“When the world was new, Neldin was the God of the Dead, not of evil. While death wasn’t worshipped, offerings were still made in the name of the dead. Heminaltose’s research suggested it was never large, but it was active.”
Miceral nodded. “That makes sense, I suppose. But which temple is his?”
“His temple would have been immediately to the right of Honorus’s, where we find Khron’s temple now. Seritia’s temple is also destroyed, and there is damage to each of the other five.”
“An odd pairing.” Miceral turned toward Farrell. “I mean, it’s odd that the temples of the Goddess of Love and of Death were destroyed.”
“Indeed. It’s a mystery we never solved.” He flew them closer to a temple to the right of Neldin’s. “Khron’s temple also saw fierce fighting, if the scars on the walls are any indication. But if I remember my lessons correctly, dwarves generally worship the God of War, so it makes sense.”
“Are there any hints as to what happened?”
“None.” Farrell shook his head. “Well, none other than the worst fighting seemed focused around the temples.”
“A religious war?”
“No, I don’t think so.” He lowered them onto the stone balcony. “For much of recorded history, the temples controlled most aspects of life. Did you know that in Kel’s time, the temples trained wizards? So it’s possible the temples in this city controlled the army as well.”
Farrell’s foot kicked a spearhead that clanked as it moved. Kneeling, Miceral turned the hammered steel in his hand. “Since we can’t go back in time, I suspect we will never know for sure.”
“Maybe,” Farrell said absently.
Miceral stopped walking. “Are you joking? You can travel back in time?”
“No, of course not.” Shaking his head quickly, he started walking. “No one can go back in time, but I have a theory on how I can look back through time. I’ve not tried it, but I’m sure it will work.”
Miceral shook his head, laughing. “Is there anything you can’t do?”
“Sure, there are many things I can’t do—yet.” He gave Miceral a wink. “But give me time. I’m still young for a wizard.”
Miceral pulled him close for a quick kiss. “In that case, how about you find us a place to eat lunch.”
“The top of Honorus’s temple has a great view of the city.”
“That sounds good.” Miceral snatched his hand back when Farrell reached for him. “No flying. Now that you’re fully healed, we can take the steps. The exercise will be good for you.”
LEANING BACK, Farrell bit into an apple, using the back of his hand to wipe the sweet juice that dribbled down his chin. Miceral sat an arm’s length away, twirling a straw in his hand as he stared at the ceiling. The day couldn’t have turned out better. He almost didn’t want to go back, but he’d promised Erstad they’d talk about what he’d found on the plains.
“We should get going.” He tossed the core over the side of the temple. Snapping his right hand out, he made the apple disappear with a pop. “I’ll just open a Door and—”
A loud thud from behind cut him off as the entire ledge shook. He spun around, spell at the ready, then quickly sank to his knees. Miceral joined him, bowing his head in the process.
“HAIL AND WELL MET, FARRELL, SERVANT OF HONORUS. IT IS HIGH TIME YOU CAME HERE SO THAT I MIGHT FULFILL MY PROMISE TO MY FOLLOWERS.”
“Holy Khron, how may I serve you?”
Khron strode forward. Unlike His siblings, He didn’t use an avatar; He appeared as Himself. The silver armor seemed to radiate its own light. Even the shaft of His spear twinkled when He planted it on the stone rooftop.
“LONG HAVE MY DWARVES WAITED FOR YOU TO COME TO TRELLHAM.” Khron’s booming voice—no astral projection—echoed throughout the cavern. “YOU HAVE MY LEAVE TO RISE AND LOOK ON ME AS FAVORED WARRIORS.”
Farrell stared at the massive boot inches from his body. Standing as directed, he peered skyward at the towering thirty-foot god before him. A plumed helmet blocked most of Khron’s face, revealing only His mouth and eyes.
Before he could speak, Khron’s lips curled upward. “MICERAL, I AM PLEASED YOU AND THE SERVANT OF MY BROTHER, HONORUS, HAVE FOUND YOUR WAY TO EACH OTHER AS WE HAD DECREED.”
“Great Khron.” Miceral averted his eyes once he earned the God of War’s attention. “How can I serve you?”
“AFTER MY DECEITFUL BROTHER BROUGHT DEATH AND RUIN TO TRELLHAM, I SAVED WHAT FEW DWARVES WERE LEFT, HIDING THEM IN THIS PROUD CITY. FOR TOO LONG HAVE THEY SUFFERED, WAITING TO BE FREED. YOU, FARRELL, MUST SET THEM FREE.”
Farrell bowed his head to hide his expression. How in Honorus’s name could he free the dwarves? “Great Khron, I do not understand.”
“ALL WILL BE MADE CLEAR WHEN YOU SPEAK TO MY HIGH PRIEST. HE AWAITS YOU IN THE REMAINS OF MY TEMPLE. ALL THAT HAS BEEN HIDDEN WILL BE REVEALED. CHOSEN ARE YOU BY MY ELDER SIBLINGS, HONORUS, LENORE, AND ARRITISA. CHOSEN ARE YOU NOW BY ME. ADD MY BLESSINGS TO THOSE OF MY BRETHREN.”
Khron’s form began to fade, turning translucent as he left this plane. “FULFILL YOUR DESTINY, SON OF THE HOUSE OF KEL. FREE MY DWARVES.”
Chapter 3
CLENCHING HIS fists tight, Farrell closed his eyes before exhaling. “Damn.”
“What’s wrong?” Miceral gently rubbed Farrell’s back.
“I’m tired of being Chosen.” He half expected Falcron and Seritia to appear before he could get away.
“Why?” He stopped massaging Farrell’s back to turn him gently around. “They’re trying to help you.”
“By giving me another task?” Farrell shook his head. It didn’t matter. Khron made clear what he wanted. “Shall we get this over with?”
Miceral stared at him, not moving. Farrell waved his hand, collecting their basket and blanket. Once organized, he sent the lot back to their room.
“Khron wants us to go to his temple. If we attempt to leave before we do, He’ll probably block the way home.”
“Don’t pretend you don’t want to go.” Miceral motioned toward the steps, but Farrell held out his hand.
“Let’s fly. We don’t need any more surprises.” As soon as Miceral took his hand, Farrell made for Khron’s temple.
They flew over the shattered remains that once housed Neldin’s worshippers. From prior expeditions, Farrell knew whoever—or whatever—leveled the structure used power on a scale hard to imagine. He found evidence of melted rock, and there were hardly any stones larger than his fist anywhere in the area.
Khron’s temple looked more like a fortress than a house of worship. Turrets marked the four corners of the blocky, solid structure. Every ten feet an angry, powerful-looking, forty-foot stone dwarf statue kept a vigilant watch over every avenue of approach. The battlements showed signs that siege engines had fired upon them, and the sluices appeared well used. If the walls could talk, no doubt they’d tell of the fierce battle once fought here.
He brought them down before the lone entrance. Facing out over the city, a brace of stone dwarves guarded the doors. The warriors stood at attention, their spears held upright in the hands closest to the entrance. Farrell searched the pair for signs of magic but found nothing.
They stopped before the steps. One of the twelve-foot-thick doors stood partially open. Collecting power, Farrell readied a strong shield. “That was closed when we arrived.”
“And?” Miceral began climbing the steps. “How else were we going to get inside?”
“You think we should just walk in? Just like that?”
“Farrell.” Miceral paused, motioning for his partner to join him. “If Khron hadn’t paid us a visit, I might be suspicious. But He told us to come here.”
Farrell closed his eyes and reached out his right hand. With a silent flash, his favorite black staff appeared in his hand.
“Anticipating trouble?”
“No.” Yes! He spun the staff once, then placed it on his back. “But it’s better to have it now than to try to fetch it during a
fight.”
Climbing the seven steps, Farrell stared up at the statue to his left. The stone eyes seemed to follow their movement. They crossed the threshold into the vestibule, and he realized he’d been holding his breath. Slowly he exhaled.
Light from the crystal only extended a few feet into the windowless room. Farrell created a bright globe of energy, but before he could send it into the dark temple, the entire building erupted with light.
Farrell raised his shields and drew his staff in one fluid motion. A pace away, Miceral stared at him in silence. When nothing happened, Farrell lowered the shield and shook his head. “Nothing.”
Miceral silently took the lead, walking deeper into Khron’s inner sanctum. Still on edge, Farrell scanned their surroundings. The main chapel glowed from the light of a thousand flames. Neither wizard’s fire nor real flame. Farrell recognized the hand of the divine in the flickering lights.
A massive throne, large enough for Khron to sit upon, maintained a silent vigil over the sea of empty stone pews. Miceral led them down the wide center aisle as Farrell extended his senses. Whatever Khron meant for them to find had to be here. He just needed—
Farrell spun to his right, his staff held across his body.
Miceral turned with Farrell. “What…?”
“Greetings, Chosen.” An old dwarf, dressed in the plain gray robe of a priest, leaned on an ornate golden crosier. His bushy eyebrows rose as a smile split his full gray beard. “I am Father Aswick, High Priest of Khron. Welcome to Trellham.”
Farrell lowered his staff and moved closer to Miceral. “Greetings, Holy Father. Thank you for your welcome. I am Farrell.”
“Farrell? No other title?” A twinkle of amusement danced in the dwarf’s steel gray eyes.
“Just Farrell will be fine.”
“Very well, then, Just Farrell.” He nodded before turning his attention to Miceral. “The hand of Khron is strong on you. You are a chosen, but not His first.”
“I’m Miceral, Farrell’s life partner.”
“Indeed.” Aswick seemed amused by their exchange.
“Forgive our intrusion, but holy Khron directed us to come speak to you.” Farrell returned his staff to his back. “I hope this isn’t a bad time.”
Smoothing the front of his robe, Father Aswick shook his head. “No bother at all. I apologize, however, for my appearance. In my haste to greet you, there wasn’t time to don the formal robes of my office.”
“We could come back another time if you prefer.” Farrell didn’t want to come back, but the holy father deserved the choice.
Aswick let out a deep, rumbling laugh that echoed around the almost-empty temple. “While I do not doubt the sincerity of your offer, I can read your face well enough to know you hope I decline.”
Smiling through his embarrassment, Farrell nodded his agreement. “That obvious?”
“If I may suggest, avoid being drawn into a card game where your purse is at stake.”
“You might want to reconsider that statement, Holy Father.” Miceral placed a hand on Farrell’s back, stroking it gently. “Being Chosen by Khron isn’t sitting particularly well with Farrell.”
Aswick’s eyes widened, and his head jerked back slightly. “Not want to be Chosen?”
“Don’t sound so shocked, Father.” Farrell caught the annoyance in his voice and took a deep breath. “Every time one of the Six makes me their Chosen, I acquire new tasks I don’t want.”
“Service to our gods is a blessing, not a burden.”
“Spoken like a high priest,” Farrell said to Miceral.
Miceral didn’t react outwardly. “Let it go. You can’t win that debate.”
“As you say, Holy Father.” Heeding his partner’s advice, Farrell tried to sound sincere. “Whatever assistance you can provide would be appreciated.”
“Come.” Aswick turned his body sideways. “Join me in my private quarters.”
Despite his shorter legs, Father Aswick quickly led them through a darkened hallway and into a well-furnished sitting room.
“Please be seated and comfortable while I fetch us some ale.” Aswick motioned toward a set of large chairs and kept walking.
“Water will be fine for me,” Farrell said, taking the seat closest to the door.
“Are you certain?” Aswick turned back toward his guests. “This is one of Fracturn’s finest brews in decades. I had to invoke the temple’s authority to purchase the few barrels I did.”
“Ale, especially dwarven ale, and wizards are a dangerous combination.”
Aswick’s long gray beard bobbed around as he nodded. “What of you, Lord Miceral? Any prohibitions against you joining me for a tankard?”
Grinning broadly, Miceral shook his head. “None, Holy Father.”
“Excellent. I’ve had to drink alone for too long.” Aswick left and returned a minute later with a long silver tray bearing three large metal cups, platinum if Farrell saw correctly, and a ceramic ewer. He handed the cup with water to Farrell, then filled the other two from the pitcher.
“To your arrival, Chosen, and to the end of Trellham’s days of exile.”
Raising an eyebrow to Miceral, Farrell followed good manners and drank. Hopefully Aswick’s explanation would enlighten him as to what the priest meant by the toast.
After quaffing half the tankard, Aswick wiped his face and beard with the back of his hand. “To help you fulfill Khron’s task, I need to tell you what happened to this beautiful and once-vibrant city.” Aswick set his mug on a small table next to his chair and reclined into the cushions. “It is a long, sad story, but I’ll try to keep to just the pertinent facts.”
Farrell noticed he’d inched forward and sat back, trying his best to relax.
“Trellham is an ancient city, the oldest in the world. It was the first of the great dwarf kingdoms, founded long before men built the small towns that gave rise to their great cities. These mountains were once called Trellham’s Mountains, not the Trellham Mountains. When men arrived, they mistook which named the other. From the bones of these mountains, a thriving, prosperous city emerged.
“With prosperity, however, came division. Neldin’s priests, always an afterthought among our people, used the accumulation of great wealth by some to recruit among those who had less. They offered Neldin’s help in finding new veins of ore and new ways to power forges to help His followers prosper. To those too lazy to work, the temple spread a message that it was heresy for so much wealth to end up in the hands of so few.
“Neldin’s message took root in many, fanning the jealousy that lives in the hearts of dwarves. As their numbers grew, Neldin’s followers became bolder, more arrogant. They spoke of a new hierarchy in Trellham, one in which Neldin would be ascendant. Finally, words gave way to action. Neldin’s priests demanded the temple of Seritia swear fealty to Neldin and acknowledge him as their new lord. The high priestess refused.
“No one expected Neldin’s next move. His followers attacked Seritia’s temple, razing it before a proper defense could be mustered. Before the other five temples could respond, they found themselves under attack as well. Open warfare followed.”
Farrell took a sip and watched the elderly dwarf. Aswick recited the tale like one who had lived through the attack, which he knew to be impossible. No dwarf lived to be three thousand years old.
“Led by Khron’s priests, the Six responded with crushing force and drove Neldin’s people back to their temple. The priests barred the gates and prayed to their lord for help. Despite the pleas for aid, none was sent.”
Aswick paused to take a drink from his cup. Farrell twisted in his seat, holding in his questions.
“Even without Neldin’s help, the temple did not easily fall. For months His priests had planned and prepared for this day. Soon the ledge brimmed with warriors and equipment surrounding the God of the Underworld’s home.
“But Neldin did not set dwarf against dwarf expecting his side to win. This fight was meant to distract the Six. His tr
ue goal was to supplant Honorus as the first. When the fighting reached its peak, Neldin launched His attack on His brother.
“Honorus, however, expected treachery and was waiting for His brother. Though men and dwarves turn to Khron in times of war, the Sky Father is without equal. Neldin’s betrayal fueled Honorus’s rage, which in turn added to His formidable power. The fight was brief, and Neldin quickly slunk back to Neblor to lick his wounds.
“The war would have ended then, except Khron committed the ultimate sin. The gods are not permitted to use their powers against each other in our world. When Neldin attacked Their brother, Khron let His anger control His actions. It was He who destroyed Neldin’s temple.
“Neldin’s cry of despair turned into a scream of triumph. Khron’s interference allowed Neldin the chance to strike without fear of reprisals. Unlike His brother, Neldin spent centuries planning His next move. The Eight Gates opened wide, and the hordes of Neblor burst forth from the shattered ruins of Neldin’s temple. The armies of Trellham, valiant as they were, found themselves overmatched. Neldin’s foul creatures spewed forth, pushing aside the armies that barred their way.”
“Why?” Miceral asked before Aswick could continue.
“Why what, child?” The high priest sounded almost put off by the question.
“Why can’t the gods act in our world?”
The elderly dwarf raised a bushy eyebrow as if to ask, “Does not Lenore’s temple teach basic theology to Her followers?” He stared at Miceral for another few second, then let it go. “The answer comes down to power. If the gods made war in our world, they would destroy the very thing they sought to control. When the world was new, all Seven agreed never to use Their powers against each other or each other’s followers. To do so would allow the aggrieved to take a like action. All Seven agreed to this.”
“Who…? That…. Why would any of them agree to that?” Miceral turned toward Farrell. “It sounds like the Six could easily overcome Neldin if they attacked him together.”
The Eye and the Arm Page 3