“After more than seven thousand years of entries, the book is nearly limitless. Often when I open it, pages appear with entries I’d not seen before. The book shows you what you need to know, not all that is written.”
“Have you ever read the same pages more than once?” Farrell asked.
“Indeed.” Lingum smiled. “It is either a cruel joke or a lesson in humility or both that Holy Falcron has made His priests suffer through the random nature of our diaries.”
With all eyes on him, Lingum open the book. He read silently, sometimes turning several pages in succession. Then he would read for a while or go back a page.
“Interesting as it must be for you, I see no reason to have us sit in silence while you read to yourself,” Kel said. “If you’ve found something of use, let us hear it. If not, perhaps we should go.”
Farrell’s head jerked back at Kel’s rudeness.
“For a man of your age, Master Kel, you are too impatient.” The two eyed each other until Lingum shook his head and looked away. He closed the book and faced Farrell. “The words written in this book are generally not meant for those outside the temple, but I believe what I found was meant for you. There are entries from three high priests written centuries apart. They detail the ramblings of brothers who never displayed such tendencies before. In short, they were considered divine outbursts.”
“Does this happen often in your temple?” Jolella asked.
“Often? No, but when it does, it’s considered very important.” He turned back to Farrell. “The topic of the musings was always the same: the Gifts of the Gods. Not one Gift, but all seven collectively.”
Farrell’s heart jumped. “May I see them?”
“The exact wording of these odd statements aren’t in my book and will be difficult to find.”
“Naturally,” Kel said.
Jolella glared at Kel, who ignored her. After a moment she turned to Lingum, “That didn’t answer Farrell’s question.”
“No, it did not.” Lingum drummed his fingers on the book. “The short answer is yes, Farrell, you may. The long answer is, I’ll need to have some of my brothers search for the information. Once they find it, I’ll see that it’s copied and sent to you.”
“Not until you’ve reviewed it yourself and removed anything you don’t wish to share,” Kel said.
“You truly are a disagreeable man,” Lingum said. “I pity you, Farrell, if this is your teacher and companion.”
Kel pushed back from the table. “If you feel that way, we’ll be going. I told Farrell this was a fool’s errand, but he insisted we come anyway. That Falcron chose the wrong person for His Gift might be the only wise thing you’ve said since we arrived.”
“You’re welcome to return to Haven—or wherever you want,” Farrell said. “I don’t need you to stay around, especially if you’re going to behave like a spoiled child.”
Kel whipped his head around toward Farrell. “You think to chastise me? Have a care and remember whom you speak to.”
“I know full well who you are, but something bothers you and you’re taking it out on me. I don’t appreciate being insulted in front of everyone.”
“Perhaps if you stopped acting like a fool, I wouldn’t find it necessary to chastise you in front of the others,” Kel said out loud.
Farrell didn’t think his face could have turned redder, but it burned hotter. “I could descend to your level and embarrass you likewise, but I will not. I don’t know what has put you in such a foul mood or why I bear the brunt of it, but I refuse to take any more.”
Farrell stood and walked toward the door. “Father Lingum, since Kel has rendered any further discussion impossible, would you find someone who could take me to the temple? I came to pay my respects to Holy Falcron, and I’d like to do that before we leave.”
Lingum didn’t answer right away, and Farrell felt even more foolish standing alone by the door with his back to everyone. Just as he was about to ask again, Lingum spoke.
“I’ll take you myself.” He said to the others, “You may come with us if you like, or I can send some temple staff with refreshments.”
“I would like to come with you,” Cendreth said. “My father sent me to learn as much as I can. A visit to the main temple should prove enlightening.”
“I’ve never been to the main temple of any order other than my own,” Jolella said. “I’d like to join you as well.”
Farrell looked at Kel. “My grandson has graciously allowed me to follow in his shadow. I suppose I’m expected to tag along like a mindless pet.”
Farrell just shook his head.
Lingum walked back to the table. He placed his fists on the table and stared at Kel. “Grand master you may be, but this is Falcron’s home. Either act with civility or leave. I’m certain even you don’t wish to test my mettle in this holy place.”
Lingum’s words, though pointed and direct, lacked anger or malice. Nor did they appear to be idle posturing. Finally Kel blinked and nodded.
“Falcron’s priests were never known for being confrontational.”
“Times change. The demands of the world force us to adapt to the needs of the present.” Lingum’s voice didn’t lose its edge.
“Clearly.” Kel stood slowly. “I shall join you and do my best to be civil.”
Farrell followed behind the temple guards who led the procession. Cendreth walked beside him, but neither spoke since they left Lingum’s study. They went down a long flight of stairs and exited into a large atrium. Sunlight streamed through the numerous windows to illuminate the cavernous room.
Tilting his head back, Farrell found windows covered even the roof of the temple. Starting with the floor above them, every level to the top was filed with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. Stairs connected the various levels, and a series of stone paths crossed the open space overhead. Through the growing press of blue-robed priests, brothers, and novices, Farrell saw tables and chairs filled the balcony on each tier.
Farrell moved next to Father Lingum. “If books occupy every floor, where does everyone sleep?”
“The vast majority of the temple, living quarters, the kitchens, secondary temples, and other necessary rooms are all below ground.” Lingum gestured toward the windows. “That allows more sunlight for our studies.”
“Brothers!” a voice boomed from above. “Get back to work and stop gawking.”
“Allow them to witness this event, Father Ondeus,” Lingum said. “The Champion of the Six walks through our temple. The more eyes that record the moment, the better it will be preserved.”
Farrell scanned the throng of clerics. One clapped, and then another, and soon the atrium filled with applause.
“They honor you, Farrell,” Lingum said over the din.
Farrell tentatively raised his hand and nodded until they stopped.
“My grandson does not take compliments well,” Kel said with a smirk. “Unlike most of us who have great power, he doesn’t seek for others to recognize his position.”
Farrell grew more embarrassed, though this time he knew Kel didn’t mean to antagonize him. Jolella put her hand on his shoulder and squeezed gently.
“That is one reason Blessed Seritia is so fond of him.” She smiled warmly and squeezed again.
Her compliment added heat to his face. Everyone else laughed.
A pair of massive doors marked the end of the grand hall. Their guards grasped the long, thick wooden handles and pulled. The doors swung open, and Farrell held his breath as he peered inside. Realizing how foolish it was to expect Falcron to be waiting for him, he exhaled and entered.
Simple, yet grand, the interior was a mix between practical and beautiful. Tall stone columns interrupted the endless rows of wooden pews. The altar consisted of a rectangular stone table surrounded by tall, thin candlesticks topped with globes of wizard’s fire.
“Do you want me to accompany you to the altar?” Lingum asked.
Farrell nodded.
Lingum led him do
wn the aisle. When the high priest reverenced the altar, Farrell followed his lead.
“We have no special prayers for the needs of one such as you,” Lingum said. “All I can say is be sincere and respectful. What happens after that is beyond my ability to predict. I will pray with you and ask that Holy Falcron give you the help you need.”
Lingum extended his left hand. Farrell accepted and closed his eyes. He never felt good at prayer. Typically he spoke to the Six as he would any other person. Lacking a better idea, he followed his usual routine.
It took him a few moments to find the right words, so he explained how crushing it was for the world to depend on his every decision. He asked Falcron to guide his choices and help him make the right ones. Finally he thanked Falcron for His Gift.
Before he opened his eyes, Lingum squeezed his hand. Opening his eyes expectantly, he found nothing. Instead a jolt skipped up his arm from their joined hands.
Lingum’s eyes flew open. “What did you do?”
“I was going to ask you that question. The shock came from your hand.” Farrell followed Lingum’s eyes down to their clasped hands. His wizard’s sight revealed nothing.
“Whatever happened was not of my doing,” Lingum said.
Farrell let go of Lingum’s hand and flexed his fingers. “We may not know what Falcron did, but I believe He did something.”
“Having never been the conduit for divine intervention, I’ve no way to confirm your assessment.”
Slowly they stood and walked back to the others. Halfway to their friends, Jolella gasped. Farrell spun around, expecting to see Falcron or His avatar, but the temple was empty.
Farrell turned around to ask Jolella for an explanation, but the question died when he saw Lingum staring at him.
“It would appear the Holy Father granted your prayers, Chosen.”
“Chosen?” Farrell said.
“May you serve Him well.” Lingum smiled before he bowed his head.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Farrell stared at the small, leather-bound book Lingum had given him as a gift. It didn’t have the divine-induced rantings of the various priests, but it was, according to the head librarian, one of the better books on the Gifts. Vaguely he heard Lingum speaking to Jolella as they returned to Seritia’s temple. Lingum surprised everyone when he asked permission to return to Agloth with Jolella.
“I’ve never been to another main temple,” he explained.
Four guards in the pale blue of Falcron marched before and behind the small party. Lingum was quick to explain they were for appearance rather than protection. Bowient expected its high priest to travel with his guards, and to do otherwise would raise undue questions.
“Come back here, you little brat!” The man’s yell broke Farrell’s concentration. A small girl, not more than eight, ran with fear in her eyes. Filthy, wearing only the barest of raggedy clothing to keep the chill away, the child clutched a small object close to her chest as she ran.
The man who chased her was a little older than Farrell but showed the effects of a hard life. His clothing was better than the little girl’s, but he wasn’t a well-off merchant or nobleman.
Before Farrell reacted, Cendreth drew his sword and rushed forward. When she saw the prince of Ze’arder, panic flashed across the girl’s face.
“Get behind me, child. I will help you.” Cendreth never looked down as he spoke, keeping his eyes on the quickly closing man.
Farrell shoved the book into his pocket, ready to aid his friend if needed. Only then did he notice the club in the man’s left hand. Farrell left his staff on his back, hoping he wouldn’t need it.
“What is Cendreth doing?” Kel asked from behind him.
“Helping a child,” Farrell said without shifting his attention. Cendreth’s offer to help caused a change in the girl, and she swiftly ran around him.
“Get out of my way, dandy, or you’ll pay!” The man raised the club over his head.
“Put the weapon down, sir, and let’s talk.” Cendreth’s voice was calm but firm.
“Move aside! You’ve no right to bar me.” The man eyed Cendreth’s sword. He glanced at his club and shrank back a step. “The child stole from me, and I mean to get back what’s mine.”
“What did she take? I could pay you for your loss.” Cendreth touched the small pouch at his side.
“Could you now?” The man licked his lips as his eyes darted between the weapon and the purse it kept him from. “Perhaps I should take all your coins for interfering where you shouldn’t.”
Farrell looked behind the man. Several other tough-looking men advanced slowly on the group. Though none had a sword or ax, they all carried a cudgel or other heavy stick.
“All she has is a hunk of stale bread,” Jolella moved up and held the shivering child.
Cendreth tugged at the knot of his cloak, took it off, and gave it to Jolella to wrap around the girl. Though she didn’t look entirely trusting, the little girl appeared less frantic to escape. Warily she accepted the thick coat, shaking despite its warmth.
“She’s mine!” The man pointed his club at Jolella but backed off when Cendreth raised the tip of his sword. “Don’t try to take her to the temple of whores or you’ll be sorry.”
“She’s starving,” Jolella said. “I will not allow you to take her back and abuse her further.”
Her anger caused Cendreth’s jaw to twitch. “Father Lingum, will you see the holy mother and the others back to her home while I deal with this?”
“What of you?” Lingum drew back his cape to free up his sword.
“Farrell and I can handle this one and his friends.”
“Give me the girl and leave, dark one, or you’ll regret your interference.” The dirty man looked over his shoulder and grew bolder as more of his friends arrived.
“Go ahead and take Jolella and the child to safety,” Farrell said. “I’ll ensure Prince Cendreth isn’t hurt.”
“We should do as he suggests,” Kel said with an odd lilt in his voice.
“Are you mad?” Lingum asked.
“Let us retire a short distance, and you can see for yourself.” Farrell saw Kel’s smile in his mind.
“Stop!” The man’s yell was almost frantic as Lingum and his guards moved back. “If you don’t stop, I . . . we’ll kill the dark one.”
“An empty threat, but you’re free to try.” Cendreth untied the cape and let it fall. Farrell moved to his friend’s side.
“What business of yours is this?” He glanced over his shoulder again.
The different tack didn’t fool Farrell. The man stalled to get numbers on his side. Farrell stepped between the man and Cendreth. “You shall not address Cendreth, Crown Prince of Ze’arder and guardian of Seritia’s holy city of Agloth, like a fellow beggar. Have a care, or I’ll cut your tongue out to prevent any further insults from leaving your foul mouth.”
“She’s mine.” Despite his claim, he took another step backward.
“Is she your child?” Farrell asked.
“I’m her guardian.”
That decided it. He’d never give the girl back. “As I thought. You have no legitimate claim.”
“You steal her childhood so she can beg for you.” Cendreth gripped the leather-wrapped pommel of his three-foot-long sword so hard the leather creaked. “She toils for you, and you begrudge her a piece of stale bread.”
Watching Cendreth’s sword intently, the man licked his lips. “No one gives anything to a fat child.”
“You starve her so others will feel sorry for her?” Cendreth’s rage continued to build. “Leave now before I cut off your offensive head.”
“Is there trouble, Arnolt?” someone asked from behind.
“Aye,” Arnolt said. “This self-appointed do-gooder is trying to take Bee to the temple of whores.”
“We can’t let that happen.” The newcomer waved his hand, and the group surged forward.
Emboldened by his support, Arnolt stepped closer and swung his
club at Cendreth’s head. With a speed that surprised even him, Farrell thrust his left hand out and snatched the wooden club in mid-descent. Yanking back, he pulled Arnolt up and over his shoulder. The shocked man landed with a thud a few feet behind Cendreth.
The others stopped their advance and stared at Farrell. Reminded of his new strength, Farrell squeezed hard. Splinters flew everywhere as he crushed Arnolt’s weapon.
“Is one little girl worth dying over?” Cendreth pointed his sword at the group.
Farrell pulled his staff and tapped it on the cobblestone street. “Any who raise a hand against the prince of Ze’arder will suffer.”
Everything around him ground to a halt. The crowd reacted, but their movements were so slow he couldn’t hear their words. One man spit, and his saliva hung in the air for seconds before it began its descent.
Farrell searched for the source of the phenomenon, but he sensed nothing. He continued to scan the area and saw something moving faster than everything else. From several rows behind the spitting man, someone had fired an arrow. In his new reality, Farrell saw the shaft and fletching rotate as it “sped” toward them. Analyzing its path, Farrell realized it was headed toward Cendreth’s exposed forehead.
Using the time, Farrell extended his shields to surround Cendreth, then stepped in front of his friend and snatched the arrow out of the air. Time returned to “normal” as soon as he had the deadly projectile in his hand. He heard the shouts of the crowd again and watched the spit hit the ground.
“That was a mistake,” he said as the crowd fell silent. Those closest to Farrell reacted with shock and tried to step back but were blocked by those behind them.
Farrell twisted his hand around, and the arrow’s tip faced the crowd. He cast a spell and opened his fingers. The shaft sped off the way it came and sank into the chest of a short, gaunt man in the rear. All eyes turned to follow the path of the arrow and gasps filled the square.
Realizing Cendreth was at risk, Farrell separated his staff and slammed the ends together. A shock wave disrupted the crowd, causing many to fall or back into someone else. Farrell used the respite to create three blue-energy jackals. The creatures ran toward the now-terrified group, setting them to flight. They nipped at the backsides of any who lagged behind.
Champion of the Gods Box Set Page 138