With Kel having dispatched the remaining Chamdon, Farrell used the opportunity to deal with the injured guards. The one closest to him appeared dazed, and his comrades helped him to his feet.
The next one had the right side of his head caved in. Farrell sheathed his sword and gathered the dead man in his free hand. Hoisting him onto his shoulder, he made his way to Father Lingum. As they moved, Farrell heard the crowd coming from behind them. He gave a brief thought to leaving a fiery distraction but decided not to announce his presence any more than he had already.
“I was worried about the rear when I should have been concerned about what was in front of us,” he said to Lingum when they met. Hundreds of troops rushed down the temple steps toward them.
“What are they?” Lingum prodded the still body of a dead Chamdon.
Farrell moved toward one of the fallen guards. “Chamdon. Neldin taught Meglar how to twist people into these mindless brutes. They’re his army.”
“These abominations were once human?” Lingum asked, his horror visible.
Farrell nodded as he bent to examine a fallen guard. The man was badly hurt but might live. He put down the dead man he carried. “Can your men take that body back? I might be able help this one until a healer reaches him.”
Lingum snapped his fingers at two nearby guards, and they recovered their fallen friend.
“By the looks of their clothing, these creatures used to be citizens of Bowient.” Farrell gathered the injured man in his arms. The guard sustained a blow to the head, and Farrell didn’t have the skills to deal with that type of injury. He placed the man in stasis, hoping he’d find a healer who understood head injuries.
Lingum knelt next to a fallen Chamdon, anger in his face. He reached for something next to the fallen creature. “Bowient coins,” he said, showing Farrell two small silver coins.
“We should get this man to a healer.” Farrell motioned toward the man in his arms as he scanned the streets leading to the square. Crowds of armed men and women filled the mouths of each avenue. “And you need to get out of the open.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
The streets emptying into the plaza in front of the temple continued to fill. Either it was an incredible coincidence that everyone arrived at almost the same time, or the “unorganized mob” had someone directing their movements. Farrell believed it to be the latter, with the someone being Meglar.
“What magical protections do you have around the temple?” Farrell asked. He saw something there, but not what they were.
“We have some.” Lingum continued to gaze across the plaza.
Farrell swallowed before he replied. “Father, this is no time to be evasive. I can see you have some defenses, but I can’t tell what they do. I need to know what, if any, effort I should devote to protecting the temple.”
“For centuries—millennia—priests have taught magic at this temple. There is more knowledge on wizardry here than anywhere else on Nendor. I’m confident the temple is well protected.”
“Theoretical knowledge is fine, but how it’s implemented is what matters.”
“Give me your hand.” Lingum held out his right hand. “I’m not a wizard. I don’t know what the spells do. Look through my eyes and see for yourself.”
Farrell raised an eyebrow at the level of trust Lingum showed him. “You honor me beyond words. I can’t say I’d have made the same offer.”
“Chosen, my life has been devoted to Falcron and His work. To fail to make use of the weapon He sent us in our time of need would make me a poor high priest.”
Farrell cocked his head. “You think Falcron sent me?”
“You don’t find it convenient you’re here at the precise moment we need you most?” He dropped his hand and spoke to Farrell as if he was a student during a lesson.
“That’s one theory,” Farrell said. “But the Six aren’t allowed to take direct action. More likely, my presence spurred Meglar’s operatives in Bowient into action.”
“Agreed.” Lingum nodded. “It might seem happenstance to you, but answer this: How did everyone react when you insisted on coming to Bowient for answers?”
Farrell laughed. “You saw how they felt.”
“And yet your desire to come here never went away. In fact, I’d say it was a need to seek me out. You sought Jolella’s help because it was that important, correct?”
“Yes, that’s true. I needed to come here.”
“And it had to be now.” Lingum raised an eyebrow. “Still think it was all just a coincidence?”
There was a certain logic in Lingum’s argument. “But . . .”
“Think of it like this,” Lingum said. “We now know that Meglar’s operatives have been in Bowient for at least a short time. And it’s safe to assume they’re not here to help the good citizens of the city.”
Farrell snorted. “No, they are not.”
“So what better way to deal with them than to have His Champion come to the city and get them to act while you and Kel are here?” Lingum paused, but Farrell had no ready answer. “I believe this is Falcron working through you to accomplish a greater end.”
“Of course you do. You’re His high priest.” Farrell chuckled. “But I’ll concede for now and accept I’m here for a greater purpose than my own.”
“You don’t sound convinced.” He winked at Farrell and held out his hand again. “But of more immediate concern is your assessment of the temple defenses.”
Farrell accepted the hand and used the link to see the spells hidden to all but Falcron’s priests. Although he went as fast as he could, he took enough time to make a thorough assessment.
“The defenses are numerous, powerful, cunning, and layered. Whoever oversaw their creation did a masterful job.”
“I would hope the wizards of the temple could design adequate defenses.” Lingum smirked. “As a footnote, I’m certain that had you looked closer, you could have seen all that I see and more. You are now His Chosen.”
Farrell looked back and focused. Separated from Father Lingum, he relied on his own senses. It took a moment, but his sight cleared, and he saw everything he’d observed when he was in contact with Lingum.
“You’re correct. I see them.”
“Wisdom is not taught.” Lingum laughed.
Hundreds of soldiers, many in colors other than Falcron’s temple guard, filled the landing behind them. That Lingum had called in other troops didn’t surprise him.
“Farrell?” Kel’s voice appeared in his mind. “What’s happening there?”
“Father Lingum has called for more soldiers, and we inspected the spells guarding the temple.” Farrell studied the temple defenses again. They reminded him of the protections at Colograd. “It seems there is more to what’s happening than recovering a small child.”
“Yes, it does.”
Farrell was about to say goodbye when he had a thought. “Is Seritia’s temple protected?” he asked.
“It is well protected, and I can support it where needed.”
“Do you think we should warn the other temples to be on guard?” Farrell asked.
Through their link, Farrell felt his grandfather’s irritation. “What has you so concerned for the safety of the temples?”
“Another hunch. And before you lecture me, it comes from Father Lingum, not me.”
“Father Lingum believes the other temples are in danger?”
“No.” He shook his head and then remembered Kel couldn’t see him. “He thinks Falcron influenced me to come to Bowient at this particular time to address Meglar’s threat.”
“A divine impulse?” Kel sounded more intrigued than skeptical.
“That’s his theory. And that my presence pushed Meglar’s people to attack now, while we’re here to defend the city.” Farrell scanned the streets. “I didn’t agree at first, but there are an extraordinary number of people who’ve converged on the temple at the same time.”
“That does sound too convenient not to have been planned
in advance.” Kel paused and then added, “You think the threat is to all the temples?”
“I don’t know, but it can’t hurt to alert the other temples to the situation.”
“No, it can’t. I’ll talk to Jolella about it.”
“Thank you.” Movement in a street to the northwest caught his eye. “If there’s nothing further, I’d like to concentrate on the situation here.”
“A wise idea. Once I’m certain there’s no immediate threat to the other temples, I’ll join you.”
Farrell considered arguing against his grandfather’s plan. There were plenty of competent wizards among Falcron’s clergy. Adding his power to theirs and using the permanent defenses, Farrell was confident they didn’t need any more help. But Kel was not likely to accept his suggestion to stay away. “How will you get here when every street is blocked?”
“Don’t worry about me. I know a trick or two that will get me there safely.”
“Very well, just . . .” The thought died on his lips. Kel didn’t need his grandson to tell him to be sure the temple was safe before he left. “Be careful.”
“You be as well.” Kel’s presence disappeared from his mind.
Directing the soldiers into position, Lingum acted more like a general than a priest, especially not a priest of Falcron. He barked orders with the cool efficiency of a trained warrior, and soldiers snapped to attention and followed his commands.
Priest-wizards of various ages and talents assembled in a loose formation around Farrell’s position. Children, old men, and scholars, Farrell thought after an inspection. If any had ever left the comforts of academia, he’d have been surprised. But they all shared one common trait—a look of fierce determination. They understood what was at stake, so he didn’t insult them by voicing his opinion.
“Is there a way to engage some of the defenses but not the rest?” Farrell asked the priest who appeared to be in charge.
“Chosen, why do we waste our time with such a discussion?” the flustered priest asked. “All our defenses should be activated once they attack.”
“Father.” Farrell tried to keep his patience. “It’s not enough to keep our enemy from reaching the temple. We need to make sure they don’t live to return another day. To do that, I need to be down there.”
Farrell pointed toward the open space in front of the steps. The older man followed the direction, and his eyes opened wider. “Madness! Do you seek your death?”
“With as much respect as I can spare, Father, my experience fighting Meglar’s forces exceeds yours and everyone else’s in Bowient. Down there is the optimal place for me to do the most damage.”
Rather than continue the debate, Farrell concentrated on the spells in question. He half-heard the priest commenting on foolishness, bravado, impertinence, and impending death. Ignoring the man, he followed several magical threads as far as he could. Unlike Agloth, where one spell turned everything on, here, each spell was separated from the others. Someone could turn on or off individual spells.
“Father, you may stop lecturing me!” He left out that he hadn’t paid attention to the arguments. “It is possible to turn off enough of the defenses to give me a clear space to work, but that would incapacitate the strongest ones. That isn’t prudent.”
“That is one way to say it.” The priest’s smug expression almost made Farrell roll his eyes. Instead he concentrated on the restless enemy.
“Since I’ll remain up here, I need to be attuned to your shielding.”
The priest nodded his agreement. “Should we do it now?”
“Yes,” Farrell said. “If I were to guess, they’re preparing to attack soon. Raise the defenses first, then give me access.”
Farrell felt and heard the spells spring to life. The shield came from a ring of buried Cytus logs circling the temple. Over the centuries, the priests had infused an enormous amount of energy into the wood. It was a powerful shield on its own and stronger still with the support of Falcron’s wizards.
“Chosen?” The voice broke his focus and returned him to those around him. Lingum stood next to him. “The Holy Father wishes to speak with you.”
“Brother Rabart, I do not need to be announced,” Lingum said, giving name to the priest who had lectured Farrell.
The priest bowed. “I’ll wait until the Holy Father is finished to give you access.”
“No.” Farrell reached out to stop the priest. “Do it now, please. I’m not sure how much time we have.”
Rabart looked to Lingum, who nodded. “Do as he asks. Falcron sent us His Chosen to defend the temple. That takes priority.”
Father Rabart grabbed Farrell’s hand. The process took only a few seconds. When it was over, the priest bowed to both and backed off before Farrell could thank him.
“How can I help you, Father Lingum?” Farrell asked without looking away from the shield.
“My commanders inform me almost all of the mob has assembled in front of us.” He gestured to the streets surrounding the plaza. “There are a few people in the streets to the east, west, and south. but most are to the north.”
“Is that significant?”
“Yes and no.” Lingum sounded troubled. “From a strategic point, they are focusing their might in one place to punch their way through.”
Farrell finally looked at Lingum. “My strengths don’t lie in battle tactics, but that doesn’t seem so wrong. Is it?”
Lingum shrugged. “They’ve left us an avenue of escape when they have the means to prevent it. Though anyone with any wits knows we’ll never abandon Falcron’s holy temple while there is life left within a single priest.”
“So then it’s an appropriate tactic.”
“Perhaps, but there’s more. There is something evil in the crowd.” Lingum’s eyes weren’t focused on anything, and he seemed deep in thought.
Farrell snorted. “Of course there is. Meglar’s operative is with them.”
“No, this is different.”
Farrell focused his inner sight on the crowd but sensed only a dark wizard. “I feel nothing more than Meglar’s wizards.”
“Some of the other priests feel it, too.” Lingum faced Farrell. “I can’t tell you what it is, but it’s a wrongness that does not belong here.”
Farrell searched again and touched something. As Lingum had said, it was “wrong.” But every attempt to find it failed. “I felt it, but it eludes my attempts to locate it.”
“It fills us all with a foreboding of doom.” He gripped Farrell’s arm. “Beware, Chosen. I fear this is meant for you.”
“That’s rather cryptic.”
“Neldin’s long absence from the world has lulled us into thinking we are safe. Though I’ve never been to Neblor, I can’t imagine it filling me with more dread than this.”
“Can you counter it?”
“We don’t know,” Lingum said. “To answer that, we’d first need to know what we face.”
Farrell scanned the plaza. No one ventured far into the open space, but they milled about at the edges. An increase in activity to his left drew his attention. The crowd in the street left of center parted, and a wizard dressed in the black and red of Zargon stepped into the courtyard. An old woman, in a black cleric’s robe, followed a pace behind.
“They . . . she is the source of my fear,” Lingum said.
The pair walked toward the temple at a slow, measured pace. They approached the edge of the active defenses and stopped. The wizard consulted with the priestess, nodded, and cast a minor spell.
“Priests of Falcron,” his voice boomed. “We seek a parley in the hopes of avoiding a bloodletting.”
“If you seek peace, then depart.” Lingum’s voice was as loud as the wizard’s. His robes flared briefly, though Farrell detected no magic. He spared a moment to consider if his status as Chosen gave him more abilities than he realized.
A mirthless, evil laugh filled the air, and the wizard shook his head. “We offer you a chance to surrender and live. If you stay, we
will raze your home and slaughter all we find.”
“Meglar does not treat his prisoners kindly,” Lingum said. “That is hardly living.”
The pair flinched at the mention of Meglar’s name. They conferred again before the wizard said, “If you know Lord Meglar, then you know you have no hope. Surrender and some will be spared.”
Now Lingum laughed. “Do you think the God of Wisdom recruits fools to his service? Death is preferable to the Neblor that awaits Meglar’s prisoners.”
“Your fate is sealed, little priest.” The woman’s voice sounded like dry sticks rubbing together. “You and your puny god will learn the price for defying Holy Neldin.”
The priestess withdrew a small golden object from her robe. Though it shimmered like fire, she held it in her open palm. Farrell had never seen anything like it. It had life, of a sort, but it felt cold and lifeless. That alone confused him. How could it be alive yet not?
“Whatever she has, it is evil. That is what we all felt.” Lingum spun toward the wizards. “Turn on our defenses, all of them!”
Farrell leveled his staff at the pair and sent a blast of blue wizard’s fire at them. It wouldn’t breach the wizard’s shield, but he hoped it would disrupt whatever they were doing.
Calmly, as if Farrell had acted on cue, the priestess tossed the object at the approaching energy. The flames died as if they’d struck an immovable wall, except it didn’t detonate or explode, it just stopped.
“That was unexpected,” he whispered. Then he realized his mistake.
The small bit of energy pulsed once and expanded. It grew until it was the size and shape of a dwarf. Behind it, the priestess laughed. The sound made Farrell’s stomach tighten.
“What in the name of the Six is that?”
“I’ve no knowledge of this.” Panic laced Lingum’s words.
Slowly the creature stepped forward. When it touched the edge of the temple’s defense, they erupted. A dozen different spells struck the creature at once. Objects bounced off harmlessly, and the energy attacks halted before striking. With each strike the being’s brilliance grew.
Champion of the Gods Box Set Page 140