Elise hopped to her feet, brushed off her knees, and turned to fetch Ermolt’s knife from his travel bag.
She hadn’t even taken a step before she ran right into Athala.
This time it was Athala’s arms that were full, and Elise could only watch dumbly as the freshly washed cooking supplies tumbled into the dirt. The wizard looked down at the fruits of her labor, now coated in a fine sheen of muck, and then back up at Elise. Athala’s face was a mask of anger, confusion, and frustration.
“Ugh,” Athala said, her voice dripping with that same mixture of emotion, “why in the Nether can’t you stay out of my way?”
“I could say the same for you,” Elise snapped back, bending to collect the cooking supplies before they got dirtier. She almost collided with Athala, who had also bent to scoop them up. The wizard made a frustrated sound of disgust and backed away. “I’m trying to set up the camp, but every step of the way you’ve been skulking underfoot!”
“Underfoot? Maybe if you paid attention to what was going on around you, you would see me coming. It’s not like I’m sneaking around!”
“I’m not sure if you’re aware, Athala, but I’m human. I can’t see in the dark.”
“So start the Nether-blessed fire!”
“I’m trying,” Elise said, drawing out the word as if she were explaining to a child. She stood up and thrust the cooking supplies at Athala. “I need to scrape away some of the bark on the larger pieces. It just won’t catch.”
“Or, you know, you could ask the wizard to use her magic to start it.” Athala snatched the cooking supplies from Elise. “But I guess you’re too proud for that.”
“You were busy,” Elise said, grinding her teeth together.
“And you wanted to do it your way. I get it.”
“Ydia’s Grace, Athala. Can you stop being mad at me for a bell?”
The wizard snorted. “Apparently not. Did you want to try listening to me for a bell instead?”
“Listen to you what? Sigh and groan and stomp your feet every time I sneeze the wrong way?” Elise maneuvered around the wizard, fetching the knife she’d been after before they started the altercation. She tried very hard not to stomp in anger as she did.
Athala was silent for a moment. As Elise approached the firepit from the opposite side, she could see the wizard was trying to focus herself to control her anger. “Ibeyar is dangerous,” Athala said finally, opening her eyes and pinning Elise with a very pointed stare.
“I’m aware.”
“I don’t mean because he killed your girlfriend,” Athala said in a haughty tone. She paused and shook her head. “Sorry. That was uncalled for.”
A ball of tension forced Elise’s teeth together, and it took everything she had to keep from grinding them in frustration. “What do you mean then?”
“Ibeyar tried to kill us—at least twice.”
Elise mulled over that for a moment. She began running the edge of the knife over a branch, whittling away the thick bark. “And both times he ran away in fear of us. He’s not a problem.”
Athala sat down in the dirt across from Elise. She rested the cookware in her lap and instead picked at her cuticles. When she finally spoke up again, her voice was listless and haunted. “Ibeyar hired a man to peel the flesh from my stomach, ram spikes into my organs, and play them like harp strings.”
Elise winced and looked up at the wizard, but Athala refused to meet her gaze. “I know. And I’ve apologized a thousand times for letting him hurt you. But Ingmar is dead, Athala. He can’t hurt you any more. And Ibeyar is too cowardly to come after us directly.”
Athala looked up and caught Elise’s eye. “But we keep blundering into his plans, and we haven’t been prepared to deal with them. It’s cost us both dearly.” Athala examined her hand, drawing Elise’s attention to the small round scar that had refused to heal properly.
“We don’t know what his plans are.”
“Yes, we do.” Athala used one thumb to pick at the cuticle of the other. “He’s going after dragons. The same dragons we seek. What if we just... stop hunting dragons for a time?”
“Ydia wouldn’t allow it.” Elise shook her head and returned to whittling the kindling. “And at any rate, you’re the Bringer of the Age of Mortals, Athala. Dealing with the dragons is kind of your thing.”
“If we continue to succeed where he fails, he’ll get more desperate.”
“Tch, desperate to avoid us.”
Athala snorted with laughter. “Or desperate enough to attack us outright. When they say someone fights like a cornered rat, it’s not because a cornered rat gives up. It’s because the rat knows it has nothing left and so gives its all in a last attempt to get away.”
Elise thought about it for a long moment. Neuges was a big place, and there were still five Temples for them to visit. Five more dragons left for them to kill. “Ibeyar has kren and kren left to run away from us. We’ve only killed one dragon. I think we have a while left before he does anything worrisome.”
“I didn’t mean he’s physically cornered.”
“No, right, I get it. I just mean... we haven’t seen or heard anything about him during our trip to Jirda. Maybe we got lucky and he’s going to Feldhok instead. Or Klav. Or anywhere else.”
Athala sighed heavily. “I don’t know why I keep trying to get through to you.” She gathered the dishes and utensils in one hand and pushed herself to her feet. “I don’t know what I hope to accomplish.”
Elise had no response, so she returned to whittling.
She was aware Athala remained standing there, watching her. Expecting something. There wasn’t anything else that could be said, however. Athala had said her piece, and Elise hers. They had argued about this for kren and kren, and neither was willing to budge.
The wizard sighed, as if she had expected something more. “Fine,” she said eventually as she started to walk away. “Just don’t get us killed with your stubbornness, Elise.”
Elise waited until long after Athala was gone, returning to the creek to wash the utensils once more. As soon as she was sure the wizard was far beyond earshot, Elise sighed. “I’ll do my best to protect you, Athala. That’s all I can really do.”
Chapter Three
Ermolt chased the creature that was little more than a blur in the underbrush.
He tried to shoot as he ran, but the shot went wide by nearly a fen, and Ermolt decided to save his sling bullets.
He knew he was a fool to chase something that was designed to run away from predators much faster than him, but he was desperate. It was getting later and later, and he couldn’t go back empty-handed. Full night was coming, and it was getting too dark to even pull slow-witted dilrays out of the muck.
This preoke was his one chance.
Ermolt made a silent prayer to Dasis—God of Fauna and patron of the barbarians—as he followed the preoke’s paw prints through the wood. It was the ninth such prayer he’d made that night, and he didn’t feel any closer to the enlightenment of a blessed hunt. He was far away from home, sure, but She still usually listened to Her expatriated followers.
Perhaps She disliked that he followed Ydia’s orders through Elise.
The thought was accompanied by a rash of gooseflesh that drew Ermolt’s focus away from the chase.
What if Dasis really did disapprove of his dalliances with the God of Life? He never stopped to think if She would approve of him helping the Bringer of the Age of Mortals without Her blessing.
A scuttling to his left brought Ermolt back with a razor-thin focus and his arm whipped out on instinct. The sling bullet burrowed into the wood after passing through the thin cartilage of one of the preoke’s rounded ears. It squealed in both panic and pain, and let go of the tree.
The six-limbed critter hit the dirt in a sprint and Ermolt redoubled his own pace, feeling a bit of pride in having kept up so close behind the creature.
It began to zigzag as if hoping it could confuse the barbarian behind it. Ermolt fol
lowed steadily, focusing on the creature’s movements rather than following its tracks. He considered taking another shot through the undergrowth, since he did have sling bullets to spare, and they were so close to town, but his training nagged at him.
He had always been taught to never hurl a ranged attack at an unseen target. Ermolt couldn’t trust his aim.
But he could trust his instincts.
He dug another metal sphere from his pocket and secured it into the pouch of his sling, ready for any opening.
The thick underbrush finally gave way to thinner patches as they got farther away from the swampy area he’d crossed through earlier. Ermolt was pleased. Not only was the ground much more solid, and thus it was less likely he would slip and sprain an ankle, but there was more of a chance the preoke would run through open ground and give him a clean shot to take it down.
Up ahead, a flash of light fur dove across a patch of bare earth at the base of a hill. Ermolt shot on instinct. The preoke jolted. A surge of pride filled Ermolt at the landed shot. But the creature did not fall. Ermolt cursed under his breath and continued to run on, hoping that whatever injury he inflicted would slow the preoke down.
The preoke skirted away from the hill but still ran mostly north. Ermolt followed, but traveled close to the hill, trying to cut it off slightly by refusing to avoid the area.
As he passed, the hill emitted a piercing cry.
Ermolt pivoted and took off the other way.
A beast—one that would dwarf Elise in height—erupted from the previously unseen den dug into the side of the hill. It cried out again and charged. Ermolt threw himself to the side, diving into a roll to avoid being gored by fen-long tusks. Ermolt came up from the roll already loading a bullet into his sling. He spun to look at his attacker.
It was a wild boar. With its humped shoulders, black furred ears, and white patches of fur that dropped from its ears along the back of its jawline, it was a species Ermolt was familiar with. It was also incredibly angry at the barbarian before it.
Ermolt didn’t have time to wonder how the beast had found its way so far south. It was charging again, still screaming its throaty battle cry at him.
He hurled a sling bullet at the creature, but he knew it wouldn’t stop the boar’s charge.
The bullet struck the hump of its shoulders, and the squeal that came from it was as far from that of a common pig as was physically possible for a beast so closely related to it. The shot had only penetrated the thick hide by virtue of Ermolt’s prodigious strength, but even then it didn’t slow the creature at all.
Ermolt dove aside from the charge again as he considered his options.
He lamented venturing into the woods so poorly armed for a fight.
His lohar axes hadn’t left his reach since the fight with Sirur, but they were poorly suited to hunting for food. Digging deep rents into the flesh of the beast was just going to ruin good meat.
So he was down to the sling and his hunting knife.
Ermolt had no doubt he could eventually put enough sling bullets through the massive creature to drop it before it wore him out and he made a mistake. But it was risky. And the beast only needed one good strike to end the fight in its favor. Its tusks would pierce his hide armor and tear open his belly if just one of his wild charges landed.
If he wanted this to end quickly, he had to be fast.
And if he wanted it to be fast, it had to be the knife.
Ermolt threw his sling aside, not wanting to take the precious moments required to tuck it away. He’d just retrieve it once this was done.
If he survived.
Ermolt drew his knife, holding it like a dagger as he faced off against the boar again. The creature snuffled, its dark eyes searching the forest for him. Ermolt knew a boar’s eyesight was very poor, and as a species they depended on hearing and smell more, which were sharp enough to accurately direct its deadly rampage.
It latched on to his scent and hurled itself at him again, lashing its head back and forth, tusks flashing as it opened its mouth to scream once more.
Ermolt leapt over the boar’s snout and the creature reared, trying to follow his movements. He came down on the boar’s back, digging his free hand into the creature’s mane. The boar squealed again. Ermolt got a grip on the hide around its injured shoulder and his weight dragged the beast down. It bucked and thrashed, and once on the ground it tried to roll back onto its feet immediately. Ermolt wrestled to keep it on its side, avoiding its kicking hooves.
The boar’s head thrashed as Ermolt struggled to hold it to the forest floor. Its tusks gouged deep rents in the dirt instead of Ermolt’s flesh.
Ermolt knew he couldn’t let go of the creature to cleanly make the killing blow. It would get to its feet and overpower him. But he was struggling to make progress against the boar’s buckling. Its hindquarters kicked off the ground, and one of the cloven hooves nearly caught Ermolt in the side of his face. The dirt-pocked foot passed close enough to his eye to make him flinch.
It was just the opening the boar needed. It bucked in just the right way and Ermolt lost his grip. With a snarl Ermolt threw himself at the recovering beast, pinning it with raw muscle.
He brought his hand around and smashed the butt of his knife into the side of the boar’s head. The strike stunned the creature for a moment, and a moment was all Ermolt needed.
Throwing himself forward, Ermolt wrapped one arm around the boar’s head and pulled back, lifting the beast’s head away from its throat. The boar was able to squeal one last time before the hunting knife came across, opening the throat and wetting the ground with the boar’s blood.
Ermolt held onto the creature tightly. He was afraid of catching a thrashing hoof or tusk as the creature breathed its last. It was better to just sit tight and hold it still. And so he held on, growling with effort as the beast fought its last moments.
When the boar finally lay still, Ermolt rolled away from it and collapsed onto his back. His breath was jagged, large gulping rents of air stolen from the forest around him. While he caught his breath, Ermolt watched the darkening sky and looked for all his favorite constellations against the inky backdrop.
Ermolt had never killed a boar before without a spear.
He never wanted to do it again.
After enough moments had passed for Ermolt to feel like he could breathe normally, he got to his knees and said a quick prayer to Dasis over the fallen boar. Once more he failed to feel enlightened or touched after the prayer, but at least he’d made the attempt. With that done, Ermolt cleaned his knife and fetched his sling.
With the speed and efficiency of a barbarian who had spent many days on hunts, Ermolt hung his kill from a nearby tree to drain the remaining blood from it. There was no way he would be able to carry the massive hog back to camp, so while it drained he made a travois. He found two long branches from the nearby trees and lashed them together with vines.
It was beyond full dark by the time he finished, but Ermolt had traveled by moonlight so many times before, he was unfazed. Using the constellations above him and the frenzied tracks of the preoke below him, Ermolt was able to find his way back to camp, dragging the massive kill behind him.
Chapter Four
Athala was exhausted.
She wasn’t quite sure how other people lived this life, constantly traveling between cities and being so long without a proper bed. The hard ground had stolen many of the bells she should have been sleeping, and between that and the long days of travel, Athala felt as if she were a marionette being moved one step at a time by some outward force that cared little for her well being.
Ermolt had spent the last few bells—who would even know this far from town?—roasting a giant pig over the fire Elise had finally got going. She still hadn’t asked for Athala’s help, but Athala also hadn’t offered again.
Instead she had finished her chores and then returned to her studies.
It was almost as if studying was all she did these days.
But Ibeyar wasn’t a coward. He was smart.
Much smarter than they were.
So to make up for it, Athala studied.
Since they’d left Jalova, Athala had focused on studying the two dragon spells in her head. With barely any study at all she’d applied the amplifying strength of Meodryt’s spell to her own magic, turning her fire into an incredibly deadly tool, and her Hesitance spell into an out-right stun. Her illusions were even stronger and more believable.
Sirur’s spell was something else.
Where Meodryt’s spell was about holding the creature it had trapped, binding it into solid stone, Sirur’s spell was about time. The complexities of the spell itself made Athala’s head spin, but she saw how the draconian runes of Sirur’s spell actually created a bubble of time it trapped the dragon in.
Athala theorized she could use it to make casting her spells faster, if not completely silent.
The idea was beyond anything Athala had ever imagined before.
Draconian runes had to be spoken and woven with the hands in order to form magic. That was a basic rule all wizards knew. But no wizards, other than her, had two dragon spells living in their heads.
She would need help with something that big though, and that’s why she was glad they were going to Jirda next. If there was anyone who could help her achieve something of such greatness, it was Sieghard.
When dinner was finally ready, Athala abandoned her reading spot near the edge of the forest, snuffing her candle before she went. She wasn’t excited. Ermolt had apologized profusely for his inability to discern the difference between edible flora and poisonous flora. Neither Elise nor Athala possessed that particular knowledge either, so they were stuck either eating roasted boar or cutting away the mold on the bread that had survived this long. Neither sounded like a great option to Athala, but she needed to eat in order to continue walking.
Destiny (Heroes by Necessity Book 3) Page 2
