosing. Although he’d felt guilty for asking, he’d gathered some of his old companions together, the friends who had fought at his side during the war for the crown. If he had to help Halthas face an army, he wanted the best men he knew to help him.

  To a man, they had all agreed to come. Griff’s only complaint was that Daro hadn’t asked him sooner, and he and Serv made arrangements for their business while they would be away. Merrick traveled from his cabin to join them on their march south, his dog Beau running along as they rode. Stoker and Shale had agreed to come as well, laughing when Daro had apologized for asking.

  Daro glanced back at the rest of the party. Cecily rode at the back, talking with three other Wielders the Paragon had sent with her. He knew she was still searching for something that had been stolen from the Lyceum. Although she’d been vague on the details, he’d been too preoccupied to ask questions. The Paragon had insisted she bring the Wielders with her to assist in the search, but Cecily hadn’t been pleased. Daro couldn’t blame her. The Wielders had been polite and professional, but something about them made him wary.

  Kicking his horse forward, he led the group down the hill toward the camp. The stronghold loomed, a huge structure built hundreds of years prior, as far as Daro knew. Wood scaffolding wound its way up one side, and Stone Shapers worked on the walls. Stone buildings branched out from the main stronghold, and lines of tents covered the plain, surrounded by a temporary wall. The entire camp was alive with activity, men and women moving about their usual tasks, a few stopping to glance at the group of riders as they entered.

  Daro stopped near the edge of the encampment and swung down from his horse as the others dismounted behind him. A young soldier in uniform approached, eyeing them with obvious concern.

  “What business do you have here?” the soldier asked.

  “I need to see General Coryn,” Daro said.

  The soldier drew his eyebrows together, looking as if Daro had just asked to see the Emperor of Attalon. “General Coryn is extremely busy. I’m not sure why you think you have a right to be here, but this is the king’s army, not a marketplace.”

  Daro looked around at his friends, his eyebrows raised in disbelief. He supposed none of them looked like soldiers, but the young man seemed rather taken with his own importance. Griff stifled a laugh with his hand and Cecily started making her way through the others, her face smooth, ready for diplomacy.

  With a half-smile, Daro turned back to the soldier. “I have orders from the king.”

  The soldier held out his hand, disbelief plain on his face. “I’ll take them, then.”

  Daro moved back to rummage through his saddlebags. “Listen, son, the orders aren’t for you, they’re for General Coryn. You can just point me in the right direction.” He pulled out the tightly wound scroll, sealed with a heavy blob of wax imprinted with Rogan’s sigil, and held it up so the soldier could see the seal.

  Pressing his lips together, the soldier narrowed his eyes as he regarded the scroll in Daro’s hand; Daro made no move to give it to him.

  “Follow me,” the soldier said.

  Daro glanced at Cecily and shrugged. “You all can wait here. I’ll handle it.”

  He followed the soldier through the camp. Everything was orderly and arranged with precision, and the young man took a direct route through the tents to the stronghold itself. After conferring with the guard on duty at one of the entrances, he led Daro inside. The walls and floor were bare stone, smooth but unadorned, with glowstone lamps lighting the walls.

  They turned through a doorway and entered an expansive room with a large table in the center, strewn with papers and maps. A number of men in uniform were gathered near the table and they looked up as Daro entered, their eyebrows raised.

  The solider stopped and gave a crisp salute. A woman in an impeccable uniform stepped forward. Her dark hair was tied back, the lines of her clothes smooth, her b
ack rigid. “Report,” she said, her eyes darting up to Daro.

  “General Coryn, this man claims to bear orders from the king, meant for your eyes,” the soldier said.

  “Very well,” she said, “you’re dismissed.” She turned toward Daro and held out her hand.

  The young soldier left the room; Daro glanced at the other men as he handed the general his scroll.

  Running her thumb along the wax, she inspected the seal, as if doubting its authenticity. She broke it open and unrolled the paper, her eyes moving across the text as she read.

  “Where is the rest of your … company?” she asked, as she re-rolled the scroll and tucked it under her arm.

  “Outside.”

  She exhaled as she pinched her lips together. “This is a highly irregular request from His Majesty.”

  Daro frowned at her. “Excuse me, General, but is there a problem? We were sent by the king personally.”

  “I have soldiers under my command,” she said. “Trained men who understand how to follow orders. I’ve asked for reinforcements and, instead of sending me soldiers, he sends you.”

  Daro’s mouth dropped open and his eyes widened; he clenched his fists to keep his anger in check. “I’m sure he has his reasons.”

  “Does he.” It didn’t sound like a question.

  “I don’t really need to justify myself to you, but I spent years guarding merchant caravans, and I led King Rogan’s forces in the war for the crown.”

  “Yes, your reputation precedes you,” she said. “Being the subject of tavern songs hardly means you’re qualified to serve in His Majesty’s army.”

  Daro shook his head. “The king sent me here because I have experience in warfare and he trusts my judgment. That should be enough for you.”

  She looked up at him and her eyes flicked to the sword at his hip. “It isn’t as if I have a choice. Sergeant, please show Daro and his company to suitable quarters.”

  One of the soldiers near the back of the room stepped forward and nodded as General Coryn turned back to the table.