“Even if what we do is causing harm in the short term, we’re working for a greater good.” Ermolt took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “The Age of Mortals is worth it. We knew when we started this that it wouldn’t be easy—that we would need to make hard decisions. Eventually, it’ll work out. We’re going to be the heroes of this Age.”
Elise lifted her mug, tilted it in his direction, and then drank. She emptied the whole thing in one pull. When the mead was gone, Elise slammed the mug back down on the table. She stared at it for a moment. Ermolt could see her jaw working, her teeth grinding together. The Conscript picked up the mug again with a snarl and slammed it back down on the table once more. She shoved the mug away.
Ermolt caught it before it hit the floor.
“Heroes of this Age. That’s rich. I’m glad at least one of us believes that.”
With a sharp sigh she kicked away from the table and left the room, stomping.
Ermolt stared after her for a moment.
He thought of following, of trying to calm her down, of reminding her why they were doing what they were doing. Of trying to turn her mood.
Instead, he sighed deeply.
He righted Elise’s empty mug onto the table. Ermolt lifted his own to his mouth, paused, and then lowered it back to the table. For the first time in his life, Ermolt didn’t feel like drinking anymore.
With a heavy heart, Ermolt arranged for a temporary room at the Lucky Turnip and turned in for the night.
Perhaps tomorrow would be better.
Chapter Twenty-One
In the grand scheme of things, there were many avenues for Elise to turn down and many ways for her to approach the mess their lives had become. There were a thousand things she could do or not do, and each of them would change the outcome.
But in this moment, Elise couldn’t think.
She stomped down the hall towards her room, but paused at the door. Athala was inside. Asleep. If Elise banged around or prayed or did any number of other things, Athala would wake up. And Elise couldn’t face the wizard right now.
Instead she continued down the hall, her footfalls much more quiet as she passed other rooms, until she came to the Lucky Turnip’s bathhouse.
The room was large, about half the size of the main room, but it was decorated sparsely. A few potted plants and some dingy looking tables dotted the room in odd places, as if the person who had decorated knew very little about how people would move through the space. But where the bathhouse lacked ambiance, it made up for it with amenities.
Along the side wall was a grouping of doors, all likely hiding latrines. The privacy was a unique feature, and one that made Elise feel relaxed. The back of the room was dedicated to a series of small baths, each carved into the ground and lined with tiles. Each bath had its own pump and was surrounded by a wall that was about half the height of the room, allowing for privacy but not making things seem enclosed.
There was no one else in the bathhouse at this time of night.
Elise had barely made the decision to take a bath before she was filling one of the tubs with water from the pump.
The water was clear and warm. Elise had expected the water to be frigid, but it was likely stored somewhere that was either heated, or had access to the sun. It was a small convenience, but one that made Elise’s heart surge with joy.
There was a small box of cloth-wrapped soap next to the pump, and Elise was delighted to find that the tallow-and-oil lump of soap was scented with lavender.
As the tub filled, Elise stripped out of her torn and battered clothing. Her muscles ached, and far more than just from the run and the combat previous to it. It was the ache of exhaustion, of being constantly on the move and never having the time to collect herself.
She slipped into the half-full tub. The water barely made it to her mid shin when she stood, but Elise didn’t really care. It would fill over time. And right now, all she wanted to do was sit back and relax.
Instead she cried.
The tears came unwanted at first, but when Elise finally welcomed them, they flowed unabated.
She told herself it was exhaustion. Elise wasn’t built to endure this lifestyle the way Ermolt was. Of course he could run and fight, followed by more running and fighting, for four bells straight without it affecting him. He wasn’t human. His body was designed to keep moving regardless of what he suffered. If he collapsed in the northern snows, he would not rise again.
But Elise was human. She had limits. And those limits were the reason she cried.
It wasn’t anger or frustration, although she felt those in spades. It wasn’t the crushing guilt for what every follower of Teis must be feeling. It wasn’t the heart-stopping terror of what a God might do for self-preservation. It wasn’t Merylle. It wasn’t the death and the pain and the loss. It wasn’t the confusion she felt about her God’s intentions.
She was just tired.
And by the time the tub filled and the last of her tears had dried on her cheeks, she almost believed it.
Almost.
Elise took her time cleaning up. It was already late, and she knew she wouldn’t get much sleep, so it didn’t bother her to lose more time.
And it felt good to take care of herself.
She washed away the sweat and blood and grime that her adventure through the city had left her covered in. The lavender-scented soap left her skin soft and fresh, and Elise found herself smiling. She even went through the extra effort of washing her hair, using the last of the hunk of soap to scrub the strands clean. By the time she was finished, the water in the tub was an unappealing gray soup of dirt.
Elise emptied the bath through the drainage system and dried herself off with a rough towel as the water drained away.
She felt better. Not perfect, but better.
There was still one thing she needed to do, however.
Someone she had to talk to.
Elise found her way back to her room and quietly dressed for bed. Athala snored softly across the room on her own mattress. The sound made Elise drowsy. But before she could collapse into bed and forget her plans, Elise dropped to her knees beside her rented bed.
The rough mattress smelled faintly of old alcohol and straw. Elise fought past the distraction of her revulsion, concentrating on her breathing.
“Ydia,” she said, barely whispering the words against the mattress, “I need guidance.” Elise paused, almost as if expecting an immediate flood of strength, like she’d seen in so many Priests and Clerics. Like so many of the stories she’d heard of Ydia’s chosen.
When no light filled her, she continued, trying to not chide herself for her childish assumptions. “We’re in trouble. This city is a mess and we can’t get anywhere. Nothing is working, and I need your help. What do we do? Where do we go?” Elise took a deep breath. “I know you have faith in our strength to overcome, and so I too have faith. But if we don’t know where to go, that strength is useless.
“Please. Lend me your guidance. Your wisdom. I need You. Please give me a sign of what to do.”
Elise stayed on her knees another moment, her head bowed and nose against the mattress. She didn’t allow distracting thoughts to pull her from her prayer. Instead she focused on the God of Life as both a being and as a concept. She filled her mind with the warm brilliance of the Temple of Ydia’s beacon lights, of the cool white stone, and of the gentle waters of Her Tranquility.
Moments passed.
Long, empty moments.
Nothing.
She felt nothing.
No touch of the divine.
No warmth and no light.
Reality bled back in. Elise was still in her dingy room, with her nose pressed uncomfortably into a foul-scented mattress while her friend snored on the other side of the room.
“Fine,” she said, her voice dripping with bitterness. “Don’t even listen to me. See if I care.”
Elise drew back the rough wool blanket and climbed into bed. The mattress was lumpy a
nd the straw poked at her in odd places, but she was asleep before her head hit the pillow.
She was standing on the cliff again.
The great black-and-white dragon Meodryt clung to the edge, staring down at her.
Elise felt a deep, familial affection towards the enormous scaled beast, but she knew it was a lie. She pushed it away. Instead she focused on how she felt when she saw the real Meodryt. Focused on seeing it as a predator, if not explicitly an enemy.
Meodryt was not family.
They were an employer at best, and perhaps one that would kill her if she crossed them.
And while some quality of the dream tried to make her forget that, Elise found herself able to push aside the false feelings and focus on the truth.
“Child of Ydia,” Meodryt said affectionately, leaning down towards Elise, “your prayers have been heard. She has asked me to visit you and put you at ease.” The mouth curled in a way that made Elise think of a smile. “Of course She listens. You are Her champion, and She cares for your wellbeing.”
Elise opened her mouth to speak, but found her voice absent. It took every effort to draw words from her mouth. “Then She should help us,” Elise said in a tiny voice that was less of a whisper than her prayer.
“You think that She isn’t?” Meodryt said, that curl of a smile fading like a fire to ashes. “With the death of Teis, the other Gods have been raising their powers against you. Hunting you. Ydia is shielding you and yours from their attempts on your life.”
“I know,” Elise said, finding it slightly easier to speak. It was almost as if Meodryt willed it. “And I’m grateful. But this task is impossible. Insurmountable. We can’t possibly complete Her orders.”
Meodryt leveled one eye with her. “Nonsense. You will prevail. You have Ydia’s trust. Push onward and complete Her tasks. The Age of Mortals depends on you.”
“What about Ibeyar? He’s in our way and making things impossible. Is Ydia not worried about what he’s doing?”
“Of course She is,” the dragon said with a rumbling laugh. “He’s trying to bring on a different kind of change to Neuges, and he cannot be allowed to go through with it. But once your task is done, he will be unable to proceed with his plans. You are resourceful and have overcome much so far. His machinations are the least of your worries.”
Elise shook her head. The dragon’s words soothed her fears, but Elise didn’t want them to be soothed. Meodryt wasn’t saying anything that would help her. Pretty words weren’t assistance. “You don’t understand. He has so much against us here. He is ahead of us at every turn. This is just too much for us.” Elise paused. “You said before that there would be other help, that there would be other followers of Ydia along our path. Where are they? Can they assist us?”
“Their aid will be needed later,” Meodryt said, its eye narrowing. “Once Numara is gone, the other Gods will grow desperate. For now, Ydia can handle their efforts, but once her attention is needed elsewhere, that is when they will be ready to help.”
“If we can’t complete the task now, what good will future help do us?” Elise tried to keep her voice steady, but she knew she was whining. “What we’re up against now is overwhelming. I don’t know if you are both aware, but Ibeyar controls the whole city. We can’t do anything against him. He has too many people working for him, and if we can’t figure out how to overcome him, we can’t take out Undyt.” Meodryt winced at the other dragon’s name, and Elise looked at it in confusion before she pushed on. “Ibeyar has blocked our efforts to find information about his plans, and every attempt we make is a risk to our lives. We don’t need much, but please, give us just a little help. A push in the right direction.”
The dragon drew its head up, a deep rumble from its chest shaking the very fabric of her dream. “You have been on this quest for little more than a month. Only one dragon has fallen.” It gnashed its teeth at her. “You need this much help now? You are already at the end of your rope?” Meodryt’s voice boomed angrily from above, filling the air with an oppressive aggression that made Elise flinch away. “Five more dragons await you. If you need so much help with the second, perhaps you are too weak to serve as Ydia’s champion.”
“N-no! I just—”
“Silence!” Meodryt shouted, a snarl curling its mouth to expose what seemed like thousands of deadly fangs. “Figure this out yourselves—or perish.”
Elise fell to her knees. It wasn’t a compulsion of her own, but almost a command from the dragon. Perhaps even from the dream.
Above her, the dragon arched back. Its mouth opened and a glow filled its throat. Her memory filled with the image of similar fire engulfing Ermolt and the heart-stopping moment where she thought he was dead.
The dream began to dissolve around her, and Elise was no longer on her knees at the edge of the cliff facing down the impending doom of dragonfire. Instead she was staring up at the undead horror from her last nightmare, surrounded by the corpses of her friends.
She struggled.
Not against the dragon, or against the abomination. But against the dream itself.
Instead of breaking free, it sharpened once again to the cliffside. The dragon. The glowing maw.
Fire engulfed her.
Elise sat up in bed, gasping.
Tears freely rolled down her cheeks and she was freezing. At some point she had kicked away the wool blanket.
She didn’t know what time it was.
She didn’t care.
Elise gathered the blanket and huddled back down into the bed, willing herself to get warm enough to sleep. There was so much to do. She couldn’t afford another sleepless night.
She tossed and turned.
Thought about Ydia.
Of Meodryt.
Elise debated praying again. She wanted to beg for forgiveness.
But she didn’t.
Instead she lay awake for the remainder of the night, listening to Athala snore.
And crying.
She cried a lot.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Waking up in bed after falling asleep face-first in a book was disorienting, but not a unique experience. Athala was almost surprised by how used to it she was. She’d always been an avid reader, even in her youth, and so the years she spent at the Wizard’s Tower was just an extension of her bad habits.
Athala got out of bed, quietly as to not disturb Elise. The Conscript was huddled up under her blanket, facing the wall. Athala was sure Elise wasn’t asleep, but instead was in that strange state of rest where one wasn’t aware of their surroundings, but wasn’t actually getting the sleep they required.
For a long moment, Athala entertained the idea of waking the Conscript up and telling her of the previous day. There was so much to share, and Athala was excited for both her apprenticeship and of the things she’d already learned from the book on dragon spells Sieghard had shared with her.
She somehow resisted the urge.
It wasn’t polite to wake up those who had gotten less sleep than oneself, and Elise would surely be grumpy for the rest of the day. As it was, Athala had reading to do.
And she could always share later, after Elise had gotten herself out of bed.
So with a little smile to the Conscript, Athala dressed herself, collected Sieghard’s book, and wandered out to the main room of the Lucky Turnip.
The barest light of dawn peaked over the buildings of the city and spilled into the tavern. The owner of the Turnip didn’t seem to be anywhere in sight, and instead a very tired woman was slumped against a stool near the bar. She forced herself to perk up when Athala entered the room, but slumped once more when Athala waved away the need for food or drink.
The tavern was quiet, other than the faint creaking of the upper floor in the wind. It was a perfect environment for studying.
Athala lost herself to the book.
She finished it much quicker than she thought she would. The last few chapters she’d been unable to finish the previous night were engrossing.
They discussed the theories around how dragons cast spells, drawing directly on the pulse of magic that ran through Neuges. There was even a chapter on dragonfire, which Athala devoured faster than any meal she could have ordered from the tired woman at the bar.
Knowledge was power.
And Athala needed every ounce of power she could get.
When she finished the book, Athala fetched a small notebook from her pocket and began taking notes on some of the earlier chapters.
She was nearly three quarters of the way through the volume, with pages and pages of notes, by the time Ermolt joined her.
The barbarian looked worn out. He was bare-chested and covered in myriad scabbed-over cuts that stood out against his pale flesh. His hair was a tangle of curls that needed love and attention to get them to their normal glorious wave, and he moved like a man who regretted drinking too much the day before.
But when he sat down at the table, Athala realized he was in good spirits. He smiled wide at her and even teased her a bit for having fallen asleep in the book the night before. Ermolt avoided asking about the contents of the book, either for fear of Athala boring him with some tangent, or because he knew she’d just end up repeating it for Elise.
Athala didn’t take offense.
Either excuse was valid.
The tired woman from the bar came over and Ermolt started ordering breakfast, but he amended his order halfway through. Athala looked over her shoulder to see Elise making her way over to their table.
She looked better than Ermolt, from a wound standpoint. There were very few cuts on her olive flesh, but she wasn’t unscathed. She looked like an exhausted wreck. Dark circles under her eyes matched the scowl plastered across her face.
Athala was suddenly very glad she hadn’t woken the Conscript up earlier.
Elise sat at the table in sullen silence while Ermolt finished his order. Ermolt tried to engage her, but after a few distracted grunts and waves of her hand, he gave up.
Destiny (Heroes by Necessity Book 3) Page 14
