“Find them! Find them!” The Captain was screaming, almost screeching. “If we don’t get her back, the Prophet will have our skins!” Someone must not have been cooperating because he shouted louder. “Yes, really! He will literally peel it from our backs and make himself a quilt! Now move!”
“This way,” Sieghard whispered, drawing Athala’s attention back to their situation. “We need to keep moving.”
Athala staggered forward on shaky legs and almost immediately collapsed. The pain may have been gone, but her body was still feeble from the fight. Her hands were shaking, and her knees had gone weak.
Sieghard helped her stand and she felt horrible for leaning on him, even though his illusion made him look younger than she knew he was. He was still strong enough to hold her up, and together they moved slowly.
“They didn’t see where we went,” Sieghard whispered near her ear. “We just need to hope they don’t pick this direction to look first, and we’ll be fine.”
The sounds of booted feet on gravel grew louder from behind them.
“Or I could improvise,” Sieghard muttered as he dragged Athala over towards the nearest wall. He pressed his back against the stone and pulled Athala up beside him. She did her best to stand, but her posture was sagging. Sieghard murmured a quick spell.
Shadows enveloped them.
Athala recognized it as another illusion spell, and one that would make them blend into the darkness of the street.
“How do you...” Athala gasped as an echo of pain reverberated through her skull. “How do you have a spell for this?”
Sieghard snorted with a bit of laughter. “Have you ever been trying to meet with an Instructor and he’s never in office?” He grinned. “Odds are good that he actually was. Now—be quiet! Here they come!”
Athala closed her eyes to focus on keeping herself quiet.
The worst of the pain was gone, but things like speaking, walking, even breathing could aggravate it, obviously. So she just listened, to avoid drawing attention her way.
“This way!” the Guard Captain shouted. Four pairs of booted feet rounded the corner and charged right past the pair of hiding wizards. Athala could feel the breeze of their movement across her sweating brow. They reached the end of the block, just a handful of fen away, and Athala could hear muttered concerns of which way to go. “What are you doing? Spread out! Spread out and find them!”
The pairs of booted feet ran off in two different directions.
Sieghard touched Athala’s shoulder and she opened her eyes. The shadows were gone. But a lance of pain shot through her eye and to the back of her skull. Athala groaned and grasped her head. “What’s... what’s wrong with me?” The sound of her voice sent a vibration of pain through her skull.
“Athala,” Sieghard said with a touch of apathy, “you cast a spell not meant for mortals. I expected something like this would happen, but I was also expecting us to be in a controlled environment. I also didn’t think you would need to hold the spell for quite so long. Or even that you could.”
“What happened?” Athala asked again, ignoring his non-answer.
“You aren’t a dragon,” he explained. “All magic is basically elaborate formulae. You may have broken down the spell’s components, but you aren’t intimately familiar with them.” He stepped away and looked up and down the street as the sounds of booted feet finally began to fade. “There’s a reason that memorized spells are learned in certain ways. Every part of a spell evokes a specific metaphysical reaction. When you understand every part of a spell, not just the theory of it but actually understand it, you unconsciously prepare for the impact. If you don’t know how the spell works, your body can’t prepare for the backlash.”
Athala rubbed her temple. “I suppose I have a lot to learn before I can use it reliably.”
“Yes, but you cast it. Since you’ve already felt the backlash, it will be less painful the next time you cast it, even if you don’t spend the time to learn every aspect.” Sieghard helped her to her feet. “But until you fully grasp the spell mentally instead of only instinctively, it will still hurt.”
Athala swayed on her feet. The worst of the dizziness had faded to the background. A fuzzy level of exhaustion wove itself around her mind and Athala yawned. “It was really amazing, though.”
“It was indeed. I hope you don’t mind if I use some notes of the spell for my own research.”
“Not at all. I had assumed—” Athala hesitated at the sound of approaching booted feet. “Do you hear that?”
Sieghard quickly whispered out the spell that he had used to hide them before, and they pressed themselves up against the wall. This time Athala was able to watch the Guards approach.
Two of them rounded the corner, peering up and down the street in confusion.
“We can’t lose them,” one of the Guards said as they started towards Athala and Sieghard. “I don’t want to be a quilt.”
“They can’t have gotten far,” the second Guard said, scanning the right wall as the other scanned the left. “An old man and a frail wizard? They can’t outrun us. He’ll break a hip and she’ll pop a lung. They have to had ducked in somewhere and hid.”
Athala held her breath as the Guard passed them, looking right at them. He kept moving as if he had mistaken the shadowy shroud of Sieghard’s spell for the evening gloom that filled every nook and cranny.
The two continued to search down the street, and when they were sufficiently past, Sieghard turned to Athala and grinned. He beckoned Athala along and let his spell fall.
Athala followed the older wizard, unsure of why he was stalking the Guards. But with their attention focused entirely on the darkened doorways and windows of the buildings that lined the street, she and Sieghard were able to sneak right up behind them.
Sieghard moved first.
He rammed his whole body into one of the Guard’s backs, shoving him face-first into the wall of the nearest building. The Guard recovered quickly and tried to draw his sword. The older wizard was surprisingly spry, however, and he leapt forward and punched the Guard in the eye.
Athala focused on the other Guard. She quickly barked out her Hesitance spell to stop him as he tried to join the fight. The spell hit him like a rock to the face and he went limp, collapsing on the ground. He still breathed, but he stared blankly at nothing for a long moment.
“We don’t need much,” Sieghard was saying. Athala turned to find him on top of the Guard, the armored man’s arms twisted uncomfortably behind his back. The Guard’s face was pressed into the gravel. “We just need to know where you were taking us and why.”
“And where are Elise and Ermolt,” Athala added. “Have they been captured, too?”
The Guard was silent.
“You have but a moment before your friend recovers.” Sieghard twisted the Guard’s wrist and the man hissed in pain. “And we only need one of you alive to answer us.”
“Whoa,” Athala said, one hand going to her stomach in reflex. “I don’t feel comfortable torturing people for information.” She winced. “Or killing them. Especially when they’re already at our mercy.”
Sieghard stared at her for a moment before rolling his eyes. He shook a hand and produced a length of rope from what seemed like nowhere. Athala wasn’t sure if it was magically conjured, but if not, it meant he had been carrying it since dinner. She wanted to ask, but they didn’t have time.
He tied up the first Guard and then the other before he could recover from the spell.
“Threats are just threats, Athala. We don’t have to torture them.” He turned to her and winked. “We just need them to know we’re willing to do so.”
“Yes, but—”
Sieghard turned from her, grabbing the second Guard and pushing him forward. “Come. Your friend’s lives are at stake. Let’s take this somewhere more private. Perhaps we can get some information before the others come to investigate.”
Chapter Thirty
Ermolt wasn’t sure w
here Ibeyar had taken them. His people had drug him and Elise deep into the slums on the west end of town. With the whole city draped in evening darkness, mixed with the back-alley directions of those who knew Jirda like Elise knew Khule, he got lost quite quickly.
Ibeyar had set a very slow pace on the trip. He insisted that not a single person release their grip on either of their captured friends, and so there over a half dozen pair of hands on Elise, and nearly twice that on Ermolt. The Guards and Conscripts were constantly tripping over each other the whole walk, and it was almost comical to see them try to squeeze through the narrow doorways into the building.
Ermolt guessed they were in an old tannery.
The main room of the building was long and thin, with huge wooden beams spaced evenly to support the sagging roof. Large pits lined one side of the room. They were lined with thin cut stone, about three fen deep, and the area around them was discolored with use. Large decrepit vats stood behind them. There was a rotten smell coming from that side of the room, one that spoke of a lack of cleaning before they were abandoned. Opposite from them, large wooden structures—that may have once been tanning racks—sat against the wall, nearly all of them rotten with age.
Aside from the fact that it hadn’t been touched in years, and the mass-producing nature of the building, it reminded him of the tanneries at home.
Tanning was quite a popular business in Klav, since many and much of the goods made in the north had once started out as Dasis’ bounty. There was also an abundance of crafters who worked specifically with bone and sinew, and of course the leatherworkers who took the tanner’s hides and crafted them into beautiful works of art that were functional items.
Ermolt realized he missed home.
It was a very silly time to be homesick.
Ibeyar’s followers dragged Elise and Ermolt to one of the central pillars of wood. The beam seemed to be in better condition than some of the others, from Ermolt’s cursory glance, but it was still rotting along some of the higher points. The wood creaked and groaned as Ermolt and Elise were lashed to it with a thick rope. Ermolt puffed out his chest to give himself as much room to move around as possible. No one seemed to notice.
The thick rope was also used to secure their hands. Ermolt flexed his wrists to make them as large as he could. He wanted room to move, sure, but the Conscripts and Guards were being vicious in how tight they were making things. Vengeful for their fallen, perhaps. All of Ermolt’s flexing was just as much about keeping his blood circulating as it was about giving himself a small bit of room for escape.
He noticed Elise doing the same thing with her wrists and chest, and Ermolt found himself grinning inwardly.
When the ropes were tied uncomfortably tight and Ermolt and Elise were allowed to relax, the Conscripts and Guards fanned out. Most of them stayed close at hand, but a number flanked Ibeyar who paced the room just on the edge of those rotten pits.
Ermolt childishly hoped he’d trip and fall into one. Maybe he’d break an ankle.
No one was saying anything though, and it was boring. “I’m surprised,” Ermolt finally said, addressing the Guards next to him. “You guys think rope will hold me? Word to the wise when dealing with barbarians—bring chains. Unless his plan is for me to break free and beat the lot of you to paste.”
“Enough, Ermolt,” Ibeyar said, rolling his eyes. “Your grandstanding impresses no one.” The Prophet paced a few steps more. He seemed to be worried about something. “We all know that if you weren’t at your physical limit, we’d all still be fighting in that courtyard.” Ibeyar paused in his pacing and turned to the Conscripts and Guards around Elise and Ermolt. “Someone get that bolt out of his shoulder. That should take some of the bluster out of him.”
A Guard stepped forward. The right side of the man’s face was bruised and angry. He sneered, and Ermolt could see there were a few missing teeth. Judging from the trajectory of the still growing bruise and the missing teeth, Ermolt must have hit this guy pretty good with his quarterstaff.
This wasn’t going to be pretty.
The Guard shoved hard on Ermolt’s shoulder, pinning him to the wooden pillar. A wave of agony flooded Ermolt’s mind, but he gritted his teeth. The worst was yet to come, and he wouldn’t give in yet.
Fingers wrapped around the shaft of the bolt just above the fletchings. The man was either inept, or brilliant. He would have no leverage from there, and pulling on the shaft would mean the broadhead of the bolt would only twist in Ermolt’s flesh.
From the grin on the Guard’s face, he was brilliant.
Or at least thought he was.
The next few moments were torturous as the Guard twisted and wiggled and even flicked the shaft of the bolt. Ermolt’s shoulder was bleeding freely now, and pain licked at the muscles like a ravenous beast.
But Ermolt didn’t scream.
He didn’t cry out.
Instead he watched the Guard, staring straight into his eyes. His teeth were bared, but otherwise he gave no outward sign of the agonizing pain the Guard put him through.
Eventually the Guard got bored and ripped the bolt from Ermolt’s flesh. The broadhead tip of the bolt had made mince out of Ermolt’s muscle, so the bolt slipped almost painlessly from the hole.
Ermolt finally breathed again.
The entire front of his hide armor was streaked with red, and the wound actively leaked fresh blood. His shoulder ached, and he doubted his ability to break the ropes now.
But a little pain wouldn’t stop his mouth.
“So,” Ermolt said through clenched teeth, “I don’t see Athala anywhere. Do you see her, Elise?”
“Nope. No competent wizard anywhere among this bunch.” Elise was glaring at Ibeyar, who had turned at her comment. “I thought we were supposed to be reunited with her before we died. Did she give you the slip again, Ibeyar?”
The wizard snarled wordlessly and beckoned over one of the Conscripts. The two of them turned away from Elise and Ermolt—as if either of them had the ability to read lips—and started whispering in an animated fashion.
“You know, I think she may have,” Ermolt said, finally relaxing his jaw. He leaned forward against the rope that bound him to the beam, and the wood creaked at the pressure. “Smart as she is, you know she’s not very creative. Only a few places she could be.”
“Right! She’s been harping on us about looking out for Ibeyar ever since we left Jalova. Was likely ready for the Guards who came after her. She’s either about to burn this whole place to the ground, or...” Elise paused, letting a grin spread across her face. “She could already be at the Temple of Numara.”
Ermolt clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “Such a one-track mind, our wizard. I wonder what over-complicated plan she came up with for dealing with the dragon after she absorbs the spell. Even if it fails, a loose dragon is still another dragon beyond Ibeyar’s reach.”
“Don’t waste your breath,” Elise said, rolling her eyes. “If this fool could make a real plan to save his life, he’d have two dragons already. Athala doesn’t need to be at the Temple to be ruining everything.” She gestured at Ibeyar’s back with her chin. “This moron put us exactly where he wanted us to be, and we still upended everything.”
“You are both insufferably infuriating,” Ibeyar said, turning slowly. “Shut your mouths before I find something here to fill them with.” He turned and looked at the Guards grouped around them. “Five of you, get out there and gather as much help as you can. Every Guard, Conscript, mercenary—I don’t care who. I want everyone in this city who calls me Prophet in the streets. Find the wizard and the four corpses-to-be that were supposed to have her here a full bell ago!”
“Uh-oh,” Ermolt said in a sing-song tone.
Elise laughed. It was an ugly, mean laugh.
“Things are unraveling already?” Ermolt leaned forward harder against his restraints. His shoulder sang with pain, but Ermolt was pleased to hear the beam he was secured to creak louder in protest
. “I think that’s sooner than last time. Are you actually getting worse at this as time goes on? Shouldn’t you be learning from your mistakes?”
“Tch, they’re too numerous for him to keep track of,” Elise added with a face-splitting grin.
“Go!” Ibeyar shouted at the Guards and Conscripts who were still milling around. A large chunk of the Guards—much more than the five Ibeyar had requested—broke away from the group and scrambled out the door. “Your wayward wizard doesn’t matter. If she’s not in the hands of my guards, then she’s hiding in a dark corner while they FAIL!” He turned and punched a nearby wooden pillar. The strike cracked the beam and the loud splintering reverberated through the abandoned tannery.
It was obvious to Ermolt that magic had been used. Ibeyar’s hand would be broken if he had really punched the wood that hard.
But it had the desired effect. The Guards and Conscripts around the room flinched at the show of strength.
“She’s a blue-blooded schoolgirl! How are you all so bad at this!”
“If you underestimate her,” Elise said in a firm tone, “you’re in for a rude awakening.”
“Don’t you get it?” Ibeyar said with a snarl. He stomped across the room and shoved a finger in her face. “You don’t matter. None of this matters.” He stared down at Elise’s defiant face as if he wanted to hit her, but then turned and resumed his pacing. “None of this matters. None at all.” He paused, smiling to himself. “You were right about me being a liar, by the way. Just not about what.”
“Oh, Ibeyar, don’t be modest. You’ve been lying about everything,” Ermolt said. There was a shuffling of feet and Ermolt grinned. “Oh, right. Sorry. These guys are still here. Have to keep the story going while they’re in the room. Gotcha.”
Ibeyar ignored him. “I lied about needing three days. More than half of the Conscripts have already turned to my cause. The High Priest doesn’t have the forces to muster against me, and I can march in and take what’s mine this very night.”
Destiny (Heroes by Necessity Book 3) Page 20
