Champion of the Gods Box Set

by Andrew Q. Gordon

  He created a ball of blue light, but there was nothing for the light to bounce off. Changing the color of the globe several times didn’t result in any new information, so he dismissed it. As the light blinked away, he saw movement to his left.

  Before he could turn, he saw something to his right and then in front of him. Soon the movement took shape, and hundreds of people walked toward him. They came from all directions. The precision and order of the advance suggested soldiers, but he didn’t hear the jingle of weapons.

  He reached into his endless pocket and collected several weapons that would scatter over a wide area. With nowhere to go, he planned to concentrate on his defenses, but he needed to be prepared in case they attacked him.

  The dark shapes came into better focus, and he recognized the soldiers approaching. Dark-skinned with short, curly hair, they looked like the images he’d seen of the Children of Zeron.

  All but a squad of twenty men stopped walking. The company marched smartly forward, stopped a few paces from Farrell, and snapped to attention.

  “All hail the Chosen of Seritia.” The soldiers spoke in unison, and their greeting was repeated by the others around Farrell. From the sound of the response, he estimated a large army had arrived.

  Each of the soldiers in front of him held a long spear in his right hand and had a short sword sheathed at his waist. The man in the center wore only a sword but had a gold sash across his chest. Assuming this to be the leader of the unit, Farrell spoke to him.

  “Hail, Children of Zeron. Do you come in peace?”

  “For the Chosen of Seritia, we mean no harm.” The warrior nodded. When he smiled, his perfect white teeth created a stark contrast to his deep ebony skin. “You are a most welcome guest.”

  “Thank you.” Unsure of the man’s rank, Farrell bowed politely. “I am Farrell, descendant of Kel. My grandsire directed me to come here— wherever here is—to claim what he left behind.”

  “Greetings, Farrell of the House of Kel. I am Randgar, now amelt of Ze’arder. On behalf of the last tribe of Zeron, I welcome you to Agloth.”

  “This is still in Agloth?”

  Randgar nodded. “It is. To explain it all is a long and bitter tale. I will only tell the full story once you have freed us.”

  “Freed you?” He looked around to see if a way out had suddenly appeared. “From what?”

  “Long ago, my people swore an unbreakable oath to Seritia that if She would give us shelter in Her city, we would defend Agloth until we were no more. But my brother, then amelt of Ze’arder, broke that pledge by marching his army out of the city to make war on our old enemies. As punishment for his sin, Seritia sent our soldiers to this place. We have been told we may leave only when needed to defend Agloth, though that need has never occurred.”

  “What is ‘this place’? And where are we?”

  “Some questions I cannot answer.” Randgar sounded sincere. “What we know is it is a place without time. Until your grandsire arrived, we did not know that we’d been here for more than three thousand years. And though I suspect it has been many years since Kel spoke to us, it seemed but a short time ago he left us with instructions to wait for you.”

  “Do you have access to the city?” Given what little he’d learned from his brief time here, he knew the answer before he finished speaking.

  “No. We are . . . here. Only here.”

  Something about the way Randgar answered told Farrell there was more to learn, if only he asked the right questions. “Are any of your people still in the city?”

  “I do not know what became of the rest of our people. Only the soldiers are here.” He bowed his head. “Kel said he saw no sign of those who did not march to war. I fear they are dead and our race will die with us.”

  The idea that Seritia, the beautiful, gentle goddess who spoke to him just a short while ago, could be so cruel and merciless to an entire people for the mistake of one man seemed unfathomable. And yet She had. Or had She?

  “Do you know what Kel brought with him?”

  “A box.” Infuriatingly, Randgar didn’t elaborate.

  “Can you tell me what’s in it?”

  “No, he didn’t tell us.”

  “Of course he didn’t.” He hadn’t meant to give voice to his annoyance.

  “Can you tell me where it is?”

  “No.” The word echoed the frustration that played across Randgar’s face.

  The amelt’s eyes searched for Farrell’s and held them in a pleading stare. He’d missed something important, and Randgar, as much as he wanted to, clearly couldn’t tell him. Another of Kel’s exasperating mysteries, only this time he’d enlisted the aid of a goddess to torture Farrell.

  “By the Six, what can you tell me?”

  Randgar gave him an odd look. “I am not familiar with your curse, but whatever you wish to see, you possess the means to find it.”

  Farrell opened his eyes wider. Chastising himself for being an idiot, he retrieved the Eye. He glanced at Randgar before using it, but the amelt’s face gave away nothing. It didn’t matter. Farrell knew he’d found the answer.

  “Show me what Kel hid in this room.”

  Unlike the other times when he’d used the Gift, the image the Eye showed him didn’t whirl around in his mind. Instead, parts of the room he’d expected to find when he entered flashed in and out around him. Randgar, his troops, and the space under them slid away, and the contours of the floor materialized from the grayness. Finally, after a series of pulses, the stone floor emerged around him. The patch directly under his feet glowed with faint traces of power.

  He kept the Eye out on a hunch it would be useful again. Touching the tip of his staff to the floor, he pushed out with his will. The energy fed the small area underfoot, and it pulsed blue and yellow. He stepped back and raised his staff an instant before a flash caused him to blink. When he opened his eyes, someone stood inside the circle that had absorbed his energy. Older and frailer than the image in Dumbarten, his ancestor was immediately recognizable to Farrell.

  “Hello, Grandsire,” he said to the smiling image. “We meet again.”

  “Do we?” Kel asked. “I wouldn’t know. I’m not really here, you know.”

  “Of course you’re not.” Farrell laughed, relieved by the turn of events. “But you know that we’ve met already.”

  “Do I?” The older man arched his brow in a way that reminded Farrell of his grandfather Bren.

  Pushing past the ache of loss, he nodded. “You may be an interactive image, as you named it when we first met, but I’m certain you know all that happened before.”

  “Is that so?” Kel’s eyes twinkled. “An interesting discussion, one I’m sure I’d enjoy were I truly here.”

  Farrell held up the blue stone in his hand and raised his eyebrow in mocking imitation. “I suppose we could put the discussion to bed.”

  Kel roared with laughter. “What a delightful child you are. I would, however, ask you to refrain from seeking me for a time. There are still things you must do before you are ready to find me.”

  The admission should have thrilled him, but all Farrell heard was “not yet.”

  “Why?”

  The smile left Kel’s lips. “Three thousand years is a long time to live, even for me. The spells I’ve used to preserve myself may only be used a limited number of times. Better to find me once you’re ready. And for that you must finish what I’ve set for you first.”

  Reluctantly Farrell nodded. The temptation to ignore the warning was great, but if it jeopardized his time with Kel, he needed to refrain. “As you wish.”

  “Cheer up.” Kel’s jovial expression returned. “The road left is shorter than what you’ve traveled.”

  Farrell snorted. “Forgive me if that doesn’t give me comfort. What you perceive to be simple could very well be a task none but you can accomplish.”

  “I have full confidence you are equal to the task.” He punctuated his words with a crisp nod. “Now, would you like
to see what is hidden here?”

  Farrell blinked. “Just like that? No tricks? No riddles to solve or spells to overcome?”

  “Surprising as it must be, none of those.” Kel moved toward the far wall. “Seritia and Randgar provided protection that no spell of mine could surpass.”

  “Do you know what this place is?”

  “A pocket in the fabric of time and space.” Kel shrugged. “I recognized it from the spell Seritia asked me to cast at Trellham.”

  Farrell’s heart beat hard in his chest. “So you know how to free the dwarves now?”

  “No.” The one word crushed Farrell’s hope. He almost didn’t hear the rest of Kel’s explanation. “At Trellham I merely created the pocket. That spell alone proved difficult enough. Once I closed the Door, it was set adrift. Here, Seritia created a permanent connection between the room, the door, and this pocket. How She did it, I can’t say.”

  “Oh.” Finding his ancestor should have been the key to solving Khron’s task. If after three thousand years even Kel couldn’t figure it out, how could he? “I assumed you’d have found a solution by now.”

  “My dear lad, you must be listening to those outlandish legends that speak of my creating unicorns and peregrines or other nonsense.”

  “No.” Yes, he had, actually, but he didn’t plan to tell Kel that. “But if you can’t do it, how does Khron expect me to?”

  “To each is given the task they are best suited to take on.” He shrugged again. “At least that is what Honorus keeps telling me. But there is some truth to it. The Six have tasked each of us with things they believe we can handle. You need only believe in your abilities to be successful.”

  “Easy for you to say. You’re Kel.”

  “And you are Farrell, Champion of the Six.” The light, friendly manner disappeared, replaced by a stern, lecturing tone Farrell had encountered many times from Heminaltose. “The gods would not have chosen you if you were not able to carry out Their will.”

  Farrell didn’t answer as he mulled over his grandsire’s words. Kel waited a few moments and then said, “Enough of this. Come see what I have for you.”

  Kel guided them to a place across from where Farrell had arrived— or where he believed he’d entered the room. When they reached the stone wall, Kel waved his hand. A circle of energy appeared, similar to the one in the center of the room. Farrell scanned the spot and shook his head in frustration.

  “This is utterly beyond my abilities. I can’t even tell what you did, much less how.”

  “You cannot figure out what I did because I did not do this,” Kel said. “This chamber, like the rest of the room, exists by the hand of Seritia.”

  “How is it She took such an active hand in this? Aren’t the gods prohibited from directly influencing events?”

  “It was done many years ago and only indirectly affects current events. Had She revealed its existence to you or directly helped you find it, that would have violated whatever set of rules the Six follow. Since I did this at Her request, that is somehow permitted. Do not ask me to explain why. They never bothered to explain the rules to me, either.”

  Farrell heard the same frustration he felt in Kel’s words. Being able to do so much made it significantly harder to accept things he didn’t understand.

  “If you would, please.” Kel nodded toward the glowing patch on the wall.

  Farrell placed his hand on the wall inside the circle and nearly lurched forward when he met no resistance. Under his ancestor’s watchful gaze, he withdrew a wooden box. The chest was two feet long and almost that wide and deep. Made of a dark oak, the heavy coffer was carved about the edges and inlaid with silver and gold.

  Silently he placed the chest on the floor and opened the lid. Farrell froze, unsure of what he saw. It couldn’t be what he thought, but what else could it be?

  He looked at Kel. “Is that . . .?”

  “Yes.” Kel nodded. “The Heart of Seritia and the Hand of Neldin.”

  Chapter Ten

  Farrell ignored his escort when he emerged from the building. He shifted the box to under his arm and walked back to his quarters. No wonder Seritia had refused Kel admittance to the temple. What could he have been thinking?

  Halfway down the empty block, he faced the guards.

  “Tell Mother Jolella I require her at my quarters immediately!” Lieutenant Graclin flinched. Since his anger wasn’t at Jolella, he tried to bank the fire of his rage. “This is urgent. Kel brought something of Neldin’s into Agloth. I won’t risk bringing it near the temple. But I need her counsel. Otherwise I wouldn’t ask that she come to me.”

  Graclin’s eyes opened wider as she stared at the box he carried. She and the other guards leaned away from him. The disdain she displayed when he commanded the holy mother’s presence disappeared in an instant.

  “At once, Chosen.” She gestured crisply toward her subordinates. “Escort the Chosen back to his quarters. Do not let anyone stop you or him.”

  Graclin’s face reflected the fear he’d hoped to instill, and she sprinted off. The message would reach Jolella with a minimum of delay. Before he could proceed, the door he’d exited opened and Randgar stepped out. He looked up at the sun, threw his head back, and raised his arms as high as they could go.

  An instant later, dozens of doors on that side of the block opened, and soldiers streamed out. Many stopped and imitated their amelt, only to be pushed forward by others who wanted to join them. Men and a few women walked into the street and moved left or right to clear the way. Randgar walked toward Farrell.

  An unnaturally cool breeze arose from nowhere and filled the steamy street. It swept past him and spread out into the city. Where the wind passed, a mist appeared, swirling in and out of buildings.

  Suddenly the city was alive with people emerging from what had been vacant buildings all around him. Some cried out, others hugged tightly in groups of two or more. Children clung to their mothers; still others scanned the streets with worried looks. From the growing sounds from all points, the confused and anxious scene before him was repeating itself all over Agloth.

  “Farrell!” Miceral’s urgent call pulled Farrell away from the scene in front of him. “What in Neblor is going on?”

  “Seritia freed Her guardians.” The press of people increased by the moment. They gave Farrell some space, but that was rapidly dwindling.

  “What does that mean?”

  “Removing what Kel left me freed the Children of Zeron from Seritia’s punishment. I’ll explain as soon as I get back.”

  “I’m not sure you can reach here. The streets are choked with people. Do you want Nerti and Klissmor to bring me to fetch you?”

  “That’s not necessary. I don’t think it will come to it, but I can always fly myself above the crowd.” Scanning the growing press of people, he decided he might have spoken prematurely. “I’ll be there soon.”

  “Chosen?”

  It took Farrell a moment to realize the voice wasn’t in his mind. Randgar stood a few feet away from him with a company of Ze’arderian guards. The two temple guards each had a look of panic and held their weapons out. They twitched and turned at every movement.

  “At ease, soldiers.” Farrell moved between them and the soldiers who’d moved closer to their ruler. “This is Amelt Randgar of Ze’arder. Seritia has freed them from their . . . captivity. They are the guardians of Agloth.”

  The pair looked unsure, but against the growing horde of warriors, they had no hope of survival if it came to a fight. Farrell projected as calm a countenance as he could manage in hopes they’d take their cue from him. Finally, they lowered their swords.

  “It would appear, Your Majesty, that you and your people have been all but forgotten.”

  “Perhaps, but we shall make our presence known in short order.” Randgar smiled at the guards but it did nothing to calm them. “Allow me to escort you to your quarters. I fear my people will be a bit difficult to deal with at the moment.”

  Far
rell tightened his grip on the chest and nodded to the two temple soldiers. “You may either come with us or return to the temple.”

  They moved closer to him, and he gave them a reassuring look.

  He understood their fears, as he was afraid, too.

  “Very well, Your Majesty. My rooms are this way.” He pointed down the long street toward his quarters. Not that Randgar and his guards could provide any protection from the evil he carried, but at least they could help clear a path.

  “We’re on the way back now, Ral. The amelt of Ze’arder and his guards are escorting me.”

  “Amelt of . . .? Oh right.”

  “Ze’arder.” Farrell repeated, more for his own sense of calm. “Just wait until I get back.”

  The walk proved as difficult as Miceral suggested and then some. Not only did they have to deal with the throng of confused people, but once they saw Randgar and Farrell, they pressed closer. They shouted questions from all sides, which would have made it impossible for anyone to hear the responses had Randgar tried to answer them. Were it not for the two young temple guards with him, Farrell would have made good on his promise to fly back.

  Randgar’s troops did their best to clear a path without harming anyone, but the glacial pace chafed at Farrell. The Hand of Neldin weighed as much as a giant magical stone. It took several reminders to himself that reaching his quarters wouldn’t change anything.

  “Nerti?”

  “Yes, Little One.”

  “Can you tell Mother Jolella that it might be best if I come to her? I can fly over the crowd; she can’t.”

  “Of course.”

  Taking a breath, Farrell took a closer look at the people of Ze’arder as they swirled around him. The exercise redirected his attention away from what he carried.

  The men wore baggy pants and loose-fitting shirts, while the women favored brightly colored, free-flowing dresses. An artist’s palette couldn’t hold the vast array of colors Farrell saw in their clothing. The bright hues would make even the best-stocked cloth merchant in Haven envious.