“I’m grateful for the help.” Help doing what exactly, he didn’t know. “Forgive my earlier staring. My people have no knowledge of your existence. This is an astounding discovery for me.”
“The blessed goddess has preserved the secret of our existence since the dawn of time. Had not our Lady commanded we reveal ourselves to you, we would be hidden still.”
“I am honored by the privilege you bestow upon me and will do my utmost to preserve your secret.”
Argus made a sound that felt like laughter. “Your oath is noble but not warranted. Our Lady has decreed we are to aid Her Chosen in the coming war.”
The revelation froze Farrell’s thoughts as he considered the implications of what he’d just heard. Finally, he managed an absent nod to acknowledge Argus’s pledge.
“Come, this is not the place to talk of such matters.” Argus extended his left hand. The webbing between his long fingers extended halfway to the tips. “Take my hand and I’ll take you to our fair city, where the king and high priestess can explain in full.”
Mindful of the membrane he noticed between Argus’s fingers, Farrell tentatively accepted his guide’s hand.
“Fear not, Chosen, you cannot harm my hand.” He laughed again. “We Arlefors are a hardy race.”
Argus’s viselike grip reinforced his words. He effortlessly rotated his body until his head faced the ocean floor. With far less grace, Farrell did likewise, evoking an amused face from his guide. “If you are ready, we shall proceed.”
Farrell kicked his feet as Argus propelled them toward the bottom of the ocean.
“Your assistance is not necessary, Chosen. I can easily bear us to our destination.”
Slightly embarrassed, Farrell turned his attention to his surroundings. In the growing darkness, he realized he’d left his globe of light back at the guardhouse. “If I create more light so I can see, will that cause you problems?”
“No and yes.” Argus turned his head toward Farrell for a moment. “We can see in the bright light found on the surface, but we can see better down in our world.”
“Better for you to see well than for both of us to see poorly.” Farrell used a variation of his spell to increase how far he could see. He adjusted the magic twice before the world around him came into focus. Far below, he saw what looked like a cluster of light.
“Are those lights I see?”
“Indeed, Chosen. That is Rastoria, the home of my people and our destination.”
A city at the bottom of the ocean? He’d never come across even a whiff of a rumor of such a thing. Then again, nothing had mentioned Arlefors either. The light increased as they neared their destination, allowing the outline of a large city to take shape.
“Amazing.” Bubbles escaped his mouth, drawing a look from his guide. Argus smiled but said nothing.
A quartet of swimmers materialized below them. Appearing small at first, the four slowly grew larger as the gap between them closed. A moment of panic hit Farrell when he noticed the spears the four newcomers carried. Alone, unarmed, and thousands of feet beneath the surface, he couldn’t be sure the spells that let him survive could withstand an attack. If things turned….
“My sons approach.” Argus slowed their descent. “Together we will escort you to King Clayden.”
“Thank you.” The moment of panic faded, but he kept his attention on the newcomers. Arritisa may have sent for him, but She didn’t say to let down his guard.
Argus’s sons stopped just before they reached their father. Without a word—at least nothing Farrell heard—they turned about and swam back the way they’d come.
As Argus matched the pace of his sons, Rastoria came into better focus. Delicate towers topped by wide multilevel structures rose up everywhere. Made of a stone Farrell had never seen, these buildings would have been impossible to create on land without enormous amounts of magic. His mind reeled at the spells and power necessary to sustain such structures. Below them low, wide buildings covered the ocean floor, surrounding and supporting the lofty fingers of stone.
Nearing the sea bottom, they followed a broad avenue that ended in front of a large, squat, yet ornate building. Guards appeared at regular intervals.
“Behold, the Holy Shrine to the great Lady of the Sea.” Argus pointed toward the building that dominated their view. “King Clayden and High Priestess Burcia wait to greet you.”
Straining his slowly improving sight, Farrell saw tiny figures arrayed on the steps of the massive building. The size of the temple had deceived him, making their destination seem much closer.
His guards slowed the pace of their approach as Arlefors crammed the boulevard leading to the temple. Most floated in front of what looked like storefronts or office buildings. A myriad of questions filled Farrell’s mind. What did Arlefors eat? What kind of stone did they use in their buildings? How did they work their metal? Did they even have smiths?
His daydreaming ended when he noticed the crowds had disappeared. His escorts had left the crowded city proper and were crossing a large empty plaza in front of the palace. This close, Farrell noticed what he’d originally thought were steps were really tiered stories.
Realizing his stupidity, a smirk curled his lips. Stairs, streets, roads, walls, moats, and a host of other things he took for granted in his world were unnecessary to a race that swam everywhere. Argus finally came to a halt twenty feet from the edge of the building.
Two unarmed Arlefors stood in front of a company of well-armed soldiers wearing two distinct sets of uniforms. The guards to Farrell’s left wore the colors of the king—at least he assumed the king stood to the left. The person to the right looked like a priestess.
In the Seven Kingdoms, protocol demanded that those seeking an audience with a king or high priestess waited to be addressed before they spoke. Since he and Argus had not discussed this, Farrell stuck to what he knew and hoped he didn’t offend anyone.
“Hail, Chosen of our great lady, Arritisa.” The one Farrell thought was the king stepped forward. “I am Clayden. Welcome to Rastoria.”
Argus moved them closer and came to a halt five feet from his sovereign. Farrell, worried he might float away, tentatively placed his feet on the stone landing. A soldier in the green robe of a cleric of Arritisa immediately swam forward and bowed briefly before she clipped a heavy belt around Farrell’s waist.
“To keep you grounded, Chosen,” a new, more feminine voice said. “We prefer to walk unless we are in a hurry.” The guard bowed her head and moved back.
“Hail, Clayden, King of Rastoria and servant of Arritisa.” He crossed both arms over his chest in the Yar-del tradition of greeting. “My thanks for personally welcoming me to your city.”
Clayden smiled, exposing his pointed teeth. “With your permission, now that the niceties of decorum have been met, let us dispense with the formalities. I know nothing of your protocols and I’m certain you know none of ours. This will make speaking much simpler.”
Bubbles floated from his mouth when Farrell laughed. “That would be appreciated, Your Majesty.”
“Excellent. The first order is to call me Clayden. It’s scandalous how little respect I receive from my own subjects.”
“You would receive a great deal more respect, brother, if you followed my advice and assumed a more formal approach.” The high priestess arched a hairless eyebrow at the king before turning to their guest.
“I am Burcia, high priestess of Arritisa. In Her name I bid you welcome to Rastoria.”
Again Farrell crossed his arms and bowed deeply. “My thanks, Holy Mother. The blessing of my master, Honorus, to you and your people.”
Burcia stared at him for a moment before her eyes went wide. “I see the hand of more than just the holy mother has touched you, Chosen of Arritisa and Servant of Honorus.”
“Fine, fine.” Clayden clapped his hands quickly, creating a small rush of water to wash over Farrell. “Decorum has been met. Come, Chosen, I have much to ask. Burcia tells me you are c
overed in some kind of magic that allows you to survive. Is that true?”
“Please, call me Farrell. Chosen is so formal.” He winked at the king.
Clayden’s laugh produced no bubbles but drew a scowl from his sister. “Farrell it is.”
“To answer your question, Ki… Clayden, the high priestess is correct. I need magic to protect me or else I could not be here. My people cannot survive the pressure this far below the surface.”
“Fascinating.” Clayden put his oversized hand on Farrell’s shoulder and led him farther inside. “Do you think you could find a spell that would allow me to walk among your kind?”
Farrell almost missed the question, trying to take in every detail around him. Globes of wizard’s fire set on regularly spaced stone sconces danced in the gently moving water. The shimmering light reflecting off walls and the odd flecks of quartz gave Farrell a moment of vertigo. Blinking several times, he focused on answering the king.
“I believe nothing is impossible, but I’d need so much more information before I could attempt such a spell. How you breathe, what you eat, your vulnerabilities are just a few of the issues I’d need to consider before I could safely cast a spell on you or your people.”
Clayden’s mental sigh felt more resigned than frustrated. “Nothing is ever as simple as I wish it to be. But no matter. You are not here to help me, but for us to help you”
Burcia gave Clayden a look that Farrell could only describe as a sneer. “Finally you address that which Arritisa desires and not your own petty whims.”
“You must excuse my sister. Ever since we were children, she has tried to tell me what to do.” The king shrugged, never looking at Burcia.
Clayden led them to large set of double doors. On this side, the soldiers wore the livery of the temple. Across the threshold, the king’s men stood guard.
“Does this building serve as both temple and palace?” Farrell nodded to both sets of guards as he passed.
“Arritisa’s house was built for both the hierarchy of the temple and for the royal family and its staff.” Clayden stared at his sister expectantly, but she remained silent. “Usually it is a good arrangement as we both serve the same interest—the will of the Blessed Mother.”
They entered a large, well-lit room. Farrell counted six doors as he scanned the art-covered walls. Stone benches—at least he thought they were stone—lined the far wall, and chairs sat scattered about the bare floor. Noting the lack of carpet and tapestries, Farrell had to remind himself he stood at the bottom of the ocean, not in a palace in the Seven Kingdoms. When he looked closer at the artwork, he found the paint was actually little flecks of colored shells or tiles set close together.
“Tell me, Chosen.” Burcia’s tone put Farrell on alert. “What is the relationship between temple and crown on the surface?”
Farrell took a moment to choose his words carefully. “Ours is a different world than yours, Holy Mother. In the Seven Kingdoms, the Six are all afforded the same deference, even in those kingdoms where one deity is especially significant. No one temple has such influence as Arritisa’s temple must have in Rastoria. Because of that, the temples have little authority over the crown. All receive a great measure of respect, but with the different temples each vying for power, there is little any one prelate can do to exert control.”
From the smile Clayden wore and Burcia’s half-hidden scowl, he realized his attempts to avoid becoming enmeshed in their power struggle had failed. Being a monarch, he naturally related to Clayden’s position. More than that, Farrell felt more comfortable dealing with the less formal king than the stuffy priestess.
“An interesting revelation.” Burcia’s voice felt colder than the water around him. “Although there is much I would like to ask on this topic, Arritisa’s wishes regarding you take priority.”
“Stated more simply, my sister is unhappy with your answer.”
Clayden’s conspiratorial wink reinforced why Farrell liked the king over his sister. He knew the comparison, based on only a few minutes spent together, didn’t give Burcia a fair opportunity, but he had more in common with the brother.
“Nephew, that type of comment is best not aired in front of guests.”
Farrell didn’t recognize the speaker, but he followed the king’s gaze to find someone walking into the room from a heretofore hidden door. The newcomer’s pale red robe stood apart from the royal green and the temple blue. A flat white pendant on a silvery chain fluttered as he approached. Magic radiated from the man, centered on the staff he carried.
“Chosen, may I present Rastoria’s chief wizard, Teberus,” the king said, motioning for his uncle to come closer.
Farrell assessed the newcomer using his inner sight and determined Teberus to be midlevel master class at best. Crossing his arms across his chest, Farrell bowed. “I am honored to meet you, Master Teberus.”
“The honor is mine, Chosen.”
“Teberus will take over, Chosen.” Burcia nodded toward her uncle. “He is best suited to pass along that which our Blessed Lady wishes you to know.”
Teberus bowed politely to the high priestess and led Farrell toward the benches. Gesturing with his free hand toward the seat, Teberus sat without waiting for Farrell. “What would you like to discuss?”
“That is what I’d hoped you’d tell me.”
“My apologies, Chosen, but it is hard to know where to begin without insulting a wizard as powerful as you.”
“Perhaps if you would simply call me Farrell instead of Chosen, it might prove easier.” A small smile curled the ends of his lips up, drawing a roar of laughter from the elder magician.
“I see you and my nephew, Clayden, were born of the same womb.” Teberus did something Farrell thought might be a wink.
“Sometimes it feels invigorating to shed the yoke of ruling and try to act like everyone else. Even if only for a short time.”
Teberus nodded several times. “Well said, though many who are not king would feel no pity for you.”
“Of course.”
An awkward silence followed. Farrell searched for the proper questions to ask but found it hard to focus as Teberus continued to stare at him. Finally Teberus broke the silence.
“Chosen—I mean Farrell—did Arritisa tell you what she expected Rastoria to teach you?
Farrell shook his head. “She told me nothing. I assumed it had to deal with magic, but now I’m not so sure.”
“Why do you say that?”
Farrell brushed his tongue over his lips, tasting a hint of brine. “Understand I know little—make that nothing—about your race. Before I answer you, it would be helpful if I could ask some questions to find out if my assumptions are correct.”
“A wise suggestion.” The elderly Arlefor stared at him again. “Proceed.”
“Can I assume you have most of the same basic abilities that wizards have in my realm?”
Teberus blinked, breaking his focus. “An excellent question, but how can I know what you consider basic? Clearly you have something in mind. Please be direct and do not worry about hurt feelings.”
“Very well. Can you gauge the strength of other wizards?” Teberus nodded.
Having assumed Teberus could, Farrell swallowed before asking what he needed to know. “Look at me with your inner eye, please.”
“I have already beheld your power.” Teberus cocked his head slightly. “Many of Rastoria’s wizards have done so since your arrival.”
Farrell smiled. Slowly he removed the dampening spells he kept around himself. “Look again.” Teberus’s focus seemed far away at first, and then he blinked several times before he roared in delight.
“Outstanding. In truth, we did wonder why Arritisa would choose someone whose aura was so common. Now you shine as bright as the Champion we expected.”
Farrell restored his spells, returning his appearance to that of a wizard of average talent.
“I must assume you have the same talent to see my abilities,” Teberus said.
“I can, and I risk offending you by explaining myself, but here it is. Your aura is no greater than a midlevel master wizard in my realm. Although I’m one of a handful of what we call grand master wizards, there are numerous others who shine much brighter than you.”
Teberus gave him a long, slow, nod. “And now you wonder if this was a waste of time.”
Farrell resisted the urge to nod his agreement. “No, not that. Arritisa exerted great effort to have my ancestor devise the spells I’m using so I could come to Rastoria without delay when She sent her messengers. There is a reason. I just don’t know what it would be anymore.”
“I too am at a loss. There is little I can offer one as talented as you.”
He wasn’t ready to concede that point. Arritisa wanted him here for a reason, and it had to be more than to just meet the Arlefors. She could have done that without the need for Kel working out the spells.
“I think there are three areas that might be productive.” Even with the lack of powerful wizards, there had to be some arcane knowledge the goddess wanted him to learn. “Collection and storage of power, use of power, and any particularly powerful combat or defensive spells you and your people have perfected.”
It took a few moments for Teberus to respond. “As for the last, I doubt there is much we can offer. Our race is not gifted with wizards of great power, grand masters as you call them. I myself am one of the three most powerful wizards in our people’s recorded history. We also do not store much power. There is so much available, there is no need to waste time storing it for future use. That leaves use of power.”
“It has been my experience, when dealing with the Six, nothing is as it seems.”
“You’ve met the Six?” Teberus’s shock was clear in his mental voice.
“Not all Six, just Honorus, Khron, and Arritisa.” After he answered he realized how his words must have sounded. “But they do not commune with me on a regular basis. Usually they show up when they need me to do something I’m supposed to, but I’ve veered off the path.”
“That doesn’t sound like a situation I’d like to find myself in.”
The Eye and the Arm Page 11