Ancients (Heroes by Necessity Book 1)

by Riley Keene

  “Absolutely,” she confirmed.

  “The worst part of the bellybutton,” Ingmar said as he stood, bending at the knees and leaning forward, “is that if I mess up I have to start over again.”

  He stood up straight, yanking hard, putting his back into the motion of ripping the flap of skin off Athala’s torso.

  No amount of willpower could hold her pain in check. Athala screamed. The sound was a physical thing that forced its way out of her throat. Her back arched, and the motion only drew new stabbing agony.

  Ingmar tossed the hunk of flesh into a bucket in the corner of the room. The wet clunk of its landing pierced her scream. He then resumed bending over her, watching the rippling of her bared muscles exposed to the air, the very act of screaming spurring the scream on.

  She screamed for a surprisingly long time. The tone finally shifted as the air left her lungs empty. Athala took a gasping gulp of air, but before she could start screaming again, Ingmar grabbed her face. He jammed the open end of a healing vial into her mouth. She drank deep and greedily.

  Ingmar watched with clinical detachment as the potion did its work. It was a fairly potent potion. Still watered-down garbage Athala and her brother wouldn’t dare sell, but it did its job.

  The skin regenerated upwards, the new skin growing back and enveloping the exposed muscles.

  The healing washed away the most immediate sensations of pain and replaced them with the uncomfortable tingle of magical healing. Her desire to scream gave way to simple gasping for breath. She blinked a few times, trying to clear her mind and getting a grip of her willpower again.

  “Well then, Athala,” Ingmar said, moving back around to his seat as he picked up the same bloodied hook and knife tool he had used at the beginning, “are you ready to continue?”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Time was running short. He had to move faster, but the guard at his side was in no hurry, and it wasn’t like Detlev could express his need to be places.

  “I think I’m supposed to make a threat about how I’m hoping to never see you in here again,” the guard, Erik, said. “But I’m pretty sure you’re the one hoping to never return.”

  Detlev chuckled. “You’ve got that right. If I get anywhere near another one of Mareike’s thugs, I deserve what I get. They do a pretty good job of ending up here. That alone makes for a really good incentive to clean up my act.”

  “You’re not out yet,” Erik teased. “You’ve got a month of hard labor ahead of you. Maybe two if the magistrate is in a bad mood.”

  “Yeah, of course,” Detlev said with a dismissive wave. “As long as I don’t have to deal with constantly dodging murder attempts, I’ll be able to do that standing on my head.”

  “Those you brought on yourself, from what I heard.”

  “Listen, if they didn’t want to—”

  Erik silenced him with an upraised hand as he led Detlev around the corner. “Keep it down. I don’t want the Deputy Warden to hear us if he’s in his room. You may be done with this place, but I still have to work here.”

  Detlev made an exaggerated shrugging gesture and kept his mouth shut. When they turned the corner the guard stiffened and Detlev saw that one of the doors was slightly ajar.

  “That door should be closed,” Erik said quietly, pulling his baton from the sheath on his hip. The guard approached the room like a bear was about to leap out of it. Detlev wasn’t intimately familiar with the Deputy Warden, but he’d heard some rumors. Erik was likely right to be worried. Detlev followed the man close behind.

  Erik carefully peeked into the room and immediately a hand flew to his mouth. Curiosity won out and Detlev peeked. He almost gasped at the sight.

  A man—the Deputy Warden most likely—was bent over the wizard Athala. Her torso was impaled with a series of stiff metal wires. The Deputy Warden was carefully flicking the wires and an almost musical vibration filled the room. Athala was grinding her teeth and her eyes were shut tight. A slight whimper escaped her with every flick as if the motion sent a stabbing vibration into some vital place inside her.

  Detlev looked away. He knew it was going to be bad, but he had no idea it was this bad.

  The guard closed the door silently and turned back to look at Detlev. “I’m sorry,” Erik said in a whisper. “We didn’t need to see that.” He shivered, placing a hand on his stomach protectively with a wince.

  “Yeah, I wish I hadn’t seen that,” Detlev whispered back. He felt an intense sensation of regret. “I mean, I really wish I hadn’t seen that.”

  “What do you mean?” Erik whispered. “Are you nauseous? If you’re going to—”

  Detlev’s right elbow connected with the guard’s left temple. He grabbed onto the back of the guard’s head and his other elbow came up hard, directly into the chin. The guard slumped instantly to the floor.

  Detlev sighed. “Sorry, Erik.” He shook his head. “I really wish I hadn’t seen that. I mean, you know something’s happening but you really don’t get it until you see it.”

  It wasn’t difficult to slip into the room undetected. The Deputy Warden was entirely absorbed in his work, repeatedly flicking a wire that jutted from the inside of Athala’s hip. He seemed liked that particular painful noise she made, noting the growing intensity as he kept his attention on it. His other hand moved between the remaining wires in an almost musical rhythm.

  Detlev crept up directly behind the Deputy Warden and drove the tips of the fingers of one hand straight down just above the collarbone. The Deputy Warden’s shoulder jerked away from the pain. Before he could turn to see who hit him, Detlev drove two knuckles into the hollow formed from the back of his jawbone and the bottom of his skull, just below and behind his ear.

  The strike was flawless. The man’s eyes rolled around in his head for a moment. The Deputy Warden pitched forward as his knees buckled and his chin smacked hard on the edge of the table before he slumped to the ground.

  Detlev moved up the table and looked over Athala, both confused and horrified. “Uh,” he managed, words failing. “Where do I start?”

  “I don’t, I-I can’t think.” Athala’s voice was raw from screaming, but she seemed to relax a little at the pause in the trauma being inflicted upon her. “Get the spikes out. Get them out. I just can’t—” She gritted her teeth as the act of speaking caused some of the spikes to move around.

  Detlev’s hands flew up and down her torso, yanking them out with a deftness in contrast to his rattled nerves. Athala winced at each one, but when the last was gone, she relaxed visibly. Detlev went to throw them into the wastebasket in the corner, but flinched back from the sight of it so violently that the spikes leapt from his hand and scattered across the floor.

  “What is all that?” He pointed to the bucket. “Where did it all come from?” He had to look away from it as his mind started to parse the mass of gore as recognizable body parts. It was one thing to see an eviscerated corpse. It was another thing entirely to see a pile of parts that belonged to a body that was mostly whole and alive in the room with you.

  “Don’t ask questions you don’t want to know the answer to,” Athala said, breathing slowly. “A potion, please.” She gestured with a rough nod at the few remaining vials on the table. “Maybe two. Then I want to get off this stupid table.”

  Detlev grabbed the next potion on the rack, almost dropping it with the shock of how many empty vials sat next to it on the table. He quickly popped the cork and poured it into her mouth. The empty glass was tossed onto the table before he started unfastening her restraints.

  “I—I mean, I knew, well we all knew, but I, we, didn’t know.” Detlev realized he was babbling and he just concentrated on the restraints. “I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner.”

  Athala ignored the apology, coughing as she sat up. She turned slowly putting a hand to her head as if she were trying to shake off the dizziness and disorientation. Detlev took the opportunity to head back out into the hallway and drag the unconscious guard into t
he room. He closed the door to give her time to recover. After returning to her side, he handed her a second potion, and she drank it hungrily, sighing.

  “Alright, we should get you back to your friends.” Detlev danced his fingers over the table in two smooth motions and the remaining healing potions vanished under his fingers. His hands lingered over some of the bladed tools, but every one of them was spattered with blood. “I need to figure out a way to let this blow over without me ending up getting a new sentencing.” He glared at the unconscious Erik. “It might be a lost cause.”

  “You could escape with us,” Athala offered, finally struggling to her feet. Once standing, she resettled the waist of her pants and the hem of her tunic, heedless of the blood on her torso that almost immediately bled through the garments. “I don’t know if you need to be on the run now, but—”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Detlev said, trying to clear his head to consider his own path. “I’ll take care of myself.”

  “Still, you didn’t have to come in here and stop him.” Athala looked over at the Deputy Warden’s unconscious body. “Thank you.”

  “We need to start moving.” Detlev cracked the door open, taking a quick peek out into the hallway. “When I don’t show up for sentencing, they’re going to start looking for me. This place is really poorly run on the day-to-day operations, but once someone raises an alert, they get their act together really quickly.”

  “What’s our first move?”

  “Just follow me and stay close.”

  He opened the door, and started out, setting a quick pace, but not quite running yet. Athala followed as close as she could, one hand clutching her hip where some pain still lingered from the torture. She wanted another healing potion. They were swill, but at the moment she’d take a thousand just to be rid of the lingering reminders of Ingmar’s machinations.

  That wasn’t how they worked, however, and Athala knew it. Diminishing returns and all. Instead, she just focused on her breathing. Time would heal all wounds, but time needed to hurry up.

  Detlev led her down the hall in what felt like the wrong direction. He was walking quickly and Athala was panting just trying to keep up. They were almost the same height so their strides were similar in length, but her post-torture condition was forcing her to exert herself slightly more to keep the same pace.

  After a series of hallways Athala was sure were leading them deeper into the facility, Detlev grabbed her shoulder and the pair ducked into a nearby room. He pushed her in ahead and closed the door in silence.

  Athala heard booted feet running by outside.

  As soon as they passed, Detlev grabbed Athala by the arm, rushing back out of the room and down the hall. He dragged her into another room a few doors down, again closing the door silently behind them.

  Detlev hurried to the back wall of the cramped room. Athala looked around, noting the room was full of barrels and barrels of fresh water. Detlev disappeared behind a tall stack of barrels and Athala hurried to follow. There was a narrow gap between the last rows of barrels and the back wall, maybe two or three fen wide. Detlev squeezed along the space until he arrived at what appeared to be a small service door. He opened it the bare distance the gap between the barrels would allow and slipped through. Athala followed right behind him.

  The door led into a passageway that was as much a crawlspace as it was a hall. Detlev jogged along it, forcing Athala to break into a jog herself to keep up. The pain had faded behind a veil of fear and Athala found it easier to match Detlev’s pace.

  The passage was relatively short, but she was still breathing hard when they got to a dead end with another small service door.

  Detlev set his shoulder against the door and pushed hard. A scraping sound came from the other side as he forced it open a little more than a fen before squeezing through and holding it for Athala. Once they were both through, he let go, and the weight he had pushed back forced the door closed.

  They were in a laundry facility. Enormous sacks of clothes leaned against the wall, hiding the small service door.

  “Alright. Just a little further. Then you’re on your own.” He looked her up and down. “You seem mostly fine now, anyway.”

  “And what about you?” Athala leaned against a giant bag of laundry to catch her breath. “Will you be alright?”

  “Don’t worry about me. It’ll take me a bit to figure out if I can let this blow over, and if I can’t, I just need to find something sharp and I’ll be gone.” He went to the door of the laundry room, taking a careful peek out into the room beyond. “I’d have been out of here a week ago, but I don’t do things the hard way if I’m not getting paid to.” He waved her over. “Come on, we’re clear for now.”

  The laundry room door led into an open room with a few chairs and tables around. It looked like a small cafeteria. Athala wondered if they were allowed to be back here. And how Detlev knew where here was.

  He led her through another door that led into a privy, and he walked to the back of the stinking room, jumping up to grab the sill of the high window on the back wall. Detlev pulled himself up and shoved the window roughly. The hinge at the top of the window came loose and broke free, and the window swung down out of sight, shortly followed by the sound of breaking glass.

  “Watch your landing,” Detlev warned as he dropped back down to the floor, kneeling down and threading his fingers together to make a step for Athala to get up onto the sill. “There might be some broken glass out there. Try and land away from the wall if you can.”

  Athala stepped into his hand and let him lift her up to the window. She scrambled onto the sill and barely squeezed through the opening. Her sore hip caught on the sill for a moment, forcing her to twist uncomfortably to make it through.

  She lost her grip on the window instead of jumping down. Athala flinched when she landed, bending at the knees as much as she could to stop from falling out of control, since she could clearly see broken glass all over the ground around her. She quickly hopped out of it, picking her way through the glass as she tried to get clear as fast as possible.

  Athala looked around, surprised to find herself out in the prison yard, finally giving her some orientation of her location.

  Detlev quickly shimmied head first out of the window, gripping the sill and swinging his feet down to the wall once they were out in the air. He kicked off powerfully, landing far beyond the broken glass.

  “You know your way to your friends from here?” Detlev asked. “Because the longer I can go without a guard knowing exactly where I am, the better.”

  “Yes, I should be fine from here.” Athala leaned down on her knees, trying again to catch her breath before continuing. “Thank you, Detlev. I hope you can get out of here safely.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” Detlev shrugged. “I owed Ermolt my life. I may not have saved you from death, but I figure it’s close enough.” He jerked his head in the direction of the door to the cell blocks. “Get moving. No one’s supposed to be out here right now, and if they spot you here, you’ll be back on that table in less than a quarter bell, waiting for him to wake back up.”

  Athala nodded and started to head towards the cell blocks. Detlev jogged along the same wall as they had emerged from. After a moment he clambered up to another window, and started fiddling with the hinges. Athala hurried inside to find Ermolt and Elise as fast as possible.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Once they were reunited, Athala regaled them with the story of her time with Ingmar and her miraculous rescue. It was obvious she was skipping over the details, sparing them the specifics of what that monster had done in his grab for power and money. The part about his sick child felt like a lie to Ermolt, but Athala seemed to believe it dearly. All in all, it was clear Detlev had risked his life to save Athala, and for that they should all be thankful. Without him, things would have gone on for quite a time longer.

  Instead, though, Ermolt scowled and paced the length of the cell. He didn’t want to feel gr
ateful or thankful. He wanted to make Ingmar pay for the lines of worry around Athala’s eyes and the way she favored her hip when walking or sitting.

  When Elise pressed for details of Ingmar’s horrific actions out of concern that there might be permanent damage, Ermolt’s scowl only grew deeper. Though Athala tried to focus on Detlev helping her, nothing could take his mind off of the vicious treatment by Ingmar.

  “I won’t stand for this,” he said at last, interrupting whatever Elise had been saying about Athala’s hip. He slammed his fist into the stone wall. Tiny flecks of stone splintered away from the wall, but his knuckles remained unbroken. “I can’t let him get away with this.”

  “And what are you going to do about it?” Elise snapped. “We wait until the guards are busy after breakfast tomorrow and make a break for it. We have the tools, we can—”

  “You think he’ll wait that long?” Ermolt snarled. “The only way she gets to stay the night is if he’s still in no condition to take her from us.” He turned and stormed out of the cell, stomping down the hallway.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Elise rushed ahead and cut him off, standing in his path. “What are you going to do? Just walk back there and punch him? I’m pretty sure that won’t go as smoothly as you think it will.”

  “I’ve had enough of this,” Ermolt growled as he towered over her. “We’re not in prison. We’re imprisoned. We didn’t do anything wrong. We’re not serving time. All we’re doing is being held against our will by a sadist. If he’s the one who wants us here, then I will make him see the threat we pose to his personal safety. Maybe then he’ll be more interested in letting us go than holding us here.” He put a hand on Elise’s shoulder and shoved her out of the way, continuing his march.

  “You’re not going to accomplish anything, you giant oaf!” she yelled after him.

  “Look out for Athala,” he said over his shoulder as he stomped around the corner. When she didn’t chase, Ermolt sighed, slightly relieved. Calling Elise stubborn was like calling the Gods all-powerful or the northernlands cold. The fact that she let him go either told him he was doing something so right she had to agree, or something so stupid she hoped he would die. Either way it was an improvement over a lecture.