“Tell your master I threw you out on the threat of harm, and if that’s a problem she can come see me herself.” Miceral fixed the young man with a stare devoid of any humor.
“I’ll… I’ll….” Bowing as he walked backward, the healer left the room.
“You didn’t need to threaten him.” Farrell didn’t look over.
“He needed a reason to disobey his instructions.” Miceral shrugged and sat on the edge of the bed. Running his fingers under Farrell’s, he collected his partner’s hand and rubbed it gently. “Besides, I want some time alone with you.”
“The master healer will be here soon to see what happened.”
“And I’ll send her away too.” He kissed Farrell’s fingers. When Farrell didn’t move, Miceral caressed the skin on the back of the hand in his.
Farrell’s face twitched twice during the period of silence. Whatever debate he had with himself, he didn’t share, and Miceral didn’t press him to speak. Finally, he turned toward Miceral.
“You came for me.” A thin smile stretched his still-too-thin lips. “You risked everything to save me.”
Returning the smile, Miceral squeezed a bit tighter. “I had help.”
Farrell’s smile disappeared. “If it hadn’t worked, you would have died.”
“I know. Rothdin told me.”
Using his free hand, Farrell sat up a bit straighter. His eyes narrowed and he shook his head slightly. “Don’t do that again. Ever.”
“I had no choice,” Miceral whispered.
“There is always a choice.” Farrell freed his hand and reached for the cup. He swallowed half the contents, then locked gazes with Miceral. “It would have destroyed me.”
“I’m not as important as you.”
“You are to me!” His body quivered, and he spilled some of the water on his blanket. “By the Eight Gates!” He flicked his hand over the wet spot and the blanket dried.
“Are you supposed to do magic?” Miceral pried the drink from Farrell’s hand. “I thought—”
“I’m fine. There are no lasting physical injuries.”
The master healer arrived just before Miceral could ask about nonphysical effects.
“Chosen.” The elderly woman cast a withering glare at Miceral that he ignored. No doubt he’d get a lecture when he left. “You should be resting.”
Farrell took a deep breath. “I’m fine.”
“If you had let the healer I sent to check on you do his job, I’d better know the truth of that statement.” She pointed a bony finger at Miceral. “You need to leave. And if you dare threaten me, prince or not, I’ll have the holy father remove you from the temple.”
“I’ll be back as soon as she leaves.” He leaned over and kissed Farrell on the forehead. “I love you.”
He didn’t wait for an answer as the healer all but pushed him aside.
Farrell twisted his head so he could see around the woman. “I love you too.”
FARRELL STRETCHED and ran his hands along his torso. He’d lost all the muscle he’d added training with Miceral and then some. Feeling how prominently his ribs stuck out caused him to quickly grab his tunic from the chair by his bed.
Even four days later, he couldn’t quite wrap his mind around the implications of how Meglar defeated him. The spell—Kel’s spell—was both brilliant and brutal. History talked about Kel’s brilliance, his use of magic to help ordinary people, his vision for his kingdom. Nothing hinted at the ruthless mind that had created such spells.
Worse, if Meglar had access to Kel’s works, what else could he use against Farrell? Given how easily he’d been defeated on the Rose, Farrell prayed Kel survived all these centuries.
From the window of his room, Farrell could see the ocean just over the city walls. The sight and smell of the sea reminded him how much he’d given up living inside a mountain. They also dredged up memories of a place he no longer called home.
A gentle breeze brushed over his skin, leaving goose bumps across his body.
“You should put on your shirt, Prince Halloran,” Father Gedrin said.
Farrell continued to stare at the water for a few moments longer, then turned to find the high priest propped against the doorframe. Gedrin wore his public, formal robes. Leaning slightly on the gold crosier, the man could easily be mistaken for a gaudy, tasteless wizard instead of Honorus’s high cleric.
Slipping the beige tunic over his head, Farrell tucked it in as Gedrin entered the room. “I hadn’t expected the breeze to be that cool.” He bowed politely to Honorus’s prelate.
“Dreth’s temperature can be deceiving at this time of the year.” He placed his crosier against the small table by the door. “Honorus and Lenore have truly blessed Dumbarten in many ways.”
Farrell laughed. “Spoken like a true son of Dumbarten.”
The priest inclined his head slightly and smiled pleasantly. “Guilty of the accusation.” An instant later, Gedrin’s face lost all humor, and he stared intently at Farrell.
Not sure what the priest sought, Farrell remained still and let the examination continue.
“Are you sure you’re up for this?” Gedrin’s voice seemed harsh after the long silence. “We can delay this further if need be.”
“No.” Farrell tried not to sound as eager as he felt. “Time is not an ally in this war. Finding Kel is my priority.”
“Your convictions and the indication in your book notwithstanding, we don’t know for certain that he still lives.”
“All the more reason not to delay things. If he does not, it will certainly change what I do next.” That and Farrell wanted to resume his mission. “And if you are concerned about my health, you need not worry. The days spent in recovery have restored me fully.”
“Excuse my bluntness, but you seem far too gaunt.”
“I’ve always been skinny.” Farrell could see Gedrin didn’t accept his answer. “Part of it can be called my birthright, but most of it comes from being a grand master. I burn through a lot of energy, and a lot of it comes from me.”
“You are not the first grand master I’ve met.”
Chuckling, Farrell sat on the bed to pull on his boots. “Now it’s my turn to be blunt. You’ve never met anyone like me.”
Father Gedrin raised an eyebrow and peered down his nose. Irked, Farrell yanked on his left boot and stamped it down to quell his annoyance.
“Don’t look at me like that, Father. It’s not hubris. It’s a fact. From the time I was seven, Heminaltose and Sanduval trained me like someone ten or fifteen years older. On my sixteenth birthday, they deemed me ready to take an active role in the war. At the age of twenty, I assumed the role of leader of the opposition to Meglar. Since then I’ve prepared Haven for his attack, maintained Haven with the help of supporting wizards, and fought in at least ten different campaigns. Can you really say you’ve met any grand master who’s done that, let alone before their thirtieth year?”
He hadn’t meant it to come out so harsh, but his recovery, separated from Miceral at the healers’ order, had worn his patience to a nub. Having done the deed, he stared at the priest, daring him to challenge his words. Father Gedrin met his gaze. Finally, the older man broke the link.
“Perhaps I misspoke. I’ll trust you know your limitations best.” The smile felt genuine, but Farrell understood the nature of politicians—and high priests.
“Thank you.” Farrell stepped into his right boot with far less energy. He toyed with offering an apology for his tone, but since Gedrin didn’t offer one, he opted to move on. “You seem dressed for a high mass. Should I change into something more formal?”
“If you do, King Markus will be disappointed.” Gedrin retrieve his crosier. “He dislikes formal occasions.”
“In that we share a common ground.” He smiled at his guest, but it faded quickly. “Are you expecting trouble?”
“Trouble?” The priest turned his head to scan the rest of the room. “What do you mean?”
“Your robes. They surr
ound you with several layers of protection.”
When Gedrin stared at him anew, Farrell felt like the priest was trying to look into his soul. He watched the man’s knuckles turn white as he tightened his grip on the golden staff. If he had been somewhere other than the High Temple of Honorus, Farrell might have engaged his defenses. But here, only his curiosity was aroused.
“Interesting.” Gedrin’s hold on his crosier relaxed, and he cocked his head slightly. “Only a cleric should be able to see the divine protection in these vestments.” He laid his staff gently on the bed and raised both hands, palms outward, toward Farrell. “With your permission, Chosen?”
Farrell nodded and without further words, the high priest laid both hands on Farrell’s face. Energy rushed into him. His body tingled, and it felt as though a thousand pins pricked his skin. The sensation barred his ability to measure how much time had passed. Just when he started to feel relief, his vision went black, then gray, then nothing.
Farrell tamped down his panic and tried to find a focus. If Meglar’s spell had been reactivated, he didn’t want to forget his situation. Before he could analyze his surroundings, his vision was restored and he found himself back in his room with Gedrin standing inches away from him.
Gedrin blinked, then rubbed his chin. “That Honorus’s hand is found on His Chosen is not surprising, but I also felt the presence of Arritisa, Lenore, Khron, and Seritia. Though none is as strong as that of the Sky Father, They are easily detected.”
“According to my adoptive father, I am the Servant of Honorus. Lenore, Arritisa, and Khron made me Their Chosen, but I’ve never had contact with Seritia. It seems unlikely I could be Her Chosen.”
The older man retrieved his staff and smiled. “Often have I spoken with my sister, the high priestess of Seritia, about the power of her Lady. Any who find true love, that which transcends lust, or admiration, or duty, a love that binds you to another on a level so deep it will last beyond time, they are chosen by the Goddess of Love. You are indeed blessed, son. Seritia’s blessing is more sought after than any other, even more than Khron’s.”
Given his status, Farrell expected Seritia would one day choose him. Part of him felt relieved She hadn’t done it in person like Khron or Arritisa, but he didn’t appreciate the stealthy way She’d chosen him.
Gedrin squeezed Farrell’s shoulder. “Fret not, Chosen. There are far worse things in life than being the Chosen of the Goddess of Love.”
He bit back the urge to explain to a cleric why there were few things worse than being chosen. Instead he pasted his best fake smile onto his face. “Well said, Father.”
“Come along.” The priest motioned toward the door. “There is much to do before we begin today.”
Gedrin barely cleared the doorway when he began speaking.
“Prince Halloran, tell me what you know of Kel’s departure from Kentar and the founding of Yar-del.”
The first time Gedrin used his birth name, Farrell tensed visibly. But as Rothdin had explained, they needed the high priest’s full—and immediate—cooperation, and for that, Father Gedrin needed to know everything.
“As prince of Yar-del, I know his story.”
“Humor me.” Gedrin turned his head and smiled. “What you know—or most specifically, don’t know—could have an impact on what happens next.”
Farrell stifled a sigh as he saw the wisdom in his host’s words. “Kel believed magic should be used to improve the lives of everyone, not just those who could afford to pay for it. He tried to prove this by using his power to help his family and his neighbors. When they became prosperous, they attracted the attention of the local nobility—specifically a cousin of King Vadra, Kentar. With Kel’s help, his family and neighbors resisted the duke’s attempts to take their land for himself. But when Kel answered Honorus’s call to fight at Trellham, the duke used his absence to take what he’d long coveted.
“Two of Kel’s siblings died during the duke’s attack. I believe one was captured and three managed to hide.”
“Two died, two were captured, and two hid in the temple of Honorus,” Gedrin corrected.
Farrell accepted the new information with a nod. “As you say. Ancient history was only mildly of interest to me when I was younger.” Gedrin snorted but didn’t say any more. Farrell took the silence as a request to continue. “Needless to say, Kel didn’t take the news of what happened well. Using his connections, he raised a large army of dwarves and invaded the duke’s palace. Given his skill with magic and the dwarves’ military training, the fight ended before the king could send any forces to aid his cousin.
“The duke was killed, some say by Kel’s hand.”
“He did not kill Duke Vesian, but he told his army he didn’t care if the duke lived or died. Some took that to mean he wanted Vesian dead, and they never asked for his surrender.”
“The image history paints of Kel as a benevolent king seems at odds with what I’m learning with each passing day.”
Gedrin shrugged. “Kel did what he needed to do given the times he lived in. He placed his duty to Honorus above all others—even if it meant he needed to be ruthless.”
“So you’re saying Honorus wanted him to kill Vesian?”
“I can’t say, but I know Honorus had plans for Kel and his siblings—or at least one of them.”
“You mean Hevnor?”
“Correct.” Gedrin paused as they approached a pair of wooden doors inlaid with gold and silver. Two guards snapped to attention and each pulled on a metal ring so the two could enter. “Continue, please.”
Farrell took a moment to remember where he’d left off. “After the duke was killed, Vadra put a price on Kel’s head—on his entire family, actually. Hoping to head off all-out war, Kel decided to confront the king. He concealed his army and marched them undetected to Dreth.”
“That is one interpretation.” Gedrin’s voice remained neutral. “Another would be he had dynastic ambitions and sought to conquer Kentar before Vadra could prepare properly.”
“History is always open to differing opinions, but the truth remains constant.”
“And what do you, son of the House of Kel, believe to be the truth?”
“Kel never wanted the throne,” Farrell said. “With the number of dwarves at his back, Kel could have laid siege to Dreth and forced Vadra to surrender or watch his city be destroyed. Instead he used his magic to slip into the city and confront Vadra.
“According to my family history, Kel told Vadra to leave him and his family alone and Kel would consider the matter settled. Vadra agreed, telling Kel he would pardon him and his followers.”
“Vadra did a fair bit more than simply agree.” Gedrin turned to Farrell with his eyebrow raised. “At Kel’s demand, he swore an oath to Honorus to pardon Kel and to leave his family and neighbors in peace.”
Farrell snorted. “A vow he violated before Kel could reach his home. Vadra sent word to all his vassals that they should muster at Dreth. Kel soon learned of this treachery and made plans to march back to Dreth with his army. Honorus, however, stayed Kel’s hand and had him send the dwarves home.”
“You sound like you disapprove.”
“Disapprove is the wrong word, Father.” He paused as they passed another set of guards. “Vadra’s betrayal earned him death, but Honorus did him no favors by staying Kel’s hand.”
“I would agree. Forcing him from his throne and appointing Hevnor king in his stead seemed a just punishment for his sin.”
“That part always confounded me. Why did Honorus declare Hevnor king instead of Kel?”
“Kel’s destiny was to be king of Yar-del.”
“As I said, it makes little sense. If the Six wanted Kel to be king, why not give him an established kingdom like Kentar? Instead, They sent him across the sea to create a new kingdom from the empty space of Ardus.”
“As with many things, the will of the Six is not always easily understood.” Gedrin pushed open a door and motioned for Farrell to enter.
“We can sit here and discuss what I must tell you.”
Farrell forced out a chuckle. “That sounds so dire.”
“Serious is perhaps a better word.” He walked to a sideboard and filled two silver goblets from a metal ewer. He handed Farrell a cup and sat down. “Just water—well, mostly water. There is a dash of wine to give it flavor.”
Farrell sniffed the liquid and determined it didn’t have enough alcohol to matter. He nearly drained the cup before setting it down.
“This is plenty more on the sideboard. Help yourself.” Gedrin shifted his robes while Farrell refilled his cup. “These formal robes are a bother, but Markus will chide me for a month if I appear without them.”
“I thought he loathed formal attire?”
“He does. For him.” The priest finally seemed content with the position of his garments. “Once I came to a council meeting without my robes. You’d have thought I went naked. Seems I’d commented once too often on his lack of formality, and he turned the tables on me.”
Farrell smiled. “Sounds fair.”
“Spoken like a true monarch.” He nodded with his cup toward Farrell. “We should finish before the others arrive.”
The idea of the priest testing him didn’t sit well with Farrell. “Have I fully answered your question, or did you want me to continue?”
“No, I’m satisfied you understand the background. And I’m certain you’ve been taught the circumstances of his departure from Yar-del.”
“Circumstances?” Farrell couldn’t hold back the snort. “What circumstances? One day Kel was king of Yar-del, the next his son Yardis found a note along with a book of spells and defenses he needed to know as king. Kel’s not been seen since.”
Gedrin nodded, sipping his water slowly.
Farrell’s pulse raced. “Or has he?”
“Calm your excitement, I do not know where he is—or even if he still lives—but he was seen after he left Yar-del. Not often, and without notice, he’d appear in Dreth off and on for the next 1,500 years after he was presumed dead. He last appeared over 500 years ago. Then he disappeared and we’ve not had contact since.”
Champion of the Gods, Books 1-2 Page 58
