Bargain (Heroes By Necessity Book 2)

by Riley S. Keene

  Ermolt landed next to the beast and with a snarl he turned to immediately climb up its back to reach the now-exposed underbelly on the other side. He used his lohar axes as makeshift handholds, sinking them into the thick hide hand over hand. Each one slid just a little as he pulled up, and the creature thrashed to try and both shake him loose and get itself free of the stone floor. Its eyes flashed as he reached the top of its side, but Athala barked out some arcane words and nothing happened.

  Ermolt leapt from the creature’s flank and dug his weapons into the soft underbelly as he passed, rending two huge wounds down the creature’s chest, intersecting with wounds he had inflicted earlier. Sirur swiped at him with its massive claws, but the loss of the massive pools of purple blood that had poured onto the temple floor by now was finally catching up with it. The swipes were slow and weak. Ermolt avoided them by pressing his face to the dragon’s belly, so the dragon’s claws sailed just above him.

  The dragon roared as he ripped its gut open.

  At some point in his descent, Ermolt had torn through the thick layers of fat and muscle between the skin and the cavity beneath, truly tearing the dragon open. A rope of massive intestine pressed through the breach. Ermolt relished the sound of the beast’s agony resonating through his weapons, up his arms, and into his chest.

  He hit the ground and started slamming both weapons into the beast’s gut over and over. Purple blood fountained down on him from above, gushing in great pulses in time with the dragon’s pounding heart. He punched through the scales over and over, rending the flesh and peeling away the hide.

  And with that he was able to begin peeling away the layers of muscle. A massive bundle of entrails pushed through the hole he made, and he kept hacking away. The dragon thrashed and screamed but its spikes impaling the floor held it still enough for Ermolt to continue digging into its gut.

  He ripped and tore.

  Ripped and tore.

  Ripped and tore.

  Without the thick hide to stop him, each blow punched in up to his elbow. He dug deeper and deeper, and the beast’s thrashing grew more frenzied. Ermolt heard both Elise and Athala yelling distantly, but they were so distant. He could barely hear them from beneath the torrent of snow.

  Snow and dragon gore.

  The creature’s cries of agony were the only thing that pierced the veil. He could feel the bellow of rage and triumph rolling out of his chest more than he was aware of voicing it.

  He hit something softer than the rest.

  He hit it again.

  And again.

  There was a huge gasping sound, and air erupted from the wound, turning the flood of purple blood into a spray as the dragon’s house-sized lung collapsed. The air smelled like wood smoke and spoiled meat.

  Ermolt didn’t stop.

  He dug deeper.

  With the puncturing of its lung, he suddenly had a frame of reference, and the wave of rage he rode knew what it wanted. The thrill sang within him as he threw his weapons away from the beast and dug into the creature with his bare hands.

  First up to the elbows.

  Then the shoulder.

  He rammed his head into the gore before him, diving bodily into the dragon’s innards. His hands grabbed whatever they could and pulled, reaching, searching, following the thumping pulse that thrummed through the flesh.

  Ermolt’s lungs screamed for air as he finally reached it. He felt the thumping muscle beneath his fingers and lashed out at it with his fingernails. As he felt himself drowning in the gore he had buried himself in, having burrowed into the creature’s gut up to his waist, he pushed deeper, grasping and yanking and scratching. He felt one of his fingers punch through the muscles into the chamber below. Instead of seeing that as a victory, he saw it as a handhold. He tore the hole wider, forcing more fingers within as the enormous heart’s own muscular action pumped all the blood in Sirur’s body past Ermolt’s hand as he yanked.

  He ripped and tore.

  The beast stilled with a final agonizing cry that reverberated through the entire cavity of its chest that Ermolt stood in.

  Victory.

  Ermolt screamed back, sending his own victorious cry through the body of the dragon.

  The dead dragon.

  He didn’t remember stepping out of the dragon.

  His first real thought was how sweet the first gasp of air tasted.

  Ermolt’s bloodlust was finally sated.

  The snow had finally stopped falling.

  He collapsed to the ground, gasping for air. His body screamed from a thousand bumps and bruises that he didn’t remember receiving. The chest of his armor was ruined, a giant claw mark ran through it exposing a gash across his bare chest beneath it. When had that happened? He didn’t know.

  Ermolt flopped up to his knees, reaching out into the ocean of blood and gore across the floor. He found his lohar axes before standing. With his hands closed around weapon hilts, he felt stronger, more sure of himself. There was still a bone-deep weariness after the thrill of battle left him, but it was less urgent.

  He looked to Elise and Athala, who had made their way to him at some point, likely after seeing him emerge from the dragon’s gut. They were standing still, just a few fen away. Both of their faces paled as they stared up at the ceiling of the dome. Ermolt followed their eyes, confused.

  The ceiling of the dome was plain stone. The illusion of the night sky was gone. The dome felt strangely empty.

  “What?” Ermolt took a staggering step forward.

  “The power is gone,” Athala whispered. “There’s nothing left here.”

  “Teis.” Elise was wide eyed and seemed unsure of where to look. Her eyes roamed everywhere at once as if she could track the missing magic. “Teis is gone.”

  “What?” Ermolt repeated. “You’re not making any sense. How can a God be gone?”

  The Conscript looked to him in horror. “We—“

  “Elise!”

  “Merylle!” Elise shouted in return. The Conscript looked confused, and surprised.

  She was running before Ermolt realized what was going on. It took him longer than he would have liked to admit to realize that there was still fighting going on between Ibeyar’s mercenaries and the Overseers.

  Ermolt murmured a quick blessing to Dasis, begging for the snow to return. Something told him he was going to need it.

  There was no immediate answer, but Ermolt pushed aside his weariness anyway and charged off after Elise.

  A hero’s job was never done.

  Chapter Forty-One

  Elise sprinted across the dome as fast as she could.

  How had she gotten so far away?

  While fighting it hadn’t seemed like so much distance, but the dragon’s corpse was against the far wall. Elise and Athala had been nearly pressed up against it when Ermolt had gone for a swim inside the corpse for whatever reason.

  The room was huge—nearly nine-hundred fen wide at any point. It had seemed so much smaller with the giant dragon filling the center. And now, without the magic of the magical night sky, it was dark and gloomy, punctuated only by oil lamps that were around the room at near precise intervals.

  From what Elise could see across the room, Merylle was locked in combat with Ibeyar. It looked like the wizard had the upper hand.

  She tried to run faster, but her body was just so tired. Fighting a dragon had been much harder work than she expected. And now she had to deal with Ibeyar as well? Elise found herself growling in frustration.

  Ermolt described his rage as a slow snowfall crossing his vision, blurring out the edges and burying his mind under an impossible load. Elise’s anger was instead a red-hot light, much like the dragonfire that Sirur had breathed. She focused completely on Ibeyar and her hatred for the lying wizard fueled her arms and legs to pump faster.

  Ibeyar and Merylle seemed to be very close in physical combat skill. Merylle was more confident of course, but Ibeyar had magic on his side.

  His body shimm
ered and blurred as he moved—clearly the work of a spell—and it made him harder to see and predict. Staring at him made Elise’s eyes water.

  Both Ibeyar and Merylle looked battered. One of Merylle’s lips was swollen with a bruise and there was a deep cut across Ibeyar’s shoulder that seeped blood onto his shirt.

  As Elise ran, they fought. Merylle came in fast to catch Ibeyar off guard, her sword flashing in an arc towards his gut. The wizard’s form shimmered out of reach of the blow. He struck out with his longsword in retaliation, but the movement was blurred with confusing afterimages. Elise blinked to clear her vision, but the images remained. Merylle lashed out with her offhand, her dagger catching the sword with the practiced care of someone who had seen a trick before.

  But Ibeyar’s free hand lashed out from his side and caught the Overseer in the ribs without visibly crossing the space between. His magic obscured his movements.

  Merylle grunted in pain, immediately bending around the fist. She lashed out with both sword and dagger, weaving a protective wall of steel in front of herself. Elise could tell she wanted to double over and cough, but instead she struggled to catch her breath without.

  In her peripheral vision, Elise could see Ermolt charging towards the Overseers, who were still fighting the remains of Ibeyar’s men.

  She didn’t care.

  Elise was aware of Athala breathing heavily behind her. The wizard was falling farther and farther behind as she ran out of breath.

  She didn’t care.

  All that she cared about was getting to Merylle and killing the lying wizard who had tried to come between them.

  Elise was almost halfway there. She willed herself to run faster, but felt only the exhaustion of the evening catching up to her. She stumbled two steps before finding her rhythm again.

  “Merylle!” Elise yelled again. “Hold on!”

  Ibeyar looked up at the shout. He looked back to Merylle. The wizard said something Elise couldn’t hear. His taunting smile said enough.

  Merylle lunged at him.

  The wizard’s shimmering form appeared to be standing still, but when her sword connected with his neck it passed through nothing. Motes of magic scattered out of the afterimage, much like the fizzles they’d seen on the door under Khule.

  The real Ibeyar stepped forward and slapped the blade out of Merylle’s overextended hand.

  With the most dangerous of her weapons gone, Ibeyar stepped into Merylle’s space.

  There was a shimmering, blurring struggle that looked like Merylle was wrestling with a dozen arms instead of just two. The dagger in her hand cut and slashed wildly around at the illusions. She stabbed frantically as she tried to free herself. Her struggle stopped abruptly. A hand closed around her fingers and tore the weapon from her grasp. In a flash the weapon was at Merylle’s throat, and the shimmering blur resolved itself back into Ibeyar. He held her firmly and looked up to meet Elise’s oncoming charge.

  A flood of energy filled Elise’s limbs at the fear in Merylle’s eyes. She redoubled her speed.

  One hundred fen.

  Now sixty.

  Twenty.

  “Let her go!” Elise shouted.

  “Stop!” Ibeyar shouted back, his voice commanding and confident. With a sly smile he added: “Unless you want to be responsible for her death.”

  Elise slowed and then slid to a complete stop.

  She was barely fifteen fen away. Close enough to see the smear of glee that crossed Ibeyar’s eyes as Elise stopped. He looked like a young child who was hiding something dangerous from those around him but calling it a surprise.

  Elise looked to Merylle. The woman’s face was alight with raw fear and anger. She struggled in his arms, but the dagger rested against her throat tighter and the struggling stopped.

  Frustration filled Elise. She didn’t know what to do.

  Ibeyar tapped the dagger lightly against Merylle’s neck. “Now, I think we can all agree—we would like everyone to leave this situation alive, yes? If we want this to go smoothly, I suggest we keep that in mind.”

  “Let her go,” Elise said. She clenched her fist as she would have around the handle of her mace, but the weapon was gone, lost to the dragon’s gullet. “I do not care about you, Ibeyar Frey.” Her voice was still, but her anger flared when she said his name. “You and your men can leave here now and may you find your end soon enough. But only if you let her go.” Elise strained against the urge to take a step forward. If she had a weapon, anything at all, she would have tried her luck. “If you hold her for even a moment longer, I will kill you.”

  Ibeyar tilted his head. The appendage shimmered with magic as illusionary Ibeyars tilted their heads as well. He smirked. “The jealous type, eh?” His eyes narrowed. He seemed to be appraising her for a moment. “I don’t believe you. The moment I let her go, you will fall upon me. I don’t know how much damage you could do weaponless and without your barbarian and wizard to help you, but why risk that?”

  “Please. Just let her go. This doesn’t need to end in violence.”

  “Do you honestly think you can kill me before she dies?” He twitched the dagger and Merylle hissed.

  Elise stood still, unsure of what to say. He seemed a madman, bent on destroying life no matter how the situation came to an end. “I promise—I won’t hurt you,” Elise finally said, her words stilted and hollow, almost unconvincing to her own ear.

  But she spoke true.

  Ibeyar paused, watching her with a bemused smile. A gulf of time spanned between them where neither spoke, nor moved. The whole room seemed silent, hinging on what Ibeyar did next. Elise prayed silently that he saw reason.

  Between them, Merylle watched Elise with eyes that smoldered with an anger Elise had yet to see. Revenge for betrayal had fueled the woman before, and so those coals were used to burning bright. But this anger was colder and hotter at the same time, a fresh wound instead of something that had festered for years.

  Finally, Ibeyar’s smile widened just a touch more. “Alright. We’ll try it your way. I want to leave her alive, and with as little trouble as possible. Let me go, and we never have to interact again, if you like.”

  “Fine,” Elise said through clenched teeth.

  Ibeyar watched her a moment longer, waiting for her to spring to action, but Elise stood still. Merylle was too special to her.

  All at once the wizard moved. He released the dagger from Merylle’s throat and let go of her arm, spinning her away from him. The Overseer stumbled, but righted herself with an elegant grace.

  And as soon as her feet were under her once more, she stalked after the fleeing Ibeyar.

  Elise stepped forward and grabbed Merylle’s arm, trying to hold her back, but the Overseer shrugged her off. “Do not think your deal with the Conscript covers you from my violence, Frey.” The man hesitated at the door. “You are a liar. A betrayer. A pile of filth that deserves to no longer breathe. I will cut you down for what you’ve done today!”

  Ibeyar’s retreating form let out a sigh. “No, you won’t.”

  All at once, the illusions around Ibeyar shimmered. Each illusion performed a different action. Many seemed to be intent on fleeing. Others on engaging the approaching Overseer.

  But only one had thrown the still-bloodied dagger.

  Elise shouted a warning, and Merylle stopped.

  But she didn’t stop all at once.

  She took a step forward. Then another.

  No third came.

  She turned to look back at Elise and the horror in her eyes cut to Elise’s core.

  The Overseer’s hand was wrapped around the hilt of her own dagger where it was buried in her throat. It glistened with fresh blood that pooled around the pommel and rushed down her front. Merylle clawed at the weapon to free herself but it was slick with so much blood.

  Their eyes met. A thousand unspoken words spanned between them with that momentary glance and then Merylle’s eyes rolled back in her head.

  Before Elise could
so much as step forward to help, Merylle collapsed, falling bonelessly to the floor.

  Elise shrieked her name.

  Merylle did not respond.

  Ibeyar turned once more and fled.

  His image blurred and distorted. He was an indistinct blob when he vanished down the stairwell.

  There was a loud bellow from behind Elise and a massive barbarian charged the stairwell, the rattling clatter of stone armor filling the dome.

  But he was too late. Too slow.

  There was a click and rattle of chains, and the floor above the stairs slammed shut with a loud sound of stone grinding on stone. Ermolt careened to a stop before the door and pounded on it with a furious cry.

  Elise didn’t remember walking forward to Merylle.

  She didn’t remember picking her up.

  The woman was dead. Of that there was no doubt. But Elise cradled her body anyway.

  A single tear fell to Merylle’s cheek, bringing a moment of life to the corpse.

  Elise did the only think she could think of. She prayed. She prayed to Ydia. To Teis. To every God that would listen. She prayed for Merylle to return. She prayed for a second chance. She prayed to have been faster. To have been able to save the woman who risked everything for her and lost it all.

  No one answered.

  No life came to the body in her arms.

  Merylle Callac, leader of the Overseers, was dead.

  And no one came back from the dead.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Athala had to fight the urge to collapse to the ground. She had nothing left in her. If she thought she had experienced exhaustion—especially magic-related exhaustion—before this point, she was wrong. Everything pulsed with a drained gray fade. When she turned her head the world swam. And while nothing in particular hurt, every part of her felt as if it had been used up.