Destiny (Heroes by Necessity Book 3)

by Riley S. Keene

  The Guards just stared.

  Elise could feel their eyes on her back as she walked away, drawn by the tiny old man and his surprisingly forceful grip.

  As they left the area around the gates, he scolded her for a hundred things, rambling on and on about her duties and her timeliness and many other tasks. At the first intersection, he pulled her off to the left and they both rested against the wall. “Oh by the Darkest Night, how glad I am to be away from all that.” He grinned up at Elise. “Dirik Moll. Your friend, the wizard, sent me.”

  “A pleasure, Dirik, thank you for your timely extraction.”

  “Of course. I’m only glad I was able to do so without causing too much of a scene. No need for us to be remembered other than as a slight annoyance.” Dirik brushed his hands along his long black robes. “I refrained from asking your friend why she needed help getting you into the city. And I’ll refrain from asking you the same. I need not know, and I need not find out through any slip of information.”

  Elise smiled down at the man. She handed him a coin, one of the ones she’d found on the Guards the night before. “Of course. I assume you know where my friend is, considering she likely had to relocate?”

  The man only laughed and started down the street. He paused and waved her on. “Come. I know where she is. For another coin, I won’t even make small talk on the way there.”

  Elise grimaced, thinking of the merchants she had to listen to drone on about a thousand things. She caught up to the old man quickly enough and slipped him a second coin. He laughed again, a grating thing that Elise welcomed.

  It was better than talking about the price of cheese.

  Chapter Nine

  Athala emptied her glass of the awful, sour wine in one large gulp, earning her an impressed but curious look from Ermolt.

  It wasn’t like he hadn’t finished three mugs of mead since they got to this shoddy little tavern in the south end of town. And it wasn’t as if they hadn’t gotten drunk before, stumbling around Khule after many and much drink.

  He just knew she had a secret.

  And he wanted her to share.

  Athala was firm in her desire to wait. The news had shaken her to the core. The scroll she’d ripped from the wall of a garden she’d passed had been the only pristine one in a bundle of defaced scrolls. She hoped that was good news, but one could never be sure.

  But Athala wanted to wait for Elise before she shared. She only wanted to explain once how incredibly terrible their situation was.

  Athala and Ermolt had settled on this particular tavern by name alone—the Lucky Turnip didn’t sound like the type of place that had a lot of high-end clientele, such as Conscripts or Guards.

  It didn’t look it either.

  The furniture of the place was motley and mismatched, and most of it had an odd smell to it that reminded Athala of her days at the Wizard’s Tower. Many of the old books had a similar smell. Musty, but also chemically cleaned. The paint on the walls was peeling and the floor boards were an odd shade of black. In fact, the walls creaked whenever the wind hit the place as if it were one good gust from being kindling.

  All in all, the Lucky Turnip looked like it had survived a pretty disastrous fire. And just barely.

  When Athala had asked the owner, out of sheer curiosity more than a desire to know, she was told that apparently that assumption was very true.

  About ten years back, the Lucky Turnip, then called the Fine Turnip, had caught fire during an impressive battle between two wizards who wanted the same room. The entire upstairs had been lost to the flames, but the downstairs was almost completely spared, except for some light charring. The Turnip, as the man referred to it, never had a whole lot of money as it wasn’t in the best part of town, but the wizards had paid for what they destroyed. And so the tavern had stayed open, even if the entire thing was basically a death trap waiting to be sprung.

  At least the chairs were comfortable.

  After days of sleeping on the ground, the cushioned chair was a blessing Athala didn’t know she desired.

  Athala put her mug down on the table and almost instantly a woman appeared at her side. She offered more wine from a ewer that looked about as clean as the wine tasted. Athala stared at her misshapen clay cup for a moment as she chewed on her bottom lip. Eventually she nodded, and the woman poured more of the nasty liquid from the ewer.

  “Are you alright?” Ermolt asked as soon as the woman was gone.

  Athala shook her head. “Nothing’s alright anymore. But Dirik should be bringing Elise by in just a few moments, and then we can talk.”

  Ermolt grunted in response and took a drink from his mug. “Alright. Just... just don’t hurt yourself there, alright? I’ve never seen a wine that smelled like alchemist’s fire.”

  Looking down into the murky reddish-purple liquid that marred her cup, Athala only smirked. She sniffed it twice and made a disgusted face, sticking her tongue out. “You’re right. I actually think this could kill me.” She laughed and put her cup down. “I couldn’t place the smell before.” Athala leaned back in her chair and grinned wide at Ermolt. “At least it doesn’t taste like alchemist’s fire.”

  “Is that... do you actually know what alchemist’s fire tastes like?”

  “Of course not! I mean, logistically, it would melt my tongue before I even got to actually taste it. But they do say we eat with our other senses before we even touch our tongue to the food. If something smells like the chemical equivalent of boiling sulfur, it most likely tastes like it as well.”

  “Speaking of eating,” Ermolt said as he put a hand to his stomach, “we could stand to get some food. Last night’s boar is wearing off.”

  “Sure, just, er, not from here?”

  “Of course! I’m hungry, not desperate.”

  A silence fell over the two of them, permeated by the rhythmic creaking of the entire tavern. Athala was sure the building was going to come down on them as they sat here, lucky or not.

  The front door to the tavern opened and Elise stumbled through it, obviously overheated and exhausted. Ermolt kicked one of the empty chairs across from him, scooting it back from the table. The noise—and likely the fact that they were the only two idiots in this establishment—drew Elise’s attention and the Conscript made her way to them.

  “Dirik found you, I assume.”

  “Yes,” Elise said, taking her seat and looking curiously at the mug in front of her. Athala knew it was the same type of mead Ermolt had, and while he wasn’t the most finicky person, he did say it was fairly decent. The Conscript took a sip, then a larger gulp. “Thank you for the help. They... I didn’t expect them to have so much information. On us.” She shook her head. “They were expecting a Conscript of Ydia. My story got me in trouble.”

  “I expected as much,” Athala said, taking a sip from her cup with a grimace. Alchemist’s fire. Ermolt had pinned it. “When I went through the gates, they were a bit over suspicious of me, too. A little insistent in their questioning.”

  “Did they give you any trouble?”

  “N-not really. They brought out a wanted poster, though. It looked almost just like me.”

  “Me too! On mine, the nose was a bit off.”

  Ermolt grunted. “I must have been lucky then—they didn’t really question me too much.”

  “I assume since you aren’t, er, sitting in a holding cell, you actually answered them, though?”

  The barbarian smiled at her, and Athala found herself smiling back. His was a broad smile, infectious and full of unbridled joy. “Not quite.” He threw his head back and laughed loudly. “I mostly grunted and nodded.”

  “Ydia’s Grace, Ermolt,” Elise said as she and Athala both burst into laughter as well.

  Only Athala’s dried up quickly.

  She reached into the pocket of her dress and touched the edge of the scroll hidden there.

  When her companion’s laughter had dried up, Athala swallowed hard. “I’m glad everyone made it safe... bec
ause, er...” She trailed off, unsure of how to begin.

  “Athala found something,” Ermolt said, saving her the trouble. “She didn’t tell me what it is, but it’s pretty big.”

  Elise fixed Athala with a curious look. “What do you have?”

  With an unsteady hand, Athala reached for her wine and took another drink, alchemist’s fire or not. It burned its way down her throat. The fiery alcohol steadied her nerves.

  Athala leaned forward, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, but still loud enough to be heard over the creaking of the building in the wind. “There’s, er, talk. Around town. About a man they call the Prophet.”

  “Right!” Elise leaned in as well. “The Guards at the gate mentioned him.”

  “What’s a prophet?” Ermolt asked, leaning forward as if to match his friends.

  “Someone who predicts the future,” Elise said with a shrug before Athala could reply. “Usually. It’s something to do with divine power. I’ve heard it as an old term that’s not in current use among the Temples. The Gods have either been a lot more stingy with their powers as of late, or people realized they were hoaxes.”

  “Er, technically, a prophet is defined in academic circles as any human having divine power. Priests and Clerics are considered prophets, technically. But the term has really fallen out of use since the Age of the Gods began, as the Gods imbue Clerics and Priests with a nontrivial amount of divine power by answering their prayers. So it’s... silly? It’s... archaic. But back when, in the time before the Age of the Gods, a prophet was described as a person who had divine power that didn’t come from the Gods.”

  “That doesn’t make sense,” Elise said, her brow furrowed. “By definition, Gods are the source of divine power. How can divine power come from anywhere else?”

  “There are some legends of heroes with mystical abilities that didn’t come from Gods.” Ermolt swallowed another mouthful of mead. “Some did, but others were just unexplained. Maybe it’s something like that?”

  Elise shrugged and shook her head. “Well, regardless of origin, I suppose we just need know who this ‘prophet’ is, and why they’re looking for us.”

  Athala nodded. “And I can answer both.” She reached into her pocket once more and pulled out the scroll she’d tucked away. It was a darker parchment, more mud than wood pulp. The front was marked with charcoal, although she kept it face down on the table for now. “Before I do, I want to make something very clear.” She paused and took a deep breath. “I really dislike being right.”

  She didn’t have to flip the parchment over, but she did anyway. Her words caused Elise to react more than the crude drawing did.

  And crude it was. This was not drawn by someone who was as skilled as the artists for the wanted posters, but was instead done by an amateur who was obviously enamored with the subject.

  Large text at the top of the scroll read simply: “The Prophet!” with smaller text at the bottom describing a time and place for some sort of sermon, though to Athala it sounded more like a rally one would hold for the unions in Lublis.

  The man in the center of the scroll was very familiar looking, although he’d been drawn with exaggerated features, like an overlarge, strong jawline and barbarian-sized shoulders for his thin form.

  Elise cursed. “Ibeyar.”

  Chapter Ten

  Elise stared at the drawing.

  A thousand thoughts rushed through her head, and none of them were productive.

  The artist who had drawn this particular image had failed to capture the true essence of Ibeyar.

  For one, he wasn’t smarmy enough. There was no menacing smirk that cut across his face like a slit of a wound made by a dagger.

  He was overtly handsome, with exaggerated features. It was obvious the artist had fallen in love with the man while drawing him, or at least had been convinced of love by the charismatic so-called Prophet.

  Lastly, and most frustratingly, he was here. Instead of anywhere else.

  Elise wanted to snatch up the scroll. Wanted to tear the parchment into a thousand pieces and take them out back so she could relieve herself on them.

  Her teeth ground together.

  Restraint was key.

  If Athala could restrain from lording the fact that she’d been right, Elise could restrain from destroying the one sign they had of their impending doom.

  Elise looked up to find her companions outright staring at her.

  “What do we do now?” Athala asked in a quiet voice, one that ripped Elise to her core. It sounded so lonely and almost childish.

  “I don’t know,” Elise said, her own voice cracking with uncertainty. “I really just don’t know.”

  “Did he follow us?” Ermolt asked. His hands were tightened around his mug so hard the knuckles were white. Elise feared for the integrity of the mug, but after a few moments it was obvious the clay creation could withstand the abuse. “How could he have followed us?”

  “He didn’t.” Athala touched Ermolt’s hand and the barbarian released his vise-like grip on his beverage. “As Elise pointed out before, we would have seen him on the road, or at least seen signs of him. And, er, this is too big.” She swept a hand across the table to point at the parchment. “Between this and the gates? This had to take time to establish. Which isn’t something you could do in a week while fleeing from another city.”

  Elise ground her teeth together again. She wasn’t sure where her frustration was stemming from, as it seemed to just be a nebulous anger towards their situation. And Ibeyar, of course. “You’re right. He’s been here all along.” She shook her head. “Not here, physically. But... this is his base. This is where he came from. He didn’t follow us. He retreated here.”

  “How did you come to that?” Ermolt asked, but Elise only shrugged in response.

  Her friends were silent for a long time. At first they watched her, waiting for Elise to speak up. Finally they moved on. Ermolt finished his mug of beer and Athala sipped at a wine that made her wince with every swallow.

  Meanwhile, Elise stared at the overtly exaggerated features of the man who had ruined everything before it began. And who continued to do so.

  Ibeyar Frey.

  A name she would remember for eternity.

  The name belonged to a man who murdered the woman she loved because Merylle had been tired of being used. A man who had Elise and her friends captured and nearly killed—twice. And now here he was again.

  Elise sighed, heavy and long. The act of forcing all of the air from her lungs was refreshing, and she tapped the words above the picture of the smarmy man who haunted her dreams. “Prophet isn’t a title you get in a day,” she said, picking her words carefully. “They know him here. He’s done something to warrant their love and admiration.” She started to grind her teeth again and forced herself to stop. Her jaw ached with the effort. “I wonder if this is where he got all of the money, power, and resources he’s used against us in Khule and Jalova. How he’s convinced people to follow him.”

  “Right,” Athala said. “He must have established himself here before, er, everything else. That’s why the whole city is jumping at his orders. He’s manipulated people onto his side, and likely did it a long time ago.”

  Ermolt emptied his mug again and slammed it onto the table. “So what you’re saying is the city isn’t looking for us because of what happened in Khule or Jalova, but because of... what? He got here first and told them we’d be chasing him?”

  “I don’t think so,” Athala said while she twirled a black curl of hair around her finger. “That would establish him as someone who couldn’t handle himself. I bet he came to them and said we were criminals. That we escaped from Auernheim and going on a spree across Neuges to, er, menace him? Ruin his plans? I’m not sure. But either way, it’s not entirely untrue.” She released the tiny curl and it sprang back into place. Instead she sat up and pulled the parchment across the table so she could look at it. “If news has spread about a dragon in the hea
rt of Khule, or about the Temple of Teis going dark... people might think we’re coming to do that to them. Whatever ‘that’ is.”

  They fell silent once more as the serving girl appeared to refill Ermolt’s mug with mead. As she approached, Athala slid the parchment off the table, not wanting to draw attention to their unwelcome status in the city. She offered to refill all of their cups, but Elise and Athala declined filling theirs. They cited a need to move along soon, and the woman nodded before retreating again to the counter that spanned the room.

  Elise sighed once she was sure the woman was out of earshot. “I knew we would have to deal with him again. I did. I just hoped it wouldn’t be so soon. Or within the base of his power. This is... not good.”

  “We should have time though, right?” Ermolt said, stretching his arms over his head. An audible pop echoed as Ermolt groaned. Sitting hunched over this table was likely disastrous for the tall man’s spine. “If he’s been building his support structure and turning his defenses against us, outward, then he hasn’t been working on forcing his way into the Temple of Numara and finding Her dragon.” He snatched his mug off the table and took another deep drink. “And we’re inside his guard now. We can sneak in, take care of the dragon, and be gone before he realizes we’re in town.”

  “Or we could just leave,” Athala said. She pushed the parchment to the center of the table once more. “He didn’t follow us here. He wasn’t alerted when we arrived. He won’t follow us when we leave. We can come back after I’ve had a chance to do some research and be ready to really face him.”

  “Wouldn’t work,” Elise said with a frown. “He’ll just think he’s safe and so do... whatever it is he needs to do with Numara’s dragon.”

  “Undyt,” Athala said.

  “Yes, thank you.” Elise tapped a finger to her chin. “But, alternatively, we could pay a few people here to spread rumors that we’ve been seen in town, or out in the woods around the city. Keep him on his toes. That’ll match up with his missing group of would-be assassins. If we find a professional, they could spread the rumors around at regular intervals, and keep Ibeyar chasing his tail here for weeks!”