The Eye and the Arm

by Andrew Q. Gordon

  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.”

  “So it was during those visits that he founded the Order?”

  “Correct. I assume Miceral told you what he learned, so I’m going to skip over a lot. If there is something you don’t understand, ask.”

  Sitting back in his chair, Farrell nodded. “I shall.”

  “It appears Kel came to Dreth right after he left Yar-del. Whether he decided to do it on his own or the Six told him, we don’t know, but Kel determined the world was not ready for Neldin’s return. The Order of Kel was meant to collect information and keep alert for signs of Neldin’s reappearance.”

  “Did he really name the council after himself?”

  Gedrin smiled and shook his head. “No. During a long period of his absence, his descendant gave it that name. Perhaps they did it to remind people that Kel—and therefore Yar-del and its rulers—were the driving force behind the council. Kel did not appreciate the ‘honor’ given him, but by the time he protested, the name was too entrenched and it stuck.

  “The history of the Order and its work can be covered another day, but there are things you should know before the members arrive.” Gedrin took a long drink from his cup and then placed it on a table.

  “For the thousand years Kel came and went, he set the direction of the Order. We’ve sent envoys to the far kingdoms of Nendor searching for signs of Neldin’s return. Our factors would always come to Dreth to turn over the information they’d collected.”

  “So the Order had—has—spies all over the world that report back to Dumbarten.” Farrell raised an eyebrow.

  Gedrin laughed in response. “Though the Order is physically located in Dumbarten, the head had always been the king of Yar-del. If our people are spies, they are as much for Yar-del as Dumbarten.”

  Having never headed the Order, Farrell hadn’t seen it that way. “Well said.”

  “Kel’s last contact was an indirect visit. No one saw him come and go, but when the Order convened for its yearly meeting, Kel left us a message.” Gedrin chuckled. “Your ancestor did everything with a flair. When the king of Yar-del called the Order into session and the doors were ordered sealed, an image of Kel appeared over the council table. He pointed toward a door that had not been there before and a stone. He repeated his words in a continuing loop until someone had the sense to write it down—correctly.”

  “Correctly, eh?”

  “Indeed. The scribe didn’t get it exactly right. After he’d finished recording the instructions, Kel kept speaking. They needed to find the mistake and correct it before Kel disappeared.”

  “Has the image ever reappeared?”

  “Never.”

  “So the room—what’s in it?”

  “We don’t know. The stone has the names of his descendants on it. Your name—Halloran—and your mother’s are the last two. The room, he said was meant for his successor.”

  “Interesting choice of words.”

  “Yes, wasn’t it? Not heir or descendant, because every king, queen, prince, or princess has tried to enter the room without success. So what he meant by successor is hard to discern.”

  Farrell tried to control his excitement. “It could mean he’s not dead.”

  “That is a possibility. But the message made clear he expected someone to enter the room.”

  “Are you planning to tell me what Kel said in the message?” Despite trying to sound casual, Farrell heard the irritation he felt in his voice.

  “In due time, child.”

  Farrell ignored the bait this time. Although he found Gedrin likeable—for a high priest—he knew better than to spar with the prelate when he still needed something from him. He let the silence drag on until Gedrin either continued or decided to move into the room beyond. Finally, Gedrin sucked in air loudly through his nose.

  “I’ll be honest. I’m withholding the message to test a theory. Your mother once opined that the message would return if the successor entered the room. She had no proof for this, but she seemed to think Kel would want everyone to know who he would allow into his secret.”

  “From everything I’ve read about my distant ancestor, I’d expect the opposite.” Farrell thought the priest raised his eyebrow a fraction higher.

  “Such is the thinking of our Kel scholars. They feel he’d not want to give anyone false hope by suggesting they were chosen already.”

  Gedrin finished the rest of his water, so Farrell stood up and retrieved the pitcher. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

  “Of course, Holy Father.” He refilled both cups and sent the silver ewer back to its place on the sideboard. “Has anyone ever been inside?”

  With his mouth full of water, Gedrin nodded while he swallowed. “Dozens. Every descenda
nt of Kel’s went inside. All were summarily dumped on their royal arses back in the council chamber within thirty seconds of entering. Your mother tried several times, including once right before the final confrontation with Meglar. She planned to fight her way past the defenses, but even that attempt didn’t get her very far.”

  He could see his mother, determined to find a way, any way, to defeat his father. “I’m sure she put up a good fight.”

  “So far as anyone can tell from the sparse history of what went on inside the room—yes, she did.”

  “If we don’t know what’s in the room, why is everyone so eager to get inside?” Farrell’s question got a shrug for an answer. “Unless it furthers my quest to find my ancestor, I’m not going to try. I see no reason to make the attempt if it doesn’t lead me to Kel.”

  “Who can say what’s in the room, young wizard, but at the least, it’s a stone to turn over to be sure you’ve searched everywhere for you distant sire.” Gedrin slapped both hands onto his legs and stood up. “I’ve said all I need to at this point. I think the others should be here in a few moments, so before they arrive, I’d like to see if Kel speaks to you when you enter.”

  Farrell didn’t like how Gedrin planned to use him as a living test subject, but given the stakes, he went along with a smile.

  Gedrin led the way into a large, rectangular, rough-hewn room that was in stark contrast to the rest of the temple. As soon as he crossed the threshold, Farrell knew they’d just used a permanent Door.

  Bare walls added to the primitive feel of the space. In the center of the room, a massive table capable of seating at least thirty people rested atop a large, well-worn blue rug. The intricately patterned rug covered most of the floor, leaving only a foot’s width around the edges. In addition to the chairs around the table, more lined the wall to his left. Several large globes of dormant wizard’s fire hovered close to the ceiling, waiting for someone to ignite them and illuminate the entire room.

  Gedrin pointed to the globes. “Could you wake those, please?”

  Farrell waved his hand absently, and the orbs slowly increased in intensity until they blazed brightly. From the corner of his eye, he could see Gedrin staring at him. He almost said magic didn’t work that way, but after what had happened on the Rose, he realized it actually could.

  Still nothing happened. “Sorry, Father. It was a good try, making me light the globes. That should have announced my presence to the room. Looks like you were right.”

  “Or”—he titled his head slightly—“you’re not the successor.”

  “Or that.” Farrell scanned the room with his wizard’s sight, hoping to see some sign of residual power. The effort turned up nothing other than a spell linked to the lights.

  Aside from the Door they used, there were two other entrances in the room. The one directly opposite him was another permanent Door. Farrell almost missed the entryway. With a stone knob of the same color, it blended seamlessly into the rock around it.

  Gedrin led him farther inside, and Farrell felt a tiny surge of power from the Door at the far end of the room. Accompanied by a young wizard, Miceral and Peter entered with Nerti, Klissmor, and Rothdin. Keeping his eyes on his smiling partner, Farrell walked around the table.

  He greeted everyone, before stopping inches in front of Miceral. They stared at each other for a few heartbeats until Miceral reached out and grabbed Farrell’s hand.

  “It’s good to see you walking around.”

  “I’m just glad they finally let me out of that damn room.” Farrell winked and was about to move in for a kiss when the Door he and Father Gedrin had used flared to life again.

  Farrell didn’t turn around until he heard voices behind him.

  “If we all use the same terminus, how is it we never run into anyone else?” The speaker, a male who appeared a few years older than Farrell, tried to stop in the doorway but was pushed along by an older wizard. She shook her head and motioned for him to continue.

  “We’ve discussed this many times, Markus. The Door will only allow one connection at a time.”

  “Yes, but we emerge the moment we step through. What if two groups try to use their end at the same time?”

  The wizard rolled her eyes at their other traveling companion—a woman with steel gray hair and the bearing of a military officer. “Time has no meaning inside a Door. So while it seems instantaneous to you, you might not exit immediately after you step into your side.”

  “So you mean we’re just standing in the middle of nowhere while we wait for our turn to exit?”

  Father Gedrin cleared his throat, drawing all eyes to him. He remained their focus only until they noticed the group at the far end of the room. Farrell noted their expressions all followed the same path—from surprised to awestruck. The distraction allowed Farrell to use his inner sight to confirm what he already knew. The wizard was a grand master. From the way she spoke to the king, she could only be Grand Master Penelope, King Markus’s aunt.

  Once the trio recovered from their initial shock, they walked over to Farrell and the others. The two females with the king stopped by Father Gedrin’s side, but Markus continued until he stood before the small group. Farrell nodded politely as one would greet an equal. He felt sure he saw a note of disapproval on Penelope’s face.

  “You would be Cousin Halloran,” Markus said, grinning broadly. “Welcome to Dumbarten.”

  Farrell chuckled and bowed a bit deeper. “No one has called me cousin before. And the use of my birth name still sounds as if you address another.”

  “It is Halloran who shall sit on the throne of Yar-del when we reclaim your kingdom.” Markus bowed in return. “My advice, from an older cousin to his younger relation, would be to get used to the name.”

  He had no plans to ever sit on Yar-del’s throne, but he kept that to himself. “I wish we were as close to defeating Meglar as your words suggest, but I’ll keep your advice in mind against that day.”

  Markus continued to eye Farrell until his smile faded. “You look like your mother. I was saddened to hear of her fate, no matter how heroic her actions were.”

  “My thanks, Your Majesty.” Farrell kept his composure. “She died as a true queen of Yar-del. Defending her people to the end.”

  The king took a step to his right and stood in front of Miceral. “My information suggests you would be Miceral, Farrell’s life partner.”

  “Your information is correct, Your Majesty.” He gave the king a proper bow.

  The king glanced back at his cousin. “I think I can be forgiven for not having sent my congratulations and those of Dumbarten to you both before today.”

  Miceral smiled. “Of course, your majesty.”

  Markus scanned Miceral. “Are you also a wizard?”

  “No, Your Majesty, I am not.”

  “He is a Muchari, my lord,” Gedrin said. “Lord Miceral is the son of Horgon, leader of the Muchari.”

  The king seemed more amused than shocked. “Astounding. You seem well suited for each other. Are you as strong and fast as legends say?”

  “That, Your Majesty, would depend on what the legends attribute to my people.” Miceral gave the king a mischievous grin. “We try not to reveal ourselves to the world at large. Such secrecy does permit for quite a bit of artistic license on the part of poets and bards.”

  “At least the songs are accurate in one area. You hide among us.” He almost moved on but stopped. “And please call me Markus. You are joined to my cousin, the rightful king of Yar-del. We are equals—especially here.”

  Markus continued to his right, stopped in front of Peter, and raised an eyebrow. “You wear the colors of Belsport. Are you the prince’s envoy?”

  Peter bowed deeply. “Prince Peter of Belsport, Your Majesty.”

  The playful grin returned to Markus’s face. “Wilhelm’s son, are you? Outstanding. Tell your father Markus sends his regards.”

  Farrell only half listened as the king greeted Rothdin, Nerti, and Klissmor. Gr
and Master Penelope stared at him with an intensity that told Farrell she was trying to assess his power.

  “The king’s jovial spirit is not shared by his aunt, Princess Penelope.” He kept his thoughts tight so only Miceral would hear his words. “She has been trying to read my aura since they arrived.”

  “Is that a problem?” Miceral inched closer, and Farrell couldn’t stop himself from smiling.

  “No, and you don’t need to come closer to protect me.” When his partner stopped moving, Farrell reached over and hooked their pinky fingers together. “But I’m happy to have you stand closer just because.”

  “And you’ve already met my adopted son, Farrell, whom you call Halloran.” Farrell caught the end of Rothdin’s comment.

  “That is no doubt a story worth hearing, my lord.” Markus seemed to be enjoying himself. “I look forward to you explaining how you came to adopt my younger cousin.”

  Nerti and Klissmor stood waiting for the king to greet them, looking amused as only adults could at the reaction of children when faced with something new and wonderful.

  “Blessed are the unicorns of Lenore,” he said. “Though I come to you last, my welcome is just as heartfelt and sincere. Be welcome in Dumbarten.”

  Klissmor stepped forward, drawing Markus’s attention. “On behalf of Queen Nerti and myself, I thank you for your words of welcome, King Markus.”

  The king gave Klissmor a small nod, then bowed deeply to Nerti. “Your Majesty. Again, I welcome you to Dumbarten.”

  “You are a gracious host, Your Majesty.” She inclined her head in a way that would be insulting from anyone else.

  The Door behind them opened again, and Emerson emerged with a three others—two women and a man who looked like an older copy of the first mate.

  “Prince Fergus.” The king accepted the bow from the older man. “I see the wayward son has returned.”

  “Aye, Your Majesty. But I’m told he acquitted himself well.” Fergus smiled proudly as he glanced at Emerson.

  “I knew it.” Miceral sounded almost triumphant.