To Whatever End (Echoes of Imara Book 1) Page 2

  Daro wrapped his arm around her shoulders and held her close. They would both have loved a child, but after seven years of marriage, Cecily was beginning to give up on the notion.

  As Daro leaned down, he spoke low into her ear. “That has nothing to do with them.” He kissed the top of her head. “Someday, love. Someday.” He squeezed her shoulders and pulled his arm back around to take the reins in both hands.

  “I know.” She adjusted in her seat and smoothed out her clothes. She wore a long-sleeved tunic, dyed dark blue, under a wide, brown leather belt. Her pants were simple black leggings, tucked into knee-high brown leather boots. After leaving her family, she’d adopted a casual style of dress, more common among craftsmen and merchants than nobility. It remained a sore point with her mother, but Cecily much preferred the practicality of her clothing over the stuffy formality of Halthian high fashion.

  She decided to change the subject. “I haven’t heard back from Magister Brunell,” she said. “Not since his last letter, which was months ago. I was planning to meet with him while we were in the city to talk with him about Edson’s petition for admission into the Lyceum. But he hasn’t written back.”

  “That is odd,” Daro said.

  “Can you just go see him?” Edson asked.

  “I’m not exactly their favorite former student,” she said with a laugh. “Magister Brunell is on a very short list of people from the Lyceum who will still talk to me. But he has clout. I’m certain he could put in a good word for you.”

  Daro flicked the reins. “Did he say anything about leaving Halthas? Maybe he’s away.”

  “No, but his letter was strange,” she said and paused for a moment. “He went on and on about how the Lyceum had changed and there were things he must do, all in the name of progress. I wasn’t sure what he was talking about. But that’s how some of the magisters are. They have a tendency toward melodrama, especially when it comes to their research.”

  “It is a strange world you lived in,” Daro said. “I won’t pretend to understand it.”

  Cecily smiled and leaned her head on Daro’s arm, letting the motion of the cart relax her. She hoped her old magister was well but decided not to let it worry her. The Lyceum wouldn’t open its rolls for new students until next spring, and it was only late summer. She had plenty of time to help secure Edson’s entrance. She sighed, enjoying the warmth of her husband’s arm as the wagon rumbled down the road.

  2. EAST HAVEN

  The two-day journey passed quickly. They made their way south toward the river, stopping for the night at the home of friends, where they were happy for the welcome of a warm meal and a safe place to sleep for the night. Daro left them with a few gifts, as he always did, delighting the children with small wooden bears, complete with pointy claws and fangs, before they continued on.

  The sun was close to the horizon when they came in sight of East Haven. The low wooden buildings sprawled out away from the river’s edge in a tangle of curving streets. The town wasn’t very big, but if you didn’t know your way around, it would be easy to get lost in the streets and alleys, backyard gardens and storefronts. East Haven had a tilted quality, almost as if the ground under the buildings had shifted in places, leaving them uneven. But studying them with a steady eye seemed to show the lines precise and straight. The effect was endearing, rather than jarring, and made East Haven seem shabby in the way an old grandmother is—worn with years but warm with welcome.

  Daro led the wagon toward the river in as straight a line as possible through the jumble of buildings. The streets were well kept and relatively clean, most of the buildings in good repair. East Haven seemed to be thriving in peacetime, although the war hadn’t touched the outskirts of the kingdom the way it had the city of Halthas. Trade had picked up again, and trade was East Haven’s reason for existing. Poised on the banks of the mighty Bresne River, it was the easternmost of many towns along the way, a port for the great riverboats and a popular destination with merchants and traders.

  Their favorite inn, the Floating Abode, affectionately known as the Float, stood on one of the large piers jutting out into the wide waters of the river. Cecily’s heart warmed at the sight. They had been staying there for the last several years on their trips to Halthas, and it had become a welcome stop on the journey.

  They pulled their wagon up to the pier entrance as two boys came running from the stables; the inn itself was situated further out over the water. Daro flipped them each a coin and gave them instructions as to the horses, while Cecily asked Edson to go fetch the innkeeper. As Edson hurried in on his errand, Cecily gave her cargo a perfunctory glance and took a deep breath of the fresh night air. She had considered settling in East Haven when they’d left Halthas, but it was still too populated for Daro’s taste. He preferred the solitude of their mountain home, and she enjoyed it as well, though she did have a fondness for the river.

  The innkeeper appeared, his sure stride forcing Edson to hurry to keep up. He was tall, sporting a full head of salt-and-pepper hair. His crisp white tunic and dark blue vest were clean and well-tailored, but not ostentatious, although Cecily knew his inn did good business.

  His eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled. “Cecily!” he exclaimed. “The sun goes down, but the world is a little brighter this night.”

  She held her hands out to him and he took them in his own. His hands were warm and strong, calloused over from years of work. “It is lovely to see you, Mr. Fielding. I trust all is well.”

  “Yes, yes, my dear. Busy as ever.” He dropped her hands and gestured at the pier behind his back. “We’re nearly full this evening, but we have room for you, of course. We always have room for our favorite guests.”

  Daro strolled over and shook hands with the innkeeper, exchanging pleasant greetings. Cecily left her husband to arrange the details of their goods with him. Their wagon would be stored for the night and loaded on the riverboat in the morning. With a wave, she beckoned to Edson to follow her to the inn.

  The wooden planks of the pier creaked under their feet as they walked out over the water. The inn was several stories high, a patchwork of floors and small balconies that looked as if it had been built up over the years in a haphazard fashion. Soft lights glowed in many of the windows and although it shared the tilted character of all the East Haven buildings, it was in good repair. Cecily and Edson pushed through the large wooden door and were greeted by the smells of cooking meat, wood fire and ale. She found a fairly private table at the edge of the room and gestured for Edson to take a seat across from her.

  He slid onto the bench and looked around the room. “I’ve never been in the Float before. Never had the coin.”

  Cecily smiled. “It’s one of my favorites. The food is good and the rooms comfortable.”

  Edson looked around again. “To a kid like me, this place is downright luxurious. But isn’t it a little, I don’t know, ordinary for you?”

  She furrowed her brow and pursed her lips. “What makes you say that? Do I put on such airs?”

  Edson shrugged. “No, not like that. But the way you’ve been explaining all about Halthian court manners, I get the feeling you’re used to a certain level of comfort.”

  Cecily cocked her head to the side. “Comfort and costly elegance are different things. I lived long enough amongst the nobles in Halthas. I chose this life.”

  His face reddened a little. “Of course, that’s not what I meant, Miss Cecily.” She was briefly pleased that he shifted to a more formal address when he thought he was in trouble. “I’ve never been to Halthas, and people out here, well, you know, they tell all sorts of stories about the important folk – kings and lords and ladies. Meeting you, I’ve just never been able to figure out how it makes sense, you being a noble, but being, well, you.”

  “I’m just me, Edson.” She shrugged a little. “I grew up in Halthas, I went to the Lyceum, and I fought in the war. I guess I’m not much like most of the nobles. I probably never was. But this is who I reall
y am.”

  Daro appeared and sat down next to Cecily. He nodded to the serving girl and she brought three mugs of ale. “Our things are in order. The riverboat will be off in the morning.” He took a swig and set his large mug down, sloshing a little out onto the table. Cecily wiped the drops away with her hand.

  Edson looked around again, drawing Cecily’s attention to the rest of the room, which had gone quiet since Daro’s entrance. Heads turned in their direction and quite a few people openly stared. Sighing, Daro took another swig of ale and looked firmly down at the table.

  Cecily wanted to stare right back, but she tried to ignore the eyes. Edson looked around in confusion, then leaned closer to his companions. “What’s everyone staring at?”

  “Us, I suppose. Daro is a bit”—Cecily paused—”distinctive.”

  “I never asked for this,” Daro said. Cecily sighed. She hated when his mood turned. It would take her a while to coax him back to sociability.

  “It is you!” A man’s voice carried across the room. There was no mistaking whom he was addressing. Cecily gripped her mug a little harder as the man made his way across the busy room. Dressed in bright colors, he wore a long red cloak that marked him as a traveling minstrel. He was the last person Cecily wanted to see at that moment.

  He approached their table with his head held high. “The heavens truly smile on me this night,” he said, loud enough for the room to hear, and bowed with a dramatic flourish. “I travel far from my home, the great city of Halthas, and yet I have the privilege of encountering heroes of the realm.”

  “No such heroes here,” Daro growled without looking up.

  Cecily’s eyes darted from her husband to the minstrel. She hoped he would take the hint and leave them alone. The minstrel smiled broadly and her heart sank a little. Apparently, he lacked the sense to walk away, or was too enticed by the boost to his reputation his little display might bring.

  “Ah, Master Daro, don’t be so modest! The realm owes you and your lovely wife a debt of thanks! Please, allow me to perform a song in your honor. It is the very least I can do.” He bowed again and turned to address the crowd in the room, tossing his cloak over his shoulder. “What say you? Shall we have a ballad of our heroes?” Many of the patrons began to clap and the minstrel flashed a wide smile.

  “Why should we?” came a voice from across the room. A middle-aged man with a balding head and a full beard slammed his mug on the table. “Caused enough trouble, that lot.” Most of the room went quiet, save for a few grumbles of agreement from the others at his table.

  The minstrel’s hands flew to his face in a dramatic gesture of surprise. “Good sir! These people are heroes! Surely a mere song is far less than they deserve.”

  The man stood. “Nothing but trouble. I figure if it wasn’t for them and their friends, we never woulda had a war in the first place. New king,” he said, nearly spitting out the words. “New king and a pig’s eye, not gonna get you nothin’. Shoulda left things alone.”

  Cecily groaned inside. Some called them heroes; not everyone agreed. She knew there was little point in trying to convince malcontents that the former King Hadran had been a vicious murderer. The details seemed to matter little. She looked up at Daro. He traced the lip of his mug with a finger.

  The minstrel was going on again about their virtue and heroism. “Why, Master Daro himself, he saved many who would have perished in the fires of the Madrona Massacre! How could one fault such heroic efforts?”

  “Here’s what I’m thinkin’,” the man said as he walked closer to their table, exaggerating each stride and striking his boots hard on the floor. “I’m thinkin’ this lot put one king on a throne, why don’t they go kill him now and put me up there? What say you to that? I’d do a damn fine job of it too, if I say so.” His friends at his table laughed. The man kept walking and stopped in front of the minstrel.

  Cecily wanted to stop this before it went too far. “You shouldn’t speak about that which you know nothing,” she said, only loud enough for the man to hear. “We’re not here for attention. We’d just like to sit and eat in peace, so if you’ll kindly take your seat.”

  The minstrel was attempting to regain control of the situation. He flipped his cloak and raised his hand, but the man cut him off before he could begin. “I’ll not take orders from the likes of you. What’re you still doing with this Imaran beast anyway? The way I hear it, you come from noble blood. Maybe you’re headin’ to the city to have a bit of a thing with the king on the side, eh? That’s why Rogan’s king, folks! This little lady had a romp in a stable and rewarded him with a crown!”

  Cecily’s eyes narrowed and her mind darted quickly through a list of unpleasant things she could do to him. The sound of a chair scraping on the floor stopped her and she saw Daro slowly get up from his seat. He stood a head taller than both the minstrel and the heckler. He straightened his back and glared at the man with an icy stare. “You will not speak to my wife like that,” he said, his tone low and even.

  The man paled slightly but stood his ground. “I’ll take my seat when you folk move on. You’re not welcome in this town.”

  Daro stared at him, unblinking. The man looked back at his friends and two others stood and walked over to join him; both men fingered knives at their belts. One side of Daro’s mouth lifted in the slightest smile. Cecily recognized the look of his body relaxing, his arms loose at his sides. He wasn’t one to charge into a brawl, but he was ready to coil up and spring at the men.

  The room had gone still. The other patrons leaned away, and a few even scurried to the outskirts of the room. The innkeeper stood near the door, wringing his hands. Edson stayed in his seat and darted nervous glances between Cecily and Daro.

  Cecily desperately wanted to avoid a fight. Reasoning with these men was not going to get them anywhere, though, so she decided to take a different approach. She stood, her movement slow and deliberate. The minstrel moved aside and watched with his mouth slightly open.

  Cecily lifted her chin and took a step toward the men. She brushed Daro’s arm with her hand, hoping to keep him back. She knew the second Daro made a move, the men would attack. “You would do well to keep your ignorance to yourself and refrain from speaking ill of others,” she said, her voice carrying across the room. “I suggest you do as my husband asked and take your seat.”

  The man in the center rested his hand on the hilt of his knife. Cecily Reached with her Wielding Energy and applied Pressure, a tight grip on the man’s wrist. His eyes went wide, and he snatched his hand away, shaking it. She gripped tighter, keeping her eyes firmly locked on his. The two men next to him furrowed their eyebrows in confusion. One drew his knife and Cecily grabbed his wrist with Pressure, tightening it so his blade dropped to the floor.

  “We don’t want a fight,” she said, keeping her Pressure grip solid. “And you don’t want to fight us.” She kicked the knife across the floor and it skidded to a halt near the wall. She squeezed them both with Pressure again and held them until they both winced.

  Daro put his hand on the small of her back. Cecily held their gaze for a moment longer before she dropped her Pressure grip and turned to take her seat. Daro followed, deliberately turning away to dismiss them. The men shuffled away, their faces flushed, and left through the front door rather than returning to their table.

  The tension gradually melted from the room. The chatter of conversation rose in a low crescendo and the bustle of activity resumed. The minstrel backed away a few feet from their table and scanned the room with a neutral expression. Cecily caught his eye and gave him a hard stare. Don’t even think about it. He cringed and went back to his seat.

  Cecily glanced around. Most of the patrons had gone back to their food and drink, but a few still turned their way. No one else had joined in the threats, but no one stood up for them either. The people here seemed to be indifferent, at best.

  “Bloody minstrels, can’t ever keep their mouths shut,” Daro grumbled. He rose from his seat and
walked to the stairs without another word. Cecily sighed.

  Edson shifted in his seat and scratched his head, his eyes still darting around the room. “Does this happen a lot?” he asked.

  Cecily shrugged. “No, not a lot. But this isn’t the first time. It’s hard to know what the mood of a place will be. More often than not, the crowd cheers and calls for the song, and then sings along.” She chuckled to herself. “Once they tried to hoist us up in our chairs and carry us around the room. Daro hated that just as much.”

  “Not sure how they’d lift him anyway,” Edson said with a grin. “But, and sorry if it isn’t my place to ask, why does he get so upset?”

  “The war wasn’t what most people thought. It wasn’t all glory and honor and heroics. We didn’t make Rogan the king. He was king by right, after Hadran died.” She deliberately said “died,” rather than “was killed.” It somehow made the whole thing seem more honorable. “Daro didn’t want to be involved, but we did what we felt was right. Now he just wants to be left alone.”

  The innkeeper came to their table, bringing their dinner himself. “My dear, please accept my apologies for the, uh, incident. I cannot thank you enough for ending it peacefully. My inn is not a brawling tavern. I’ll see to it those men aren’t welcomed in my establishment again. They had no right!”

  “Please, Mr. Fielding, it’s all right, truly,” Cecily said, her voice gentle. “Sometimes these things happen.”

  “Be that as it may, there will be no charge, of course. And Master Daro, will he be joining you, or would you like his dinner sent up to your room?”

  “I believe he would prefer to dine in his room this evening. If you would be so kind as to send mine as well, it would be most appreciated.” Cecily smiled.

  He nodded and waved frantically for a serving girl. “Yes, yes, that will be fine. Come Betsy, this will be going to the large room upstairs. Hurry, on with you now.”

  Cecily rose and left the innkeeper to arrange for their dinner. “Edson, we’ll expect you up early to help with the cargo, but you’re welcome to enjoy the Float tonight if you wish.” He smiled and nodded. She guessed he was relieved he wasn’t being banished to his room for the night. The minstrel had taken to the small stage and begun to play a soft melody on his lute as Edson dug into his dinner.