“Greetings to you, my descendant and heir. As the new Champion of the Six, I wish you well in whatever tasks they’ve set for you. Since only contact with the Eye of Honorus could activate this message, I congratulate you on passing that test.
“The book explains what I know about the Eye and the Arm, so look to those if you have questions. As I’ve explained, I never used the Arm, so I do not know what Khron requires for its use. I’ve been told to instruct you to ask the assistance of the High Priest of Khron in Trellham to learn that secret. But, as I will explain, learn to use it you must.
“One of the reasons I left Yar-del was so I could scour the world in search of weapons and knowledge you could use to fight Neldin’s evil. After many centuries of doing that, the Six decided I should collect the Gifts of the Gods. I was never told why, or what I should do with them, but I was told you would need them.
“In your possession are two. Another awaits you at Seritia’s city of Agloth. As the new Champion, the task of finding the rest I hand off to you.
“Once you leave Dumbarten, make your way to Agloth. Though I do not command you, still, the next stage of your journey is to Seritia’s city in the desert. Fare thee well, descendant of mine. I wish you all the blessings of the Six. Your devoted servant—Kel.”
GEDRIN MET them in a small but lavishly appointed dining room. A table that could easily seat eight had three places set for what looked like a formal dinner. When Farrell saw two novices standing next to a low table ready to serve them, he couldn’t stifle a groan. He’d suggested they not accept, but Penelope insisted decorum required they attend.
Gedrin stood to greet his guests and quickly indicated they should sit. “Much like you, Chosen, I’m quite famished. Please, take a seat and we can get started.”
Farrell tried to sneak a glance at Penelope, but she wore a neutral expression that told him to never play cards with her. At least Father Gedrin didn’t take offense at his breach of etiquette. He quietly took the seat to the right of the high priest. Penelope sat across from him but refused to make eye contact.
“Had I known you’d be working so late, I’d have sent my invitation before the dinner hour.”
“I really don’t notice my stomach when I’m working. Before I met Miceral, I routinely forgot to eat when I worked on important projects. At one point my two mentors used to join me at mealtime just to ensure I stopped and ate.”
The priest looked down at his small paunch. “Unfortunately, that isn’t a trait I share with you.” He laughed, allowing his guests to do likewise. Their guides, Meekam and Arnold, joined their fellow students and began to serve dinner. “I asked the cooks to keep some food warm for us, but I fear we may have waited a bit too long.”
Farrell found his words of apology unnecessary, as everything they ate was excellent: a fish soup in a light cream sauce, pheasant, fresh warm bread with plenty of butter, a fried potato cake he had never experienced before, and grilled vegetables.
After he accepted a second heaping plate, he said, “If this is second-rate fare, then I can see why you don’t forget to eat.”
“Where does he put it all?” Gedrin asked, looking at Penelope.
“You know that wizardry is every bit as physically demanding as sword practice. Farrell has more tiny permanent spells he powers than any wizard I’ve ever met. His body needs as much as he can put into it not to burn out.”
Focused on his meal, Farrell ignored the conversation until he noticed a silence. With a fork of potatoes and broccoli almost to his mouth, he saw his dinner companions watching him. He slowly lowered the fork and picked up his napkin.
“Sorry. Sometimes when I’m enjoying my meal, I forget other people don’t eat like I do.”
Father Gedrin waved his hand. “Please, don’t stop. It was rude of me to stare like that.” Gedrin motioned for the server with the pheasant. “Refill his plate, Hefrim.”
Before Farrell could protest, the novice slid several slices of meat covered in gravy onto his plate. Despite how much he’d already eaten, he still felt his mouth salivate. Mindful of his audience, he ate what he had on his fork and cut into the pheasant. Rather than keep his host waiting, he quickly cleared his plate and waved off any more.
After his staff cleared the empty dishes, Gedrin motioned toward the table being restocked with desserts, spirits, and a pot of coffee. “Queen Nerti informed me and my staff you enjoy coffee, so I had it included on the menu.”
“Bribing me with sweets and coffee will often get you what you want.” Farrell selected several pastries with chocolate and accepted a cup of coffee from Meekam.
Gedrin took a sip of sweet wine Arnold had poured for him and leaned forward. “Rather than pretend I asked you here just to keep me company, which, I might add, is a rare treat for me, I’ll get right to the point. Did you find anything useful?”
“Indeed we did. Kel evidently snuck a book into your library with a hidden message.”
Gedrin dismissed the novices from the room, then sat back. “Any indication how Kel obtained either the Eye or the Arm?”
“None. But I sense you don’t approve of something.”
“The Eye was Honorus’s Gift to His people. One person ought not be allowed to possess it.”
Farrell expected this topic but hadn’t figured out his response. If Kel’s message was correct, the Eye was meant for one person to possess. “It will be used for the benefit of all Honorus’s people.”
“By you.” Gedrin fixed Farrell a stare that made his body tense. Farrell pushed his chair back, prepared to leave, but Penelope raised a hand.
“Holy Father, Farrell isn’t just any one person. He is the Chosen of Honorus and the Champion of the Six. Would you deny Their champion the use of such a powerful weapon in his fight on Their behalf?”
Farrell struggled to keep his frown from becoming a smirk as Penelope cut Gedrin’s petty argument off at the knees.
For an instant, Gedrin glared at the princess, but she met it with a stony expression Farrell envied. “That is a decision for the temple elders to determine.”
“No, Holy Father, it is not.” Farrell folded his arms on his chest. “Until such time as Honorus Himself tells me to turn over the Eye to the temple, it shall remain with me to be used in my efforts to do His will.”
“As the head of Honorus’s temple, I speak for Him.”
“No, Holy Father. My task came from Honorus himself, not through the filter of a messenger.” He might have gone too far, but the debate had no merit. The Eye stayed with him.
“How dare you talk to me like that?”
“And how dare you treat me without the deference and respect I’m owed as Honorus’s Chosen!” He put his hands on the table and leaned forward. “I am His Chosen, His Champion, the one who must act for the Six in this war. Your job as head of His temple is to help me do His will. It is not to create meaningless bickering that does nothing but help Neldin.”
To Neblor with lessons from Penelope. His glare had the edge it needed.
Gedrin’s anger caused his eyes to twitch.
“Farrell, calm down.” Penelope’s words didn’t tear his gaze from the high priest, but he took a deep breath and tried to rein in his anger. He exhaled and sat down.
“Father Gedrin, I owe you my life for the help you and the temple gave me, but I will not yield. I need every weapon I can get to fight Meglar—the same Meglar who killed my mother, Sanduval, and Heminaltose. If I seem arrogant or heavy-handed, I suppose I am, but I can’t—won’t—go into battle with one hand tied behind my back. Answering to you, the council, or anyone else would do just that. I’m sorry if you disagree, but unless Honorus tells me otherwise, I plan to keep the Eye—and the Arm—and use them to fight Meglar.”
Rather than answer right away, Gedrin reached for his wine and drained the crystal goblet. Still without speaking, he rose and went to the sideboard to retrieve the decanter of dessert wine. After pouring himself another cup, he turned back to his guests.
>
“You are unique in all the world, young Champion. Perhaps I did not treat you fairly, but as head of His temple, I have the good of all to take into account. Though I still believe the Gifts were given by the gods for the benefit of all, I recognize these are not normal times. You make a sound argument. Anything that prevents you from fighting Neldin’s evil must be avoided. I think it prudent to table this discussion until after you have defeated Meglar.”
Farrell nodded. “Thank you.” He decided not to add if he survived the war and if he decided not to keep the Eye, he would only give it to Rothdin. Let Father Gedrin or any other priest tell his adopted father he didn’t have a claim on the Gift.
PENELOPE TOOK him back to the palace. Doors were forbidden inside the royal house of Hevnor, but that prohibition didn’t apply to the princess. Not familiar enough with his room, she took him to her rarely used suite. Farrell contacted Miceral and found him with Markus in the royal library. The king sent guards to fetch him, so Penelope waited with Farrell until they arrived.
“Tomorrow you three should come stay with Marisa and me. Not only will it be better for the young heir to Belsport, I can grant you access to the ground so you can come and go as you need.”
Farrell raised an eyebrow. He didn’t think she liked him that much. “I’m honored, but I’ll need to speak to Miceral first.”
Her laugh took him by surprise. “Oh, I suspect when you ask, you’ll find he’s planning to ask you too. Marisa suggested we invite you to our home and had plans to work on your partner in your absence.”
The guards appeared before he could answer.
“Until tomorrow, Chosen.” She gave him a wink and a bit of a smile.
“Good night, Princess.” Not only did Penelope have an amazing ability to be hard to read, she found new ways to throw him off balance. He heard the guard speak, but hadn’t listened. When they started to move, he instinctively followed. Without meaning to, he wore a silly grin as they made their way to the library.
Miceral met him at the door with a hug and kiss before Farrell turned to bow to his cousin.
“Thank you for sending me an escort.” He took Miceral’s hand, and they moved toward a group of chairs.
“Miceral tells me you dined with Father Gedrin.” Markus tried to affect a casual, almost indifferent air, but Farrell saw behind the façade. “Did he corner you with his ‘I waited to eat to make sure you did not go without’ story?”
Farrell chucked at how closely Markus’s words mirrored Gedrin’s. “Aye, that he did.”
Markus’s face changed as if a lever had been pulled. Gone was the casual, jovial persona he’d shown for much of their interaction. “What did he want?”
Farrell tried to hide his surprise and resisted the urge to look at Miceral. “Father Gedrin was of the opinion that the Eye of Honorus belongs with and to the temple, not an individual.”
“Let me guess. The good father felt his particular temple would be the best place to safeguard and properly use Honorus’s holy artifact.”
“We never got that far.” Farrell shrugged and sat next to Miceral on a small couch.
Markus raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t find his logic persuasive?”
Farrell laughed at the not so subtle hidden question. “Perhaps it would be better said that I pointed out why I had more need for the Eye right now than the temple. He decided we could revisit this discussion once this war is over.”
“And you agreed to that?” Miceral didn’t sound convinced.
“Not exactly. I agreed we didn’t need to discuss it anymore right now. But if he decides to raise this issue again, I’ll see what my adoptive father has to say about it first.”
Markus’s brow furrowed for a moment; then his eyes opened wider. “Yes, I can see where the good father’s claim on the Eye would be seriously derailed should Rothdin want to claim it first.”
Farrell went over what he and Penelope had learned, trying to keep it short but not leave out anything important. Several times during his explanation, he couldn’t stop from yawning. Each time Miceral’s body tensed, as if he expected Farrell to fall over or faint.
As soon as he finished, Miceral stood up. “You’re tired. We should get you to bed.”
“Not yet.” He stifled another yawn. “We need to go to Trellham first.”
“That can wait. You’re supposed to be taking it easy. It can wait until morning.”
“Actually, it can’t.” Farrell scanned the room for a place he could open a Door. “Tomorrow morning will be night in Trellham. Better to do it now and let me sleep in tomorrow.”
“Farrell….” Miceral’s eye had the same concerned look he’d seen too often.
But it needed to be done. “I’m fine—really. Sitting in the library, I used almost no magic, and Father Gedrin stuffed me full before raising the issue of the Eye, so I’ve hardly exerted myself at all today.”
“If Gedrin invited him for dinner, I can vouch for the excellent, and plentiful, food.” Markus laughed. “The good father makes sure his priests are well fed.”
Farrell looked at his partner, almost pleading for him to say yes and let them get on with things. He’d decided to go to bed if Miceral pressed him, but he wanted to deal with this now.
“How long will this take?”
Hearing Miceral’s answer, Farrell had to restrain himself from smiling too much. “I can’t say for sure. It’s really up to Father Aswick and Khron.”
“Fine, but if it takes too long, you’re going to bed and we’ll try another time.”
Rather than argue and delay their departure, Farrell nodded. “That’s fine. Hopefully this will be quick and we won’t have to discuss the definition of ‘too long.’”
“Would it be rude of me to invite myself along?” Markus inquired.
Farrell turned to Miceral for guidance, but the slight movement of the brow didn’t help. “Haven probably isn’t prepared for a royal visit.”
“Nonsense.” Markus waved his hand and stood up. “I’m your cousin coming to see your home.”
“Help me out here?” Farrell sent Miceral. “If we have to make plans for him to visit, we might be talking about what’s ‘too long’ before we even go.”
“Give me a moment.”
“Markus,” Farrell said out loud. “We’re going to the Khron’s temple in Trellham, not Haven. I have no way of contacting Father Aswick to ask if he’s receiving guests.”
“Father said he’s happy to entertain Markus.”
“Are you sure?”
“Be quicker than arguing with him.”
Farrell hadn’t heard the start of Markus’s explanation on why his visit should be allowed, but he wanted to leave now. “Enough.” He laughed and held up his hands. “I surrender. You may come along.”
“Really? You caved in after just that little bit?”
“I’ve got a short curfew.” Farrell nodded toward Miceral. “We can bring you to Haven. Horgon, my first minister and Miceral’s father, has agreed to entertain you while we pay our visit to the temple.”
Markus turned to Miceral. “Your father? Isn’t he the king of the Muchari?”
“He is, but that means something very different than among humans. You can ask him to explain.” He gently gripped Farrell’s shoulders and kneaded them for a moment. “Farrell’s correct about my strict enforcement of his curfew. If I waste any more time, he’s going to believe I’m doing it to delay us so we can’t go.”
“Exactly.” Farrell quickly laid out the Door, taking care to shield his work to avoid setting off the alarms that detected unauthorized use of magic like this. When the Door flared to life, he found Markus glaring at the portal.
“That’s disconcerting.”
“What?” Farrell examined his work and found nothing wrong.
“I’ve been assured that only approved wizards can open a Door into or out of the palace. And yet you just did.”
“If it’s any consolation, I can only open a Door out of the
palace. The binding spells that protect the grounds are strong enough to prevent even me from opening one from somewhere else to here without permission.”
Markus nodded but didn’t look comforted. Before the conversation went any further, Farrell motioned for Markus and his partner to step through.
“Welcome to Haven, cousin.” Farrell received the hoped-for smile from his greeting. “I brought you to our suite because I need to leave the Door open or else I can’t get us back. This is the safest place to leave an open Door.”
A magically amplified knock filled their suite.
“That would be my father,” Miceral said. “He’s always early.”
“A fine trait for a first minister.” Markus smiled.
Horgon entered and, with the grace and polish Farrell admired so much, welcomed Markus and took charge of the visiting monarch. Relieved that Horgon had the situation under control, Farrell led Miceral toward the permanent Door in their room.
Seconds later they stood outside the giant temple of Khron in the deserted dwarf city. The forty-foot dwarf statues looked down on them as they scaled the steps to the massive front doors. Though he knew it was just in his mind, it seemed the serious and solemn expressions on the faces of the stone guardians had softened since their first encounter.
Farrell entered the temple and started for Father Aswick’s chamber. Miceral grabbed his arm, nearly yanking him off balance. He pointed toward the altar, and Farrell realized his error and bowed deeply.
“What if he’s not here?” Miceral asked.
“I believe he’s alerted the moment we enter the city.” Farrell reached in his pocket for the cylinder that held Khron’s gift. “But for certain he knew the moment we entered the temple.”
“You are correct, Chosen.”
They turned in the direction of the voice, and Farrell found the elderly dwarf standing at the end of the aisle. Aswick smiled broadly as he walked toward them. He wore the formal robes of his office, but he appeared years—even decades—younger.
“To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit? I expected you’d be gone for quite some time.”
Champion of the Gods, Books 1-2 Page 65
