Bargain (Heroes By Necessity Book 2)

by Riley S. Keene

  Merylle winced at the mention of the dead. She put a gentle hand to Elise’s forearm. “Thank you, again.” The Overseer shook her head. “The man who just left was Ibeyar Frey. He’s... an old friend of mine. I mentioned him before. I got in touch with him to help with the assault on the Temple, and his people saw the whole thing unfold.” Merylle shifted uncomfortably. “We had a spy in our midst.”

  “What? A traitor?” Elise blinked up at the woman. “Who is it? What happened?”

  “Armel Foltzen. Been with us for quite some time. She left in a hurry at sundown, and ran straight to the Temple.” Merylle drew her lips into a stern frown. “She hasn’t been seen leaving yet, and likely won’t be for some time, if she knows what’s good for her.”

  “How did this happen?” Elise asked, her weariness fading. “Did they pay her off?”

  “Ibeyar’s people searched her home and found some iconography of Teis.” Merylle bared her teeth, snarling. “She was always working for them. Likely had just joined up after I left and was groomed for this. I never saw it coming.” The Overseer brought a fist down on the bed. The action drew a hiss from her as she shifted her ribs the wrong way. Elise leaned forward to steady Merylle but the Overseer pushed her away. “Don’t you see? I brought this on us. I should have been more careful.”

  “Ydia’s Grace, Merylle. You survived. And so did most of the Overseers.” Elise put a reassuring hand on the other woman’s shoulder. “Maybe you could have been more careful. Maybe you would have seen the signs before. But you didn’t. And now you will be.”

  “If there’s anyone who should be more careful, it’s Armel,” Merylle snarled. “Teis won’t suffer her to stay hidden in that Temple forever. The Priests will tell her it’s all blown over. She’ll take three steps out of the front door and I will take her head.” She slammed her hand against the side table next to the bed with a loud bang. The hiss that followed this outburst was more of a growl. “And that’ll be a fine message for the next spy. No one will dare ever double cross me again.”

  Elise grimaced, but said nothing for a long moment as Merylle adjusted herself, returning to a more comfortable position after her outburst. Betrayal. Double crossing. Isn’t that what Elise and her friends planned to do?

  Ydia bless them.

  She had to change the subject.

  “Well, I need to sleep. I’ve been awake for over a day and even my bones are tired. But I believe Athala, Ermolt, and I were going to help the others bury the dead this evening.” Elise looked down at her hands, unsure if she trusted her eyes to not bare the lies she held deep within. “It’s likely that some of the others will want to say a few words about their friends. I know Athala will have some kind words to say about Anton. If you would like, I could help you get there and let you pay your own respects.” She looked up with a soft smile.

  Merylle stared at her for a long moment, searching her eyes. Elise dared not look away, less she admit wrongdoing. The Overseer finally looked away first, but not before Elise saw the tears that fogged her hazel eyes. She took a long, slow breath. “I can’t,” she said at last, leaning her head back against the wall. “I need some time. Do it without me.”

  “If it’s your wound, I could talk to someone about embalming them to bury them tomorrow,” Elise said, putting her hand back on Merylle’s shoulder. She gave the limb a gentle squeeze. “I could even go into town and fetch a healing potion or two. Perhaps with them you could—”

  “No. I said do it without me,” Merylle said quietly. She reached up and pushed Elise’s hand away. “I need to be alone.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  The funeral was brief.

  Athala hadn’t been to many funerals in the past. She was deemed too sick to attend her parents’ funeral, and she had very few friends who died over the years. The one she could remember attending, with any sort of clarity, was for a woman her parents considered a close friend. The funeral had been done in an archaic style where the body had been encased in a small building called a crypt. There had even been prayers to some man named Isadon, who the quirky woman had claimed would lead her to the land of the dead. The woman had always been odd.

  This funeral had been more of a standard affair, even if it was done in a very Jalovan style. There was the sky. There were words. There were tears. And then it was over.

  Athala wandered the halls of the Keep, not really sure what to do with herself. She tried to find things to busy herself with, but nothing worked. And she couldn’t go back to the tavern alone. Elise didn’t think the tavern was safe anymore anyway, and so they’d likely be ferrying their equipment to stay at the Overseer’s Keep.

  Athala didn’t want to stay here. Safe or not, this place felt wrong now. Violated. Burned.

  It also felt empty. Part of that was because everyone was in the main room, drinking to the fallen. But also it was because the person she’d spent the most time with—a man who was almost a friend—was dead.

  It wasn’t until she found herself in Anton’s workshop that she really felt a profound sense of loss.

  Seeing his scattered notes made her realize how much had truly been lost. There were a handful of half-finished projects that survived the blast of whatever he had detonated in the room, and Athala wondered how much she could have learned from him if they had more time to spend together.

  Most of his books were kept in a closed cabinet, which had protected them from the blast, though a chunk of shrapnel had ripped through one of the legs, and it balanced precariously. She opened the cabinet carefully and had to catch it to keep it from falling forward onto her. None of the books fell free, but a few of them jumped forward, and Athala carefully pushed them all back into place. Many of the spines were without labels, marking the books as notes on tests and experiments, but the top shelf was different. They were marked. Detailed. Labeled.

  The completed books included a handful of tomes of simple alchemy and a few books of mundane mechanical knowledge. But the majority of the spines were hand-written titles, with the author proudly scratched in as ‘Anton Volmer’.

  These were, Athala surmised, the distillation of all the unmarked notebooks. In these tomes she would find all of Anton’s experiments simplified and reduced to publishable volumes of his most promising results. A true wizard and scientist to the end, with the last book marked with a date that was only last winter.

  The oldest of Anton’s books was a relatively thin tome that was labeled ‘beginner recipes’ and Athala carefully pulled it out of the shelf and closed the doors to the cabinet. She backed away slowly, holding her breath. The cabinet didn’t fall over, so Athala took her prize and went to Anton’s desk to sit down with the book.

  She skimmed over it at first. In a flowing hand, an Anton not much older than she was now described with great exuberance the potential of combining mechanical devices with alchemical magic. In every loop of his letters, she saw the same energy that filled her whenever she got her hands on a useful tidbit of magical lore. Only he had been far enough along to commit his work to a full book.

  Once he got through the passion of youth (and a few veiled references to closed-minded professors who dismissed his work) he began to outline the results of some of his data. Athala marveled at the thoroughness of his research.

  During her own experiments, Athala just worked within the realm of her mind, and went with what made sense. Anton had refused to do anything so simply. Every detail of his research was tested over and over again, with a care and attention to detail that made Athala all the more disappointed over his loss.

  After skimming through the charts, graphs, details, and results of his experiments, the book ended with a series of instructions for simple devices that would be the great-great-grandparents of the half-finished projects that surrounded her in his office.

  Athala furrowed her brow, and opened one of the desk drawers beside her. The drawer was filled with tiny bins filled with device parts. The next drawer held slightly larger parts, and the bo
ttom drawer held larger pieces of metal framing and glasswork. On the other side of the desk were meticulously labeled jars of alchemical ingredients. She carefully studied the directions for the first, most basic device in the book: a flashbang.

  Athala had to admit to herself that she wasn’t as familiar with traditional alchemical procedures as she was with those her family used, but she made do as best she could. The flashbang required two unique types of potion she’d never heard of, but their creation was relatively simple. Slightly harder was assembling the simple device that encased the bottles, as she didn’t have the background that Anton had when he wrote the directions. But he had written the book intending it to be for beginners, so she was able to create something close to what was required by following the diagrams.

  The principle was easy to understand: the unique potions created light and sound when exposed to air, and the device itself shattered the bottles with a spinning piece that would spray the contents out all at once, creating a bright flash from one potion, and a loud sound from the other.

  Athala worked hard. She felt like a child experimenting with alchemy for the first time, but the swooping script urged her forward. Anton’s work wouldn’t be lost. She refused to let his death be in vain.

  After about two or so bells, the fist-sized device was completed. Athala stared at the contraption. Within theory, it was sound. It looked right and she’d followed the instructions to the best of her ability.

  She figured there was only one way to discover if she had done it properly. With a hard swallow, Athala threw the device into the center of the room, where the blast marks of Anton’s last stand left a large portion of the room clear. Athala quickly ducked behind the desk and covered her ears.

  There was a clatter as the device hit the ground, followed by a long pause.

  Too long.

  Athala uncovered her ears and peeked around the side of the desk. The device sat, inert, on the floor. After a long moment with no activity, she slipped out from behind the desk and crept up on the device. Athala gingerly picked it up and examined it.

  She knew the problem was with whatever part of it was supposed to trigger it on impact, but she wasn’t entirely sure of which part that was by sight. With a frustrated sigh, she brought it back over to the desk and set it down carefully while she consulted the book. After a few moments, she decided that she hadn’t tightened the screws enough, and the extra give to the edges of the device had absorbed the impact enough to defeat the trigger. She quickly went around the device wrestling with them. When she was done with the task, she threw the device again and ducked.

  This time there was an audible click when it hit the ground, and Athala plugged her ears as soon as she heard it. The room lit up, and there was a noise... but the light persisted. So did the noise. She unplugged her ears and the workshop was filled with a mild droning noise.

  She peeked around the corner of the desk. This time the bottles had shattered, but the mixture hadn’t been dispersed into the air. The potions had just been dumped onto the floor, where they spread out, one side glowing like a torch, and the other side making a noise a little softer than a person shouting, just a long low note.

  Athala returned to her seat at the desk and tried to figure out where she went wrong. The device had broken the glass, but not dispersed the potion.

  Was there a problem with the spinning component? And the potion was just spreading slowly across the ground, burning off with exposure to air instead of all activating at once. Was there a problem with her concoction? There was no way to know. The book didn’t help, as it only told her the directions she had followed. Was there a missing component that Anton had left out to protect his secrets?

  She sagged against the desk, frustrated. Athala had started with the most basic item in the most basic book. Trying to put together whatever contraption he planned for the attack on the Temple was going to be much, much harder. Her own magic was quite powerful, but she was only one wizard. She couldn’t incapacitate an army. People were going to die. Perhaps even her friends. If only she had been with Anton, she might have been able to protect him while he was assembling his devices.

  She sat up with a sigh. It was no use now. They had a few days yet, perhaps she could work it out if she took the time to just keep trying. She wiped her hands off on the side of her pants, mildly irked by the soot that still clung to most of the surfaces of the workshop.

  The Overseers had been lucky Anton’s final blast hadn’t ignited a fire. Stone structures were fallaciously considered fire resistant, but could actually be more dangerous in a fire. Tapestries and furniture would give it enough fuel to quickly get out of control, and wooden floors and support beams meant that fire still had plenty of wood to damage. Damage to the wooden components of the structure could lead to the entire place collapsing. If there were a fire, even the attackers from the Temple would want to put it out if they were inside when—when...

  Athala stopped and stared at the soot on her hand.

  Fire.

  Even in death, Anton’s genius shocked Athala.

  Athala abandoned her still flickering attempt at Anton’s contraption, fleeing from the room to find Merylle and Hartmut.

  She knew how they were getting in.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Over the next two days, Elise attempted to avoid Merylle. At first it was just that the Overseer was resting and Elise had many things to get done in anticipation of their attack on the Temple. But eventually it was just easier to find excuses to be away from her than analyze what had gone wrong between them.

  There was a small part of her that knew, firmly and against all logic, that Merylle knew about Elise’s intentions with the dragon. As the ex-High Priest of the Temple of Teis, she would have to have some affection for Sirur and his master, no matter how betrayed she felt. Would that affection mean she would protect the creature when they attacked it? Would she try to stop them? Would Elise once more need to choose between someone she cared about and the will of a God she barely trusted?

  Elise threw herself into training the Overseers. Ermolt was curious at her newly found desire to drill stances and guards into a bunch of thieves, but Elise gave him some vague excuse about time running out.

  On this particular day, the sun was high in the sky and the tail end of summer was heavy with a thick heat that made sweat glisten across Elise’s forehead even though she was barely exerting herself. The Overseers fanned themselves, watching with dull interest as Elise went over the importance of controlling an opponent’s placement in combat, particularly through throws.

  She was so focused on moving through the steps of setting up a one-handed hip throw, one that could be employed with a weapon in the other hand, that she didn’t see Merylle approach. She joined the other Overseers in watching the demonstration, and it wasn’t until her crisp laughter broke through the warm air that Elise realized she was there.

  Elise was on her toes so that she could get a grip on the armor around Ermolt’s shoulder and neck. She knew it looked silly. It felt silly. She was nearly two fen shorter than that barbarian, and while they had similar girths to them, Ermolt’s mass was pure muscle in contrast to Elise’s plump form.

  Other Overseers were joining Merylle’s laughter. They were trying to suppress it, but it was contagious and derisive.

  Elise let out a frustrated growl and followed through with her grip, foregoing the rest of the lesson. With a toss of her hip the large barbarian soared through the air with a surprised yelp. He landed hard on his back on the soft grass. She turned to face the Overseers, who were staring wide mouthed at the display.

  “It doesn’t matter how much larger your opponent is. Use their height and speed to your advantage.” She placed her hands on her hips, a stern glare on her face. “Now, pair off and try it. Put away your training swords—I don’t want anyone to get stabbed while sparring.”

  There were a few mumbles of protest but the Overseers complied, breaking off into groups of
two. With a soft smile, Elise helped Ermolt back to his feet.

  “Sorry about that,” Elise said sheepishly.

  “Hah—don’t worry about it. You did good.” The barbarian dusted dirt from his pants legs. “We really should have told them about landing safe, though.”

  Elise looked out over the gathered Overseers. He was right. Landing wrong would knock the air from them and would hurt a considerable amount more than if they landed across the bridge of the back of their shoulders. But before she could interrupt, Elise realized Merylle was still waiting.

  “Er, can you handle it?” Elise asked in a small voice. “I think there’s someone who wants to talk to me.”

  The woman walked toward her, and Elise had to suppress the urge to run. Where would she even go? Would anywhere in Jalova be safe? Perhaps she’d have to head to Khule and hide within the Temple of Ydia for the next twenty or so years. They’d likely be happy to lock her up for a good long time anyway.

  “Elise,” Merylle said when she got closer, “may I speak to you for a bit?”

  “Oh. Uh, yeah. Of course.” The Conscript smiled, forcing the awkward stretching of her lips to be as friendly as possible. Merylle arched an eyebrow at her, and so Elise just turned to Ermolt. “You’re in charge,” Elise said, loud enough for the Overseers to hear her.

  Elise was sure Merylle was going to lead her back up to the bluff, but the woman instead led her on a walk through the Overseer’s District. The change of scenery was nice, but it did little to calm the worry that wormed its way through Elise’s belly. What could Merylle possibly want?

  The two women walked in silence. They strolled down the mostly empty streets almost an arm’s length away from one another. Elise tried to ignore the palpable discomfort between them. It was like a tightly coiled bit of rope, pulled taunt by two forces that didn’t know how to give up to let the other win.