Miceral stood close by, and Farrell felt his tension. “You don’t need to worry about me. It won’t come to blows.”
“Are you sure?” Miceral’s hand flexed at his side. “They look and sound angry enough to attack you.”
“They’re right to be scared of me. And that’s what this is, fear. They’ll tire soon enough.”
As he predicted, the volume decreased until the two sides glared at each other across the table. Jursten’s angry stare bothered him most. Lying to his best friend had always been a source of guilt.
“If everyone is finished, perhaps we can return to speaking to each other with civility and respect.” Kel tapped his staff on the stone floor. “Farrell is my descendant. Insult him at your peril.”
Farrell often thought of how to tell his allies about his birthright. It never occurred to him he’d have Kel and his mother for support.
Bendict glanced down, and when Darg nodded, he straightened. “He is Meglar’s son. How can we trust him?”
“Are you dead?” Kel asked calmly, but Farrell saw the barely controlled anger. “Have you been betrayed? Are your people being taken off to become Chamdon? If Halloran were in league with Meglar, why would he harbor you and spend his time keeping you safe? Use your brain before you speak, or sit down and be quiet.”
“Grandfather, please be civil.” Farrell’s request drew a stern look, but he held firm. “Bendict has a right to ask.”
“No one forced him—or anyone else—to take shelter under your protection.”
“Master Kel,” Christian said. “Duke Bendict’s question is born of shock and not ignorance. For more than two decades, we were led to believe Prince Halloran had been killed for our safety. Now we learn that Meglar’s son is not only alive, but he commands the second largest army on Ardus. As someone whose kingdom sits between those armies, those are real concerns.”
Kel shook his head, but before he spoke, Rothdin spread his wings and screeched. “Farrell is the Champion of the Six. No one here is more trusted than he. Only Kel and Farrell have been judged by all Six and found worthy.”
“What proof do we have that the Six chose him?” Darg asked.
Rothdin’s feathers bristled, but Farrell motioned to stop a response. “If I may, Father?”
Rothdin clicked his beak until Hesnera moved closer. “Let him speak, Mate.”
“Thank you.” He bowed to them. “You ask for proof, but what more can I offer you besides Kel, King Rothdin, and Queen Nerti? Whose word would you accept if you won’t take theirs?”
“Yours,” Jursten said. “Others must make their own choices, but I trust you. Hearing you’ve kept this secret from me for a decade was not easy, but I understand why it was necessary. My father gave his life believing in you. I am prepared to do the same.”
The lump in his throat made it difficult for Farrell to speak. He knew what that cost his friend to say.
“Queen Nerti is our ultimate ruler,” Darg said. “Where she runs, the clans of Arvendia will follow.”
Randgar stood, diverting attention from Ardus’s three remaining rulers. “It doesn’t matter who his father is. The Holy Mother chose him to be Her Champion. That is enough reason for the Children of Zeron to pledge our support.”
“Dumbarten stands with him as well,” Markus said.
“As do I.” Wilhelm surveyed the table. “I have the advantage of Arritisa appearing before me and telling me to trust Meglar’s son. As he said, if you won’t accept the word of those who have already spoken on his behalf, there is little I can do to change your mind.”
Although Farrell appreciated the support, pressuring Bendict, Heldin, and Christian wasn’t the answer. They needed to come to the conclusion on their own.
“It goes without saying the dwarf nations stand united,” Drendar said as he and Thrinton stood and put their war hammers on the table. “But Farrell earned my respect first and then my trust. Only a fool would doubt his loyalties.”
“Thank you. Everyone.” Farrell collected his thoughts. “I’m honored by your trust. But as Drendar pointed out, trust has to be earned. We can’t shame the others into it.”
“Nothing you can say will make my shame any worse than it is already.” Christian had his head down as he spoke. He looked up at Jursten first. “I knew your father well. I even counted him a friend . . . until I failed him when he needed me most.”
The room was so quiet, Farrell heard people’s breathing. Christian looked on the verge of tears. He gulped in some air and shook his head. “I told myself it was better for my people to not get involved. Zargon and Yar-del had fought since before Honal was founded. Zargon’s ambassador assured us that this was personal between the two nations, and that Meglar didn’t want trouble with the other kings.
“When he turned on Endor, they again told us that had nothing to do with the other realms. That Endor had declared war on Zargon by siding with Yar-del. Even as I listened to the man, I didn’t believe Meglar would stop at Endor. But the other kings stayed their hands, so I did, too. I didn’t want to make Honal a target as Clement had done to Endor.”
“We all waited for someone else to act,” Darg said.
Christian nodded. “Aye. Meglar sowed enough doubt that I—we all—squandered the chance to stop him before he got started. Though I am a fool, I am not one who keeps making the same mistakes.”
He stood, walked around the table, and stopped beside Zenora. Farrell stayed alert for any sign Christian might attack his mother.
“Zenora, I won’t ask you to forgive what cannot be forgiven. I am sorry beyond words for my actions. I called your father my friend as well, but actions are truer than words. You and Clement deserved better than we gave you. I can’t undo my mistakes, but I am glad you survived.”
“As you say, there is no way to undo the past, and I cannot forget what you did. My people suffered too much for that.” Zenora’s expression barely changed, but Farrell knew his mother. “But I can forgive. No one knows Meglar’s ability to deceive better than I. It serves no purpose to remain angry with you—or any of the others—other than to help Meglar win. I won’t do that.”
“You are generous, Zenora.” Christian bowed deeply. “Though you’ve yet to ask, I’ll give you my answer anyway. Honal will support Farrell in this war. It will likely prove too late to save Honal, but Meglar will not divide us again.”
He returned to his seat but was stopped by Jursten. The two men stared at each other. Christian clenched his jaw and swallowed. Jursten held out his arm, causing Christian to flinch. He stared at the offered sign of friendship and slowly reached out to accept.
Jursten put his hand over Christian’s arm as they shook. Tears appeared on the older man’s cheeks, and he tried to pull away. Jursten refused and pulled him closer.
“For too long Meglar has divided those of us who should be friends,” Jursten said. “If hating you is what he wants, I and all of Endor shall deny him that wish.”
Their private moment lasted a bit longer before Kerstand stood and helped his father back to his seat. In the quiet that followed, pressure mounted on Bendict and Heldin. Respital’s leader broke first.
“I could easily say the decision to withhold aid was made solely by Corvis, our king. He is disliked enough by all that no one would look beyond that statement.” He gave them a rueful smile. “But if we are speaking the truth, I along with his other advisors counseled him to remain neutral. I carry as much blame as any.”
Bendict drew a breath, held it, and let it out loudly. “Farrell, you have proven yourself a good man and fierce protector. I witnessed Honorus and Lenore bless your union. It is inconceivable They would do that were you not a trusted servant. On behalf of Respital, you have our continued support.”
Farrell nodded his thanks. He avoided looking at the lone holdout, but the others didn’t follow his lead. Everyone stared at Heldin. Farrell could end the tension by reiterating no one should be forced to make a decision, but he did not. He owed Heldin
nothing. More, he wanted to know what Pelipan would do.
Finally a chair scraping the stone broke the silence. The arrogant sneer Heldin wore for most of the meeting no longer had the same force. Heldin was alone and without allies. This was his attempt to survive.
“Rather than say the same things over, I add my agreement to them.” He fixed his gaze on Farrell and smirked. “You are correct, Prince of Yar-del—”
“King Farrell of Trellham!” Thrinton slammed his palm onto the stone table. He stood, and his hand slid closer to his weapon. “Your attempt to show him less respect than he deserves is not acceptable. Farrell is the high king of the dwarves, and you will treat him as nothing less than your equal.”
“Do not say anything,” Nerti said. “Thrinton has thrown down the gauntlet for all dwarves, not just you.”
“You realize we’re on the verge of war between the dwarves and Pelipan?”
“If so, it will be short.”
Farrell let the drama unfold and struggled to follow Nerti’s counsel. Unlike Drendar, who wore his emotions on his breastplate, Thrinton rarely displayed anger in public. That made the situation much harder to defuse and more likely to come to blows.
Early in his life, Farrell had learned that overly emotional beings engage in rash behavior more often than not. Those, like Thrinton, who did not do so were far more dangerous when provoked.
Heldin’s right eyelid twitched, and his hand played on his right leg, inching closer to the sword on his left hip. Farrell’s lungs burned, and he forced himself to breathe. As much as he wanted to see Thrinton pound Heldin into the stone, the ramifications would be grave.
The room was eerily quiet as the others sat transfixed by what played out before them. Finally, Heldin’s eyes darted in Drendar’s direction, and his hand slid back to his side.
“My apologies to you, King Farrell. I misspoke.” Heldin inclined his head as the others exhaled. “With the news you are Zenora’s son fresh in my mind, I forgot for a moment you are a king in your own right.”
“Accepted, Your Majesty.” Farrell glanced at Thrinton as he sat. He couldn’t thank Colograd’s king as he’d like, at least not in public. “I believe you said you didn’t want to restate what the others had said?”
“Yes.” He stole a look at the dwarf kings on either side of him and stepped behind his chair. “I was saying you are correct that there is little you could do to convince us beyond what has already been presented. I stand with the others in support of you. But I’d be dishonest if I didn’t add I have concerns. May the Six have mercy on us all if we are wrong.”
Once Heldin sat and the tension abated, Miceral and Horgon led everyone through a discussion of Haven’s resources, including the new arrivals from Primilian. Farrell did his best to explain the weapon and why they needed to lure Meglar to the Plains of Gharaha. The dwarf kings, Randgar, and Markus provided information on what they could commit to the fight.
The discussion about the Gifts of the Gods required more time than Farrell had planned, but he kept Beatrice’s warning in mind that Lenore expected him to make a full disclosure to his allies. When Kel explained the aftermath of the first war, however, no one interrupted with questions.
Wilhelm took a break when Kel finished and had the staff bring in food. Farrell asked his mother to join him, and they sat with Miceral, Horgon, Rothdin, and Hesnera. Nerti and Klissmor stood “guard” and prevented anyone from interrupting the small family meal. Their conversations remained free of anything more serious than would Zenora want better quarters than the ones assigned Cylinda. Farrell and Miceral had already decided to create an apartment on the other side of the hallway from theirs and used the lure of grandchildren to melt the feeble resistance Zenora put forth.
“We’ve kept the others waiting long enough,” Rothdin said after they’d talked for a while.
Reluctantly, Farrell agreed. He knew there would be better times to get together. Having lost his mother once, however, he didn’t take tomorrow for granted.
They’d barely resumed their seats when Markus asked him to explain the weapon in more detail. His cousin’s tone betrayed something more.
“Why do you ask?” He didn’t hide his suspicion.
Markus gave him a cocky grin. “Humor me, cousin. Aunt Penelope and I were discussing it, and I’m not sure I fully understand.”
Farrell frowned and locked eyes with Penelope. What are you up to? Irritated, he waved his hand at the table, and a burst of light evoked several cries of surprise. On the stone surface, he’d created a model of the gates to Haven.
“Was that truly necessary?” Amusement danced across Markus’s face in contrast to his question.
“As much as the question, I suppose.” Before Markus could answer, Farrell added details to the image on the table. “For those who’ve never seen it, this is the entrance to Haven. The two stone pillars are the Sources we’ve been filling for the last twelve years, and you can see I’ve altered the mountain face dramatically.”
“That’s the weapon?” Randgar asked. “How can a mountain kill Meglar?”
“The mountain can’t, but the spells woven into it and the surrounding plains can.” He sharpened the details to enhance the demonstration. “Years of work went into removing any imperfection from the rocks surrounding the entrance. Then we laid the spells we needed and went back to smoothing the surface again.”
“It’s very nice, brother, but what does it do?” Drendar asked. “I can’t believe you intend to dazzle Meglar with a shiny surface.”
“In simple terms, it’s an amplifier of magic.” The blank looks he received reminded him that simple for him wasn’t simple for a nonwizard. “Whatever power is directed at the wall will be hurled back, only many times stronger. If enough power is focused on the wall, it ought to destroy Meglar’s entire army, including his wizards.”
Farrell created an army to cover the field and then demonstrated how the weapon worked. The small figure representing him directed a stream of energy at the altered surface. After a brief pause, a brilliant burst of light erupted from the wall and engulfed the army standing in its way. The army disappeared, leaving only “Farrell” standing between the two Sources.
Heminaltose cleared his throat. “Now you understand why we must bring the fight to Gharaha.”
“If I understand correctly, in order to focus the power of the weapon, the caster must be in front of the mountain.” Darius sounded skeptical.
“Correct,” Farrell said.
Belsport’s chief wizard pointed to the representation of Farrell standing between the twin Sources. “If you’re standing here, you’ll be hit with the full brunt of energies being hurled back first. How do you expect to survive that?”
“With very strong shields.” Farrell chuckled, but no one joined him. “Because this is the place of our choosing, I’ll be able to prepare a smaller version of the shield that protects Belsport. That plus as strong an inner shield as I can manage will protect me.”
“Will it?” Markus asked. “Will it really?”
“Stop it, Markus.” He reined in his annoyance marginally. “Say what you mean or just let it go.”
“My nephew is pointing out that the amount of energy needed to overwhelm Meglar’s shield will probably kill you,” Penelope said. “Even if the other wizards won’t say it, I will. You’d be sacrificing yourself if you use this.”
“No, he isn’t.” Everyone looked at Darius. “Just came up with this shield design after reading one of Heminaltose’s books, eh? And to think I believed you.”
“I did get the idea from one of his books.” Farrell shrugged. “I never said why I was theorizing on the idea.”
“Do you want to fill the rest of us in on the secret?” Kerstand asked.
“The shield he created for Belsport,” Darius said. “Farrell came up with the idea because he was looking for a way to shield himself from what he plans to throw at Meglar. He made it sound like it had been something he’d dreamed up
to employ around the city.”
Farrell gave Penelope and Markus a smug look. “Does that answer your question, cousin?”
“Don’t gloat, Farrell. It’s not proper decorum.” Markus sounded relieved. “I was merely voicing my aunt’s concern because I thought it was valid. I’m happy to know you aren’t planning to kill yourself.”
“Glad I could dissuade you of that notion.” He winked at Miceral. ‘Now, let’s talk about how we get Meglar to Gharaha.”
Finding consensus on what Meglar would do next proved difficult. Whether the events at Trellham would change his plans or not depended on the geography of the opinion holder. Heldin and Christian expected he would move quicker, whereas others farther removed from the danger expected he would lick his wounds and regroup.
“The problem lies in not knowing what Meglar had planned to do before today,” Wilhelm said. “It is difficult enough to decide what he’ll do next without getting bogged down in whether he’s going to change his still unknown strategies.”
“Agreed,” Christian said. “But without knowing what he’ll do next, it is harder to plan.”
“I think his tactics are clear enough. He is creating discord around the world to keep his enemies from coming together in one place,” Randgar said. He’d not spoken often during the discussion, so Farrell perked up to hear him. “Already he has sent his forces to attack Agloth, the west coast of Ardus is under attack, and we know he has at least a small base in northwest Lourdria somewhere.”
“Yes, about that . . . Markus?” Farrell asked.
“Our intelligence officers found where Vedric staged his attack.” Markus shook his head. “The area had been evacuated before we arrived. Even our wizards couldn’t find much of value.”
“Too bad.”
“You’d have learned nothing useful that we don’t already know,” Kel said. “I agree with Randgar. Meglar is stirring up trouble around the world using surrogates that will paralyze our allies and keep them away from Ardus.”
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