Destiny (Heroes by Necessity Book 3) Read online

  They only had about half a day left to go, but on an empty stomach that would seem like years.

  Ermolt handed out plates in silence. It was obvious the barbarian was dancing around his companions—he likely didn’t want to be the thing that started another fight between them. But Elise was stubborn, and Athala was right, so eventually another fight would happen.

  The thought exhausted Athala.

  Once they had all settled in with their plates of meat—Ermolt tucking into his like a man who’d fought death itself to provide the meal—Elise broke the uncomfortable silence of the camp. “We need to talk about what our plans are.”

  Athala tried not to glare at her, but it was pretty impossible. “Oh, have you decided to be cautious now?”

  “If by cautious you mean plan how we’re going to infiltrate the Temple of Numara, sure.” Elise stared down at her hands, and Athala wondered what she wasn’t saying. The Conscript only avoided Athala’s gaze when she was hiding her true thoughts. “Jirda is a much smaller city than Jalova or Khule. It won’t be as easy to infiltrate the Temple.”

  Ermolt, finally pulling away from his plate enough to breathe, frowned. “What are your thoughts, Elise?”

  “I think we handle it the same way we did Jalova. At least at first. We assess the city, split up to gather information, and then we move on the Temple as fast as we can.” She pulled a long strip of meat from the haunch on her plate and stared at it. “I’m worried if we aren’t quick, we won’t be able to outrun the rumors of the other dragons.”

  Athala sighed down at her plate. “I suppose I’ll check the Hall of Records again. If that fails, I’ve always got the detection ritual.”

  “Good,” Elise said with a nod before taking a bite of her meal.

  “I’m still worried about Ibeyar.” Athala looked to Ermolt, inwardly smiling at Elise’s awkward blinking—her mouth was too full to start arguing. “No wizard dedicated enough to penetrate the Temple’s sanctums and find the dragons is going to give up easily.” Athala smirked and chuckled. “At least, I wouldn’t.”

  Ermolt nodded. “You’ve said as much before.” He was trying to keep his tone neutral, and he took pains to avoid looking at Elise. Or, so Athala thought. “So what should we do about it?”

  “We don’t know where Ibeyar is. He could have gone anywhere—there are still five Temples left for him to run to. If I had to narrow it down, I’d say he’s in one of three places—Klav, Feldhok, or Jirda.”

  Elise swallowed the mouthful of boar. “Why those three?”

  “Well, to get to Balsiya or Gloder he’d have to pass right by Jirda, so it doesn’t make sense that he’d go out of his way. Unless he were specifically avoiding Jirda in order to thus avoid us.” Athala frowned and her brow furrowed. “I just don’t know enough about the man to know what his next move would be.”

  “Alright. Let’s pretend, for one bell, that Ibeyar stands between us and the Temple of Numara. How does that change our plans?”

  “Jirda has no structure to help us against him, if he’s established a foothold. There’s no Overseer’s Guild. There’s barely even what could be considered a City Guard.” Athala leaned back, setting aside her plate. “I’m not sure how well versed either of you are with Jirdan economics, but the region is generally poorer due to its problems with superstition.”

  Ermolt chuckled. “The city makes no money because it’s afraid?”

  “Almost,” Athala said. “Numara is the God of Night, and so many Jirdans fear that she will punish them for being out in the night if they aren’t devout enough. So farmers only tend to crops during the daylight hours, and traders don’t risk leaving the city limits after dusk.”

  Elise frowned and picked at her food. “I’d heard rumors of Gods abusing their powers to make their people more devout, but that’s cruel.”

  Athala snorted. “If you think Ydia doesn’t do the same, you’re delusional.” The Conscript looked away, and so Athala continued. “But at any rate, there’s no real way for us to absolutely prepare for dealing with Ibeyar.”

  “Why worry then?” Elise asked, her tone even but full of frustration.

  “Because he’ll kill us.” Athala pinned the Conscript with a haughty glare. “I’m not sure how many times I need to say it, but Ibeyar is stronger than I am. Without help, he will kill us. It might not be him directly, but he will be the death of us.”

  “Do you not trust us to protect you any longer?”

  Athala’s glare deepened. “I hired you both to protect me from giant rats and animated skeletons. That was all I expected. If I knew we were going to be facing incredibly powerful wizards bent on doing... whatever with dragons, I would have offered you better pay.”

  “We’re not here for the pay, Athala.” Ermolt put aside his plate and wiped his hands on a small bit of cloth. “We’re your friends, and we want to help you with whatever you need.”

  Athala thought about this for a moment, watching the two of them. In theory, she knew that was true. They’d all become close friends since the first day the Wizard’s Tower in Khule had helped her hire the Conscript and the barbarian to assist her with finding the spell she sought. But there was more to it than that.

  She was being unfair. They were trying. She just... needed to remember that.

  “In order to deal with Ibeyar,” Athala said slowly as she picked at her cuticles, “I need to be stronger.” Her brow furrowed. “I’ve been studying the dragon spells in great depth. I need their strength to take on Ibeyar, the dragons, and... other... things.” She paused, shaking her head. “Their magic is powerful, but it’s dangerous. Meodryt outright warned me of it.” She sighed and looked up at her friends. “I’ve been blundering around, testing stuff with these spells, and so far I’ve made some progress. But I’m a neonate playing with stuff masters would be cautious with. I’m afraid. I might end up getting myself killed. As such, I need someone who can help me.”

  “Where can we find such a person?” Ermolt asked.

  “There is a man in Jirda. Sieghard. He was the instructor for some of my instructors at the Wizard’s Tower. His name was on the spine of most of my textbooks. If he still has some passion for education, I might be able to talk him into helping me, or at least sharing his personal library with me.”

  “That sounds promising,” Ermolt said with a nod. “You think he’ll help you then?”

  “I think he’d be a fool not to.” Athala smiled, forcibly stilling her hands so she didn’t cause her cuticles to bleed again. “What he could stand to learn from the spells in my head could put someone with his resources and legitimacy in the history books as a pioneer. I’m no fool—keeping this type of power all to myself would be a crime, especially as we bring about the Age of Mortals. Wizards could do so much good with the strength and power these spells give.”

  “So what if Ibeyar is in Jirda? What if he gets to this Sieghard first?”

  Athala paused, biting at her bottom lip. “I had thought of that, but why would he do such a thing? The more likely situation is that, if he is in Jirda, he’d be immediately going after the Temple of Numara.” She leaned back, staring at the fire for a moment. “I suppose it’s a possibility that he could want to talk to an expert in the field of magic. But to turn the man against us? It doesn’t seem likely.”

  Elise nodded. “I agree. I think you’re giving Ibeyar too much credit, Ermolt.”

  “That’s not fair,” Ermolt said. “We know so little about the man. It is possible he could be doing anything at this exact moment. We have no way of knowing.”

  Worry furrowed Elise’s brow. “Athala is already scared enough. Please don’t encourage the fear more.”

  “I know, but I mean it.” Ermolt frowned at Elise, and Athala felt a small surge of vindication. “But she’s not wrong—he’s obviously on a mission to do something with the dragons, and he’s also very determined. We don’t know what his mission is, or where he’s going.”

  Elise wave a hand in the air,
dismissing his comments. “If Ibeyar is in Jirda, he’s gone to the Temple. As Athala said, there’s no other system in place for him. The same lack of structure to help us also can’t help him. There’s no Overseers for him to infiltrate. No prison for him to manipulate. And Sieghard, while a valuable resource for the one thing Athala needs, seems like such a small prize for him.” The Conscript shook her head. “He’s ahead of us, sure. But if he’s there, we will stop him.”

  “I wish I had your confidence,” Athala said as she returned to biting her bottom lip. “Instead I guess I’m just being paranoid. Or, whatever, overcautious.” With a heavy sigh, Athala pushed her still heaping plate towards Ermolt. “Can you finish this for me? I’ve lost my appetite.”

  That worry returned to Elise’s brow. “You need to eat, Athala. Please. You need your strength.”

  “I’m fine,” Athala said in a haughty tone. “What I need is for us to get to Jirda so I can have a nice meal with lots of vegetables, and a long, luxurious rest in whatever rat-infested tavern we find ourselves in.” She didn’t add that she also needed to talk to Sieghard, or that she needed to figure out where Ibeyar was. Those things would just restart the conversation, and she was tired of talking about it.

  Ignoring Elise’s attempts to continue talking, Athala pulled herself to her feet and found her tent by the glowing light of the fire. For a brief moment she entertained the idea of studying more, but the light of her candle would just draw Elise or Ermolt’s attention and she really didn’t want to deal with them any longer.

  So instead of doing something productive, Athala went to sleep.

  At least in sleep she could escape the frustration of the day.

  Hopefully.

  Chapter Five

  Elise knew she was dreaming.

  She also knew she couldn’t escape it.

  And she really wanted to.

  The creature before her shook Elise to her core. The intentional creation of undead was considered by many to be a lost art practiced during the Age of Dragons. It wasn’t forbidden, so much as it was just forgotten. But something had created this. And it was made in such a painstakingly specific way that Elise had to wonder if the creator considered it an actual art form. If so, she wondered what happened to them in their formative years to give them such a warped view of the world.

  The abomination was an amalgamation of corpses that had been fused together. There was nothing random about its creation, although Elise wished there was. It was horrid. There was really no place to start in how to approach its disgusting composition.

  It had two bloated arms that bristled with extra hands and fingers at odd angles. Each one groped for Elise, hoping to catch her unaware. The creature’s head was just a single giant mouth filled with broken, discolored teeth that snapped whenever Elise got close. Its chest was studded with screaming faces, and Elise recognized some of them.

  Hern.

  Cuertt.

  Apel.

  Detlev.

  They all cried for her blood, as if she had wronged them before they’d been amassed in this creature.

  There was more to the monster that disturbed Elise, somehow more than seeing the faces of her old companions growing from the flesh on its chest. Its calves ended halfway down its lower legs, and its feet were bare bone, animated by whatever fell magic was infused into the creature. Other smaller limbs sprouted from the abomination at odd places. A baby’s arm emerged from its shoulder and groped blindly at Hern’s screaming face on its chest. Its body was grotesque and uneven, with thick muscles visible on its arms but uneven lumps on its torso were padded with fat.

  The extra limbs and bulk, or even the lack of eyes, didn’t slow the creature down, however.

  As Elise fought the abomination, it seemed to change sizes from one moment to the next. She swung at its head in one attack, and in the next it seemed too large for her to even reach its knees without jumping.

  It didn’t seem to matter, though.

  Her weapon bounced off the creature at every turn.

  When she swung for bones or joints, the weapon was Merylle’s sword, which couldn’t penetrate the creature’s sallow hide or break its bones. When she went to thrust and pierce into the monster’s innards, she was wielding her mace, which bounced off its bulk without leaving a bruise.

  Ydia would help though, wouldn’t She?

  Elise tried to muster her faith to her God.

  She had never truly felt the power of Ydia coursing through her and answering her prayers, but surely now would be the time? This thing was an affront to the God of Life. She would help Her Conscript and free her from this eternal fight against this being.

  Elise needed Ydia.

  So she prayed.

  She prayed for the light and love with all her might, for the power of her God to destroy this abominable undead. For a moment, she felt her heart fill and a glow suffused her skin. But just as she held her weapon forth to deliver the power of Ydia to the creature’s form and smite it, the light faded.

  And more than that, the light left.

  Elise could feel the very real sensation of Ydia’s hand pulling away as She deliberately denied Elise Her power.

  She was alone.

  The undead monster laughed with the faces of her old companions. It swept down with a giant arm and the grasping fingers that sprouted from every rhen of it clutched her weapon and hurled it away. Somehow it was a mace and a sword at the same time as it clattered across the floor.

  The weapon came to rest beside a pile of corpses.

  At the bottom of the pile was a woman with no face who wore the armor of a prison guard. Atop her was a headless body Elise knew belonged to Ingmar. His arms were draped around the body of a young girl who had his head upon her body. Atop them was Merylle. Purple blood actively gushed from her wounds as if she still lived. But like all the others, she was still.

  At the very top of the pile was Ermolt, dead, spread across the corpses. He was nude and bald—his thick mane of hair had been shorn from his head by some force. His thighs were torn open and the lohar axes he had used to kill Sirur stuck from the ragged ends of each wound. The haft of his hammer jutted from an open wound on his chest, its head resting out of sight within the wound, where his heart should be.

  Ermolt’s face was twisted in an emotion Elise had never seen on him before.

  Terror.

  He had been eviscerated and died afraid of what he faced.

  His eyes were all white, with no pupil or iris. Not even the red of blood vessels were visible against the pure white.

  Where was Athala? Elise couldn’t find her friend anywhere.

  As a giant hand wrapped around her waist, Elise was pulled back to the monster that had bested her. Smaller hands and fingers groped at her, gripping her armor and limbs. She screamed and thrashed against the grip of the monster. With a well-timed kick Elise shattered two of its crooked teeth, but the monster bit down on the limb and Elise howled in the sudden pain of her leg snapping in two.

  Fetid breath washed over Elise as the creature shoved her entire body in the gaping maw of its mouth. It was pure black, like the ocean at night. The cracked and broken teeth seemed to glow. As it shoved her past the jagged shapes, Elise recognized them.

  The Temples.

  Its teeth were the Temples.

  The creature’s mouth closed around Elise. The Temples fit together to block out the last glint of outside light.

  With no other options left, Elise screamed into the void of the Nether.

  It was pitch black and the air was stifling and rancid.

  Elise was covered in a sheen of cold, slimy fluid. She scrambled wildly against her surroundings. But instead of wet flesh and a thrashing tongue, Elise found thick cloth and a bedroll.

  Her tent.

  She was in her tent.

  Elise tried to calm the pounding of her heart, but panic gripped her regardless. She fought her way to the end of her tent, throwing aside her blankets as if they were
living things with the intent of holding her still until the monster of her dreams could find her once more.

  The outside air held the refreshing chill of autumn and it soothed her blistering skin.

  It was still dark. Not quite the pitch black of her dreams or tent, but it was still the middle of the night. There were embers in the firepit that cast enough light to give Elise a sense of what was around her, and the moonlight filled in the rest.

  Elise could make out the dark woods and vague shapes of Athala’s tent, as well as Ermolt laid out on a bedroll in the open. He was snoring. A furry bulk dangled from a nearby tree—the remains of the boar they had eaten, hanging off the ground out of reach of scavengers.

  Everything seemed to be moving. The ground tilted back and forth like the deck of a ship on the sea.

  Elise was filled with the urge to relight the fire, to banish the fears of her dreams and push back against the darkness. Perhaps the light would also settle her stomach.

  But lighting the fire would wake her companions, and while Athala could function on very little sleep—and had for the past few days, it seemed—Ermolt would be more foul-tempered than the boar had been in Ermolt’s retelling of his hunt.

  The thought of their supper brought Elise’s attention back to her stomach, and she felt it heave as she remembered the sensation of being food herself. A pitiful sound escaped Elise’s throat and she staggered away from her tent.

  She barely made it to the edge of the wood before she lost the fight against her nausea.

  Elise was surprised by how much better she felt almost immediately. She took a handful of steps back into camp, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

  During her moment behind the tree, Elise’s eyes had adjusted to the darkness better, and Elise saw that Ermolt had pulled his blanket over his form, against the cold. His hammer rested close at hand, and Elise felt a shiver that had more to do with her dream than the cold.