Bargain (Heroes By Necessity Book 2)

by Riley S. Keene

  Even with the shout to warm their foes, the Overseers made barely a sound until they collided, and then it was more muffled cries and strangled gasps than the sound of true combat. Elise felt a stab of guilt at the brutal deaths of the Clerics bringing up the rear of the host. Clerics were rarely ever a bloodthirsty bunch. But the feeling was quickly muted once she saw the dead bodies of the guards who had been manning the gates of the Keep.

  Regardless of all else, the Temple had drawn first blood this night. Elise knew there would be more dead further inside. The Temple had come to slaughter, and so any life she or an Overseer took tonight were just payback.

  Once the first cry of pain went out from the back of the group, the controlled movements of the Overseers began to devolve into chaos as the Conscripts of Teis turned to face the threat. Each of the Overseers had managed to catch at least one Cleric before the fight started in earnest, and a few had managed two or three, showing their proficiency for the fast and merciless assassinations the guild was often employed for. But in open combat, despite Ermolt and Elise’s training, they were still average at best, and perhaps even novices as compared to the trained Conscripts they faced.

  As the line of Conscripts ahead tightened and formed up, the Overseers grew more desperate. They overextended. And the Conscripts took advantage. A well-timed swing of an opponent’s sword caught an Overseer unprepared and he screamed and fell away from the front line with a broken wrist. Elise filled the breach in the line and pushed in, seeking to lead the Overseers forward by forming the point of a spearhead formation.

  Her approach was one of swinging blades and shouted insults. She shouldered between two Overseers to slice across the fingers of the Conscript who had sent the previous man out injured. There was a yelp and a clatter as their mace hit the ground.

  For the briefest of moments Elise considered trading the short sword for it, but there wasn’t time. Two more Conscripts replaced the one she had disarmed. Elise needed to maintain momentum to turn the battle against the Temple’s forces.

  She didn’t like her odds, but she liked them less without a weapon than with one she didn’t find most comfortable.

  Elise pushed forward, bringing her sword across low, forcing the Conscripts’ guard down to block her blade with their own weapons. She quickly brought her off-hand forward, punching one of the Conscripts in the nose. The woman’s nose cracked under her knuckles, although Elise winced herself as she wasn’t wearing her armored gloves.

  The Conscript she hadn’t punched came in viciously, looking to drive their sword into Elise’s exposed side. Merylle was there in a flash, a blade in each hand. With one smooth motion, her sword slapped aside the strike aimed at Elise. Her follow through caused the dagger in her other hand to punch into a seam in the leather armor the Conscript wore. The man fell back, screaming, as blood poured from a deep wound just above his hip.

  Merylle pressed forward, a force of spinning blades and fiery insults. Her blades whirled, not to do damage, but to force the Conscripts back with the suddenness of her appearance. She carved a path for Elise and the Overseers into the gap. As a group they moved together, pressing into the space to force their way past the front line and into the main doors of the Keep. Elise scooped a shield off of a fallen Conscript as she marched over her and took a position on Merylle’s left, guarding her flank and adding her own sword to the Overseer’s deadly blades as they cut their way into her own Keep.

  Elise had felt ill at the prospect of killing the Conscripts and Cleric arrayed against her, but it had been too long since she last fought shoulder-to-shoulder as she was trained to as a Conscript.

  It was not like fighting alongside Ermolt.

  When she and Ermolt fought it was a dance. They were so confident of the others ability to hold their own that fighting together was more fluid.

  This was tense and terrifying. In every moment Elise was keenly aware that every face she saw would not hesitate to cut out her throat. And she couldn’t trust the men and women she was with to hold the line, no matter the cost. They weren’t Ermolt.

  She soon adjusted her way of thought, knowing the only way to keep herself, Merylle, and the other Overseers alive was to kill the Temple’s forces first. She put more of her effort into keeping her shield up, and her sword moving to block and defend Merylle as she did her work, but she didn’t hesitate when her blade could lance out, cutting across throats, dipping into eye sockets, or thrusting between ribs.

  For her part, Merylle was ruthless. The arcs of her movement were accompanied by both weapons moving together, one blocking an attack or pinning a weapon or shield to one side, while her other landed a crippling blow in the opening created. She danced in and out behind Elise’s guard, using the Conscript as a wall for her to take cover behind before darting out for her next kill. It gave Elise space to move forward again and make progress against the Temple’s host.

  It felt like a bell of battle had passed by the time they finally fought their way to the east wing of the Keep. The Conscripts’ front had pressed into the western side, so when the knot of Overseers managed to muscle their way into the east hall they paused for a moment.

  Ahead they would be able to finally present a front to the Temple host. So here they would try and patch up what injuries they had taken before moving onward into the Keep.

  Bones were set and bandages were applied. Those who were uninjured took the front, and Elise was proud to see them using the guard stance Ermolt had shown them. Elise backed off to finally catch her breath and to check on the others.

  Merylle stood away from the others, wiping her blades off with a strip of cloth from a downed Conscript. There was something satisfying about watching the blue cloth turn dark with the potential blood of its owner. Elise squashed the feeling.

  “You know,” Elise said, leaning against a wall with a deep breath, “you’re really not so bad. Two-weapon fighting is no easy feat. I always thought you carried a dagger for show.”

  The Overseer looked up and tossed aside the bit of cloth. She sheathed both weapons, first the easier dagger and then the longer sword. “The trick is in the concentration,” Merylle said with a grin before pulling her hair back, out of her face. She made a happy little sound as cool air hit her neck and temples, and the noise pulled on something very low within Elise. It was similar to the noise she’d made earlier when they kissed.

  “Concentration, eh?”

  “Yes—you just need to keep track of both hands at the same time.” Her grin grew a little wider. “It leads to be able to do many, mm, complicated things requiring two hands. Maybe I could, ah, give you a private lesson sometime?”

  Elise flushed bright red, and it had nothing to do with the exertion of combat. She was vaguely aware that she was babbling, but she wasn’t able to reign a coherent thought into her head.

  Merylle released her curls, sending them falling back down to bounce along her shoulders. She smiled, but the smile faded fast. The Overseer looked over Elise’s shoulder and then she stepped forward. Elise leaned her head back, pushing up on her toes in anticipation of a kiss.

  A kiss that never came.

  There was a wet thunk.

  Merylle screamed.

  The Overseer collapsed into her arms, giving Elise a moment to see the dying Conscript who had thrown the javelin that now jutted out of Merylle’s side.

  Elise gripped Merylle’s arm tightly, causing the Overseer to shriek in pain. “Help me!” Elise shouted to a nearby man who helped her lower the injured woman to the ground. He pulled Merylle’s shirt away from the wound, cursed, and then called over another Overseer to help see to it. Elise fell back, her fists at her sides as she stood.

  Distracted. She’d been distracted just as she’d said. Just as she’d feared. A coldness swept through her heart. But Merylle hadn’t been. Merylle had likely saved her life. A javelin to the side was deadly, but less so than one through the chest.

  Elise stalked forward, her entire body thrumming with
anger. The Conscript who had thrown the javelin had managed to sit up against the wall. He looked up at her, defiant. His mouth opened, likely to spill a hateful rhetoric of superiority and righteousness.

  He died with Elise’s sword impaling his throat.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Everything was chaos.

  From the moment he’d heard the first shouts of invasion, Ermolt had been moving. He and Hartmut were able to gather the Overseers in quick response. Every able body was protecting the halls, and their speed stymied the slaughter the Temple had hoped to have this night.

  Ermolt was trying to direct the Overseers from behind. He was hoping they could maintain a secure front line so that he could prepare to launch himself in to turn the tide when the time was right. But as the number of wounded Overseers behind the line grew, he began to notice the gentle glow of Cleric magic. The wounded Conscripts were returning to the front anew. His own forces were not.

  He needed to turn the tide now, or else they’d be overrun by sheer numbers alone.

  “Athala!” Ermolt said, pointing out over the heads of the Overseers at someone not wearing armor in midst of the Temple’s forces—likely a Cleric. “Can you throw some fire at the Clerics?”

  “I’d have to be able to see over the front line,” she said from beside him. She stood up on her toes, trying to look over the wall of fighters blocking her view. “I can see the glow, but if I tried to throw anything at them, I’d probably just hit the back of someone’s head.”

  Ermolt dropped to one knee and scooped the wizard up with one arm, standing to lift her up so she could see. From the outside, it must have looked comical. Athala was perched on the crook of his arm, which he held rigidly at chest height. She was like royalty, using Ermolt’s superior height to accomplish what she wanted.

  As soon as Athala could see, she shouted out some arcane words and hurled an orb of fire into the Temple forces. It burst against an unarmored figure, setting them screaming and flailing against the tight press of Conscripts around them. There was no room to roll on the floor to put out the flames.

  “Thank you,” Athala said, her tone flat. She refused to look down at him, but instead watched the figure collapse in a heap of flames. Ermolt felt a spike of guilt at asking her to burn the Clerics alive after what had happened days before, but they had little choice. “Maintain this for as long as you can.” She spoke her words of power again, landing another blast of flame against a Cleric that tried to go to the aid of the first.

  “Defensive stances!” Ermolt shouted at the Overseers in front of them. “We’ll burn them all out if we have to—just hold that line!”

  Shields were raised among the Conscripts in an attempt to try and protect against Athala’s flames. But her targets—the Clerics—had no such shields. And the glows of their divine magic stood out in the dimly lit halls, making them an easy target.

  Ermolt nodded approvingly as the wizard fired in response to the divine glow of the Clerics’ prayers, for soon it meant that the Clerics who remained were reluctant to make use of their healing. They were paralyzed by the fear, either caused by the pained screams of their fellows, or from seeing the badly burned who survived the flames being guided away from the front line.

  He was even a little surprised at Athala’s persistence. She normally didn’t throw so many spells all at once. And she didn’t seem to be flagging.

  “Push forward!” someone yelled from behind the Conscripts. “We have the advantage of numbers! Push!”

  Ermolt grimaced as the Conscripts grew more reckless, pushing in against the defending Overseers. While a few counterattacks drew blood from the Temple forces, the swell of armored Conscripts forced them back.

  “Hold the line!” Ermolt bellowed. They couldn’t keep falling back. The next place they could fall back to was the stairs up to Merylle’s office, or the stairs down to the dungeon—both dead ends. “Make them pay for every rhen!” He looked around, and saw what he needed in a corner of the room. “You two,” he said, pointing at a pair of wounded Overseers who had been bandaged up but were still too weak for the front line. “Bring that chair over here. It’s time I lead from the front.”

  Athala hopped down from his arm and quickly reasserted her position on top of the chair. It didn’t make her as tall as when she’d been resting on his elbow and forearm, but it was still a vantage point. As soon as Athala was once more perched where she could still see over the line to threaten any Cleric that showed themselves, Ermolt made his way toward the front. He only had the short sword he’d used during training, but it would serve.

  The Overseers line was just starting to buckle under the pressure of the oncoming Conscripts as Ermolt bellowed to announce his reinforcement of the line. He stepped into a gap between two Overseers before a Conscript could force their way through.

  A swift kick sent the man who sought to breach the line crashing back into the other Conscripts behind him. Ermolt laid about wildly with his sword, ringing it against the weapons of the Conscripts within reach. The Overseers around him pushed against the charge. They thrust their blades at the Conscripts where Ermolt knocked their defenses aside.

  He didn’t begrudge the Overseers for aiming to kill with their strikes. The temple forces had killed or mortally wounded many of their fellows when they attacked, but it wasn’t about revenge. It was fear.

  The Overseers knew if they didn’t take every shot they could, well, the Temple wasn’t here to take prisoners. Any Conscript they spared was not likely to return the favor.

  Though Ermolt had taken the front and intended to push the Temple host back, he went out of his way to enable the Overseers around him rather than strike down the attackers himself. As a result, the tide turned slowly.

  Ermolt knew that Athala was doing more to help than he was as the flashes of fire flew over his head to harass the forces behind the front. She didn’t just take out the Clerics whose prayers were healing the wounded, but also burned the fighters around them, weakening them as they were forced to the front.

  “One side!” a voice said, rising from behind the Conscript lines. “One side! Let me handle it!” After a moment, an armored woman pushed her way to the front, opposite Ermolt. She immediately lunged forward, and Ermolt’s sword danced into the path of her weapon. He caught it solidly enough, though his arm strained against it.

  Her armor was obviously different from that of the Conscripts around her. While they wore a mixture of chainmail over boiled leathers, she wore a plate cuirass and scale greaves, with an open-faced helmet that bore the insignia of Teis. In contrast to his short sword, her own weapon was a broadsword, and her two-handed grip threatened to overwhelm even Ermolt’s prodigious strength.

  “You may be able to throw around these Conscripts,” the woman snarled, shoving harder against his block. The tip of her sword edged towards Ermolt’s cheek. “But let’s see how you handle a fully-trained Temple Guard.”

  “The last Temple Guard I faced didn’t remember to wear his helmet,” Ermolt said, reaching up with his other hand to carefully grip the blade of his sword between his fingers and palm. Her sword halted before the tip could dig into his face. He grinned. “Maybe you’ll give me enough of a fight to entertain me for more than a moment.”

  Ermolt let go of his blade and stepped back. She stumbled towards him under her poor balance, and Ermolt brought his free hand up to land a ringing blow against her helmet. It hurt his knuckles but she almost dropped her weapon as she stumbled back. He took the opening to do so again, punching the side of the helmet harder this time. The Temple Guard snarled and swiped upwards at him with her sword, but the blow was off target and he easily stepped aside from it.

  “Hey, be careful,” Ermolt cautioned the woman. “You could hurt someone swinging that thing around like that.”

  She only growled in response and came in with another attack, her aim intending to bury the blade in the crook of Ermolt’s neck. He brought his short sword up and parried the blow, gu
iding the sword to the left to bring the end crashing into the stone floor. Ermolt lashed out with a booted foot and stomped on the blade, ripping it from the Temple Guard’s grip.

  “If you can’t play nice with it,” Ermolt said with a laugh, sliding the broadsword behind him with his foot before taking his stance up again. “Then I guess I have to take it away.” Someone behind him scrambled to collect the fallen weapon, and it was then Ermolt noticed that both the Overseers and the Conscripts had edged away from them. They were either reluctant to interfere, or were afraid of being caught in the crossfire of the fight.

  The Temple Guard drew a dagger from her belt, not hesitating at all after being disarmed. She lunged forward, throwing all her weight behind the tiny blade as she drove it at his chest. Ermolt’s arm came around in time to keep it from sinking into his heart or lungs, but he only managed to deflect her momentum a little to one side, and the dagger punched through his thin leather armor and six rhen of steel sank into the meat of his shoulder.

  Ermolt dropped his sword and grabbed the Temple Guard’s hands, peeling them away from the hilt of the weapon before she could withdraw it. The hilt stuck out of him like an unfinished song. His shoulder sang with the discordant pain of having been mildly impaled. It brought a thin red ring to the edges of his vision, and he pushed through it. A part of him knew he would regret ignoring the wound once the fight was done and his adrenaline subsided, but it wasn’t as important as the lives of the Overseers around him. And historically, creating a spectacle was how barbarians ended fights with southern humans.

  He let go of her wrist and smashed his fist into the open part of her helmet. The attack scraped the side of his hand on the edge of the opening, but the blow smashed her lips into her teeth and stunned her. He twisted her arm with his other hand, pretending not to notice the red tinge over his vision as his shoulder screamed at the dagger still embedded in it. His free hand came across hard, slamming into the plate armor over her chest. The blow itself didn’t do much against her armor, but his grip on her twisted arm meant the momentum of the punch dislocated her shoulder. She screamed, and blood sprayed from her split lips as Ermolt twisted her arm further, grinding the end of her humerus against the shoulder socket.