“And just where do you come by this keen medical insight?” the man asked without looking up.
Still dressed in temple guard colors, Farrell was easily mistaken for a common soldier. Despite that simple mistake, Farrell had no time for the man’s attitude.
“Though I only have a mild healer’s gift, it is enough to know where he was injured.” He waited until the man looked up from his papers.
The scowl on his face faded, and what Farrell assumed would be an angry retort died on the man’s lips.
“Chosen, I’m sorry. I didn’t recognize you.” The sincerity of his apology soothed away Farrell’s anger.
“It is of no matter. This man needs your help more than I need an apology. All I ask is you help him.”
“Of course, Chosen.” He snapped at a pair of idle orderlies. “I’ll see to him myself if no one else is free.”
Farrell managed a thin smile. “Thank you.”
He carefully placed his patient on the stretcher held by the associate healers and stepped away. Bodies littered the area around the steps. Most of the dead were Chamdon. The temple had suffered relatively few casualties and most of those would survive.
He surveyed the square and the remains of the short but brutal battle. Large swaths of the plaza held nothing but dead Chamdon. The priestess clearly had been counting on the Brakken to negate most if not all the temple’s magical defenses.
As he studied the battlefield, he realized how close the temple had come to losing the fight. If Kel hadn’t destroyed the Brakken, Farrell and Lingum could not have killed the priestess and her wizard. Had those two lived, they’d have helped fend off the gauntlet of death surrounding the temple and allowed a far greater number of Chamdon to reach the steps.
On the other side, without anyone to attack them, the temple wizards had devoted their full efforts on the Chamdon. That plus what Farrell killed from behind ensured that barely any creatures reached the steps. The few that made it, however, killed or injured enough that the temple likely would have been overrun had the Brakken survived.
Farrell was about to offer his services to the healers when he heard a commotion. Lingum’s angry voice carried above the others, though Farrell couldn’t tell what he said. Temple guards drew their weapons and raced down the step toward the high priest. Farrell followed after them and found Father Lingum pointing his gore-covered sword at a fat, balding man astride a powerful stallion.
Three dozen armed soldiers, their hands on their weapons, guarded the well-dressed man. Farrell joined the guards and made his way to Lingum.
“How dare you!” the man on the horse shouted at Father Lingum. “You forget your position, priest. I rule this city, not you.”
“Falcron founded Bowient as a home for His priests. This is our city, not yours. Just because your worthless father mounted your whore of a mother does not convey upon you some divine right of rule.”
Farrell raised an eyebrow at the venom in Lingum’s voice. His insult had the belcin sputtering. Lacking the words to express his outrage, he reached for his sword. Lingum appeared ready, eager even, for a fight.
With the situation spiraling out of control, Farrell sent a ball of blue energy flying over the belcin’s head. “If your sword leaves its scabbard, your head will leave your shoulders.”
The belcin’s men drew their weapons and moved closer to their liege. Frustrated that he’d made the situation worse, Farrell lowered his staff.
Lingum never took his eyes off the belcin. “Don’t interfere, Farrell. This is an internal political matter.”
“May we have a word in private, Holy Father?” Farrell asked. Lingum shook his head. Farrell exhaled to keep calm. “You probably don’t want the crowd to hear what I’m going to say. It would be best if we moved apart for a moment.”
He hoped Lingum was not so far gone in anger he missed the message. Lingum glared at the belcin with such anger the man blanched and averted his eyes. Slamming his sword into its sheath, Lingum spun on his heel and walked away. Farrell followed after, keeping his irritation in check.
“Say what’s on your mind, then let me deal with that idiot.” Lingum’s tone reminded Farrell of their rocky first meeting.
“No.” He waited until just before Lingum started to answer to continue. “Killing him, no matter how satisfying, will not bring back your dead soldiers. Nor will it help end this situation. Believe that I know from personal experience that my words are true.”
“That fat bastard is the cause of all this.” The heavy rings of his armor jingled as he gestured toward the dead. “He has always been unfit to rule, and this is the last time I’ll suffer his stupidity.”
Farrell considered his next words. He didn’t disagree with Lingum. In fact, he’d like to kill the man, too. Unfortunately that would only escalate the tension between temple and crown. “I can’t argue either of those points, but the situation calls for something other than provoking him into a fight just so you can kill him. More good men and woman will die if civil war breaks out, deaths we can prevent if we act with proper wisdom.”
Some of the fury drained from the older man’s face as Farrell spoke. “It’s clear you have a proposal. Let me hear it while I’m still able to change my mind.”
“If he’s as stupid and corrupt as you say, there must be many in the city who do not like him.” Farrell waited for Lingum’s nod. “Work through them to bring about change. Once they rise up against him, you can side with—side with, not lead—them to remove the belcin.”
“If I sever his head, he will also be removed,” Lingum said. Despite his words, his tone softened.
Farrell snorted and nodded. “True, but Meglar is a master manipulator. It’s doubtful the man understood the ramifications of his actions.”
“Stupidity is no defense.” Some of Lingum’s anger returned. “In fact, abject stupidity is grounds to remove him from office. That isn’t a persuasive argument for staying my hand.”
“Yes it is, but you’re too angry to agree.” He held up a hand. “Don’t mistake my seeking a less violent solution as disagreeing with you. Your anger is justified, but you’re letting it drive your thoughts. If you or your temple slay him, no one will challenge your right—outwardly. But they will also complain about the overbearing nature of the temple and how you interfered in a secular matter.”
Lingum’s anger had cooled enough that he pondered what he’d heard. Farrell fought the urge to keep arguing his point. Wisdom needed to be learned, not taught.
“And if no one challenges him, what then?” Lingum asked.
Farrell smiled. “Encourage them. Explain how his bargain with Meglar cost Bowient so much, yet he profited greatly. And show them how many of Bowient’s citizens paid the ultimate price.”
“They won’t care that Meglar used and killed the street people. They might even applaud him for removing so many of those they deemed undesirable,” Lingum said.
“That may be true, but Meglar doesn’t care about rank or wealth when he needs bodies. Your job will be to explain that in ways they understand.”
The sound of hooves on stone ended their conversation. Farrell expected to see more of the belcin’s soldiers. Instead Kel and Jolella emerged from the street to Farrell’s left. They led a column of temple guards and Ze’arderian warriors. The soldiers stopped a few feet to the right of the belcin.
“What fool allowed this to happen?” The red jewel in Kel’s staff pulsed as his gaze swept the landscape. When his eyes locked on to the belcin, he shook his head. “A dozen gold crowns say you’re the idiot belcin who made a deal with Neldin.”
The insult fueled his anger. “How dare you!”
Kel waved his hand. “Do you realize your stupidity almost cost Bowient its existence? Your new wizard friend who gave you all those coins from Meglar came here with a priestess of Neldin. They planned to conquer and raze the city.”
Some of the belcin’s guards looked at their liege. With his attention on Kel, the belcin couldn�
��t have seen their skepticism. “Worship to Neldin is forbidden. I would never allow such a thing.”
“Great gods above! How are you allowed to rule even a stable?” Kel’s anger made him seem larger. “Do you truly believe a mere edict from you could prevent Neldin from recruiting followers in Bowient? Stupid is too mild a word for your level of incompetence.”
“Enough!” Flecks of spit flew from the belcin’s mouth as he shouted. “No one addresses me like that, especially not some raggedy old wizard.”
Kel laughed. “So the mouse has found his voice. You are a fool of the worst kind. Especially not me? Do you know who I am? Let me show you what Kel is capable of.”
Too fast for Farrell to follow, Kel let loose a spell he had waiting. Red bands of energy bound the belcin and his men before anyone could blink. Jolella snapped her fingers, and her troops behind her moved forward to disarm the city guards.
“By the Six, he’s good,” Farrell whispered.
“What?” Lingum’s question reminded Farrell he wasn’t alone.
“Sorry, I was commenting on how easy Kel made that look.”
Lingum snorted. “I didn’t think anything impressed you, Chosen.”
Before Farrell could answer, he saw how one of the temple guards handled the belcin’s men. “Stop!”
Darting forward, he slipped through the crowd. A soldier in Falcron’s colors shoved one of the bound city guards to the ground. Farrell pushed the man away.
“What are you doing?” he asked. The guard eyed him closely and glanced toward his comrades. The others from the temple looked behind Farrell and held their places.
“The belcin did this!” The man gestured toward the battlefield. “Some of my brothers died because of him.”
“These men are not responsible for the deaths of your friends.” Farrell helped the belcin’s guard to his feet. Waving a hand over the man’s bonds, he dissolved them. “The blame for that rests solely on the belcin.”
“Farrell, what are you doing?” Kel asked.
“These soldiers are protecting their liege,” he said. “They had no hand in the atrocities committed by the fool in charge. They don’t deserve to be mistreated.”
“I agree,” Lingum said from behind him. The holy father glared at the chaotic scene evolving. “As citizens of Bowient, they are as much victims of the belcin’s malfeasance as any.”
Some of the temple guards didn’t agree. When a soldier near Lingum jerked his captive forward, Lingum marched over to his soldier. “You are relieved.”
The guard refused to yield, and Farrell feared the scene might return to the chaos of a moment earlier. Suddenly the guard was pulled back.
“Soldiers do not act with dishonor,” Cendreth said. “Not only do you violate the warrior’s code, you defy your commander. Were you under my command, I would put you in irons and forget you existed.”
He pushed the man to a temple officer. Several more temple guards as well as a few Ze’arderians stared at the ground.
Farrell used the ensuing silence to pluck the belcin from his saddle. “You, however, are owed no such courtesies.”
He resisted the urge to toss the loathsome man onto the stone. Instead, he hoisted the bound man over his head with one arm and carried him to the nearest dead Chamdon.
“Look!” He lowered the man toward the creature. “Look at its clothing! That was once one of your citizens. You remember them, don’t you? The people you’re supposed to protect.”
The crowd gathering around them, including some of the belcin’s guards, whispered among themselves. When the belcin refused to look, Farrell’s fingers tightened, crushing several rings of the man’s mail shirt. The red bands of energy surrounding the belcin blinked and disappeared. “Look at it!”
Trembling, the belcin did as ordered.
“These people depended on you to keep them safe.” He barely controlled his rage. “Instead you sold their lives—for what? Gold? Jewels? Power? What was it?”
“It’s worse than you know,” Kel said. “Ask him to account for the teenage girls and young women from the streets.”
“No,” Farrell whispered. Squeezing his eyelids tight, Farrell couldn’t dispel the image of what the man in his hand had done. He heard their screams and saw their faces. The more he tried to make them go away, the more he saw. Instinctively he squeezed harder, and the chainmail tightened around the belcin’s body.
“Release him,” Lingum said.
Farrell opened his eyes. “He does not deserve mercy, Father. Not after what he did.”
Lingum placed his hand over Farrell’s and pulled gently. “Do not kill him, Chosen. If you do this, it will haunt you. He’s not worth it.”
“Father, you don’t understand the depths of the horror those women will suffer because of this man.” He glared at the belcin. “But he does. Don’t you?”
Though powerless to stop Farrell if he refused, Lingum continued to pull on the fingers around the belcin’s armor. “I don’t need to know to understand. Your face tells their story for me. Let us, the people of Bowient, deal with him.”
Farrell’s breath came in raged gasps, and he shook his head. “No.”
“Chosen, I cannot make you stop, but when you told me not to act in anger, I listened. I now give you the same advice. And as Falcron’s high priest, I tell you killing this man is not His way.”
“Neither would Seritia approve,” Jolella said, standing on the other side of him. She put one hand next to Lingum’s and the other on Farrell’s cheek. “Please don’t do this. You are dear to me, and I would spare you this pain.”
Slowly Farrell let them remove his hand. Four Ze’arderian soldiers seized the belcin and drew him off.
Kel put his arm around Farrell. “The little girl told us her mother and baby brother disappeared one night. They didn’t die in childbirth as Arnolt said. She told us other young girls disappeared. She feared getting old because she feared disappearing herself. It does not take the God of Wisdom to piece together what occurred.”
Farrell shook with rage, and his heart pounded against his sternum. He tried to calm himself, but when he closed his eyes, he saw faces he didn’t recognize. Shrugging off his grandfather’s arm, he spun around to find the belcin.
A scream he didn’t know he was capable of ripped from his throat. Those around him covered their ears and moved away. Yelling the entire way, Farrell ran at the petrified man. When the belcin was almost in reach, Jolella and Lingum stepped in front of the man and each extended an arm toward Farrell.
Blind to their presence, Farrell didn’t slow down. He stretched to grab the wide-eyed, shaking man and slammed to a halt just before the hands of the high priestess and priest.
Stunned, he reached for his staff to shatter whatever had stopped him. His hand faltered, and he let it drop. Superimposed over Jolella and Lingum were the Twins, Seritia and Falcron.
“Do not do this, Chosen,” They said in unison.
For an instant his mind refused to believe what his eyes saw.
Seritia smiled at him. “Do not let his evil destroy your heart, Chosen. It is not who you are.”
Farrell’s rage drained away, and he sank to his knees. A tear crept down his cheek, followed by several more. Seritia used Her thumbs to wipe them away.
“I grieve with you for the pain he has caused. Let go of your anger, or you risk losing the capacity to care. Trust that My Brother, Falcron, will punish this man as he deserves.”
The haunting images disappeared, and his rage cooled. Farrell nodded and opened his eyes. Jolella stood in front of him, with Father Lingum a step behind.
“What just happened?” he asked.
“We were told to stop you,” Lingum said.
Farrell looked at Jolella and realized how close he had come to harming someone he deeply cared about. “I almost killed you. Both of you.”
“No, child, you did not.” Lingum shook his head. “Even you didn’t have the strength to harm us.”
; Taking a moment to absorb the words, Farrell stood up. “You’re right, I did not.”
The space around them had filled with soldiers. Most appeared too scared to look at him. Jolella took his hand and rubbed it. He smiled at her. “Thank you.”
“You are welcome, Farrell.” She leaned over and kissed his cheek.
Spotting the belcin being held by the Ze’arderian guards, he waved them closer. “Bring him here.”
The guards looked to Jolella, and she held up a finger. Farrell opened himself to her to let her see he would not violate Seritia’s will. After a moment, she said to the guards, “Do as the Chosen has asked.”
They half dragged the frightened man forward. The belcin and Farrell stared at each other for a long moment until the belcin blinked.
“Tell me.” Farrell kept his tone even. “Do you know what Meglar’s agents did with the women and small children you gave them?”
The belcin refused to look at Farrell and didn’t answer.
“From your silence, I presume you do.” Farrell scanned the crowd before addressing the man. “Since you won’t tell your people what happened, I will.”
The crowd moved closer. Farrell spoke in a loud, clear voice. “The belcin, your ruler, made a deal to sell your friends and neighbors to Meglar. Your lives mean nothing more to him than a means to line his pockets with gold. Meglar is the dark wizard who serves Neldin. It was Neldin’s priestess who transformed these people into the creatures you see there.”
He pointed toward the dead Chamdon and let the ripple of anger roil through the crowd. “Meglar paid extra for women and young girls new to womanhood. Those poor souls were sent to Zargon and sentenced to a lifetime of pain and torture. Meglar will use them to give birth to child after child until they die. He will allow his soldiers to rape any female not with child.
“As for the small children the belcin sold him, they, along with the babies born in Zargon, will be turned into the creatures you see dead on the square.”
He watched his words ignite a fire of hatred in the crowd. The population had been willing to disregard the belcin’s incompetence, and they might have overlooked that he allowed Meglar’s wizard to trick the people into attacking the temple. But selling his people—babies, children, and young women—into a fate worse than manning an oar on a ship, they couldn’t and wouldn’t ignore.
Champion of the Gods Box Set Page 142