To Whatever End (Echoes of Imara Book 1) (37 page)

“He may, but he hasn’t had contact with them for many years,” Cecily said. “Paragon, this man you captured. Where is he now? May we see him?”

Windsor sighed. “Unfortunately, he died not long after we captured him. His violent and erratic behavior heightened as time went on and eventually he burned himself out. He killed and injured a number of men and women in the process.”

“This begs the question,” Rogan said and turned to Cecily, “what can we expect if we get Daro back?”

“Your Majesty, I’m afraid I am not clear on your purpose here. What is it you intend to do?” Winsor asked.

“We intend to get my husband back.”

Windsor’s gaze shifted between Rogan and Cecily. “This is a formidable foe you face.”

“We’re well aware of that,” Rogan said. “That is why we are here. We need to bring the full force of the Lyceum to bear on this matter. The safety of our citizens, the legitimacy of our kingdom, and the power of the Lyceum are at risk.”

Windsor let out a heavy sigh. “That will be more difficult than you realize. Nihil’s list of atrocities is long. We don’t know how many people he has abducted, nor how many he may have killed. He has likely been importing slaves for many years and I fear he is not using them for labor. What we saw in the man we captured—it led us to some extremely disturbing conclusions. I only pray that we are wrong about the possible death toll. It may number in the thousands.”

“All the more reason to strike at him now and put an end to this,” Cecily said.

“Of course Nihil must be stopped.” Windsor paused and looked down at his hands with pursed lips. “Since we are speaking in strict confidence, I will be plain. Nihil’s crimes do not end there. He has been using these aberrations to strike deep into the heart of the Lyceum. The outward facade of strength we show is a lie. Nihil has managed to decimate the Lyceum of Power. We have lost many good Magisters and powerful Wielders. Our strength is not what it once was. The Lyceum Guard is still intact, but contrary to what we say to outsiders, they are not our strongest. As Lady Cecily is already aware, our strongest Wielders work within the Lyceum of Power. Thanks to Brunell, Nihil has managed to destroy that strength. I fear we may not have the power to face him. Besides a few decrepit old Magisters like myself, Cecily is the most highly trained Wielder we have left.”

Cecily’s mouth hung open, and her mind reeled. Hundreds dead, maybe thousands. She thought about those deserted floors, deep underneath the library. How many people had he killed, how many lives ruined? She thought of Pathius, a man who had once been a prince. What was he now? An aberration, a monster? Was there hope for any of them?

Rogan rubbed his temples, his eyes squeezed shut. “We still need your help, Paragon. I can commit a sizeable force of men, but we will need a way to neutralize these Wielders.”

Windsor looked up to meet their eyes. “We have ways of limiting a Wielder’s power when necessary to contain them, but I can tell you from experience, the means are far less effective on these altered Wielders. But I will do what I can.”

Rogan nodded and stood from his chair. Cecily followed and the Paragon stood as well. Rogan bowed, bending at the waist in a deep display of respect. The Paragon did the same. Rogan held out his hand and clasped the Paragon’s. “Part of the blame for these atrocities is mine. I will do everything in my power to stop this man. We can work together to rebuild the Lyceum’s power.”

Windsor nodded, his sharp eyes shining. He turned to Cecily, offering his hand. She gripped it and he held it gently, placing his other hand on top. “Lady Cecily, my apologies for the hurt you have no doubt lived through.”

They bowed to each other again and Cecily dipped into a proper curtsy before she turned and headed for the door.

Once outside, Rogan touched Cecily’s elbow and led her away from the guards. “Troubling news,” he said, his voice low.

Cecily fell into step beside him. The guards followed, at a respectful distance. “Troubling, yes,” she said, “but with the Paragon’s cooperation, our plan will work.”

“I hope you’re right,” Rogan said.

Cecily’s voice was just above a whisper. “Hope is all I have left.”

37. SENDING MESSAGES

Pathius stood outside the door to Nihil’s study amidst a flurry of activity. A messenger burst from the room and bumped into him in his haste. The young man looked up at Pathius’s mask and balked, his face contorting into a combination of terror and embarrassment. Pathius turned his gaze away as the messenger scurried on, standing straight with his arms crossed as he waited his turn.

The muffled sound of Nihil barking orders drifted through the half-closed door. Pathius leaned forward and listened. Although he couldn’t make out the words, Nihil’s voice sounded strained and angry. It piqued Pathius’s curiosity. The entire compound had been a furor of activity all day and Pathius had still not been told what was happening.

Sindre threw open the door and stopped as her eyes met Pathius’s. Her cheeks were flushed and the hair around her face hung in wisps, drifting in the air as if a breeze blew. She touched her chest, pressing the medallion to her skin, and narrowed her eyes at Pathius as her nostrils flared. Pathius braced himself for a shock of pain but she stalked off, brushing past him, and disappeared down the hall. Pathius let his shoulders relax and breathed out a sigh of relief.

“Number One,” Nihil’s voice bellowed from inside the study.

Pathius entered, pushed the door aside and stood at attention, his gaze fixed on the wall.

“Our location has been compromised and we are preparing to evacuate,” Nihil said, his voice abrupt.

Pathius kept himself still despite the surprise that reverberated through him. This was unexpected.

“My sources in Halthas tell me that the king is preparing to attack the compound,” Nihil continued. “He appears to be amassing a large force. It is possible we could face him, with our position fortified here, but it is a risk I am not willing to take.” Nihil turned and walked over to a window, pacing almost aimlessly. “Rogan is forcing me to accelerate my timeline, but I will have to deal with him later. Right now our priority is to ensure my subjects, and the Arcstone, are evacuated safely. I cannot allow either to fall into enemy hands.”

Pathius flicked his gaze to Nihil. The muscles in his jaw stood out and deep creases ran through his forehead. His hands were agitated, his robe swinging as he paced.

“You and a few others will remain here. I won’t abandon our home to our enemies so easily. I am sending the rest on, into our underground stronghold under the city. Number Three will lead, and I will send Fourteen with them.”

Pathius nodded once, a quick lift and dip of his chin. Possibilities flew through his mind, the voices in his head rising from the depths. He struggled to keep his face composed, and a flicker of fear trickled down his spine as his thoughts turned traitorous.

“I am planning a little surprise for Rogan for when he arrives. He reneged on our agreement and I am going to make him pay for it. My plan requires your particular talents. Once Rogan’s force has been deterred and the compound destroyed, we will make our way through the tunnel into the city.” Nihil turned back to his desk and touched a map, unrolled and held down by a polished rock in each corner. “After we secure our new location, the Lyceum will be within easy reach. We’ve already weakened them. A targeted strike and the Lyceum is sure to fall.” He looked back at Pathius, his eyes intense. “With you and the others at my side, the Lyceum will have no choice but to submit to me. I will be Paragon and my work will no longer be in the shadows. With the power of the Lyceum behind me, there is no limit to what I will accomplish. We will make true progress.”

Pathius pictured Nihil standing tall in the dark blue robes of the Paragon, surrounded by men with multicolored eyes. Would Pathius be standing at his side? Would he still wear the black mask, or was it a Lyceum Guard uniform he wore? Was this what he had become? He forced himself to speak. “What is my task?”

“You will deliver orders to Number Three. He is charged with leading the evacuation. We will meet them in our stronghold under the city once this location is secure,” Nihil said. “Once we are out, you will wait here with Number Four and Number Five for Rogan’s force. Put up a token defense, let them think we are ready to fight. Once you have drawn them in, you will destroy the compound. The cellars and tunnels below have already been cleared. You will freeze the pillars below to weaken them. Number Four will take care of the rest.”

Pathius gave one last nod. He didn’t trust himself to speak as Nihil dismissed him. He walked out the door as another servant scurried in and he could hear the sound of Nihil’s voice rising again, as he walked down the hallway and turned the corner.

The voices in his mind stirred. What had Nihil created? A glorified servant? A crackling sound caught his attention and he glanced over his shoulder. A trail of glistening ice coated the floor as he walked, spreading out in sharp crystals from his feet. He no longer cared.

He wandered the hallways, his thoughts a blur. Many times in recent days he had thought of simply killing both Sindre and Nihil. Fear stayed his hand. He didn’t know what would happen to him if Sindre died. His hand reached back to brush the cold stone on the back of his neck. He ran his fingers along the edges, to feel where the smooth stone met his skin. It almost felt seamless. Anger surged in his gut, a deep, raw sensation. He clenched his teeth and his lip quivered as he fingered the implant.

With a shuddering breath, he wiped the sheen of sweat from his brow. He glanced behind to ensure he was alone before he tugged his mask back into place. He walked down the hallway as an idea solidified in his mind.

Forcing his steps down the familiar hallway, he turned left toward Nihil’s laboratory. He peered into the room, the Arcstone heavy on the square table. His heart raced and his mind swirled with visions of a tunnel of light streaking past. He shook his head and blinked as he pushed himself into the room. Finding Nihil’s desk, he quickly pulled out a piece of paper, and dipped one of Nihil’s quills into a bottle of ink. With a pounding heart, he wrote, the tip of the quill scratching across the surface of the paper. He flicked his eyes up repeatedly, sure he would look up to find Nihil or Sindre striding in. After drying the ink with a blotter, he replaced the stopper and laid the quill back in its place before scurrying out of the room.

He found Number Three in his room. The door was ajar and the other man sat on his bed, straight backed and still. His hands buzzed with static, tiny jolts of electricity jumping between his fingers. Pathius entered and Number Three’s eyes rose, his body motionless.

Pathius reached back and closed the door with a soft click. “Nihil has orders,” he said. “We are abandoning the compound and retreating through the tunnel. He orders you to lead the others. A few of us will remain behind and meet you when this location is secure.”

Number Three nodded.

Pathius paused and rubbed his chin through his mask. His plan was beginning to solidify. It was probably madness. But they were all more than half mad as it was. “I have another task for you.”

Number Three’s eyes lifted again. “Yes?”

Pathius crouched down and rested his elbows on his knees. “I need you to take a message to someone.” He reached into a pocket in his shirt and took out the paper, folded into a tight square. “This is not from Nihil.” Wondering what was going on in the Number Three’s mind, he watched his eyes.

“Is Nihil aware of this?” Number Three asked.

Pathius’s heart quickened. Perhaps Number Three had been the wrong choice. Three was strong, but if Pathius acted quickly he could probably kill him first. “No.”

Number Three’s multicolored eyes drifted from Pathius to the note in his hand. “Where does it need to go?”

Pathius let out his breath. If Rogan was coming, it was likely Cecily would be with him. “The recipient is probably at the palace. You won’t be able to get past the guards without attracting attention, and you must avoid that at all costs. Outside the palace, you’ll be able to find a messenger or clerk to deliver this. Tell them to take it directly to a woman named Cecily, of the family Graymere. She’ll be close to the king.”

Number Three reached out and took the note. He turned it over and ran his fingers along the edges. “What does it say?”

Pathius looked into Number Three’s eyes. He was in too deep to back out now. “Read it. Cecily is Number Fourteen’s wife, from before.” Number Three’s eyes twitched. “I’m telling her where she can find him. I think she is part of the force that is coming for the compound. She is trying to get her husband back. I want to help her succeed.”

“Why should I help you?”

Pathius leaned closer to Number Three and lowered his voice to a whisper. “Nihil is losing his grip. This may be our way out. If he loses Fourteen, all hell will break loose. If we work together, this could be our chance at freedom.”

The word was so soft, Pathius could scarcely utter it. Number Three’s eyes widened and he leaned away. Pathius held still, ignoring the voices swirling in his head. This was worse than rebellion. It was treason. Nihil would have Sindre torture him until his body gave out. His neck tightened and a knot of fear clenched in his belly. This was insanity.