Destiny (Heroes by Necessity Book 3) Page 19

  With that attacker eliminated, she faced as many foes as she had weapons. As their attacks came in, Elise found herself thinking of Merylle, fighting against the Conscripts of Teis. The elegance of the Overseers’ fighting style overwrote Elise’s years of Conscript training.

  It was if another took over her body.

  Her spine straightened as she stopped fighting against her daggers. She no longer felt the need to grip their hilts as if they were larger, heavier weapons.

  Elise slipped deftly to one side as a blade passed within a rhen of her shoulder. A second was caught in a parry with a dagger. She knocked them back with a flick of her wrist and lunged forward. Her dagger bit deep into the attacker’s ribs. It punched through a part of the boiled leather that was worn thin and the Guard screamed. Elise ripped the dagger out and the man fell back, clutching his side.

  Two more rushed in to fill the gap.

  But Elise was ready.

  Before they could bring their weapons to bear, Elise lashed out with both daggers, sending them scurrying backwards. Droplets of blood flung through the air, splattering the retreating Guards.

  Elise turned and drove the instep of her foot into the groin of a Conscript that was still attacking her. When he doubled over she brought the pommel of her dagger down hard on his head, forcing him to his knees.

  Their weapon clattered away across the paved stone of the market.

  But the Guards were returning, and there were plenty more of Ibeyar’s followers behind them.

  But with a man down, no one could quite fill the space until he could crawl or be dragged away.

  Ermolt bellowed from behind her and Elise ducked in response.

  His quarterstaff whipped through the air where her head had been a moment before, the end of the long weapon striking the Guards who were trying to step over the fallen Conscript.

  One of them caught the blow on the wrist with a sickening crack, and the sword dropped from her hand. The other was a little farther forward as he had been moving to attack Elise.

  The staff struck him clean in the jaw.

  Elise saw shock and confusion—rather than pain—in his eyes before the impact sent him spinning around. He staggered for a moment and Elise lunged at him. She knocked him from his feet and drove a dagger into his sword arm.

  Another fallen enemy that had to be removed from the battleground before more could attack.

  The disarmed Guard with the broken wrist lunged clumsily with a recovered sword in her off hand, but it was clear she had not practiced in wielding weapons in both hands. Elise easily slapped the weapon aside before leaping at her, driving her knee into the Guard’s gut and bringing a dagger across the woman’s face in the same blow.

  The Guard fell back in fear and pain, and tried to catch herself on her broken wrist.

  Her cry of pain made Elise wince.

  The Guard curled around the damaged arm, refusing to move even when goaded by others who wanted to attack.

  Behind Elise, Ermolt roared again, and Elise ventured a glance to see how he was faring. With his reach and sweeping strikes, every enemy facing him looked battered and bruised. Most seemed afraid to try and move forward into his reach.

  But threatening a wider arc meant that the majority of the enemy forces were focused on him. They darted in and out at him. While none of them left his reach untouched, his robe had been entirely cut away to reveal his hide armor. And even that was showing tears, with a few spots stained red where the blades arrayed against him had managed to cut through.

  Elise knew that without Ermolt at her back, she wouldn’t last long.

  And with the sheer numbers against them, it was only a matter of time before someone slipped past him and came at her from a blind angle.

  But they were surrounded. Their options were to fight or die.

  And as two more Conscripts and two more Guards stepped up in front of her to replace those she had just dealt with, it seemed like fighting was gaining them nothing more than making a memorable last stand.

  Their only chance for survival was to escape.

  “Ermolt!” Elise shouted as she parried the first two attacks that came in at her. She ducked under the swinging mace of the third. “I’m going to push forward. Move with me!”

  Ermolt immediately stopped actively fighting his attackers and instead focused on holding them off. Elise had to be the spearhead to move them through the mob and out onto the streets.

  If they could get out of the press of enemies and start running, they might have a chance. Perhaps they could lose them in the darkness, or even force them to divide their numbers in the narrow streets.

  All they needed was a chance.

  Elise took a step forward towards her attackers. She swung her daggers wildly to drive the Guards and Conscripts apart. They fell back, even though she could see in their eyes that they didn’t like giving her the ground she wanted.

  But she had to give an opening to make an opening, and she grunted as a blade landed on her side.

  It sliced open the side of her dress to reveal the armor beneath. But there was no force behind it, as the Guard who struck hadn’t been expecting the chain shirt, so the blade would barely leave a bruise.

  Elise swept another attack aside with a dagger. With her other hand she punched the dagger through a Guard’s leather pauldron and into the shoulder joint. The Guard barked with pain and reeled away, his weapon dropped and forgotten.

  Two more stepped forward. Elise tried to move back to avoid the next attack, but Ermolt was already there behind her. Doing exactly as she asked. Elise had nowhere to go but forward.

  She let desperation drive her.

  Elise ducked, weaving under a blade aimed at her face, and pushed forward again. She drove her shoulder into a Conscript and sent them reeling. Another handful of steps forward brought her in close to a Guard. She lashed out with both daggers at the Guard’s gut. One slid across the boiled leather and the other barely managed to draw blood. But Elise was out before they could retaliate.

  A nearby Conscript swung at Elise with a mace and she ducked. The metal head winged the shoulder of the Guard Elise had just stabbed at. There was a cry of pain as the blow knocked him into the mob behind him, but his fall did nothing to stop the flow of more and more Guards and Conscripts to take his place.

  Elise caught the grin of Tilke in the crowd, trying to push his way forward.

  She spat at him.

  Ermolt’s back was already to hers again, so Elise had no choice but to push forward once more. Losing momentum was not an option.

  She lunged at a mace-wielding Conscript. One dagger went high. The other low. Their weapon came down on a collision course with her shoulder, but Elise’s attack landed first. Her blade sliced a clean line across the Conscript’s forehead and blood ran into their eyes.

  Elise shoved the blinded Conscript away and took another handful of steps forward.

  Ermolt cried out and Elise turned sharply.

  A pang of sadness ripped through her as she realized how depressingly close they still were to Ibeyar on the platform.

  But just beyond the Prophet, one of the mercenaries was reloading a crossbow.

  A thick wooden bolt stood out from Ermolt’s shoulder.

  The impact had opened his defenses.

  Three Conscripts had dropped their own weapons and were trying to wrestle Ermolt’s staff away from him. While his powerful arms kept them staggering back and forth as he tried to wrench it free, it meant he couldn’t defend himself.

  Guards and Conscripts lunged at him, hammering their weapons against the thick hide of his armor.

  A mace hit Elise in the arm, jolting her back to her own fight.

  She’d paid for the momentary distraction.

  More foes had come forward, and while her head had been turned they set themselves up to press the attack. Swords cut and maces bashed. Her dress tore away from her armor, the flesh beneath bruising.

  She raised her weapons to d
efend herself, but with Ermolt no longer protecting her sides, she couldn’t mount an effective attack without leaving herself open.

  Elise no longer faced three or four foes. She faced six.

  Eight.

  Panic filled her. This wasn’t working. Ibeyar just had too many lives to throw at them, and without Athala or their real weapons, they were just too outnumbered.

  In an instant, Ermolt was no longer at her back.

  Elise stumbled at the sudden void.

  It sounded as if the Conscripts had finally wrestled his weapon away. Elise watched from the corner of her eye as an overwhelming force dragged him down, not with injury, but with the sheer weight of their bodies forcing him to one knee.

  Pinning him.

  Ermolt shook with a bellow and tried to force himself to his feet, but there were just too many.

  And without him, Elise was alone.

  The undead abomination of her dreams became entwined with every face of those who pressed forward.

  Ermolt was alive, so that was different. But he was no longer fighting, and Elise found herself quickly surrounded.

  She slashed wildly in all directions. Her daggers were everywhere and yet no attacks landed. She was just tiring herself out.

  A blow landed across her back as she parried two blades. She ignored the pain. Instead she twisted her body to dodge two other attacks. Her daggers bit into something that felt solid and cried in pain, but a blade slashed across her thigh in return.

  There was no armor there, only her dress and a pair of thick leather breeches.

  She tried to ignore the warmth of her own blood running down the outside of her leg as she spun again.

  Instincts alone brought up both daggers in two smooth parries. She lashed out with a kick and someone grunted.

  “Elise!” a voice called out in a mocking tone.

  She barely had enough attention for those around her, and so she almost ignored it entirely.

  But the mob parted to one side as if on command from just her name. And she saw why.

  Ibeyar held the crossbow now. It was a heavy weapon of dark wood, and the bolt loaded into it was as far around as her thumb.

  The wide tip of the bolt was pressed underneath Ermolt’s chin.

  Elise recognized her defeat dancing in the Prophet’s eyes.

  Those around her took advantage of the distraction. They grabbed her arms. Her first instinct was to tense and lash out, but Ibeyar only grinned and pushed the crossbow up. The force tipped Ermolt’s head back.

  He looked like Merylle.

  Elise went limp in the arms of her attackers. Her daggers fell to the ground.

  “That’s what I thought,” Ibeyar said and he lowered the crossbow. The weapon was handed back off to the mercenary at his side. “Please, this way.” His tone was pleasant, as if he didn’t hold them captive but instead were leading them to sit in his parlor.

  What had once seemed like an impenetrable wall of Guards and Conscripts parted like mist. Ibeyar walked through them, head held high. Guards marched Elise and Ermolt forward.

  “Time to reunite you with your wizard.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  It was alarming to see how few guards Ibeyar had sent to fetch Athala. Insulting, even.

  But if he thought four guards were enough to deal with her, perhaps he would underestimate Ermolt and Elise to a similar degree. The two of them could take on eight guards like nothing.

  Athala immediately started planning her escape. It would be difficult, but not impossible.

  The man who had pushed her up against the wall—the Captain—was leading the procession and a different Guard had Athala’s arms behind her back. To her right, another Guard was holding Sieghard the same way. They were led side-by-side down the wide streets. The fourth Guard brought up the rear, likely keeping a close eye on the wizards and being ready to jump in if they struggled.

  There were no fancy finger rings like Auernheim used to prevent wizards from casting spells, but as long as they kept a firm hold on her wrist, twisting it just barely past the point of discomfort, she was unable to cast. Any attempt would be really, really obvious.

  The Guards themselves seemed confident. There was talk of embellishing the tale of Athala’s capture to be a more impressive battle they could tell their mates, but otherwise they were assured of a reward for a job well done. Apparently the Prophet paid well for kidnapping women. It was a sobering thought as she remembered Ingmar’s knives yet again.

  At least his daughter had been well provided for with money coated in Athala’s blood.

  Athala shook her head, physically yanking her mind out of that desperate, cold place. She could worry about being angry and panicked later, when she didn’t need her wits. Her focus sharpened.

  She frowned as she thought about her situation. The Guards were confident. Overconfident, one might say. To them, their task was done, and no further challenge would arise. They thought of themselves as an overwhelming force.

  Athala knew full well from all of Ermolt’s old stories of heroes long passed that overconfidence was putting a weapon right into your enemy’s hands.

  And Athala intended to use it.

  The Guards knew that Sieghard and Athala couldn’t put up a fight without magic, and so the only way they could cast a spell would be to start with a physical struggle. They would be beaten in moments, and the Guards had made it clear when they were taken captive that retribution would be bloody. But all they had to do was break free for long enough to cast a spell. A bolt of flame or an illusionary burst of blinding light. Either would give them the opportunity they needed to make a run for it.

  All the better if they could act together in concert and create two distractions.

  Athala glanced over at Sieghard again. He looked back at her.

  Something in his eyes told her that it was the time for action.

  In near-perfect unison they stopped walking forward and instead leaned into the Guards pushing them.

  The Guard holding Athala unbalanced a little at her stopping, and she kept the ball rolling by stomping down hard on his instep. He shouted in surprise. His grip loosened. She stepped out to one side, tearing her arms from his grasp. Athala stepped back in towards him and shoved her elbow into his chest, putting her entire upper body into it as she had seen Elise and Ermolt do many times before.

  There was another shout and the Guard’s moment of imbalance turned into a trip. He almost fell back into the Guard behind them, who looked confused and angry.

  Athala turned quickly and saw that Sieghard had done much the same to his Guard, and in near unison they darted out of the reach of the Guards before they could recover.

  With a shake of her sleeves, Athala brought her hands up.

  The Guard Captain cried out in alarm and drew his sword.

  Athala tried to focus on the words already coming out of her throat as he charged her.

  She wasn’t entirely sure what drove her to select this particular spell. Something about it just felt right. The draconian words were melodic, butchered by her additions. It came from her throat smoothly and elegantly, as if she were singing. Each syllable had a lilt and tone that was beautiful, and Athala wasn’t sure why she hadn’t noticed the rhythm to it before.

  Athala had recited Sirur’s dragon spell to absorb it, and had written it down and poured over it for days.

  How had she not seen the music behind it?

  She wasn’t sure how long the spell took to cast. It felt like she had been singing for quite some time, but the Guard Captain still wasn’t halfway through his short charge.

  As soon as the last syllable left her mouth, a reddish-field of energy erupted from the ground, sweeping over the Guards and enveloping them in an instant.

  The first thing Athala noticed is that they were perfectly still. Mid fall, mid run, the spell didn’t discriminate. It held them aloft. The spell had stopped the passage of time within the little bubble of mist.

  At
hala felt a surge of joy and pride. She had cast the dragon spell! Her theory had worked and she was able to cast it without being reduced to a drained husk or enveloped in a vengeful explosion. She mastered a spell strong enough to stop the most powerful beings in the world.

  And, sure, it worked just as well on aggravated Guards.

  But the second thing Athala noticed was that it hurt.

  It hurt bad.

  It was if her mind were a crackling campfire.

  Places along her face felt numb.

  A lance of light struck from one temple to the other.

  This was different from any other headache she had ever felt.

  It was unbearable.

  “Hold it!” Sieghard yelled as he rushed up beside her, grabbing her arm gently. “Hold the spell as long as you can!” He pulled her away from the frozen Guards and down the street. “Just a few moments!”

  The throbbing pain in her skull grew with each passing second. At first she thought she could acclimate to it, but each breath accented the pain worse than the previous. The intensity grew faster than she believed possible.

  Sieghard pulled Athala around a corner and down a side street.

  Athala couldn’t even concentrate on where they were going. She had enough coordination to not stumble as they ran, but every ounce of her focus was diverted to the pain in her head.

  Light flashed behind her eyes. It pulsed with the pain, dancing in and out across her vision. Each throb made her wince. It was a challenge to brace for the next one, to anticipate the pain.

  Her head felt like someone was driving a stone rhythmically into the base of her skull, striking harder with each hit.

  They were barely a few fen around the corner before Athala could take no more. Her head was being split in half.

  She couldn’t.

  She couldn’t take it anymore.

  With a cry she released the spell. She gasped for air at the instant relief of pressure. Her lungs cried out. Athala hadn’t realized she’d been holding her breath that entire time to steel herself against the pain. But she only had a moment to compose herself before a shout behind them told her the Guards were free from the spell.