by Claire Frank
A hush settled over the camp as they took him to an open area near the entrance to the bridge. In the midst of the crowd was a hastily erected wooden frame with ropes hanging from each corner. Daro held out his arms as a soldier unlocked his shackles, and General Coryn approached. She nodded and they pulled off his shirt, then tied his wrists to the ropes and yanked them tight, hauling his arms up over his head. Another soldier crouched and tied Daro’s ankles to the bottom of the frame.
Fury roiled through him, but he clenched his jaw tight and stared at the ground. He didn’t want to see them watching him, and desperately hoped someone had kept Cecily away.
General Coryn placed herself in front of him and addressed the camp. “Commander Daro willfully disobeyed direct orders to remain at the stronghold,” she said, her voice carrying across the crowd. “He took his company on an unauthorized pursuit, abandoning his post. In his absence, we were subjected to a brutal attack and we took heavy losses. It is my duty as your general to uphold the law, and in cases of such a blatant dereliction of duty, I would be well within my right to have him executed.”
A hiss rose from the assembled soldiers and Daro felt a jolt of alarm from his wife. She was there.
“I will not, however, exact the harshest consequence available to me,” Coryn said. “I will show mercy. But the law requires he submit to punishment for his disregard for authority. We are at war. In a time of war, order and discipline become all the more critical. We must hold this wall, and any who prevent us from doing so will be dealt with. Is that clear? Fifty lashes.”
She stepped to the side and Daro felt someone approach from behind. It took all his self-control to hold steady and resist the urge to rip his arms from their bonds. Having someone stand behind him, knowing they were about to cause him pain, triggered his panic response. Flashes of his captivity raced through his mind, the searing jolts of agony Sindre had inflicted on him to break his will.
Stay in control. Live through it.
Turning his head, Daro risked a quick look at the man behind him. He held a long, thin rod of flexible wood, standard issue for inflicting military punishments. Daro gripped the ropes that held his arms and focused on a point on the ground, his body tense.
The rod landed on his back with a loud crack, leaving a hot streak of pain across his flesh. He knew he could prevent it from causing pain if he drew in enough energy, hardening his body against the blows. Yet, somehow, he couldn’t make himself do it. Lyria’s words ran through his mind. You must accept the pain they offer you, rather than harden yourself to it. Halthas will soon face something far worse than arrows, and they will need you. The rod hit him again and he ground his teeth, sucking in a breath through his nose at the sting.
Crack. He flinched, but refused to cry out, keeping his eyes locked on the ground. He imagined a dozen different ways he could kill the general. If he threw her across the chasm, would she clear it and land on the other side? Crack. Although it would be satisfying to see her plummet to the bottom.
A wave of rage washed over him, pouring from his bond to Cecily as the rod landed again. He had to push it away, separating himself from the connection. Seeing him hurt was infuriating her, and he couldn’t stay in control if he got swept up in her anger.
Crack. Three thousand men. The general had said three thousand died in the last assault. Could he have prevented that? He was only one man. Crack. He never should have come here in the first place. He’d done his duty. Why did they keep expecting him to do more? All it meant was more blood on his hands.
Pain blossomed across his back as the soldier continued to strike. He had claimed more lives than he cared to remember. Crack. Some had been bandits or thieves, and some had threatened his own life. Crack. Others were his countrymen, fighting on the other side of a conflict he’d never asked for, and at the end of it, he’d been called a hero. Crack. So much for being a hero now.
Lyria was right. He’d never asked for any of this. Crack. He didn’t want to be powerful. He didn’t want to be recognized. All he had ever wanted was to live in peace with his wife. Crack.
But he was powerful. People had lost their lives to turn him into what he was, and what had he done? Pulled back at every opportunity, resentful of the circumstances that called on him to step forward. He sucked in a deep breath in between lashes and closed his eyes. The sharp pain gave him focus, marking his flesh with his deficiencies. The general might have been wrong to let the Attalonians go, but men had died because he hadn’t been here to protect them. He would wear their memories on his body, a reminder of who he had become and what he still could be.
The lashes continued until he could barely stand. Sweat streamed down his face and dripped from his chin. His jaw ached from clenching it tight and his back was a mass of fire. He breathed heavily, leaning against the restraints as two men stepped forward to untie him. Staggering out of the frame, he leaned his hands on his knees to keep himself upright, no longer caring what the crowd saw. Hands grasped each arm to help him stand, then led him back to the stronghold.
With his back a searing knot of agony, he stepped back into his cell and heard the door shut behind him.
53. OVERSTATING THE DANGER
The gentle pressure of Serv’s hands on her shoulders kept Cecily in the tent. He stood in front of her, blocking her way, while Griff and Merrick stood nearby, guarding the entrance. Cecily’s body was tense, her mind wild with anger. She wanted to tear them all to pieces, especially the general and the soldier who had administered that humiliating punishment. But Serv had grabbed her by the waist and hauled her into Daro’s command tent before she could do anything.
Taking deep breaths to calm herself, she stepped back, holding up her hands to show he didn’t need to restrain her.
“Daro’s okay,” Serv said, still keeping his hands up. “If you try to intervene now, you’ll only make things worse.”
“That woman is unbelievable,” Cecily said. She’d held her tongue during the entire debacle, biting her lip to the point of bleeding to keep from crying out as they beat Daro with a cane. “I can’t let them keep him locked up. They should have let him go.”
“I know,” Serv said, his voice calm, “but we don’t have a choice right now.”
“I could walk right into that cell,” she said. “They couldn’t keep me out.”
Serv raised his eyebrows. “Do you think that door could hold Daro, if he decided to leave?”
Cecily let out a breath. “No.”
“He stayed there, and he took that punishment, because he chose to,” Serv said. “Don’t take that from him.”
“Bloody men,” Cecily said under her breath. The entire situation was unconscionable, as far as she was concerned. “How much longer are they going to hold him?”
“I don’t know,” Serv said. He turned to Griff. “Should we go find Pathius?”
“Pathius?” Cecily asked. “Why?”
“The general put him in charge in Daro’s place,” Griff said.
Cecily threw up her hands in exasperation. “Of course she did.”
Griff glanced at Serv and shrugged, then stepped out of the tent. Cecily crossed her arms and chewed on her bottom lip as she waited. She didn’t particularly want to see Pathius. Although he hadn’t done anything to rouse suspicion since he arrived, she still didn’t trust him.
After a short wait, Griff ducked back into the tent, followed by Pathius. He hovered near the opening, as if trying to keep as much distance between them as possible.
“How much longer are they keeping him?” Cecily asked.
“Honestly, I don’t know,” Pathius said. “I saw the general this morning, but she wouldn’t tell me.”
Cecily bit her lip again to stifle the spark of anger that raced through her. She had to constantly remind herself that he wasn’t gone; he was here, in the stronghold. “I cannot sit by while that woman keeps my husband locked up like a criminal.”
“Actually, that’s exactly what you’re going to do,
” Pathius said. “If you try to break him out, they’ll arrest you too.”
Her eyes shot up to meet his. “This is unbelievable. Those Attalonian bastards walked right into this camp. They were dragging Daro away in a net, and he gets punished when he stops it from happening again?”
Pathius’s eyes tightened. “Daro abandoned his post, and we lost thousands in the attack in his absence.”
“If he’s so important, why won’t she let him out?” Cecily said. “He took her discipline. If she wanted to humiliate him in front of the entire camp, she did so, quite effectively. She made her point. What’s the purpose of locking him up again?”
Pathius opened his mouth to answer, then paused. “I don’t know. Daro shouldn’t have left, but we’ll need him when they attack again. I’ll talk to her.”
Cecily bit back a snide remark and took a deep breath. None of this was Pathius’s fault. “Okay. But if she doesn’t let him out, I’m going to get Rogan to intervene.”
“If we come under attack again,” Pathius said, “I’ll let him out myself.”
***
Cecily shuffled into her room and closed the door behind her. It was only midday, but the events of the last week had left her exhausted. She’d tried to speak to Daro, but the men guarding him wouldn’t let her anywhere near his cell. Despite her boiling anger, she hadn’t pressed the issue. The men were just following orders, and forcing her way through them wouldn’t do any good.
She penned a quick missive to Rogan, telling him what had occurred and asking for his intervention with the general. Her hand shook as she wrote, making it difficult to write in a straight line. Pausing, she took a deep breath to steady herself.
He’s fine. I know where he is. He’s safe.
Letting out her breath, she finished the note, despite her trembling. Her heart still beat uncomfortably fast and she ran her hands through her hair, wondering if she’d ever get over the crushing fear of Daro being abducted again.
I have to get control of myself.
She needed something else to think about. Reaching under the bed, she pulled out a wrapped bundle and sat down to open it. She had kept the black bracers that had been clamped to Daro’s arms when the Attalonians tried to take him, stowing them away so she could study them when she had more time. With careful hands, she unwrapped the cloth to reveal the broken pieces.
The black metal was thick, with no ornamentation on the outside save for an inlay of small stones along the back. She picked up a piece and turned it over to look inside. It was filled with rows of tiny barbed points that would dig into the skin if the bracer was clamped on. Running her finger carefully over the spikes, she wasn’t surprised to find them there. Daro’s arms had been torn and bloody when they’d removed the bracers. No wonder they hadn’t been able to pull them off.
A dull ache crawled up her back and her limbs felt heavy; a sense of weariness swept over her. She was tired, certainly, but this wasn’t natural. Looking down at the bracers in her lap, she wondered if they were causing it. She tried opening her Awareness, and it felt muddled and unfocused, the edges fuzzy as if looking through thick glass. The sensation was similar to what she’d felt in the sunstone room in the Lyceum, where powerful sunstones set in the walls sapped a Wielder of their power. These bracers must dampen a Wielder’s abilities, perhaps even cut them off entirely. It would explain why the attackers had been able to restrain Daro; he would have been too strong otherwise.
She shuddered as she wrapped the broken metal and placed the bundle back under the bed. She’d take the pieces back to Halthas and find someone at the Lyceum who could study them, perhaps find their weaknesses. It was disturbing to think the Attalonians had such devices; the Halthians would need ways to counter them.
Her heartbeat had slowed to a normal rhythm and although the room was stuffy and uncomfortable, she felt more composed. There wasn’t anything she could do for Daro at the moment, but she had another reason for being at the stronghold. She still needed to find the Arcstone.
She had only seen a glimpse of Nora and the other Lyceum Wielders since returning to the encampment, so although she knew they were still there, she didn’t know what they had been doing while she was gone. It still irked her that they’d held a prisoner without informing her. She only hoped he was still in a condition to answer her questions.
As she left her room and made her way through the camp, she kept her eyes open for the Wielders. She wanted another chance to talk to the prisoner alone; she didn’t want anyone following her. Although she knew the chances of finding him still in the same place were slim, she decided to check the storage area where they’d been keeping the soldier named Ethan.
Cecily slipped through the door and headed through the dark corridor. The passageways and rooms spread out around her, the outlines visible with her Awareness. Unfortunately, she didn’t sense anyone. She wandered through the hallway, stopping outside the empty store rooms, but no one was inside any of them. The room he’d been in before was unlocked, and she went inside to find it completely empty, with no sign anyone had been there at all.
She didn’t have time to comb the entire stronghold to see where they’d moved him, so she made her way back to their rooms. First, they took a prisoner and hid it from her, then she returned to find the prisoner gone. They had some explaining to do.
Cecily found the three Lyceum Wielders in Nora’s room. Owen cast a glance at Nora before letting Cecily in.
“I see you decided to return,” Nora said. She sat at a small writing desk and looked up at Cecily with a bored expression.
“I’m sure you were extremely helpful during the last attack,” Cecily said, not bothering to disguise her scorn. “Where have you all been hiding each time fighting breaks out?”
“That isn’t why we’re here,” Nora said, “and neither are you. The last I checked, you are here at the behest of the Paragon, for a specific purpose, for which you’ve done almost nothing.”
“I suppose I should stand by while the Attalonians defeat our army and take the bridge,” Cecily said. “You realize if the army abandons the stronghold, we have no hope of finding the Arcstone.”
“Which is why your insistence on following your husband around is such a colossal waste of time,” Nora said. “The Paragon seemed certain of your ability to find the artifact, but I daresay it’s lucky he chose to send us along, or nothing would have been done.”
Cecily took a deep breath to keep her temper in check. Her nerves were raw, but picking a fight with Nora wasn’t going to get her anywhere. “What happened to the prisoner?”
Nora glanced at the others. “We were hoping you would tell us. You’re the one who killed him.”
“Excuse me?” Cecily said. “I certainly did not kill him. He was quite alive when I left him.”
“He was dead when we went back after the chaos died down,” Nora said. “His throat was slit.”
“I wouldn’t have slit his throat,” Cecily said under her breath as she pinched the bridge of her nose. The three Wielders’ faces jerked toward hers, their brows furrowed. “If the Attalonians killed him, they might have taken the Arcstone as well. That could have been their reason for infiltrating.”
“We’ve considered that possibility, but we have reason to believe the artifact is still somewhere in the stronghold,” Nora said.
“Have you found it?” Cecily asked, although she knew they hadn’t. They would have long since gone back to Halthas if they’d found what they were looking for.
“No,” Nora said.
“Then what reason do you have to believe it’s still here?” Cecily asked.
“It has particular … effects,” Nora said, hesitating. “We had some experience with it at the Lyceum. Its energies were very erratic and unpredictable. It can do unexpected things to a Wielder’s power, and we’re still noticing signs of its proximity.”
Cecily touched her fingers to her lips. Particular effects. That could account for the odd sensations and varia
tions in her Wielding ability she’d noticed since arriving. “You aren’t the only ones feeling it,” she said. “I have, and I know other Wielders have as well.”
Nora glanced at Owen and Semnal. “We didn’t realize others had noticed anything.”
“You mean you thought it was only affecting you,” Cecily said. “Did the Paragon do something to you? What was he using it for?” Nora’s eyes tightened and she pursed her lips in a thin line. Cecily stepped closer. “Do you have any idea what that stone was used for before the Paragon had it?”
“We were told some,” Nora said.
“Did the Paragon use it on you?” Cecily asked.
Nora’s brow twitched and her eyes flicked to Owen and Semnal.
“He did, didn’t he?” Cecily said. “None of you have any idea how dangerous this is.”
“The Paragon had to determine its properties,” Semnal said. “It may be a powerful artifact, but I think you’re overstating the danger.”
“Its properties,” Cecily said, shaking her head. “It was used to drain the life out of countless people, ripping the energy from their souls and forcing it into others. Most of the experimental subjects died, usually after going mad. The few that survived were left with debilitating damage, and power they still struggle to contain. So no, I don’t think I’m overstating the danger.”
Nora folded her hands and placed them on the desk. “Then what do you suggest we do now?”
“Where have you looked so far?” Cecily asked.
“We’ve searched as many storerooms as we can access, but things are constantly being unloaded and moved as new supplies arrive,” Nora said. “The Paragon had hoped we would be able to … sense its location because of our interaction with it.”
“But you can’t,” Cecily said. “You feel that it’s near, but nothing more specific.”
