Athala frowned and touched her forehead. There was a throbbing sensation right behind her eyes, and it spread up her forehead the longer she held the spell.
It wasn’t as bad as before. But it was amplifying every moment. It wouldn’t be long before it overcame her tolerance again.
“Just hold the spell!” Sieghard called out as he ran up behind the hatchet-wielding mercenary behind Elise. His hands danced over the straps of the armor, although nothing moved. “One moment longer!”
The old wizard darted up the stairs of the dais. He uncoupled the quiver on the mercenary with two quick motions and then dove to rub a hand across the chalk markings on the stone dais. With a single rune gone, Ibeyar’s shield spell would fail.
Sieghard fled back to Athala, weaving his spell of shadows as he ran. The magical camouflage engulfed him as he hurried for the door.
Athala did the same.
Each step seemed like a thousand. The pounding in her head was so terrible. It ached and throbbed and created a well of desperation in her that begged for relief. She’d give anything for a moment of relief.
Athala released the spell.
The weight of its power rose off her mind and the pressure in her skull released. The sudden difference caused her to pant, and Athala collapsed against the wall. Her breath came in ragged gasps and she could only watch as the red shadow of the dragon spell peeled away from the figures that had been locked in combat.
The next few moments seemed to unfold at half speed.
The spear aimed at Ermolt’s neck shattered in the mercenary’s hands as he thrust it forward. His cry of disbelief caused the woman with the big sword to start. It was enough of a distraction that Ermolt was able to force himself to his feet, bringing his hammer up with him.
The woman sailed across the room, dead before her body hit the floor.
Meanwhile, the man sneaking up on Elise had cried out in surprise and panic when his armor began to fall apart around him. The clattering of his chestplate falling caught Elise’s attention and she whirled instinctively to drive Merylle’s sword to the hilt in his exposed chest. She was screaming in surprise and terror.
The mercenary next to Ibeyar reached for a new crossbow bolt, but found his quiver falling to the floor instead.
Athala forced herself to cobble together a bolt of fire.
She had drained her energy so much in the past few bells that she could feel inertia in the draconian words as they left her throat. But the bolt leapt from her fingers just the same as always.
Ibeyar arched an eyebrow with a smirk as the flames came towards him.
He didn’t know. Didn’t realize.
Athala wished she had the artistic talent to capture on canvas the look of shock on Ibeyar’s face when the bolt passed through what he thought was an impenetrable barrier protecting him. Flames engulfed his robes and he panicked, beating at the spreading fire with his hands.
“Ermolt. Elise. We have to go.” Athala was surprised by how tired her voice sounded. How raw and exhausted. “We have to get out of here.”
“Not until he’s dead!” Elise screamed in return. She hacked at the Priests before her, slicing through the flesh of a bicep and sending the injured Priest reeling away.
Ermolt only bellowed in rage as he raised his hammer against the panicked spear-wielding mercenary who still stared at their broken weapon with confusion and betrayal. When the man lay dead, skull deformed from the massive blow, Ermolt turned to face the stone dais and stomped forward. Each step echoed in the near empty room.
“Stop! Please! He’s too strong! He’ll kill us!”
A blue-white bolt of energy struck Ermolt in the chest. Arcs of magic crackled against his stone armor, sending a web of blackened streaks across the scales. While the energy itself didn't seem to reach the barbarian through his armor, the impact sent him flying. He landed on his back and slid until he struck the wall.
Ibeyar laughed. “Oh, Athala.”
She turned to look at the wizard. Most of the top of his robes had burned away. He was wearing a mail shirt under it. While he had gotten the flames out quickly enough, there were still large red spots across his throat and chin that Athala could already see raising into blisters.
“You don’t know how right you are.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Elise’s head was spinning. Everything was a jumble of lights and sounds and every person and object was outlined in a wavy brightness.
She was panting and couldn’t seem to catch her breath. Sweat ran from her scalp and face as if she’d ran from Khule to Jirda just before coming down here.
Her scalp was also bleeding again.
The urge to rest—to just lie on the ground, right here, in the middle of everyone fighting—was overwhelming. The ground would be cool. It would be steady. If she were lying on it, it would stop bucking and weaving in a way that didn’t seem to be a problem for anyone else.
Elise tried to retreat from the remaining Priests.
With Ermolt struggling back to his feet half the room away, she was alone. Exposed. It was only a couple of heavily wounded Priests, an unarmed mercenary, and a mercenary who seemed to be struggling with their crossbow.
But it was too much.
She couldn’t.
Elise took another step back, her shield and sword still presented before her on shaking arms.
There was no follow up. Her back touched the wall and Elise realized she was out of options.
Beyond the enclosing group of impending defeat and death, Elise could see the mercenary with the crossbow reloading and aiming at Athala. She also saw a glowing burst of blue-white flame coming straight towards her.
Elise slid along the wall to the right, towards Athala. The fire splashed into the wall and Elise turned her head. The others weren’t so well informed. Flaming motes of magic rebounded off the wall and scattered across them, distracting them.
There were screams, but only the screams of those who were smart enough to realize that fire was indeed hot and would also burn things like robes and exposed armor padding.
As they patted out the flames, Elise fled in the manner she could best attempt. Her hand stayed on the wall, guiding her, holding her upright. She was sure her feet were moving, but there was no real way to tell how fast.
Behind her, Ermolt growled and there was the crunching of bones and metal under his hammer.
The remaining Priests screamed for real, and then no more. All that was left was the cry of the mercenary, and it sounded like they suddenly had no interest in continuing the fight.
Elise wondered what Ermolt had done.
But turning to look would cause her to stop. She had to keep moving forward.
A crossbow bolt thudded into the wall just rhen from her head. Elise’s heartbeat leapt into her throat, but she didn’t dare look to see if another was coming. She had to keep moving.
Ibeyar was shouting something. His voice boomed and echoed in the chamber, naturally amplified by the cavernous room. But the amplification was also destroying the clarity. She couldn’t understand what he was saying. Didn’t know what was coming.
Ermolt was suddenly at her side, a hand on her arm. Elise allowed herself to push away from the wall and instead lean on him. Together they moved faster, although that wasn’t saying much. Elise was painfully aware of how slow she had been moving, and it made her fret for the state of her wound.
Ahead, Athala was in a fire fight with a much stronger wizard. Ibeyar’s hands were whirling although he spoke no words. His power seemed endless, a well with a depth far beyond anything Elise knew possible. How could Athala think she had a chance? She should have been running, not dodging fire and returning with her own. But she didn’t flee. She stood strong and reached deep within herself to continue to throw magic around, even though she looked exhausted.
Elise was so proud of her.
Ibeyar threw a bolt of fire at the wizard’s feet and Athala had to dance out of the way. It caused her
to stumble, and Ibeyar took it as an opening. He charged at Athala, teeth bared and hands outstretched.
Ermolt let go of Elise’s arm and ran to intercept him. He roared, drawing Ibeyar’s attention. The Prophet didn’t even hesitate. Blue fire shot from his palms and struck Ermolt in the chest.
The barbarian must have been prepared this time because it didn’t send him flying across the room. It did still hurl him backwards, but it was much less impressive.
Elise still moved forward. Everything seemed to weigh so much. She wanted to just let her sword fall to the ground and follow it. But the door was up ahead. Fifteen fen, if that. She just had to keep going.
Athala cried out, snapping Elise’s attention from the door to her friend. Ibeyar was still moving across the room towards Athala. About halfway to her, he split into multiple shimmering copies of himself. Seeing that hateful grin multiplied made Elise grimace. She remembered seeing such a grin before Merylle died.
Suddenly her head hurt less. Elise stood up straight and pushed away from the wall. She took a handful of purposeful steps towards the two wizards before Ibeyar whirled his magic on her.
No words left his lips. His hands barely moved. But Elise was still struck with a bolt of blue-white fire that danced along her chain shirt and scorched the skin and cloth underneath. The force of the spell knocked the wind from her chest.
Elise shouted wordlessly in shock and threw herself at the wall. The impact hurt a lot more than she was hoping, but she was able to smother the flames against the stone.
When the flames were out and her excitement faded, Elise was finally able to breathe. She panted for air, but it was tainted by the smell and taste of ash. It caused her to retch, and retching made her head spin. Elise leaned back against the wall. For a moment, she could do no more than watch as Ibeyar closed the distance to Athala.
It was easy for Elise to see that Athala was exhausted, maybe even more so than Elise herself. A sheen of sweat coated her forehead, and her hands shook as she tried to cast another spell. Ibeyar stepped forward and punched her instead. The impact of the blow caused Athala to stumble, and Elise shouted out feebly in response.
Ermolt was suddenly at her side and Elise shoved him away with a feeble push. “No,” she croaked, “save her.” He looked to Athala. Ibeyar had her pinned up against the wall. She was swinging her dagger at him in a way that made Elise proud, but each hit landed on an illusion. As one faded into a burst of sparks, another would take its place.
With a grunt, Ermolt let go of Elise and rushed forward. He made it around five fen before Ibeyar struck him with another bolt of fire. And another. And another.
Elise had to be imagining things. No wizard could maintain two spells at once. Athala had made that perfectly clear in the past.
And yet... he was still divided into illusions, and still pelting Ermolt with fire that skidded along his stone scale armor. It was impossible, yet here she was, witnessing it.
“With every moment,” Ibeyar said with what seemed like a hundred snarls, “this fight seems more and more petty.” He threw one last bolt of fire at Ermolt, sending the barbarian skidding across the floor with the force. “My anger seems more and more misplaced. Your death seems more unnecessary.” Ibeyar pulled a dagger from his belt. The blade glimmered in the light, half a hundred images of it swirling through the air in front of Athala’s face. “I’m not sure if letting you go would make me a lesser man, or a greater one. But I am sure that I am not so far gone to think that killing you would bring me no pleasure.” He smiled. “I’ll consider this me indulging myself in one last human vice.”
“What?” Athala shook her head, as if trying to muster enough of her senses to figure out what he meant. Elise sure couldn’t follow. “What are you talking about? What are you, if not human?”
“Is it not obvious?” Ibeyar grinned as Athala shook her head. He let go of the wizard, allowing her to slump against the wall. Ibeyar spread his arms wide and laughed, a sinister thing that made Elise’s skin crawl. “I am the Eighth!” He looked up to the ceiling and let his laugh roll off the walls. It filled the room, booming in a way that seemed impossible. “I am ascended!”
“Impossible,” Elise said, pushing herself away from the wall. She took two shaking steps, and then Ermolt was at her side once more. “The Gods are divine beings. You’re... you’re just a wizard with delusions of grandeur.”
“Ah, yes, I see Ydia has taught you well. She’s force fed you lies upon lies, and you’ve swallowed them up, plate after plate, like a starving orphan invited to a grand dinner.” Elise winced, but Ibeyar wasn’t paying attention to her. “I am the Eighth,” he repeated, firmly. “I have become divine and soon I will be able to free all of Neuges from the tyranny of the Gods! I will be the savior—the true Bringer of the Age of Mortals.”
“Not if we stop you,” Athala said, her voice so quiet Elise could barely hear her from where she stood. Before Ibeyar could whirl on her, Athala began casting a spell.
It sounded like music.
But it was a song so pure, with only a few awkward notes, that it seemed to be sung faster than time itself.
It was a spell Elise had only heard in relation to the dragons.
And she had first heard it in Khule.
“Athala, no!”
The final words of the spell left the wizard’s mouth and the room filled with the sound of a bellowing roar. It shook the walls with its force, and all present were knocked from their feet. The roar was filled with a sense of the purest rage.
Silver-white flames burst from the air in the large room. They erupted from a central point nearby, and spread quickly, forming a huge ball of roaring flames. From there it spread and became more defined. Wings. Horns. Scales. Claws.
Meodryt took shape within the room.
While the chamber was dragon sized, having potentially housed Undyt at some point, it still felt woefully inadequate as the creature’s tremendous black horns scraped against the ceiling. Enormous ivory-scaled lips peeled back from impossibly large teeth as it lowered its head to examine Athala.
Elise could see its contempt. Feel its hatred.
“I warned you,” it snarled, the smooth feminine voice of the dragon filling the room in a way even Ibeyar’s best attempt had failed. “I told you that if you cast that spell, you would die. And yet you did anyway.”
“I-I didn’t!” Athala tried to scoot away from the dragon, but didn’t seem to realize she was already pushed up against the wall. “I wanted to, I meant to, but I was—”
“You deliberately disobeyed me, and by extension, my Lady.” Meodryt said, ignoring her stammering. Its head lowered to Athala and it bared those teeth at her. “And so now you shall pay the consequences.”
Chapter Forty
Meodryt’s words rattled around in Elise’s head. Her bleeding, broken head. It took her a moment to fully grasp what the dragon had said. What the words meant.
Her eyes widened with realization.
Elise rushed forward, ignoring all else. She didn’t even notice Ermolt at her side until the barbarian roared with anger.
A part of her knew they stood no chance. They only bested Sirur because they had a head start while the dragon was still recovering from its imprisonment. But they had still killed it.
And they would kill Meodryt.
Or die trying.
Elise ignored the guilt that came with the idea of fighting her own God’s dragon. Of knowing that, if, somehow impossibly, they killed it, she would be killing Ydia. God of Life. Bringer of water and the God who allowed babies to be born.
There was no guarantee that the water would dry up. Or that conception and births would stop. Yet the doctrine of Ydia claimed it, and so Elise believed it.
But she had to save her friend.
She would do anything to keep Athala safe.
They could deal with the consequences after.
Before Elise and Ermolt could step past the door, Sieghard appeared before them, bloc
king their way. Both Elise and Ermolt barreled into him, unable to stop in time, but it was like hitting a wall. They stumbled, but didn’t fall. Elise’s head rang.
“Get out of the way,” Elise hissed. “I need to save her!”
“She chose this,” Sieghard said. With arms stronger than they looked, he pushed them towards the door.
Ermolt growled, fighting against the wizard’s grasp. Fighting to interrupt Ibeyar and Meodryt.
Sieghard struck him. It wasn’t a hard strike—merely a slap made with an open palm—but it was sudden enough to shock Ermolt into compliance. “I mean it. She chose this. She knew the consequences and she’s chosen for you to live. Honor her choice!”
Meodryt turned towards them and snarled. Draconian words filled the chamber and the three of them immediately ducked through the doorway, hoping to escape whatever fire came their way.
But there was no blast.
A shimmering wall of semi-transparent orange light sprang forth in front of the door. Elise wasn’t sure if the dragon had meant to lock them in or out. But the spell stayed, and Elise was now barred from entering the room.
With a bellow of anger, Elise punched the barrier. It was as hard as steel. Her hand pulsed, drawing her attention away from her head.
Another shout of rage erupted from behind her and Elise was barely able to leap out of the way before Ermolt hurled himself against the barrier. His shoulder hit the orange light, but it refused to budge. He threw his hammer to the side and pulled his dragon-slaying axes from his belt. Ermolt started to attack the barrier again and again.
Nothing happened.
His apparent helplessness sent him into even more of a frenzy against it.
But still nothing changed.
He collapsed against the barrier, and a sob escaped his throat. Elise stepped up next to him, a hand on his shoulder.
Beyond the shimmering orange haze, Elise could see Athala backing away from Meodryt along the wall towards the door.
Ibeyar had finally found his feet, and he was shouting things at the dragon. “Begone!” he screamed in a voice that cracked with fear. “I am your better and I order you to leave this place!” He gestured aggressively at it with his dagger, leaving a trail of afterimages that made Elise’s head swim.
Destiny (Heroes by Necessity Book 3) Page 26