“Thank you,” Ermolt said, and the wizard nodded.
“Of course. But, um, I have something else. Something important.” He cleared his throat. “You see, I noticed—that is—when Athala was studying with me, she had found something curious. A book.” He reached into the satchel that hung at his side.
Ermolt noticed his hand was shaking, as if he expected them to be angry with him. While Ermolt hadn’t spent much time with the wizard, he didn’t expect him to make light of their situation. If he thought something was important to them, then it likely was.
“I have a large collection of books banned by the Temples. They’re all coded, and I’ve never really had time to go through all of them. Athala spent some time—most of one evening in fact—deciphering one. It’s, um, useless. To me. It’s in a code of some sort. A different one than before. But it might have something value to you. Perhaps you can even find someone to translate it.”
He pulled a thin volume out of his bag. It was small, maybe six rhen in height and four in width, obviously bound quickly and with the specific purpose of keeping haphazard notes together, instead of leaving them as separate pages.
“Do you know what the volume she studied was about, then?” Elise took the book from him and stared at the featureless cover. It almost hurt Ermolt for them to be handed a book she had held within the last day. More so than the pack on his shoulder. This was something Athala had cared a lot for, and found important.
“I have to admit—I never spent much time with the volume she transcribed in particular. But I know of the general premise. There are many things of great historical significance, if the author can be trusted.
“It contains a great deal of information about the ruined city of Marska, and makes a somewhat astonishing claim. You see, according to that book, there is a font of power in Marska.”
“A what?” Ermolt asked. He looked over Elise’s shoulder as she opened the book and leafed through a few pages. Athala’s family’s cipher filled the pages in a scratchy handwriting that made Ermolt’s heart quiver. He clenched his jaw to keep his tears away.
“There is an abandoned Temple there,” Sieghard continued, almost as if he were addressing only Elise and ignoring Ermolt’s question. “It is said a God once watched over the city. Isadon. The God of Death. Who is said to have died in an unknown way.” Sieghard smiled faintly. “But that’s silly, right? Everyone knows that Gods never die.”
Elise looked up pointedly at him, and Sieghard’s smile grew to a smirk.
The ex-Conscript sighed and clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. “I appreciate your attempt at humor, but please—it has been a very long night. Do you know why this is important?” She shook the closed book.
“Yes, sorry. The font of power. It’s called the Favor of Isadon. I don’t know what it is, or how it would be used if uncovered. Athala had some theories she threw around, and they are likely discussed in her text.” He frowned at the book, as if concentrating at it would reveal the message hidden in Athala’s cipher. “But I know the rumors. Apparently with the Favor you can match the power of a God.”
Ermolt frowned, tilting his head to the side. From the corner of his eye, he could see Elise do the same.
“Why would one want to do that?” she asked, looking from wizard to book and back again.
“Ah, see, because with the power of a God you can raise the dead. You could bring Athala back to life.”
Thank You
Ah, that ending though.
We’re so sorry. (We’re not sorry.)
But anyway. Like before, we’re so glad you decided to join us on this journey and hope you enjoyed the book.
If you liked Destiny and are hungry to see what happens in the future with our heroes, then sign up for my mailing list! You get a free, full-length prequel for signing up, as well as all of the news, freebies, and random other bits you can handle. We send out updates about once a month, and try to make them as informative as possible.
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Ultimately though, we just wanted to say thank you. We love writing these books, and we hope you like reading them.
- Riley S. Keene
PS: Keep reading. There’s a whole ‘nother chapter... and it’s a doozy.
About Riley
My name is Riley S. Keene and I’m a fantasy author.
Well, okay. That’s kinda a lie.
Riley S. Keene is actually the pseudonym for a married writing duo, also known as Robert and Kristen. They live in the Pacific Northwest and enjoy the rainstorms, lack of sunlight, and excess oxygen that come with living in that part of the US.
Robert is a Pacific Northwest native who has a degree in Applied Mathematics and Computational Sciences. He has a love for video games and a dislike for pretty much everything else. Robert is in charge of writing the first draft for all of our books.
Kristen was born and raised in a town outside of Philadelphia. She has a degree in Multimedia Design and works full-time as a marketer for a Seattle engineering firm. She loves gloomy weather, good books, food made from animals, and spending time with Robert. Kristen is in charge of outlining and editing for all of our books.
Our ultimate goal as an author duo is to write entertaining fantasy novels that are inclusive but not preachy. We strive to include as many cultures, settings, and characters as we can without relying on stereotypes or tropes. Doing so requires a lot of research and hard work – and we’re the first to admit that it’s never as in-depth as we would like. So we encourage you – if you find something in our books that doesn’t represent a lifestyle, culture, or setting correctly, please use the contact form and send us a message. We’d be happy to be educated. It’s kind of our thing.
Available November 2018!
Meanwhile...
It had been a long day for Sieghard, and it wasn’t even eighth bell.
He sighed, ignoring the exhaustion in his old bones. It was nearly over now, and he was glad for that.
His sight had granted him the knowledge that he would have enough time to get everything done that was needed, but his sight had failed him before. So it was a relief to have been right.
Ultimately, the most important task had been taken care of the night before. The book was in their hands and they were on their way.
But there were still little tasks he couldn’t have let go. By early morning light he had paid off his debts. He sent messages via courier to those he couldn’t bear to not say goodbye to, and he hid his rarest tomes where they could be recovered by his most promising protege.
Or was the man his second-most promising now?
The thought earned Sieghard a chortle.
But the laughter dried up barely after it began. Sieghard found himself wishing he had more time, and it was not the first time that thought crossed his mind. Even another few bells would have allowed him to finish more projects. Take care of more things. There was always another project, another letter, another cup of tea.
He knew what had to happen next.
And like any who valued responsibility, he was more than willing to accept it for the greater good.
It didn’t make it any easier.
The first impact against his door happened just as he finished piling up his furniture in front of it.
“Sieghard!” a voice boomed from outside, bouncing off the empty homes that filled the row around the wizard’s and echoing through the shielded street. “You may have thought yourself too clever to be caught, but Ibeyar knows what you did! Your betrayal will not be forgiven!”
A part of him he had grown out of a long time ago wanted to engage with the voice. Sieghard knew he couldn’t convince them
to turn on their master. Ibeyar was too good at recruiting his mercenaries. Instead, Sieghard knew he could tease them, make them feel like fools before they followed out the “Eighth’s” orders. And he would derive some enjoyment from that.
But they were technically correct.
No matter how red-faced his taunts could make them, they could throw his twofold failure back in his face all day.
Sieghard had agreed to serve Ibeyar days before Athala had showed up at his doorstep.
The plan had been simple, and was one Sieghard suspected the would-be dictator had shared with many of the people in town who might have been able to help Ermolt, Elise, and Athala oppose him. Ibeyar had promised him protection and power, but not in exchange for any help. Only to stand aside and let Ibeyar’s own plans progress.
All Sieghard had to do was nothing. But he was really bad at doing nothing.
Sieghard’s first failure was in upholding his end of the bargain.
When Ibeyar’s men had come to capture Athala, he had urged her to fight, and helped her escape. The men who had captured them could attest to that. But once that was done, he had then given Elise, Ermolt, and Athala all the help he could in their opposition to Ibeyar’s plot. While he had taken numerous steps to keep his aid hidden, trying to deny it wouldn’t help.
His second failure was that Athala had died anyway.
The sight had granted him the most obvious path that Athala could take, one where she abandoned her friends to preserve herself. Sieghard hadn’t doubted it was the choice she’d make after seeing Athala hard at work. She had a strength and determination to do what needed to be done. Nether take the consequences.
But she’d chosen otherwise. In that moment, all of Sieghard’s plans had become unraveled. And now, well, now he was here.
He sighed and looked at the towering pile of furniture that blocked his door. Everything that wasn’t bolted down in one way or another had made it to the foyer. They wouldn’t be following him. And that was alright.
What had happened had happened. There was no changing it now. If Sieghard had the power to change the past, there were a thousand things he would do before altering the events of the previous night. All he could do now was to move forward.
“Come out and face your fate!” the voice outside shouted as they pounded on the door once more. “This is your last chance for leniency! Surrender or die!”
“Is that what you believe?” Sieghard shouted at the door. “Because I don’t.”
He turned away, ignoring whatever response the mercenary gave, and started back towards his library.
Sieghard knew there would be no mercy, even if he was willing to grovel. As soon as Ibeyar decided that Sieghard had betrayed him, the old man had to be made an example of. He knew how this would end as soon as he was arrested the night before. He knew this would be Sieghard’s last day alive.
The best he could do was deny Ibeyar the satisfaction.
Sieghard murmured a few draconic words and a burning log floated out of his hearth and to his hand. The unburnt end was still painfully hot to grip, but that would be the least of his concerns soon. Behind him, there was the sound of his door splintering under impact. The furniture would hold for a while yet, though.
He didn’t need to hope that it would be long enough. He already knew.
His assailants had brought their swords to threaten him, but not their axes to dismantle his barricade. After half a decade of being an instructor of wizardry, it seemed rather fitting that someone arriving unprepared for the task at hand was finally of benefit instead of an aggravation.
Sieghard entered his library and closed the door behind himself. He tossed the burning log aside. There was a moment of hesitation on behalf of the flooring, but he would need his hands as he shaped the same telekinetic spell again. He didn’t even bother with the draconian words this time. There was no one here to benefit from the illusion.
One of the nearby tables lurched from its spot and slid noisily across the floor to slam against the door, pinning it closed. He call up that same magic again, and another table skittered out of place to add its weight to the barricade.
With a frown cutting across his face like a wound, he made his way to the nearest shelf and grabbed an armful of books. He gathered too many out of some paranoid urgency and he staggered under their weight for a moment. A few tumbled to the floor as he turned and walked to the still-burning log. He stood over it, staring down at it.
He couldn’t. He wouldn’t.
Sieghard tried to get ahold of himself. He’d been preparing for this eventuality for quite a few bells. He knew this is how it would end.
Originally, he had thought the hardest part would be getting Elise and Ermolt out of the city. Or writing the tear-stained letter of farewell he sent to Odoaker. But no. This moment was harder. Even willingly allowing Athala to go to her death was easier than this.
It felt like something tearing in his chest. His breath hitched as he let go of the pile of books, tossing them onto the flaming log. He hoped the clumsy handling might smother the flames. It was too late now to get another flame, and he would have to find a more creative way to deny Ibeyar his prisoner.
A more creative way that might spare his library.
But the books caught. It was too late now.
He returned to the shelf and started throwing the books at the pile one at a time. After the first armload had broken his heart, each book afterwards was a little easier.
It wasn’t long before the pile had grown into a roaring bonfire.
This was also denying Ibeyar. Sieghard knew it had to be this way. If that madman got his hands on this accumulated knowledge and research, one of two things would happen. Ibeyar would either employ this library to strengthen himself and his forces, or he would make a big show of burning it all at a rally to encourage his followers to stay ignorant and docile. Or just to impress them with a big fire. By burning it himself, he denied Ibeyar the opportunity to benefit from it either way.
He grabbed another armful of books and stood next to the fire for a moment. He couldn’t stand to look at the flames. Watching knowledge burn and knowing it was his hand that consigned them to destruction was too much.
But the next part was the last thing he had to do himself. And he was very tired.
He threw the armful of books down next to the fire, and kicked them into position. In just a few breaths, flames flowed over the covers and pages, racing down the path of books. There was a moment where the flames licked at the bottom of the shelf Sieghard had drawn the fire towards, and then the books on the bottom shelf began to catch.
And that was that.
In the time it took Ibeyar’s men to force their way into his home, the library would be an inferno beyond saving.
And in the time it would take for them to force their way into his library, smoke inhalation will have stolen him away from them as well.
Sieghard made his way to his favorite chair. His first instinct was to face the fire, just like he did with his hearth. But then he would have to watch it consume his life’s work. His priceless collection of knowledge.
He turned the chair to put his back to the fire and settled into it. This way, he could pretend for a moment longer that everything was alright. That he wasn’t burning his library with himself inside it. That Athala was alive somewhere, doing research that would shape the future of popular magical theory. That Numara hadn’t been supplanted by a maniac. That he hadn’t just handed a tome of forbidden knowledge to people who were going to use it to awaken a forgotten god.
He coughed at the smell of smoke that filled his throat. It had been a long day. But it was over now, and he was glad for that.
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Destiny (Heroes by Necessity Book 3) Page 29