Sieghard actually seemed impressed. The layers to her alterations, both to range and potency, had been a lot of work. Especially for a ritual spell and not something Athala could ever cast freely.
And she had done it alone.
That was the thing that impressed him most of all, Athala realized. Sieghard was a product of the Wizard Tower’s cycle of academia. He was used to sharing credit to speed things up.
But Athala hadn’t really had an end goal in mind. She hadn’t known what she would find.
Once they had finally moved on past the locating of Meodryt’s spell, she breezed through the recruiting of Elise and Ermolt, and even more breezed through their time in the sewers. Sieghard showed much interest in Ydia’s sanctum, where Meodryt had rested for many and much years, and was disappointed by their capture.
Athala purposefully, and firmly, spoke briefly about her time in Auernheim. She spoke of Ingmar and his knives, and of watching her friend forced to kneel to put her head on the block. But she spoke of these things as if they were nothing, as emotionless as she could. To her surprise and relief, Sieghard didn’t push.
She told him of the deadly Detlev, of the weeks they spent waiting for instruction. Of their leaving Khule and arriving in Jalova. She spoke fondly of Merylle, even though the woman betrayed them. And she explained Anton’s brilliance and kindness, despite working with the Overseers against the city and the Temple.
Athala described in great detail the fight with Sirur and the withdrawl of power. Sieghard only watched, half-full tea cup still in his hands. She spat curses about Ibeyar. About his cowardly fleeing and his murder of Merylle.
To finish up her tale, Athala explained her reasoning for coming to Sieghard. Her need for power, and for understanding, so she could rid Jirda of the parasitic coward known as Ibeyar Frey. The Prophet.
Sieghard sat still, his face void of emotion.
At the end of her tale, Athala took her first sip of tea. The water had grown cold, but the gentle floral taste of the leaves was still very present. It soothed her throat, revitalizing her.
When she had finished her tea, Athala looked to Sieghard. He had moved now, leaning back in his chair. He was looking at the ceiling as if parsing her story, but his cup was still in his hands, even though it was now long empty.
Athala became worried she overshared. She wasn’t sure why she had, anyway. But once she started speaking, it had felt so good to finally explain everything. The words had just slipped out.
It was therapeutic.
Silence spread between them, filling the room like a storm cloud. Sieghard opened his mouth as if to say something, shook his head, and returned to silence.
Many thoughts filled Athala’s head during this awkward time, all screaming for her attention. The first, and loudest, said that he would refuse to work with someone who had killed others. Another claimed that he would use her desperation to his own advantage. A third whispered he would turn her over to Ibeyar. The fourth spoke in Ingmar’s voice and reminded her of the feeling of his blades in the most vital parts of her body.
Athala rubbed at the back of her hand, feeling the lump of scar tissue still buried just beneath the skin.
“Forgive my silence,” Sieghard said finally, causing Athala to start in surprise. “I do not mean to cause you to worry. There is just a lot of things to think about.”
“I’m, um, I’m sorry.”
“You seem to be a well-educated wizard, and naturally gifted as well. I don’t understand why you’re here asking for my help. If your story is true, and you haven’t exaggerated your abilities, then it is well within your realm of capability to do your own research.”
“You’re right,” Athala said, “but I don’t have time. It would take months for me to get done even a tenth of what we could do together in a week. And that’s if I weren’t worried about my friends rushing off into battle against an impossibly strong wizard.”
“They do seem a bit headstrong,” Sieghard said with a sardonic grin. “But regardless, I have my own research to do. I am involved with a fairly large project for a benefactor and I just do not have time to spare on yours.”
Athala’s heart sunk. “But... but I need your help.”
“An emergency on your part does not constitute urgency on mine.” Sieghard pulled himself from his chair with some effort and a groan. “I understand your predicament, but I cannot afford to delay my studies. As much as I relish the opportunity to work on something as exciting as dragon spells, your timeline is just too condensed. I’m sorry. If you were willing to wait until I had the time to spare, that would be one thing.”
Athala sat still in her chair, fighting back the tears that threatened to drown out his rejection. “What... what if we make an exchange then?” The opportunity was slipping away. She had to do something. “I can... I can help you with your research! And the time I save you can be spent on the dragon spells!”
Sieghard had already started towards the door to the kitchen, but he stopped. “An interesting offer,” he said slowly, not turning to face her. “But that deal is only worthwhile if your research skills are able to actually save me effort.”
“Of course,” Athala said quickly. She was trying to not get her hopes back up, but relief flooded her anyway. “I’ll prove myself. I’ll help you for the rest of the evening—no obligation from you. If you turn me away after that, I’ll leave and never return. No hesitation.” Athala smiled at the back of his head. “I won’t even ask for acknowledgment in whatever form your research is published in.”
“And what if I just want the free help? I could always just say your work isn’t up to my standards, no matter how good it is.”
Athala sat up straight. “If you see the quality of my work and don’t want more of it, for any reason, I will leave.” She tried to feign self-assurance, but she was happy to just not be filled with dread again.
“That confident in your skills then?” Sieghard asked, turning to look her way. “Or maybe just that desperate?” He smirked and Athala felt her cheeks redden. “Probably that one.”
“Could be both.”
Sieghard was quiet for a moment again. “Well, it seems as if I have nothing to lose, and an assistant to gain.”
Athala leapt from her chair, nearly knocking her tea cup from her hands. She gripped it steadily. “R-really?”
“However,” he said with a shake of his head, “we’ve already lost nearly a bell and a half to this conversation. You’ll need to work extra hard to make up for that lost time.”
“Of course, of course,” Athala said quickly as she followed him to the kitchen. They left their cups near a basin, not bothering to waste time on cleaning them now.
“Back this way,” Sieghard said. Athala followed him through the kitchen to a small door at the far end. It led to a short hallway. Athala tried to follow without getting distracted, but there were many things hanging from the walls. A few were painted portraits of people Athala didn’t recognize. An old woman looked oddly familiar to her, but Athala didn’t have time to analyze it now.
At the end of the hall, before a pair of double doors, was a crumbling and yellowed graduation certificate from the Wizard’s Tower in Khule. It was framed, although there was no glass in the frame. The name on the certificate wasn’t Sieghard.
“My library is here,” Sieghard said, grasping the door handles to open both doors at once. “Please try and put everything you use back where you found it. It takes me forever to organize it as it is.”
With a grunt of effort he opened the doors.
It was for show. Athala knew it would have been more practical to open just one door and have them enter it that way.
But this display was worth the effort.
Athala had once marveled at the sheer number of books in the master library at the Wizard’s Tower.
This went beyond that.
It shouldn’t have surprised her, after seeing the house from the outside, but the cramped conditions of the k
itchen and sitting room weren’t reflective of the library. It was a multi-level wizard tower, with stairs leading up to an open second floor. Bookshelves lined every wall. Tables and chairs were scattered about on the ground floor, some of them with books and notes laid across them. More shelves peppered the spaces in between, and each shelf was packed with books. They sagged under the weight.
Athala immediately went to the nearest shelf. She recognized instantly that they were sorted by author, and dozens of the books were recognizable copies of books she had used in classes at the Wizard’s Tower. But mixed in were other volumes, some of which she knew were reference texts. The Wizard’s Tower never kept reference texts. Why have it on hand when all the information was collected elsewhere?
Athala had never seen half of these books. Even a quarter of them. This library didn’t just contain every book she’d ever need to untangle the dragon spells.
It contained every book she’d ever need for the rest of her life.
“How... how did you...” Athala couldn’t find the words. She shook her head, trying to get hold of herself. “This is incredible. I’ve never seen such a collection.”
“When you get a few more decades into your life, you’ll likely have one just the same.” Athala could hear the proud smile in his voice, even though she didn’t turn to him. “You should see Ivdium’s though. She puts me to shame.”
“I, uh. Hm. I can’t even begin to imagine that,” Athala admitted with a laugh. She turned to Sieghard and clasped her hands together. “Alright. What are we researching?”
Sieghard’s smile turned into a grin so earnest, he looked twenty years younger without a syllable of magic spoken. Athala’s skin crawled. “Oh, I think you’ll like this,” he said, turning to walk towards the nearest table that was covered with scattered notes. “We are studying ascension.”
“Ascension? As in—”
“As in the process of a mortal becoming a God.”
Chapter Sixteen
Not content with just waiting around until her meeting with the Conscript of Numara, Elise tried other avenues of information gathering for the next two bells.
It was noble in theory, but in practice it ended up being futile.
Ibeyar’s influence over the city affected only a small part of the population, mostly politicians, the wealthy, or those involved with the Guard or the Temple. The rest of the citizens—the average shop owners, farmers, or laborers—cared little for his meddling. The realm of politics was way more than they were willing to get involved in when it affected their day-to-day lives so little.
And on the surface, Ibeyar’s changes looked good for the common person. He spoke against Numara’s fear mongering, claiming She created the things in the darkness as a way to scare the people into worship. He promised to be rid of Her, to stop Her from hurting innocent folk or from limiting the work a person could do.
Elise was surprised to find he was also throwing around proposals for boosting Jirda’s economy, especially regarding trade with other cities. His actual plans were poorly outlined and the people only gave vague answers when Elise pressed for more, so she was convinced they were empty promises.
But what mattered was that some people believed.
And even though they were few and far between, their belief was still scary. It worried Elise in ways nothing else about their situation could.
After bells of talking to many people with no outcome worth the time investment, Elise returned to the Lucky Turnip.
Ermolt was waiting there when she got back.
The barbarian looked tired, likely from the little sleep they’d gotten the night before, but he didn’t look like he’d been in any fights.
He also looked very much like a walking myth of what a barbarian should look like.
The sight of pale flesh pulled tight over an impossible array of honed muscle, marred by faded scars of various age, crisscrossed by supple leather, and punctuated by glimmering edges of dangerous steel... Elise found herself staring. And then blushing. And then staring some more.
Ermolt looked up and waved at Elise, oblivious of her gawking.
Seeing his face blossom into a genuine smile that had nothing to do with his dangerous appearance loosened the rust from Elise’s joints and she found herself able to walk over to the table. Two mugs were in front of him, and he pushed the second her way. The sweet smell of honey wafted from the cup, and Elise was sure he’d bought more mead without even having to take a sip.
“You should put some clothes on,” Elise said after a moment. “Night’s going to come soon and it’ll be a little cold for your strategically positioned belts.”
“I thought about it.” Ermolt laughed, his deep chuckle lacking the embarrassment Elise would have expected from anyone else. “But I wasn’t sure if you and Athala would beat me here. I was afraid you would both come looking for me again.”
“Was there trouble?”
Ermolt laughed again. “Aside from watered-down mead and my theory that the City Guard knows very little about what makes for a good drinking spot, no. Did learn some interesting information.”
“Good. Might as well wait until Athala arrives before we share what we’ve both found.”
“Ah yes. About that.” Ermolt handed Elise a note that was written on a thin piece of parchment, folded over and not sealed. “Arend,” Ermolt said, motioning to the man behind the bar, “said a messenger dropped it off. Said it was for me, but likely that’s because I’m the easiest of us to recognize. I can’t read it, so I assume it’s actually for you.”
Elise unfolded the note and reviewed it quickly. After their time in Auernheim, Athala and Elise had come up with a simple cipher for them to use to communicate covertly. It had been quite a fun activity while they were trapped inside and waiting for Meodryt to tell them what their next move was.
“She’s busy,” Elise said as she had finished running through the cipher. “Nose in a book, and she’s with Sieghard. There’s something about a bet? She’s sure she can win, and then she’ll be able to secure his help. So she thinks she’ll be too late to make it back tonight.”
“You believe it?”
Elise nodded. “The note is in our cipher, so she’s not in trouble or she would be able to say so without fear.” She sighed and then tipped back her mug, gulping down half of the mead. “I’ve been hard on her lately. I think if we showed up, even if just to check on her, she’d see it as the act of an overbearing parent, instead of a cautious friend. She deserves a chance to do what she loves, and if she’s right, it’ll help us in the long term. Could be it will be a significant advantage over just having her here tonight.”
Ermolt grinned at her. “Good. I’m glad you came to that conclusion yourself. If you hadn’t, I was prepared to beat you about the head and shoulders until you saw reason.”
“Hah! I dare you to try.”
The barbarian straightened his shoulders and Elise’s eyes were immediately drawn to his muscular chest once more. “I think I could,” Ermolt said in a rumbling tone that sent a shock through her system.
Elise drew air through her teeth as she blanched, eyes going wide.
Ermolt threw back his head and laughed, taking her reaction for fear rather than an uncomfortable attraction to muscles. Elise let him.
It was way less embarrassing.
Grasping for anything to say that would stop the barbarian from flexing his pectorals at her, Elise mumbled through an explanation of what she’d found out for the day. Which was basically nothing. A single lead, and even then it was likely a dead end.
“I didn’t do much better,” Ermolt admitted with a frown. “Although I was able to get some history, and knowledge of where the Prophet stays, so we can avoid that part of town.”
Elise gestured vaguely with her mug. “By all means then, share your bounty.”
“Ibeyar did something in Gloder. I’m not sure of the details, but the timeline seems to put it before his trip to Khule. Short version of the tale
is that he turned the people against the Temple and started a revolution. I’m guessing he couldn’t get what he wanted when the smoke cleared. Revolution might not be the best way to grab at power from an entity that can just shut its doors and keep you out.” Ermolt drank from his mug, and Elise was surprised to realize the barbarian was drinking water. This information must have cost him dearly. “Whatever the conclusion was, he tried here next.”
“Hm,” Elise said, staring into the depths of her mug. She found no comfort there. “I suppose that will make Gloder a problem for us later. Even if the city isn’t in turmoil with the Temple under siege, it won’t be long enough for the fallout of Ibeyar’s influence to dissipate.”
“And news will travel fast with the two cities being so close.”
“Makes you wonder why we didn’t hear about this back in Khule. Or Jalova.”
Ermolt shrugged. “Any number of reasons. It seems like Ibeyar’s had a pretty firm lock down on rumors coming out of this region anyway. Not too many people seem keen on talking.” The barbarian took a large drink of his water. “Have to make yourself seem pretty useful to get anything.”
“So I’ve noticed,” Elise said sourly.
“At any rate, we could always announce ourselves as enemies of the Temple. Likely make friends with the locals real quick. Ibeyar has thrived on withholding information and playing games with people’s knowledge of his dealings. We can ride on his coattails by claiming to be followers of his from here, and then we can claim our prize.”
It reminded Elise of her earlier thought of a similar plan. It was rotten. Manipulating others through falsity and deception, no matter the righteousness of their cause, would make them villains. And the idea of hunting dragons and potentially killing Gods was already quite a bit unsettling.
“We don’t need to sink to his level,” Elise said finally. “Announcing ourselves as enemies of Ibeyar and therefore allies of the Temple might get us right to Hether’s dragon anyway.” She grimaced and shook her head. “No need for deceit of the common people. Although, we shouldn’t make a choice in either direction until we know the temperament of the city.”
Destiny (Heroes by Necessity Book 3) Page 10
