Destiny (Heroes by Necessity Book 3) Page 9

  “Well, Headmaster Pawel spoke of you as a contemporary,” Athala said, trying to not be distracted by the usefulness of his spell. Especially for the elderly, but also for those with physical disabilities. “So I expected you to be much closer to his age than my own.”

  “Your age?” Sieghard snorted with laughter and waved his hand as he headed to a nearby cupboard. “Flattery will get you everywhere. I don’t think I could ever put together an illusion good enough to make my leathery face look as young as yours, but I appreciate the compliment.” He pulled a small box of tea leaves from a low shelf and began stuffing them into little metal boxes full of small holes. “I may be able to move like an infirm man of fifty summers, but there’s no way anyone would believe such slow and uncoordinated movements belonged to a fresh-faced child.” He winced. “No offense intended.”

  “It’s alright,” Athala said with a forced smile. She thought to offer to help with the tea, but she was firmly sure, after less than a quarter of a bell with the man, that if he needed the assistance he would ask. He might have been elderly, but he was capable enough. “I’ll be offended at being called a child once I stop behaving like one.” Athala folded her hands on the table before her, trying to ignore how ragged her cuticles looked from her nervous stroll here. “I am curious though—how is such an illusion made? Mine are projections, and I have a hard time keeping up with myself well enough to do a real disguise like that.”

  “Ah, you’re using one of Eigek’s old methods.” Sieghard snorted once more with laughter. “And if I’m calling such a thing old, that should tell you quite a bit about it.” He gestured with one hand and two cups flew across the kitchen to him. “It’s true that you can make anything with it, but there’s always a better spell for any use of it, if you don’t want to exhaust yourself within a bell.”

  “I’ve made some personal improvements,” Athala said defensively. “Some from your own teaching. I’ve gotten it to be much more efficient to maintain using the theorems in your Codex of Sustained Magical Harmonics.”

  “Ugh, that book.” Sieghard clicked his tongue to the roof of his mouth. “Ivdium wrote most of that. She just knew no one would take it seriously unless she collaborated with me on it.” He shrugged and fetched a small potholder from a drawer. “Good principles. Just... terrible execution.”

  “I agree. That’s why I used them on the illusion spell. Employing them to reduce the load on abjurations has downsides, which I assume your contribution was those being pointed out in that book, but on illusions it has basically no effect. At least not tangible ones.”

  “Hm.” Sieghard thought about if for a moment and then nodded. “Good thinking. The structural issues are less of a problem when they aren’t intended to physically interact.” He crossed to the fire and spoke a quick word. The kettle lifted from its place and wobbled through the air towards him. Sieghard held the cups firmly in either hand. With a furrow of his brow, the kettle carefully tipped forward, filling one cup, and then the other. He gestured carefully, so as to not spill any tea, and the kettle floated over to rest on the potholder he had laid out on the counter.

  “It does require constant mental attention, though,” Athala added, taking a cup as he offered it to her. The little metal box was resting in the bottom of the mug, and tea seeped from the holes, but kept the majority of the leaves contained. “While the mental fatigue is less of an issue, it can become a little tiring over a long period of time.”

  “Quite right,” he said, leading her out of the kitchen and into a sitting room. The kitchen’s hearth was against an interior wall, and so the heat filled this room as well. The old padded armchairs within looked comfortable enough to sleep in. Sieghard settled into one, and gestured for Athala to take the other. “Now that we have some tea, please, explain. Do you actually have access to a dragon spell, or do you just have some information about one?”

  “Um,” Athala said as she carefully took the offered seat. She was pleased to find the chair was quite sturdy, despite its aged appearance. It was also exactly as comfortable as she expected. “I have two.”

  Sieghard made a sputtering coughing noise, almost spraying tea across the front of himself. His eyes bulged out of his head and he turned to Athala, staring at her as if she had just grown a second nose.

  “I’m, um, I’m sorry. Is something wrong?”

  “Two?”

  “Yes. The plural of one?”

  “Oh ho—she jokes as well.” Sieghard collected himself. “Fine. Two. You what, have access to them?”

  “Er, yes? They’re, uh, they’re in my head.”

  Sieghard’s eyes bulged once more, and Athala was glad he hadn’t taken a fresh sip of tea. She might have been wearing it. “Child, please. Start from the beginning.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Elise sat at the nearly empty Lucky Turnip for almost a full bell after Athala left. She knew she should get moving, if only because the creaking of the building was starting to grate on her nerves. But she forced herself to stay put, and to think.

  The biggest weakness of any plan they could assemble—assuming Ermolt located Ibeyar and Athala became powerful enough to take him on—was the Temple.

  There were a thousand possibilities of what Ibeyar’s plans could be, and thinking through them all made Elise exhausted.

  Ultimately, they all came down to one thing: if Ibeyar got to the Temple of Numara before they did, all was lost.

  And if he was already planning his attack, then they needed to speed up their own plans, which they couldn’t do if they didn’t know.

  So instead of skulking around alleys and questioning the less fortunate who might be able to tell Elise more about Ibeyar and how he came to power, she decided to go to the source of everyone’s desires.

  It was really the best way for her to get wind of what was going on anyway.

  Before she left, Elise visited the room she shared with Athala. The wizard had barely taken the time to drop her bags off when they’d rented it. She had been anxious to get to Sieghard, to learn more about the spells in her head.

  Elise secretly wondered if Athala was pursuing the knowledge to deal with Ibeyar, or if she was taking advantage of the current situation to further herself for other reasons. The wizard didn’t talk about her brother much, but Elise knew that Malger was the original driving force of Athala’s pursuit of Meodryt’s spell.

  Thinking such a thing about her friend made Elise feel ashamed. But Athala had shown herself many times to be a complex person with the capacity of deceiving others if the situation arose. It didn’t necessarily come from a place of malice, either. Athala just grew up in a noble society that rewarded that kind of behavior.

  With a sigh, Elise stripped out of her tabard and armor. The tabard pinned her as a follower of Ydia, with the giant yellow symbol on the front an obvious indicator. However, even without her tabard, her armor would mark her clearly as a Conscript, even if no one would be able to tell from which Temple.

  Elise paused, looking at her mace and shield. Carrying weapons such as these without armor would make her look as if she were up to no good. She could, perhaps, get away with carrying Merylle’s weapon belt—she still didn’t quite think of the beautiful sword and dagger as her own—but it was better to leave it behind as well.

  Dressed then in only her white and gold tunic with white and gold breeches over a pair of soft leather boots, Elise felt as if she were naked.

  Her Conscript training had taught her to never go into a dangerous situation unprepared.

  But here she was, about to venture out into the incredibly unsafe city with nothing.

  As Elise folded her tabard nicely and draped it over her weapons as if to hide them from prying eyes, she decided she felt less like she was naked, and more like she was a child again.

  Before she had trained as a Conscript, she had been a street urchin. And without her armor, she had confidence that she could outrun any pursuer, even if she didn’t know the streets of J
irda as well as she knew Khule.

  It was a liberating feeling.

  Elise locked their rented bedroom behind her, tucking the key into a little pocket sewn into the lip of her boot. She straightened her pant leg over it and the small bulge of the key practically vanished behind the folds of cloth.

  With a spring to her step, Elise left the Lucky Turnip. The owner waved to her on her way out, and Elise promised to return shortly.

  The streets of Jirda were relatively empty for the bell before supper, but Elise had to remind herself that Jirda was a much smaller city with a much smaller population then what she was used to. Many people moved away from the southern most cities, either as an attempt to flee the heat or the quakes, or in an attempt to find prosperity in Khule or Lublis.

  Elise found the Temple of Numara easily enough, even though its general shape looked like any other building in the middle of the main square.

  The Temple was small. At least, small when compared to the standard already set by the Temples of Ydia and Teis. It did still have the slight glow she had grown to associate with structures suffused with divine power, but it was only one level, and it was modestly designed at that.

  It made sense though.

  Numara was the God of Night, and She was known for being far more subtle and understated than both the God of Life and the God of the Sky.

  The small building’s black walls and gentle glow was a contrast to the colorful stalls and shouting vendors that filled the square during the day. There was a large space in front of the Temple that was vacant, and Elise could see the stones of the square that marked the place with a darker border. Presumably this could be where Conscripts trained, out in the open, but it was empty now.

  Had they really finished training so early? Or was this space used for something else? Or, was if even possible that the Temple no longer had enough Conscripts to train?

  If it was the latter, it was Ibeyar’s fault.

  Elise frowned.

  She felt exposed as she crossed that open space between the colorful market and the Temple’s main door. It felt as if a thousand eyes were on her. She struggled to not look around nervously.

  When Elise entered the Temple, she suddenly realized that it wouldn’t have been surprising if people were in fact staring at her.

  There were two Conscripts visible, guarding side doors out of the main room, but otherwise there was one other person present. Another woman was on her knees before a statue of Numara, praying in near silence.

  The entryway of the Temple led directly into a large room with an altar against the far wall. The statue took up a decent amount of space between the altar and one of the doors the Conscripts guarded. The other wall was piled with cushions that were likely used during sermons and moments of mass prayer.

  If they still had such things.

  The room had no windows or torches, but there was a gloomy glow from candles that lit either side of the room. It was enough to see by, but it seemed like it would be inadequate to light such a space. Elise wondered if there was more divine power at work.

  All told, the Temple of Numara was huge and vacant.

  Elise crossed the room to the altar and dropped a single coin in a small black bowl. The metal clattered in the empty vessel before settling against the two other coins that were hiding at the bottom.

  Pittance made, Elise made her way to the statue.

  The other person there was praying with her forehead to the floor and both hands nestled at the crest of her head against the black-tiled floor. She was whispering quietly to herself, or, rather, to Numara.

  Elise looked up to regard the statue for a moment and she was surprised to see how simple it looked. It was made of a dark marble, and it wasn’t bejeweled or decorated with precious metals. Numara was depicted as a bald, older woman, with high cheekbones and a shallow chin. Her hands were clasped below an ample bust, and the sleeves of Her robe dangled all the way to the floor, forming a sheet that covered the rest of Her body from the front. Carved into the folds of the sleeves were stars, and Elise recognized the constellation of Netuma the Eastern Archer among them.

  Before anyone accused her of blaspheme or disrespect, Elise knelt down to the right of the other person and leaned forward, lowering her forehead to the floor. She folded her hands in a similar manner and began whispering quietly to herself to mimic the other woman.

  But she didn’t pray to Numara.

  Instead she turned her attention to Ydia.

  Elise prayed for the safety of her friends in the days to come.

  Once the short prayer was uttered, she opened her eyes and looked under the arch of her upper arm to scope out the Conscripts in front of the doors.

  They seemed disinterested. One of them was leaning against the wall itself, and they were cleaning their nails with a pocketknife. The other was actually holding a book they hadn’t been when Elise entered, seemingly satisfied that she was there to pray and so they returned to reading instead of paying attention to the room.

  After a moment, Elise felt satisfied that she had spent long enough kneeling to be respectful. She stood and dusted her white trousers off before crossing the room to the Conscript who cleaned their nails.

  Athala had taught Elise it was rude to interrupt someone who was reading.

  “Pardon me,” Elise said, startled by how loud her voice felt in the silence of the large, empty room. The man looked up and glared at her. Elise flushed and lowered her voice to a whisper before continuing. “I was hoping for an audience with the High Priest. When might they be available next?”

  The Conscript snorted and looked Elise over. “You’re from out of town, eh?” He looked down at his nails again, flicking at one of them to get a bit of grime off the nail. “The High Priest doesn’t speak to the common folk anymore. Not that you’d know, since no one comes to ask.”

  Elise frowned. “Why? Jirda is the Holy City of Numara, is it not? Why would She no longer grant Her High Priest to speak with the people?”

  “Listen,” the Conscript said, pausing to grimace and shake his head. He looked around the room as if there were more than four people present. “I’m not a gossip. Or, at least, I’m no gossip when the High Priest can walk out the door behind me while I’m talking, if you get me.” He lowered his voice even more. “Especially not in this room. Not with Her watching.” He shot a meaningful glance at the dark statue across the room.

  “I need no gossip, just the truth. There is a matter that must be brought to the High Priest’s attention.” Elise shifted from foot to foot, feigning discomfort. “I’ve been confused since I got into the city, and I don’t know how much longer I can take it.”

  “I’d apologize, if I had any reason to suspect I’m part of it. Things are... complicated in Jirda. And it’s not easy to explain with a God looking over my shoulder.”

  “Please,” Elise said, furrowing her brow.

  “I don’t have all the answers, and the ones I have aren’t going to make much sense no matter how I explain it.” He looked across the room to the other Conscript. Elise tried to not turn and see how the other man reacted. After a moment’s pause, his shoulder’s sagged and he gave in. “But fine. It won’t be here though.”

  “Oh, thank you!” Elise said, her exclamation still kept at a whisper. “I don’t need things to make sense. I just need to know enough to start finding some answers.”

  “Does tonight work for you?” the Conscript asked, giving a resigned sigh. “I’m off duty in four bells.” When Elise nodded he sighed once more. “Two blocks south of here, there’s an alley between the bakery and the seamstress. Meet me there in, eh, let’s say five bells. I’d like to grab some dinner. I’ll answer your questions there.”

  “Thank you,” Elise said again. She bowed to the man. “I appreciate your help.”

  “Don’t mention it,” he said with a grimace. “You know. To anyone.”

  Elise smiled at his joke, but only nodded in response.

  She le
ft the Temple, feeling surprisingly optimistic. If the High Priest was keeping the Temple closed, it was likely to keep Ibeyar’s influence out. If she could convince this Conscript that she was against Ibeyar’s will as well, she might be able to help them keep him out.

  It would be like working with Merylle, just with the Temple instead of against.

  If she were able to gain the Temple’s trust, she could get Ermolt and Athala inside and they could then deal with the dragon on their terms.

  It seemed dishonest to abuse the only help she’d been extended since they got into town, but being without her weapons and armor made her feel like a street urchin again.

  And ethics were for people who could afford them.

  Elise had a mission, and if she needed to be a little dishonest to get what she needed... well, she’d done worse for less in her youth.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The day had worn on as Athala told Sieghard about her adventures so far. She had started with the crippling illness that had nearly killed her, because her journey was nothing without its beginning. As she spoke—weaving a tale that seemed fantastical, even to her ears—of her escape from the assassin her brother had sent to kill her, and her eventual period of study in Khule—Sieghard sipped at his tea. He nodded occasionally, and Athala began to worry that he wasn’t listening, or, even worse, that she was boring him.

  She tried to speed through the locating of Meodryt’s spell, but Sieghard asked many questions at that point, asking for details on her modifications to her spells. It was obvious to Athala, in hindsight, that her spell modifications were juvenile. With the raw power and elegance of the dragon spells in her mind, Athala knew how she could do better now.

  But at the time, her modifications had been the stuff of legend.