The Strength to Serve (Echoes of Imara Book 3)

by Claire Frank

  “Wait,” Serv said, “we should leave it. The ship could prove useful.”

  Daro turned to him and raised an eyebrow.

  “Going overland, it takes messengers ten days of hard riding to reach Halthas from the stronghold,” Serv said. “From here, it would take someone less than a week to sail north and into the city from the river. Send Dashal with them to provide wind and you could cut off another day, maybe more. If things go bad at the chasm before reinforcements arrive, we could send someone to warn Rogan, and they could get there days ahead of a messenger traveling up the road.”

  “But if we leave this here, the Attalonians could return and use it,” Daro said.

  “Cut the ropes,” Serv said. “Leave the ship at anchor. If more come here, they won’t have an easy way up the cliff. We’ll send a few men to keep watch, and they can provide warning if the Attalonians do use this cove again. Even General Coryn won’t be able to argue with the logic of protecting a known breach. And then if we need to send word to Halthas quickly, we’ll have the means.”

  “He has a point,” Cecily said. She stood and looked out over the water for a moment. “I can tell it’s empty. Merrick shot the last man.”

  “Okay, we leave the ship,” Daro said. “But I’m going to need the rest of you to help me convince the general to send a contingent here to keep watch. She’s not too interested in my ideas.”

  They climbed back up the bluff and made their way back to their horses. After they’d loaded the bodies of the Attalonians onto the wagon and stacked it with sticks and fallen tree limbs, Stoker tossed hot stones to ignite the wood. Plumes of acrid black smoke billowed into the air.

  They made a separate pyre for Blur, near the edge of the cliff, and stood in a solemn circle while it burned.

  No one spoke. Daro hadn’t known Blur well. They’d been held captive under Nihil, but he’d been little more than another masked face. Daro wondered if Blur had had any family, and if he did, whether he remembered them; he wondered what his real name had been.

  Once the pyre had burned down, they took to their horses and made their way north as the sun crept toward the edge of the sea, the sky blazing purple and red. Halting for a moment, they watched it dip below the horizon, the last rays of day glistening on the water, before they turned east toward the stronghold.

  49. DEFENDING THE GATES

  Pathius lay awake in his tent, knowing he should rest, but unable to sleep. Since the raid on the camp, a sense of tense anticipation had taken over. He couldn’t understand why Attalon hadn’t pressed their attack. The Halthian camp had been in chaos, but the Attalonians had pulled back, just enough to stay out of range. Perhaps the assault had been as much a test as it was a distraction. None of the altered Wielders had appeared on the wall as the volley hit. They were all busy fighting off the infiltration in the camp itself. Although the assailants had failed to capture Daro, they’d been successful in getting him away from the stronghold. Whether they knew that, or if it would matter, remained to be seen.

  Giving up on sleep, Pathius rose from his cot and ran his hands through his blond hair. Daro. He was so frustrated with the man, although he couldn’t fault him for wanting to pursue their attackers. It was an alarming breach of security and Pathius was surprised the general wasn’t taking the threat more seriously. But she was right, the likelihood of another assault on the stronghold was high and she needed all her resources to defend it. Daro might be only one man, but he and the other altered Wielders had turned the tide of battle more than once. The men looked to Daro with a degree of hero worship that bolstered their confidence. Pathius had seen it, but Daro seemed completely unaware.

  The tent was too small to work off his restlessness, so Pathius walked out into the night. The sky was dark, the stars obscured by cloud cover, and dawn was still hours away. He breathed deep of the cold air as he walked between the tents, his back tight. He was surprised Cecily hadn’t appealed to Daro’s good sense. She usually seemed more rational, but it was as if the two of them fed off each other, both looking wild-eyed and panicked after the attack. Neither had been in any state to make strategic decisions, and yet they’d made off with most of Daro’s men in the dead of night, against the explicit orders of the general. Pathius shook his head as he walked, wondering when, and if, they would return.

  He wound his way through the tents, into the stronghold, and up to the top of the wall. There wasn’t much to see through the blackness as he gazed out across the chasm. The Attalonian army seemed quiet, but he knew it was anything but. Snatches of movement stood out in the gloom, and lights winked between the cracks in their mobile wall. Standing atop a stark, stone stronghold, waiting for the inevitability of battle, his life in Imara seemed idyllic in comparison. He’d only been gone a matter of weeks and he already missed the green, the abundant life, the quiet of the forest.

  And Ara. They were not bonded in the way of Imarans, although she had told him more than once before he left that she was willing. Yet her soul still called to his, singing a wordless song that spoke to something deep inside himself. Distance hadn’t diminished her pull. Most of the time he pushed his thoughts of her away, but in the dark of night as he stood atop the wall, he closed his eyes and let her memory flood through him, if only for a moment.

  Opening his eyes, he turned away from the wall. It wouldn’t help his uneasiness to stand and stare at the enemy army, wondering if they would move before dawn. They would, or they wouldn’t—but when they did, Pathius would do what was needed. It was why he had come.

  The soldier on watch walked by, giving him a nod as he passed. “My lord.”

  Pathius nodded in return. “Soldier.” Although everyone in camp referred to him as “my lord,” he wasn’t sure the honorific applied. Technically, he wasn’t lord of anything—he had no actual title—but he didn’t see the point in correcting them. The men had accepted him for who he was, and there was a measure of relief in that acceptance.

  He turned and went back down the stairs, toward the encampment, but before he’d gone halfway a horn blast pealed out through the silence. The army was on the move.

  Pathius raced back to the top and soldiers poured out, taking their places along the parapets. Raed, along with Leng and Kentan, joined him. The Imarans brought a fresh supply of the thick arrows they used in their tall longbows.

  “I’ll provide cover,” Pathius said. Raed nodded, never taking his eyes off the enemy.

  It didn’t take long for the Attalonians to move into position and soon the order to fire rang out across the wall. Fire Wielders lit arrows and they soared over the chasm with streaks of orange.

  “Loose!” Another barrage flew from the wall, but the fire seemed to be having no effect.

  The answering volley sailed through the air, a cloud of blackness against the already dark sky. Shouts rose from the wall as men ducked behind shields and the arrows stuck into wood, clattered off parapets, and pierced the flesh of the unlucky. Pathius held out his hands and felt the energy of a hundred arrows as individual slices in the air. Absorbing their power in a rush, he halted the arrows, which hovered for a brief moment before dropping into the chasm below.

  Pathius shuddered as the energy flowed through him. It was maddening to be separated from his enemy by the wide gap in the ground. He pulled the energy of another spate of arrows, allowing the Imarans on either side of him to fire without pausing. Their thick arrows struck true, finding gaps in the defenses, gaps only their eyes could see.

  “Lord Pathius.” He turned at the sound of General Coryn’s voice. “Where are Daro and the rest of his company?”

  Pathius paused to halt another volley of arrows, their energy streaking through him as he made them fall. “Gone,” he said over his shoulder.

  Her reply was drowned out by the assault, although Pathius heard her issuing orders farther down the line. Daro and Stoker’s catapults had been enormously effective in the last encounter, but there was no hope of that now. Pathius clenched his te
eth as he Absorbed another round. The pulse of energy fed his fury, and he hoped the Attalonians would press their assault closer so he could do more than provide cover.

  As if they heard his unspoken wish, a dark shape emerged from the Attalonian line, making for the bridge. It seemed to be covered in plates of black metal, and arrows pinged off it in all directions as the Halthians turned their attack toward it. Lines of men carrying ladders and covering themselves with tall shields flanked the large siege engine as it made its way across the chasm.

  “This way,” Pathius said, leading the Imarans down the wall where they could attack from above the bridge. The relentless barrage continued from the Attalonian archers and ballista. Pathius stopped the next wave of projectiles over the bridge, letting them fall like rain atop the men below. Then he turned his attention to the siege engine.

  It had stopped below him and, although he couldn’t see much through the black plates, he felt the weighty log hit the gates as it swung. The jolt reverberated through the stone. Reaching out his hands, Pathius Absorbed, and a sheen of frost spread over the top of the machine. He ducked behind the parapet as arrows whizzed by, then held out his hands again to pull more heat from the metal.

  The Imarans popped up from behind their cover, shooting down at the siege engine while Pathius froze the surface. Attalonian archers concentrated their fire above the bridge while more attackers hoisted their tall siege ladders against the wall. Raed hefted his spear and helped beat back the men climbing the ladders, while Pathius broke another barrage of arrows.

  Pathius stepped back from the wall and called to some of the soldiers farther down. “This way! Concentrate your fire on the bridge and the ladders!”

  An arrow whizzed past Pathius, the swish loud in his ear, and sunk into the thigh of a man behind him. The soldier cried out and the stronghold shook as the siege engine struck the gates.

  We can’t let them through.

  Determination and fury pulsed through Pathius as he spread his hands wide, soaking in the energy of the incoming volley. As the arrows fell, Pathius shot his hand out toward an Attalonian about to make it up over the wall. His heat rushed into Pathius and the attacker’s face froze with a look of shock, his skin turning icy blue. Raed smashed him with the butt of his spear, sending his stiff body crashing into the men behind him.

  Catapults fired over Pathius’s head, and he cursed Daro for leaving. He couldn’t protect the entire wall from the barrage of arrows, and they were taking heavy losses. The siege engine struck the gate again, the loud crack echoing off the sides of the chasm.

  Buzzing with energy, Pathius targeted the siege engine again. Ice raced along the metal plates and some of the men began to break off from the machine, dislodging the shields from the sides. Pathius kept pulling, feeling the heat build in a great rush.

  “Hit the top,” he said to Kentan, gesturing down to the siege engine. Kentan nodded and aimed a thick arrow. It sunk into a plate, the metal brittle from freezing. Pathius Absorbed more energy and Kentan fired again. Cracks spread from the arrow hole, racing outward, and Pathius pulled in more. He was going to lose control if he didn’t stop soon, but he couldn’t let that siege engine break through. Kentan fired and the plate shattered, sending shards of sharp metal flying in all directions. Men rushed out from under their cover while Leng and the other archers picked them off. Pathius drew in one last surge of heat as Kentan fired, and the roof of the machine split, large chunks of metal falling off to either side.

  Pathius felt saturated, ready to burst. For a brief second, he hesitated, reveling in the searing heat that poured through his body. Then he turned it on the bridge, letting it burst from his hands in a great flare of heat and light. It hit the log, splitting it down the center with a loud crack, and the support timbers groaned as the entire machine collapsed into a heap.

  Ducking behind the parapet, Pathius rested his head against the stone, his breath coming in gasps. He felt depleted, but the sounds of fighting nearby told him that men were getting over the wall. This wasn’t finished.

  He pulled himself to his feet and walked across the wall, grabbing the first Attalonian he came to. The man was fighting sword-to-sword with a Halthian soldier, but he stopped as Pathius ripped the heat from him, leaving his body a frozen husk. The soldier stared at Pathius, wide-eyed, as he moved on to find the next enemy. His strength returned as he drained them dry, sucking the warmth from their bodies so quickly they stiffened in seconds.

  Arrows still flew, and the Halthians answered with a barrage of their own. The top of the wall was slick with blood as Pathius fought his way to the ladder. One was still standing and a steady stream of attackers hoisted themselves over. Pathius Absorbed the heat from the next Attalonian to crest the wall, letting Raed shove his frozen body down. He rushed to the ladder and gripped the hooks at the top, sending a thick crust of ice racing down the rails. The men climbing up shouted, letting go as the rungs froze beneath their hands, and tumbled to the bridge below.

  Raed braced the butt of his spear onto the top rung of the ladder and helped Pathius swing it outward. It crashed to the bridge, splintering into pieces. Another ladder banged against the wall, but Pathius froze it before the men could reach the top, their cries of pain and shock reverberating in his ears as they fell.

  Spurred on by rage, Pathius lashed out at the remaining Attalonians, tearing the heat from their bodies, leaving them to crash to the ground. Raed fought at his back, his spear streaking through the air.

  A horn blast echoed from the other side of the chasm, signaling the Attalonian retreat. Clenching his teeth against the tempest inside him, Pathius looked around. He stood amid a mass of bodies, some Halthian, others Attalonian. Limbs were bent at odd angles, arrows stuck through flesh, bodies burnt by Fire Wielders. A weak cheer went up as the enemy pulled back, but it was one of relief rather than triumph. All up and down the wall, there seemed to be as many bodies on the ground as left standing.

  The energy inside Pathius began to dissipate and he pulled it back in, hoarding the feeling of power. He looked out over the enemy army with fury, wanting nothing more than to do more violence, to drain each and every one of them dry, even if it killed him. Reaching his hands out over the wall, he roared with rage, pushing out the energy he’d Absorbed in a streak of power. It hit short of the retreating force, scorching the ground in their wake. He pressed his hands against the wall, leaning forward as ice spread around him.

  I will kill you all.

  50. THE BOX

  A shiver ran down Callum’s back as he waited outside a door, deep inside the Quarry. It was damn cold in there. Far from any of the habitable portions of the underground tunnel system, he kept his prisoner in an otherwise unused room, where heat and light were scarce. Of course, that was part of its charm. Keeping the prisoner uncomfortable would help wear him down.

  Callum hadn’t been in to see him yet. After he’d been caught trying to break into one of the rigged houses, Callum’s men had brought him here. A few days alone, freezing in the dark, ought to have loosened his tongue. Although, truth be told, Callum was hoping for a bit of a challenge from the assassin. This man had been giving Callum more than his share of trouble, and he was rather looking forward to questioning him.

  The door opened and another man came out, carrying a bucket with a rag draped over the top of it in one hand, and a small lamp in the other. Callum nodded to him as he passed, but held his breath until he was well down the corridor. A man left in a cell for a while started to smell like something dead. Callum wasn’t too keen on spending time in a room that stank worse than the alley behind a riverfront whorehouse, so he’d sent someone in ahead of him to clean things up.

  As he stepped in, the bright glare of his glowstone lamp illuminated the cell. The ceiling was low enough that Callum almost had to duck to fit, and the floor was rough stone. A man in dirty clothing sat huddled against the back wall, his legs drawn up to his chest. Rope bound his wrists and ankles, and a gash on his
forehead looked swollen and red. Squinting against the light, he blinked hard at Callum.

  “What do you want with me?”

  Callum clicked his tongue a few times as he wrinkled his nose against the stench. It still smelled terrible. “So hasty. We’ll have time enough for questions.” He paused and smiled. “Well, not yours, of course.”

  “I won’t talk.” His accent was mild, but Callum could hear it, as if his Halthian speech was practiced.

  Crouching down to look the prisoner in the eye, Callum smirked. “Oh, I’m sure you won’t. You’re prepared for this. No doubt you’ve had extensive training in how to cope with torture.”

  The other man stared at him, his eyes hard. Callum kept smiling.

  “I wonder, what is it that will break you?” Callum asked. “Even the most hardened men have something that will finally make them crumble. The question is, how much time do I want to spend figuring it out?”

  Callum tilted his head and narrowed his eyes, watching the prisoner. He had any number of ways of making a man talk, it was true. Of course, being an Empathic Wielder didn’t hurt, given he could play with the man’s emotions like a master fiddler. He’d get to that soon enough. First, he wanted to find out which tactic to use. The man’s own responses, without any interference from Callum, would tell him what he wanted to know.

  “The tricky part in an interrogation is moving past the obvious,” Callum said. “Anyone can inflict some pain. I’ll admit, maiming has its uses, but don’t you think that’s rather overdone? Chop off a finger or a toe, pull some teeth, and I might get some answers in the midst of your screaming. Such an unpleasant business, though. And messy. What’s up there, though,” he said as he gestured to the man’s head, “is where this gets interesting.”

  The man moved his eyes away to stare at the wall, the lines of his jaw standing out as he ground his teeth together. Callum sensed more anger than fear. No doubt he was convincing himself of his ability to survive without giving into his captor’s demands. That wouldn’t last long.