Destiny (Heroes by Necessity Book 3)

by Riley S. Keene

  It would fall, and Ibeyar would die.

  The training grounds quickly turned to chaos. The more alert and ready Conscripts in the rear ranks tried to push forward to engage Ermolt, while their injured and battered companions tried to break ranks to retreat to the Temple doors.

  There was pushing and shoving, all punctuated by shouts and curses. Orders fell on deaf ears, driven only by panic and fear.

  Behind Ermolt, his friends approached. Elise rushed up to Ermolt’s side, ready to cover his flank, while Athala took up a post behind the nearest market stall to use it for cover. Sieghard was with her, casting a spell that seemed to shroud the two from sight.

  Ermolt found himself grinning once more. “Followers of Ibeyar!” he shouted, shifting his stance to take a step towards the panicked Conscripts. “Your false Prophet has brought you here to die by my hand. Flee or fall—I care not which!”

  He swung again. The wide arc of his hammer did not connect solidly with any Conscript, but it caught limbs. Hands and arms crackled under the heavy head of the weapon. Maces and swords went flying as their owners cried out, cradling broken bones to their chest.

  It only added to the chaos as they also turned to run.

  A bold Conscript, uninjured from his time behind the front line, found his way through and rushed forward behind Ermolt’s sweeping strike. But he only found Elise’s shield.

  Her sword flashed up and then swooped down, drawing the Conscript’s guard to his throat before she sliced cleanly through the narrow gap between their boots and greaves.

  It was impressive to see Elise wield the light weapon. Ermolt was so used to seeing her with a mace, and while she was apt with the heavy-headed weapon, it didn’t allow for elegant fighting. Elise’s sword was an extension of her being, and the slightly curved blade was an instrument of destruction.

  The Conscript she fought cried out in pain and he fell to his injured knee. Elise slammed her shield forward and there was a metallic clang as helmet and shield met. The Conscript fell back, stunned by the impact.

  Ermolt turned his momentum and swept his hammer through his back swing. Elise dropped to her knees, ducking to let the swing pass over her head.

  Two Conscripts of Numara stumbled into the path of his swing as they tried to push their way to the front of the fight. One of them managed to twist away at the last moment, and she was only clipped by the massive weapon.

  The other made the foolish choice of trying to brace against the blow. Ermolt saw for one brief moment the man’s sword raised to parry the sweep of the hammer. The head of the hammer slammed into the weapon and the blade bent as if it were made of copper. Ermolt’s strike smashed into the Conscript’s cheek, and a sickening crack carried over the training grounds.

  When the man hit the ground, his face was as unrecognizable as his sword.

  A lance of guilt flashed through Ermolt for a moment. He wanted to feel pity for these Conscripts, as he once had for those just doing a job of upholding the peace.

  But there was no peace upheld here. These people worked for a man who killed indiscriminately, and who wanted to turn the southern kingdoms back to the previous Age, an Age of slavery and war.

  So Ermolt swallowed the guilt. And instead he laughed.

  It had the desired effect.

  The grisly death sent more of the wounded into a frenzy. Many broke ranks.

  He heard Elise scuffling with another brave Conscript who had tried to circle around behind Ermolt. He turned to help, but it was already over. Elise thrust her sword into an opening in the Conscript’s guard, between the joint of their armor at their armpit. The Numaran Conscript cried out in pain and Elise drove her foot into their gut, doubling them over and sending them to the ground. The Conscript curled around themselves, retching from the blow.

  Ermolt’s attention was abruptly wrenched to a bellowing laughter that mimicked his own. He turned and caught the sight of something slightly disorienting.

  It was himself.

  A second Ermolt was charging towards the fleeing ranks of the Conscripts, hammer raised.

  Ermolt stared in confusion for a moment before he saw the market stall behind the other Ermolt, where Athala stood with her hands thrust forward and her face contorted in concentration.

  The night was dark enough and the market and Temple were relatively unlit, so it was hard to see the illusion as anything more than reality. Athala’s magic was also so much stronger than it had been even weeks before. Ermolt was impressed.

  “Brother!” Ermolt shouted with a laugh. “They haven’t laid a weapon on me! Don’t worry though—I’ve saved plenty for you!”

  He turned back to the Conscripts and raised his hammer with a roar.

  With just one hammer-wielding barbarian bearing down of them, five or six of the Conscripts had fled.

  Now that there was a second charging into battle, those still alive and able broke ranks completely. It started with one man throwing down his weapons and fleeing into the night. But while a brave man might have believed in his odds against two barbarians with ten fellow Conscripts at his side, none of them were stupid enough to think they could survive with less.

  “Run, cowards!” Ermolt bellowed after them. “I prefer to save my strength for your false Prophet anyway!”

  As the last man fled into the darkness of the night, Ermolt turned to find Athala and Sieghard joining them at the Temple doors. Athala still held concentration on the illusory Ermolt. Up close, Ermolt could see why she saved such tactics for the right time and place. In motion, the illusion was convincing enough. It walked, it held the hammer properly, and it was not an unflattering depiction of him. But when still, there was little things that didn’t quite work. It didn’t breathe or blink, and its eyes didn’t move—they looked like those in a painting, staring straight ahead.

  “I don’t think we need this anymore,” Elise said with a wave of her hand at the illusion.

  The illusory Ermolt stuck its tongue out at her before staring straight ahead once more. Athala sighed and rubbed at the bridge of her nose as a shower of winking motes of light fell from her creation as it dissipated.

  Ermolt patted her shoulder briefly and then stepped to the Temple door. He and his friends entered the Temple of Numara with no additional trouble.

  The place was gloomy and dark, with only sparse light from dim candles along the walls. Ermolt was surprised by the modest and unadorned decorations in the room, save for the altar and the statue of Numara. The dangling sleeves of the statue had been damaged at some point. It looked as if someone had hacked at it with a chisel or other metal implement to carve a message into the stone. They’d obviously given up when the hard, dark stone was too difficult to work with.

  No Conscripts or Guards were posted in this room, although Ermolt could see signs of a struggle. There was no blood or bodies, but there were scrapes in the wall near the doorway, and a few bits of broken chain armor and sliced off leather lamellae scattered across the floor.

  “There was a fight here,” Ermolt said to his friends. He stepped past them to take the lead. “I hope this didn’t go as well as Ibeyar hoped.”

  Those around him nodded and grumbled in agreement.

  “Which way do we go?” Ermolt asked.

  “The right passage,” Sieghard said before anyone else could reply. “It leads down underneath the Temple. Whatever he’s after will likely be in that direction.”

  “Let’s go then.” Ermolt lead his friends deeper into the Temple, trying desperately to ignore the unease that came over him.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Elise followed Ermolt closely as he rushed into the hallway beyond the right-side door.

  The barbarian took up nearly the entire span of the hallway with both his height and the breadth of his shoulders. It was difficult for Elise to see around him, and she knew it would be impossible for him to fight if they ran into enemies in such tight spaces.

  She almost wished she had taken the lead, but ther
e was no time for regrets now.

  Small indentations along the wall held more ever-burning candles, lighting the passage with a similar gloom as the rest of the Temple that Elise had seen. These lights were just enough to highlight the scrapes and scuffs along the wood-paneled walls, revealing that whatever fight had begun in the outer room continued down these halls.

  It wasn’t until the first fork in the hall that the room opened up, and that they found the first corpse.

  A Conscript had been butchered almost beyond recognition. The body had been kicked aside, crumpled into a corner. Likely by someone that had known them. Worked with them. Trained with them.

  A halo of blood surrounded the corpse, and wet crimson footprints trailed off down the left hallway.

  Ermolt led them past the body and to the blood with barely any hesitation.

  Elise tried to avoid thinking too hard about the fallen Conscript. Or about what was coming.

  Their plans had largely involved storming the place, but it was obvious Ibeyar’s had been much the same. The difference was that Ibeyar’s manipulations had the Conscripts fighting among each other.

  Was it better that she and her companions would have killed any who stopped them, but that they wouldn’t have made friends fight each other over a difference in loyalty?

  Were they really that much different than Ibeyar?

  She couldn’t argue that their own attack wouldn’t have been just as brutal.

  So why did his selfish motivations make him killing these Conscripts worse than if she and her friends had done it instead?

  Elise shoved the thoughts away and concentrated on following Ermolt.

  The worries stayed quiet—for now. It would be something she would want to discuss with her companions once they were finished here. Her fear that they would or could become like Ibeyar—selfishly ending lives in blind devotion to a “greater purpose”—would be an important topic for discussion. Along with their commitment to Ydia’s plans.

  But now was not the time.

  They had to hurry.

  And every moment that passed was another moment for Ibeyar to work uninterrupted.

  As they ventured deeper into the Temple, the lights became dimmer. Elise should have expected such a thing from the God of the Night. There seemed to be the same number of candles present, but there just seemed to be a gloom to the air.

  Elise was so distracted by her thoughts of death, loyalties, and candles that she almost didn’t see when Ermolt pulled up short. She barely avoided slamming into him.

  Ahead of him was a dimly lit room, and while at the back of it Elise could see a stairwell disappearing down into the darkness, there was also a trio of armed guards.

  She recognized them.

  They were the mercenaries that had protected Ibeyar at the rally.

  While Ibeyar’s skills at finding competent lackeys had been suspect thus far, these mercenaries were wearing full plate armor and seemed to move easily in it. They hadn’t noticed Ermolt or his companions just yet, but Elise chalked that up to the gloom more than skill. Otherwise, it seemed as if Ibeyar had a more discerning eye when it came to those charged with protecting his own skin, instead of merely watching over his prisoners.

  Ermolt inhaled deeply but Elise put a hand to his arm to stop him. “Take care,” she whispered. “If he is close enough to hear you, we won’t be able to surprise him.”

  The barbarian paused and the finally let out the breath he was holding without his customary bellow. Instead he stepped into the room with his hammer ready. Elise took her place at his side, sword in one hand and shield brought up in the other.

  The mercenaries reacted quickly and efficiently. They readied their weapons at the sight of the barbarian and Conscript stepping from the gloom. Two of them took the lead, holding large shields and short swords, while the third took up position behind with a halberd.

  It was a threatening formation, and even Ermolt hesitated.

  The room was cramped. Ermolt wouldn’t be able to swing his hammer to full effect in here without banging into the walls or swiping from a single predictable angle. And while the axe-head of the mercenary’s halberd would face the same difficulty, the thrusting point would still be at full effectiveness. And the mercenaries had positioned themselves to maximize the use of it.

  The two groups stared each other down for a wordless moment, and Elise realized this is what the mercenaries wanted. They were here to act as a wall. They didn’t need to engage any threats, just hold them at bay until Ibeyar’s work was done.

  Elise doubted that they would even kill, if given the chance. Her and her friends were Ibeyar’s most feared foes, but as long as they just stalled for enough time, the mercenaries would be doing exactly what he asked.

  Athala was the first to break the stalemate.

  A single bolt of fire scattered across the shield of one of the mercenaries. It sheared some varnish from the polished surface, but no blaze caught. The spell was still enough of a distraction, and Elise was ready to take the opening.

  She lunged at the mercenary on her right, keeping her shield high to protect her left side from the halberd. The mercenary she targeted only tucked her arm in close, presenting her large shield to Elise. Her lowered stance was one that braced for impact, and Elise was only too happy to comply.

  As soon as her sword landed, the halberd swooped down and struck its sharp tip at Elise’s face. Her raised shield deflected the attack, but the secondary distraction left her open. The other shield-bearing mercenary turned and lunged in with her own shortsword.

  Ermolt closed the distance before the blow could land.

  The pommel of his hammer caught the sword before it could test Elise’s armor. In order to swipe at Elise, the mercenary had brought her sword all the way across her person, forgoing her shield. It left her side open. While Ermolt couldn’t fully swing his hammer in the cramped room, he could still move it. The head of the weapon rammed into the mercenary’s shoulder, denting the plate with the force and pushing her back into the halberd-wielding mercenary behind her.

  Elise took advantage of Ermolt’s presence. She brought her sword up and feinted high. Another slice against the shield. When her opponent raised her shield to deflect the attack, Elise slammed her booted foot into the side of the mercenary’s exposed knee.

  The woman’s armor provided enough protection and support to prevent the shield-bearer from completely falling over, but she staggered a little off-balance, and Elise pressed the attack to keep her from recovering. She bullied her way in, shield still raised against the efforts of the halberd. Elise swiped in from the right, keeping the pressure on and forcing the mercenary back.

  Elise’s gambit worked. The woman took a step back too far and opened her companions to attack.

  Ermolt reared back with his hammer and struck the shield-bearer on her left. Her shield buckled with the force of his hit, but since he couldn’t fully swing it as he wanted, it only shook the mercenary instead of shattering her defenses.

  The woman retaliated, thrusting her sword at Ermolt. He accepted the shallow gash across his exposed shoulder in exchange for a second strike of his own. Ermolt hit the exact same place on the shield with his prodigious strength behind the blow.

  The force of the blow seemed to travel right through the shield, and the woman was slammed into the wall. There was a crack and the wood paneling on the wall crumbled under the impact as it absorbed the residual force. The mercenary had enough of her wits to catch herself and not strike her head against the wall, but before she could dislodge herself from the hole, Ermolt struck again. She dropped her sword and grabbed her shield arm to reinforce her stance against the blow. The impact threw her against the wall once more, and she cried out in pain.

  The halberd-wielding mercenary stepped forward to defend her companion, but Elise met her weapon with her shield. The attack was deflected easily and the mercenary called out with a curse. Behind her, the shield-bearing mercenary regained her f
eet and joined in to press the attack against Elise.

  She parried incoming sword strikes and allowed thrusting halberds to roll off her shield.

  The occasional bolt of fire was flung into the melee as Athala tried to offer assistance, but the room was just too small for the wizard’s magic to be completely useful.

  Desperate to break the stalemate against her opponents, Elise took a risk. As the shield-bearer’s sword came down, Elise met it with her own shield. She whipped the shield around and smashed the edge of it against the mercenary’s wrist. The blade fell from numb fingers and clattered across the floor.

  Elise lashed out once more with her own sword. The strike was perfect, and her sword thrust into a gap in the mercenary’s plate armor. About three rhen of the blade buried itself into the woman’s gut.

  The halberd-wielding mercenary let out a bark of anger and triumph and Elise had no time to react before her weapon struck Elise’s head and the sharp edge slid down along the side of her face.

  Elise hissed at the hot, wet feeling running down her cheek and neck. Her left eye was almost immediately coated in a sheet of blood. Elise raised her shield as both the halberd-wielding and shield-bearing mercenaries stepped forward.

  “Ermolt!” Elise cried out, backing away wildly.

  There were the sounds of a scuffle, and the crunching of metal, but Elise couldn’t see Ermolt without turning her head. And her opponents would give her no quarter to do so. Elise frantically parried another strike from the bleeding shield-bearer, but she was afraid the next strike from the halberd would penetrate her defenses.

  “Get down!” Ermolt shouted suddenly and Elise dropped to her backside without hesitation. The barbarian’s hammer whooshed over her head and pressed the mercenaries back as they parried the attack. “Go to Athala! Get that bandaged!”

  Elise wasted no time in crawling back to her friend. The wizard winced at all of the blood, but hurried to care for the wound. But it meant that Elise could do nothing but sit still and watch as Ermolt stepped in against Elise’s opponents. Behind him, the third woman was on the ground, fighting with a crumpled breastplate.