Bargain

by Riley S. Keene

  “Yes, but—” Elise leaned against the grip of the Overseers at her sides again, but there were enough to keep her from approaching Ibeyar. Merylle didn’t move this time.

  “Then you admit that you abused this poor woman’s pain.” Ibeyar clucked his tongue disapprovingly. “You tried to trick her into helping the God she hates in your misguided quest to bring about another Age of Dragons? For shame.”

  “That wasn’t our plan!” Elise looked to Merylle, but the Overseer averted her gaze. “I didn’t want to tell you our plan because I thought it might upset you. We were sent to kill Sirur, not release it! And with every moment that passes, that goal is getting farther away!” She struggled against the Overseers holding her to point feebly at the slow-moving dragon.

  “Why are you keeping up this charade? What do you gain from hurting this poor woman?” Ibeyar shook his head. “Hasn’t she suffered enough without your lies adding to her burden?”

  “I’m not lying!” Elise stomped once in frustration. She looked to Merylle once more. The Overseer didn’t look away this time. “We didn’t say anything in case a follower of Teis overheard and tried to stop us, or in case you still loved Teis enough to stop us.” Elise took a deep breath. “Honestly, we came to kill Sirur. Ydia doesn’t want another Age of Dragons—she wants an Age of Mortals.” With her barely freed hand, Elise gestured towards Ermolt. “If you don’t believe me, just look at him! Why do you think he brought a quiver of spears instead of some giant hunk of metal on a stick? He came to fight a dragon, not the Temple’s forces.” She gestured again to the dragon, as the creature was speeding up gradually, the powerful muscles beneath the scaled hide visibly flexing as the creature moved its legs beneath it to land. “But the faster it gets, the harder that becomes!”

  “The funny thing about lies,” Ibeyar said with a smirk, “is that when you’re caught in them, they stop working.” He stepped up to the dragon, and gestured for Merylle to move away. “Take her over to her friends. They can watch as I take this dragon away from both them and Teis.” He shot her a grin that made Elise’s skin crawl. “I can’t think of a more complete revenge than that, can you?”

  Merylle put away her dagger again, sheathing the still bloodied weapon. Elise wondered if there was a reason, since she knew Merylle was skilled enough to know it was bad for dagger and sheath. Perhaps she had some desire to keep Jutta’s blood around. Elise shivered at the thought.

  The Overseer hauled Athala away from the dragon, back to where Elise and Ermolt were being held. A thin trickle of blood seeped from her throat, but otherwise she seemed unharmed.

  Across the room, Ibeyar pulled a pouch from his belt and began setting out a few candles. He drew a runic circle on the floor. Elise didn’t know much about magic, but she knew that this meant he was casting a powerful spell, one he didn’t know by heart. A ritual, Athala called it. It was a long and involved process, and one she had seen Athala do many times.

  He knelt, gathering his robes around him, and pulled out a small booklet before he began to recite draconian words over the circle beneath the dragon. He was no more than ten syllables in before Athala stiffened in Merylle’s grasp.

  “That spell,” Athala said, her words hissed between her teeth. “I know that spell.”

  “What do you mean?” Ermolt said from Elise’s other side.

  “I know that spell,” she repeated. “That spell is in my own head right now. It lives within me. Meodryt was sealed with that spell.”

  “Quiet,” Merylle snapped, shaking the wizard violently. The wizard fell silent, but her eyes blazed with a brilliant anger.

  “Meodryt?” Elise frowned.

  Something tickled in the back of her head like a blackbird attempting to flee a cage. Two thoughts tried to find themselves in her mind, and it seemed like it shouldn’t have been that difficult.

  Meodryt. Khule.

  With a gasp, the thought hit her like a physical blow. “It was you. In Khule. That’s why you looked familiar. You were in Khule.”

  Ibeyar was on his knees reciting the spell but he hesitated, flinching. It wasn’t enough to interrupt his chant, but it was enough to let Elise know she was onto something.

  “I knew it!” Elise said, despite having not known it at all until Athala had dropped the hint. “You were there with Ingmar when we freed Meodryt! You’re the shadowy boss figure he and everyone else was trying to please! You’re the one who abandoned him as soon as we caught up in the sanctuary!” Elise laughed, the sound both bitter and manic to her ears. She turned towards Merylle, who was watching her cautiously. “You think we’re lying, but he’s the one using you for his own mysterious plans. He did the same in Khule! Remember Auernheim? He had us imprisoned and tortured so he could get his hands on a dragon.” Elise leaned in the direction of Ibeyar and spat on the ground. “He used a man’s love for his ill daughter to manipulate him into helping him, and then abandoned him at the first sign of danger. He’s a sick coward.”

  Across the room, Ibeyar had stilled and he stopped reciting the spell. The magic in the air dissipated. Nearby, the dragon’s foot began to finally touch the ground, and the movement of the enormous wings had grown fast enough to create wind to flicker the flames of the candles.

  “Time grows short, Merylle. There needs to be no interruptions or your opportunity for revenge will fade.” He looked over his shoulder and Elise saw his teeth were bared in an anger that hadn’t reached his voice. “Silence that fool so that I can concentrate on my work, or else we will have an angry dragon to contend with and I will leave you all to die at its current Master’s will.”

  “At once.” Merylle shoved Athala into the hands of a pair of nearby Overseers and stepped up to Elise. The Overseer drew her dagger once more, but the threat seemed hollow. She leaned in close, whispering so that only Elise and the Overseers immediately around them could hear. “If you are lying, I will cut out your traitorous heart and dine upon it. Is what you say true?”

  “Yes.” Elise responded, her words kept just as quiet. “Every word I spoke was in truth. We’re here to slay that dragon or die trying.”

  “Not that.” Merylle raised her dagger, though the threat didn’t carry to her expression. “What you said about him? Has he done this before?”

  “We don’t know all the details about his involvement,” Elise admitted. “But he was there. It was on his order that we were locked up. His lackey tortured Athala, and tried to have us executed. And it took me this long to recognize him because we barely saw him. We walked into the room and he fled.”

  “It all seemed so fantastical.” Merylle sighed and looked away. “You three were such do-gooders, such heroes. His stories didn’t match up to what I could see, but I was too blinded by anger.” She shook her head and lowered her dagger. “I was so afraid of losing this chance for my revenge.” She looked back at Elise, her lips pursed into a thin line. “I am tired of being lied to and used, Elise. Promise. Swear to me that Ibeyar lies and that you tell the truth. Make me believe that you haven’t deceived me.”

  Elise swallowed hard. “There are a thousand things I could say to convince you of our innocence, and all of them could be claimed to be said in an attempt to save my life, and the lives of my friends.” She looked out over the dome, listening to Ibeyar’s deep voice as he worked through the draconian runes Athala had recited in Khule. “But it doesn’t matter. I promise you that I speak the truth. If we were working with Teis, there would have been so many easier ways to accomplish that. And not one of them would have involved me approaching your Overseers. Befriending you. Kissing you. I did all of those things because I wanted to.”

  Merylle’s face contorted with anger. Elise couldn’t tell if it was aimed at her, Ibeyar, or even Teis. Her fists clenched at her sides. But instead of striking Elise or ordering her killed, she turned to face Ibeyar. Merylle drew her sword and lifted her voice, letting her anger bleed into the volume. “Overseers! Clear the way!”

  As one the Overseers relea
sed their grips on Elise and her friends. One of them pressed Elise’s mace back into her hand as another handed Ermolt his quiver.

  Merylle bounded forward towards Ibeyar, who had interrupted his ritual once more at Merylle’s declaration and was trying to scurry to his feet. The Overseers pounced on his mercenaries, striking fast and hard.

  Ermolt let loose a bellow and charged directly at the dragon, reaching back to draw a pilum from his quiver as he ran. Athala scurried off after him, but she looked around a little as if she were at a loss for what she should be doing. Elise looked from Merylle to her friends, and charged off behind Athala.

  The Overseer could handle herself.

  They had a dragon to slay.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Athala wasn’t sure why she was running after Ermolt. It just seemed silly.

  For one thing, there wasn’t much she would be able to do against the dragon.

  As a literal fountain of magical energies into the world, her flames would likely be more of an annoyance than an actual detriment to the beast. She wasn’t even sure her hesitance spell would have an effect against something with so much mass. There had never been an opportunity to test it.

  And there was no way the dragon would be interested in the pretty little illusions she created to distract and deter smaller creatures.

  But just the same, as combat erupted all around the massive dome, her instincts told her that the closer she was to Ermolt, the safer she would be.

  In spite the fact that he was hurtling himself at a beast that would dwarf the manor she grew up in.

  The creature landed heavily on the ground as they charged, though the reduced speed prevented it from shaking the Temple. Its movements were finally fast enough that they took on the predatory attitude she had come to expect after seeing Meodryt. But it was still extremely sluggish.

  Ermolt bellowed in challenge and raised one of the javelins—which Ermolt called a pilum—that he brought. Athala had been concerned about the thin weapon’s effectiveness before now, as she had explained to Ermolt, but seeing the massive beast’s form looming over the thin wood and iron rod turned her stomach.

  This would have been so much easier if they’d been able to kill it while it was still slow.

  The dragon’s glowing blue eyes focused on Ermolt’s charge. The barbarian’s normally huge frame looked positively diminutive as the dragon towered over him. It opened its slowly to bellow a roar in answer, but all that came out was a low droning noise. The slowing effect of its spell denied the dragon the ability to truly roar. Ermolt raised his weapon, gripping high on the wooden portion of the weapon as he prepared to strike.

  The beast’s attempt at a roar left it vulnerable as Ermolt charged it head on, planting the iron tip of his pilum directly into the dragon’s maw. Ermolt threw his body’s momentum into the strike, driving the weapon into the roof of Sirur’s mouth. The creature recoiled from the pain, but its movements were too slow, and the barbarian was able to drive the weapon home hard, sinking almost the entire iron portion of the weapon’s haft into the creature’s unprotected flesh.

  The dragon’s enormous head tore the weapon from Ermolt’s hand as it raised away from him. Ermolt whipped another one from the quiver on his back, and charged forward underneath the creature while it was still too slow to retaliate. He drove his next pilum into Sirur’s leg. He grunted with effort as he forced the narrow head of the weapon to punch through the dragon’s scales and into the flesh beneath. There was a spurt of purple blood that accompanied the creature’s flinch at the strike.

  Ermolt let go of the pilum immediately and drew another, attempting to plunge it in next to the other. Without the momentum of his charge, Athala saw the iron bent before the head could do more than scratch the thick scales. Ermolt discarded the weapon and drew another, but was forced to duck away as the dragon’s other claw raised to strike him. The creature was still far too sluggishly to hit, but it was still threatening enough to force him to respond.

  Athala felt her skin crawling as she considered the idea of attacking something that was so obviously a predator. But even if her instincts screamed that it was a bad idea, Ermolt was already there, and it seemed unlikely that he could do it alone. She struggled a little to get the words of her spell out through the terror in her throat, but nevertheless she hurled a bolt of fire at the dragon.

  Athala gasped with surprise when the creature tensed in pain as the fire burst across its shoulder. She knew her magic had grown more powerful, but historical records indicated that dragons were significantly resistant to such attacks. Could the years in isolation have weakened it somehow? Athala stood up straighter, some of the fear leeching from her body. She felt slightly more confident as she prepared another spell to fling at the massive creature.

  Ermolt ducked around Sirur’s leg as it swiped at him with its other claw. He reared back and threw his whole weight into slamming his weapon into the dragon’s joint. The creature made a pained sound that was closer to a roar than its previous attempt.

  It was speeding up. Flecks of purple blood sprayed from the wound in the roof of its mouth as it cried out.

  Ermolt backed away from the dragon as the bony knob at the joint of its wing whipped down through the space his head was a moment before. He tore another pilum from his quiver and charged back in. He leapt up and planted the iron tip into the leg higher than the first, driving it into the meat of Sirur’s leg.

  “You,” Sirur said, its vowels drawn out by its sluggish state, “fools!”

  “Ermolt!” Elise yelled as she finally caught up, having untangled herself from the skirmish with the Overseers and the mercenaries. “I’m with you!”

  “The tail!” Ermolt cried out as a warning. Elise brought her shield up reflexively and the tip of the dragon’s tail whipped around, cracking against the metal and wood surface. The beast lacked the speed to make the blow as powerful as it could have, but Elise still slid back from the impact.

  “Up! Up!” Elise charged towards the appendage Ermolt had been impaling. “Climb the leg!”

  Ermolt leapt up and grabbed the pilum sticking out of the beast’s flesh. The metal shifted in the meat of the dragon’s muscles, causing it to roar in pain anew. The barbarian scrambled higher, grabbing hold of the nearest horn for his next handhold. He pulled himself up atop the creature’s back as Elise finally reached the leg and jumped up to start her own climb.

  “The wing!” Ermolt yelled in warning and Elise dropped back to the floor as the creature’s bony wing joint whipped through the space she had been in a breath before. The Conscript leapt up and grabbed the pilum again, trying to follow Ermolt’s example. But she lacked his prodigious reach.

  The dragon shook itself, the motion almost at what Athala would consider a normal speed. Ermolt danced along the creature’s shifting back, stumbling to keep his place. He grabbed for the curved bone spikes that ran down its spine to steady himself, but the motion interrupted Elise’s grip and she fell to the floor. The creature lifted its leg to stomp on her.

  Athala hurled another bolt of fire at the creature, and it flinched back from the blast once more. Elise was able to roll out of the way and get to her feet before she could be flattened.

  Ermolt drew another pilum from his quiver and drove it straight down into the Sirur’s back. The whole beast bucked with pain as the iron head punched through scales and flesh. It looked like he struck directly into the bone of one of the creature’s ribs. The dragon shook itself harder this time, and the bestial snarl turned into a wail in short order as Ermolt grabbed the haft of the pilum to keep his place. The weapon wiggled and scraped in the wound.

  The dragon’s eyes flashed a brighter blue for a moment, and Ermolt was flung bodily from the back of the dragon by an unseen force. The air smelled like pure magic. Athala had never witnessed something both so wonderful and so horrific. She was aware, on some level, that of course a dragon’s magic would be a thousand times more potent than anything she’d seen
before. But this was beyond her wildest imagination.

  They were going to die. There was nothing they could do.

  Ermolt landed well with a roll that sounded like an avalanche. The tiny stone pieces of his armor ground against the floor of the Temple’s dome. Where he landed, the illusion of grass was scraped and didn’t seem to flow in an unseen breeze like before.

  The barbarian rolled over onto his quiver, and the thin wood shattered under his weight as the remaining few pila rolled away. Ermolt grabbed two off the ground, one in each hand, and began to charge forward. But the dragon’s eyes flashed again, and the barbarian was lifted from the ground. He screamed as the air itself seemed to be crushing him, and he struggled to take in another breath as it looked like his chest was compressed.

  “Athala!” Elise screamed as she hammered against the dragon’s scaly leg with her mace, fruitlessly. “Do something! Help him!”

  Athala stared for a moment. What could she do? Dragons were literally made out of magic. Even if she knew a spell that she could force against its power, it would be like an infant trying to win a knife fight against an ogre. An ogre made out of knives.

  Ermolt screamed again. His weapons dropped from his hands and his back arched under the unseen force crushing him.

  Athala swallowed her fear and shouted the draconian words for her hesitance spell. As she said the final phrase she prayed to a nameless force.

  The dragon blinked slowly. Its glowing blue eyes flickering and Ermolt dropped back to the ground. The barbarian coughed and focused on catching his breath while he had the chance. But the dragon ignored him.

  Instead it turned its scaly head toward Athala, catching her in its glare. It tilted its head in curiosity. “How?” the dragon asked, its voice smooth and masculine. Its mouth didn’t move to speak, but its lips peeled back from the jagged teeth within, stained purple with the blood Ermolt’s first strike had spilled. “Your magic affects me, creature. How?”