Destiny (Heroes by Necessity Book 3) Read online

  “Hm.” Sieghard leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers in front of his body. “It could be that you’ve reached your limit.” Athala went to argue but Sieghard shook his head. “We’re humans, Athala. We have limitations—physical, mental, emotional, and, yes, magical. It is within the realm of possibility that you’ve reached one of those limits and your instincts are trying to warn you of the potential danger. Trying to push yourself too hard can be deadly.”

  “I don’t think that’s it,” Athala said. She immediately recognized that she was sulking and shook her head. “What I mean to say is that I witnessed fear when learning my third spell at the Wizard’s Tower, but it was nothing like this.”

  Sieghard laughed. “I didn’t mean to offend, Child. I have no doubt in your ability to cram more and more spells into your head. You will be a great wizard by the time you reach my age, and I only wish we were contemporaries so I could have learned from you.” He continued to chuckle. “Instead, I meant to say that you’ve been at work here for two days on three hours of sleep, total. Young as you are, you might not know this, but your body has limits.”

  Athala started to object, but stopped herself. Her comment would have just been whiny or rude, and neither would be helpful. Instead she observed her desire to counteract what he was saying. She focused inward, paying attention to her body.

  He was right.

  There were aches in her neck and back that she had pushed down and ignored.

  When she blinked, her eyes were easier to close than they were to open again.

  Every muscle cried out in exhaustion, even though she had barely used them.

  “I think you’re right,” she said with a tiny sigh. “I wouldn’t mind a bit more sleep.”

  “Good. Even just a little rest could make all the difference. A few hours away from the books and we’ll see how you’re feeling then.”

  Athala shook her head. “As nice as that sounds, I think I need a bit more than that. Perhaps I’ll straighten up and then head off to bed early.”

  Sieghard smiled and some of the tension bled from his shoulders. “Excellent. You are a very brilliant student, yet a smarter person for more than just your academic prowess. To cast magic of this magnitude on nothing more than a nap could be dangerous. A full night’s sleep is much safer.”

  The older wizard struggled to his feet and began collecting the dishes. Athala looked at the stack of books around her and groaned inwardly. Now that she had admitted how tired she was, the simple act of getting up from her chair and organizing the books felt like a monumental task. She sighed and pulled herself from her chair.

  There was a knock at the front door. It boomed throughout the house and down into the library as if thunder itself had beat on it.

  Athala looked to Sieghard. The old man had paused halfway out of the library. “Are you expecting someone?” Athala asked.

  Sieghard shook his head. “Not at this bell.”

  The knock came again, somehow louder and more insistent.

  Athala quickly went to Sieghard’s side and took the dishes from him, placing them on an empty tabletop. The older wizard waved his hands through the air and donned his disguise of a younger self that Athala had been greeted by when she first arrived. Together they walked to the door, where a third knock vibrated the wood violently.

  Sieghard motioned Athala to stay back. She stepped around the corner, where she wouldn’t be seen by whomever was outside, but where she could still lend a hand if needed.

  The door burst open as soon as the knob turned, freezing Athala to the spot.

  A group of City Guards, in full arms and armor, forced their way into the room. One of the first through the door bodily grabbed Sieghard and held him against the wall with one arm held behind him, limiting his ability to cast a spell.

  “Athala! Run!” Sieghard screamed, putting the force of a command into the words despite the fear lingering in his eyes.

  The tone broke through her fear and Athala started off down the hallway. Within a handful of steps she realized she had nowhere to go. Sieghard’s house only had one entrance. The only place to run was the library, and if she led them into a room full of such rare and valuable books and anything happened, she would regret it for the rest of her life.

  She hesitated in the hall between the front of the house and the door to the library, trying to think of another way. Did Sieghard have a hidden entrance? Was there a place she could hide?

  But her pause was just a moment too long. A Guard caught up to her, barely winded by the sprint down the hall. He grabbed her in much the same way the other had manhandled Sieghard, pushing her face-first against the wall with one arm angled painfully behind her.

  Athala screamed.

  “Don’t try anything,” a voice said from behind her. “We’ve been ordered to take you into custody—alive and able to speak.” A face appeared in the void between the wall and her own hair, one eye menacing her with a glare. The man was older than the other Guards, but it was the cool confidence in his eyes that told her he was in charge. “But no order was given regarding your fingers. If you try to make trouble, we can and will leave them here.”

  “Where are you taking her?” Sieghard yelled from the front room. His shouts were followed by a muffled cry of pain.

  “I think it’ll be better for everyone involved if you just stay quiet and follow us.” The Guard moved away from Athala and released some of the pressure on her, allowing her to peel away from the wall. He grunted in approval and pushed her towards the front door. “Bring them both. I don’t want to leave anything to chance.”

  One of the men by the door shifted uncomfortably. “You know how he hates surprises,” the man said, eyeing Sieghard. “Why don’t we just leave him here?” The Guard’s tone left no question about the condition he intended to leave Sieghard in. Athala swallowed hard.

  “He hates disappointment more than surprise,” the Guard holding her arm snapped. “If we’re going to throw away a potential catch, I’d rather it be at his direct orders instead of mine.”

  Athala and Sieghard were led from the house. One of the Guards was nice enough to close the door behind them, but the loud boom of the door slamming against its frame had a frightening finality to it.

  “Where are you taking us?” Athala asked, struggling against her captor.

  “To the Prophet,” the Guard behind her said, angling her arm a little higher behind her to stop her struggles. “You’re under arrest in his name.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Ermolt’s interruption had happened at just the right time. His words dissolved the cheers that would have followed Ibeyar’s claims. People stood awkwardly around him, muttering. They turned and stared.

  Some even began to spread away from him and Elise, like oil from water.

  Ermolt didn’t care. He only had eyes for Ibeyar.

  He pointed at the man, snarling. “You are a charlatan. A liar. You only want power, and you want it all for yourself.” Ermolt stalked forward, sending more people scattering. “Does it not seem odd that he says he does everything, yet all he does right now is stand here, talking about it?

  “Only he can save us from the Gods? He himself revealed the God’s falsehoods? No one helped you, Ibeyar? No person stepped up and lent you a hand?

  “You did nothing in Jalova and Khule. You made a selfish grab for power that failed, and when you ran away both times, you left behind the corpses of those who helped you.” Ermolt glared up at Ibeyar’s smirking face. “And yet you expect us to believe you did anything here?” Ermolt pointed behind himself at the crowd. “How many of these people have been hurt by the ‘things in the darkness’ that have been attacking? Have you told them it’s you? Have you laughed at their suffering? Because I know you, Ibeyar. You’ve only gone after those who have spoken up against you. To cull them, or to trick them to see things your way.

  “You are the cause of the problems. You are the cause of the attacks in the night, and you
are the cause of dead in Khule and Jalova.” Ermolt stood to full height. He nearly matched Ibeyar’s height on the elevated platform, although there was still about a fen between them. “Age of Mortals, pah! The only Age you want to bring is one where everyone kneels to you. Well, I refuse!”

  Ibeyar stood quietly as Ermolt’s declaration echoed off the surrounding buildings. The common folk among the crowd—few as they were—whispered in a way that made Ermolt’s heart soar.

  But then the Prophet began to clap, a slow and languid thing filled with the sarcasm that was present in his smirk. It was mocking, but worse was the gentle chuckle that followed.

  “Ermolt,” Ibeyar said, drawing the name out to a purr. “How good to see you.” He gestured over Ermolt’s head. “Come, everyone. Please. Help me welcome the wanted criminal who somehow thinks he’s an actual threat to me.”

  People hesitated, unsure of how to react. A large group was clapping enthusiastically, and Ermolt could only assume it was Tilke and his ilk.

  “Oh, and I do believe that I see Elise with you? How lovely! Please, don’t be shy, my dear. Stand next to your pet barbarian proudly.”

  The crowd continued its uncertain applause. Elise stepped to Ermolt’s side as if dropping all pretense that she was just another follower of Ibeyar.

  Her entire being thrummed with anger.

  And Ermolt could tell that not a single bit of it was aimed at him.

  Ermolt reached up and removed his hat, throwing it to the ground before him. He shook the chalk dust from his hair and swept a hand down his face to remove the dark makeup Elise had applied.

  “They’re surrounding us,” Elise said from the corner of her mouth. Ermolt swung his head left and right to confirm what she said. The crowd around them was no longer the fans and faithful, but instead were a mix of Temple Guards, City Guards, Conscripts, and mercenaries. They were actively moving the civilian followers away, and filling the space with armored bodies.

  Ermolt realized they weren’t just outnumbered.

  They were outnumbered and surrounded.

  In a few moments, there wouldn’t be enough of the common folk within sight of the oncoming fight to dispute if Ibeyar later announced that he had, himself, taken them down single-handed.

  Ermolt gripped his quarterstaff.

  He missed his hammer.

  “What’s the plan?” Elise asked, shifting so that her daggers slid from her dress sleeves and into her awaiting hands.

  “Yes, please, enlighten us,” Ibeyar said, grinning. “How did you anticipate this playing out?” He swept his arms out. “I’m really quite curious.”

  Ermolt said nothing.

  “You can’t honestly be foolish enough to believe you could just walk away from this. So what did you expect? Did you want to fight me?” Ibeyar gestured to the growing mass of Guards and Conscripts that surrounded them. “Because they’re pretty adamant you’d have to get through them, first.”

  “That’s fine,” Ermolt said, keeping his voice even so as to hide the bluff. “Please. Come closer. You will all regret it.”

  “You don’t even have your precious wizard to protect you. How do you think you’re getting out of this?”

  “Just because you can’t see her doesn’t mean she isn’t here,” Ermolt said. He lifted his head and grinned up at Ibeyar. It felt manic on his lips. “Unless you want me to give the signal, I suggest your friends back off.” Ermolt brought one hand up. “I just hope you all like your faces burnt off your heads.”

  Ibeyar laughed and rolled his eyes. “Convincing. Sincerely.” He clapped his hands together. “Well alright then. Please. Go ahead.”

  “What?”

  “Well, after all of the problems you’ve made for me, I obviously can’t let you live.” Ibeyar gestured flippantly. “Do what you must. And then I’ll do what I must.”

  “She’ll kill them.”

  “And there are more to take their places,” Ibeyar said with a twist of his wrist. “My followers are loyal, and they know that you must be dealt with. So please. Go ahead. Murder countless innocent Guards just like you did in Khule and Jalova. People just doing their jobs.”

  Ermolt frowned and lowered his hand. “If you think you’re being brave by calling my bluff, you’re not. Sending people to die on your behalf is no more brave than kidnapping children in the night and blaming a God.”

  “Please. For someone so consistently overconfident, you’re really bad at faking it.” Ibeyar crossed his arms over his chest and glared down at Ermolt and Elise. “Let me assure you—if I didn’t already know where Athala was, I still wouldn’t believe you.”

  Ermolt and Elise shared a concerned look. “You don’t know where she is,” Ermolt said finally, sticking his chin out in defiance. “If you did, you wouldn’t have been so eager to show your face where she could set it alight.”

  “Tch, please.” Ibeyar rolled his eyes. “I sent a group to collect her from that old wizard’s house, already. If she’s not in custody now, then she’s likely running through the streets with Guards patiently waiting for her to run out of breath. From what I’ve heard, it won’t be long.”

  Ermolt gripped his quarterstaff. He was unsure of what to say, of what to do. Elise watched him with concern, but it was much more focused on her friend than on their predicament.

  They would earnestly sacrifice themselves if it meant saving Athala. That was what they were hired to do. But was it still an option?

  “What do you want with her?” Elise asked, her voice untouched by the concern in her eyes.

  “Why, I just need her to do exactly what she already did in Khule and Jalova.”

  “She’ll refuse.”

  “Oh, I know. I expect it, even,” Ibeyar said in a tone that made Ermolt’s flesh crawl. “I may not have Ingmar’s experience, but I believe I’ll get what I want from her anyway, given enough time. And now that you two have so carefully gifted yourselves to me, I have all the time in the world. Don’t have to worry about you mounting some heroic rescue this time.”

  “It’s hilarious that you think you have us captured,” Ermolt said, twirling his quarterstaff lazily. He looked up to the Prophet with a snarl on his lips. “If you did, you would have just gotten around to arresting us already.”

  “I wanted to make you look the fool, and I did. Stop for a moment and think about your situation, dear Ermolt. I knew you were in the city. I held a rally. I staffed it with many loyal followers, a considerable percentage of them Guards and Conscripts, geared up. It’s almost as if they knew there would be a fight.” The Prophet tapped a finger to his chin.

  Ermolt wanted to break both finger and chin, along with every other bone in Ibeyar’s stupid body.

  The first few flakes of snow started to drift along his vision.

  “You fell for my trap, and now I have outed you as traitors to my cause and those responsible for the deaths of countless people in Khule and Jalova. Your names will be spread, slung through the dirt, as my followers proclaim to have witnessed your bullheaded last stand.

  “Now. You can either come willingly and join your wizard in captivity, or you can die here like vermin.” Ibeyar gestured to the mob of Guards. “Your choice.”

  The ringing of drawn steel surrounded them.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Elise knew what Ermolt’s intent was. And while she was upset his gamble had failed, she supported his decision.

  Ibeyar had lied. And not just lied, but twisted well-witnessed events to manipulate people who were unable to verify the truth.

  Perhaps a week ago, when Ibeyar would have just been returning to Jirda after his trip from Khule and Jalova, Ermolt’s words would have broken the hold the so-called Prophet had over more of the crowd. Ermolt could have cast some doubt over the claims, made even the faithful question Ibeyar’s words, and maybe even created enough chaos for them to slip away.

  But they had been eating up his speeches for longer now.

  The majority of people here
were ready to believe Ibeyar, and identify any dissenting opinion as a threat.

  It didn’t help that Ibeyar had specifically stocked this rally with Conscripts and Guards. It was sobering to see the twenty or so that surrounded them now.

  Elise really didn’t see a way out.

  But she had to try.

  The daggers in her hands felt inadequate against the wall of swords and maces she faced. She knew Ermolt—wielding a quarterstaff and not his normal hammer—would feel much the same way.

  The first Guard charged Elise. He was armed with a longsword and wore chain armor, but the press of the crowd around him made the larger weapon ineffective.

  Elise’s Conscript training had been hardened by the past month or so of fighting against Auernheim’s guards, Overseers, Temple Guards, and assassins. So his armor was similarly useless.

  With a quick strike forward, much like a serpent surprising their prey, Elise drove a dagger into the Guard’s thigh, between a seam in his armor. With her other hand she drove the pommel of her dagger into his throat.

  He was on the ground, choking, tripping up the other guards behind him, before he could fully raise his weapon against her.

  Elise wove her daggers in front of her, warding away the others who had seen her make short work of the first attacker. It made little difference. She was still pushed back by their sheer numbers, her shoulders pressed against the middle of Ermolt’s back. She could feel the barbarian’s muscles tensing and rippling as the tips of his quarterstaff flailed in and out of the corners of her vision.

  Two Guards and a Conscript attacked as one. They looked to take advantage of the reach of their weapons, unlike their fallen friend. Elise’s instincts screamed at her to feint left, and as soon as her right side was open to attack, the Guard on that side lunged. His shortsword arched for her ribs, and there was no time for Elise to react to it.

  But the blow never landed.

  A follow-through from Ermolt on whatever was going on in front of him drove the end of his quarterstaff into the side of the man’s head with enough force to knock him from his feet.