Champion of the Gods Box Set

by Andrew Q. Gordon

  “See you both tomorrow,” he said as he disappeared.

  Farrell shook his head as he shut the Door. “Tomorrow will be a cartful of fun.”

  Farrell and Miceral arrived at Khron’s temple before eighth hour. It had taken three wake-up spells, a truncated bath, and eating breakfast as they marched through Trellham, but Farrell made it happen.

  “Five minutes early.” Aswick grinned when they arrived. “I’m impressed, Your Majesties.”

  Followed by double the usual guards—something Jagwin insisted upon for travel through Trellham—they followed Aswick into the temple. When Jagwin and the other guards learned of their role in the ceremony, their moods soured.

  “Not nearly as much fun watching the holy father boss us around when you’re subjected to the same treatment, is it?” Farrell felt a twinge of guilt that he took a small amount of pleasure watching the guard put through their paces.

  “I have and will endure great suffering to protect Your Majesties, but this is beyond what any dwarf ought to suffer.”

  Jagwin’s voice carried, and Aswick shot him a harsh look. When the elderly priest stepped away, Miceral pulled Jagwin and Farrell aside.

  “Though I know sarcasm helps ease the pain, Aswick endured near three hundred years of solitude standing a lonely watch against the day Trellham would be reborn. He’s entitled to enjoy this occasion and we all owe it to him to cooperate so we don’t detract from his happiness.”

  Farrell nodded his agreement.

  “You shame me, Your Majesty,” Jagwin said sincerely. “The good father is owed this and more. I will do my utmost to make certain my dwarves remember that and try to be more cheerful.”

  When Jagwin left to speak to the other dwarves, Farrell leaned over and kissed Miceral. “You shame me as well, love.”

  “While you were away, I had time to reflect on our attitude toward Father Aswick’s demands,” Miceral said. “To him this is the fulfillment of his life’s work. Everything he forfeited on behalf of Trellham will be of no consequence when he places the crowns on our heads before the citizens of Trellham. We need to be sure we appreciate that when he asks us to help with the ceremony.”

  “Agreed.” Farrell did agree, but it wasn’t as simple as giving Aswick everything he asked for. “But we need to try to explain again what other demands we face.”

  “There’s no need for that,” Aswick said from behind. “I’ve been advised my over-the-top plans distract you from the task of defeating Meglar. Though I’ve wanted this for centuries, it pales in comparison to the war with Neldin.”

  “Who told you that?” Miceral asked.

  “Nerti was polite and respectful but also quite firm.” Aswick gave them a rueful grin. “She’s also right. No ceremony is worth losing to Neldin.”

  “I think we can manage both,” Farrell said.

  “I agree. So let’s finish with the preparation so you can meet with the council.” Aswick winked at them. “They’re waiting for you in the throne room.”

  Miceral and Farrell exchanged defeated looks. Aswick laughed and clapped them both on the back.

  “Nerti’s admonishments did not extend to your duties as kings.”

  The rehearsal ended soon thereafter, and they prepared to “march through the city” to the palace. Jagwin and his dwarves surrounded the pair as they walked out of Khron’s temple.

  Aswick cleared the temple. He sent the priests to “watch a sight not seen in Trellham in three thousand years.” Farrell told Aswick to go join them and delayed the march to give him time to find a good spot.

  The temples were perched high above the city, and the citizens accessed them using the long staircases on either side of the ledge. The kings had a private staircase behind Honorus’s temple. Jagwin led them there when they exited the front doors.

  “We will arrive not far from the palace,” Jagwin said on the way.

  Before they set off, Jagwin called out a note the other dwarves picked up. A moment later the company broke into song. The song announced the arrival of the kings. Miceral and Farrell marched in the center, as Drendar and Thrinton had when they arrived in Agloth.

  Midway down the steps, Farrell sang along.

  “Majesty!” Jagwin turned around, looking mortified. “A king does not announce his own arrival.”

  Farrell stopped singing immediately. “Sorry.”

  “More to the point, you sing like a human.” Jagwin raised an eyebrow. “You’re disrupting the dwarves.”

  Miceral snorted as Farrell shot his captain a nasty look.

  “Remember, Captain, I can put a colony of fire ants between your armor and flesh if you make me angry enough.”

  At the bottom of the stairs, dwarves lined Trellham’s main avenue. Following Tixel’s defeat, Farrell now felt accepted. A roar went up from the crowd as he and Miceral stepped onto the road.

  Soon a second song rose, forcing his guards to sing louder. The two songs complemented each other, and the harmonized sound filled the cavern.

  “Theirs is a song of welcome,” Jagwin informed the kings. “It’s their way of showing their approval that you walk among them.”

  Hand in hand, surrounded by a hundred armed and singing dwarves, Miceral and Farrell accepted the accolades of their subjects. Other than an occasional child’s shout, every dwarf along the route maintained the song, matching the guards note for note.

  A few hundred paces from the ledge, a huge section of the road tilted downward. Three hundred feet long, the stone avenue turned into a ramp that descended below the central square of Trellham.

  “You didn’t mention the palace was belowground,” Farrell said to Jagwin.

  “Your Majesty, all of Trellham is belowground,” Jagwin said with a smirk.

  “What else did you expect?” Miceral asked.

  “Something like we saw at Colograd.” He should have expected the palace would be hidden.

  The ramp ended before two enormous doors. The amount of detail carved on each must have taken a hundred dwarves a year to complete just one. The doors opened outward as they approached, and the guards didn’t miss a step.

  Unlike a human city, or even Colograd, Trellham’s palace was oriented top down. They entered at the top of the castle and worked their way lower into the bowels of the mountain. There were no towers, outer walls, or breezeways.

  Farrell and Miceral had studied Trellham’s governance since Farrell freed the survivors. There wasn’t a class of land-owning nobles who jockeyed for power and position. Instead, the “nobility” came from the wealthy merchants’ families. However, even here, the wealthy didn’t wield the same power as human nobility.

  Trellham’s council had limited power. It was an advisory board that made recommendations backed by the power of many leading voices. In addition to the wealthy, the heads of the workers’ guilds had places on the council. The military and the temples also had seats.

  There was no “afternoon complaint session” he and Miceral had to preside over. Complaints were brought to the council, which handled most of the disputes. Those cases the council didn’t feel comfortable deciding, they passed along to the kings. The decisions weren’t binding, but appealing to the crown often brought a worse result. It was rare someone sought the king’s intervention.

  The walk to the throne room took them on a tour of the palace. The seneschal joined them at the entrance and used the walk to note various points of interest. Farrell lost track of the landmarks after the first few minutes. Since he didn’t expect to be able to walk around the palace without guards, he didn’t pay close attention.

  Sitting on their newly crafted thrones, Miceral and Farrell heard three petitions. The first two were simple matters with clear answers. Both appeared fabricated, designed to give the kings a chance to make good decisions. The last matter seemed impossible for them to answer.

  The last petition came from the Miners Guild. They sought the kings’ opinion on where best to search for new veins of ore and precious stone
s. The fact no king could possibly know the answer made it a ridiculous petition. Farrell wondered if someone snuck this in so they would look foolish.

  Farrell spied Father Aswick lurking in the shadows to their left. His pleased expression told Farrell this had been his idea.

  “Aswick picked this request,” he said to Miceral.

  “Why would he do that?”

  “My guess is so we can show our wisdom on something that matters.”

  “Just how are we going to do that? We don’t know where the working mines are and less about the signs of promising areas.” Miceral’s frustration didn’t show outwardly.

  “Let me deal with this, love. I have an Eye for these issues.” Farrell winked at his partner, receiving a smile in return.

  Reaching into his pocket, Farrell removed the Eye from the bag without bringing it out. Clutching the cool stone in his right hand, he asked the Eye for information.

  While Farrell sought an answer, Miceral talked about the importance of assisting the guilds and how he and Farrell wanted the best for Trellham and its dwarves.

  “I have their answer,” Farrell said.

  Without missing a word, Miceral segued from stalling to letting them know they had an answer.

  “My good dwarves of the Miners Guild,” Farrell said, “here are the best sites to strike your next shafts.”

  Aided by magic, Farrell created a vivid map of the city and its surrounding mountains. Overlaid on the map were flashes of light—gray for iron ore, yellow for gold, red for rubies, and other colors to denote different stones and ores. The four elderly dwarves stood slack-jawed at the detailed answer they received.

  “Masters.” Farrell jarred their attention back to him. “Is no one going to record these sites? Didn’t you come seeking our aid? You need to document these locations or else risk losing them.”

  First one dwarf, then the others, nodded, their focus still on the map before them.

  Miceral motioned toward a clerk. “Can you assist the masters by recording this map?”

  “At once, Your Majesty.” The nearest dwarf darted off and returned with paper and ink.

  The room buzzed with chatter about what transpired even as the guards began to clear the chamber.

  “They did not expect an immediate answer,” Jagwin said. “They expected you to take their request under advisement before sending them an answer.”

  “My way was quicker,” Farrell quipped, rising from the throne.

  “I hope it was accurate.” Jagwin smiled. “If it is, they’ll speak of this for centuries.”

  Pulling the blue stone out, Farrell said, “It was correct, though I had a bit of help.”

  Jagwin followed Farrell’s gaze to where Father Aswick stood. The priest smiled, nodding his approval. Jagwin’s eyes grew wide and he turned back to Farrell. “That tricky priest. I underestimated him. I’ll not do that again.”

  “Wise decision,” Farrell said.

  Lunch ended up much shorter than Farrell expected. The room still buzzed with the earlier events. Several dwarves tried to approach the head table. Farrell heard them say something about asking the kings’ advice. Farrell learned the meaning of impossible when he saw the seneschal stop everyone.

  The only disagreement came when Miceral and Farrell insisted the guards eat. Jagwin was difficult to convince. Finally Farrell cleared a space beside him and called for a new place setting. He told his captain to sit beside him or he’d fly everywhere for the next month. Jagwin tried his best to remove himself from the head table, but Farrell told him the offer to eat elsewhere ended with the first refusal.

  Father Aswick pulled them aside after the room emptied. “I have given thought to your request. In preparation for your coronation, it would be a good idea to visit each of the temples. We can work in one visit per day. And I think it prudent to use the southern staircase each day.”

  “Which one is that?” Miceral asked.

  “The one closest to Seritia’s temple.” Aswick raised an eyebrow, appearing pleased with his suggestion. “Given the state of Her temple, that one gets the least amount of use.”

  “An excellent suggestion.” Farrell held back a smile. “Would it be rude to check each day to see if they need my help?”

  “No, Your Majesty. In fact, Mother Yelsma said she would welcome your help,” Aswick said, smiling widely. “We can begin tomorrow with a visit to Father Odis at Honorus’s temple, at eighth hour, of course.”

  “Of course.” Farrell shook his head.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Father Aswick released them shortly after lunch. He informed everyone that the coronation would be in ten days. Although farther out than he wanted, he’d added a few days to allow Farrell time to look for his answers.

  They used the south staircase to return to Khron’s temple. Farrell scanned the ruins but found nothing. Rather than linger, he decided he’d consult with Jolella to see if the library at Agloth held any clues.

  Miceral asked that their visits to the temples not turn into official visits. Father Odis ignored the request and held a formal temple service in a packed chapel. That set a precedent and turned their short visits into time-consuming events. For once Farrell was glad to start something at eighth hour. If they had set them any later, he’d have lost his whole morning.

  Day three brought them to Arritisa’s temple. Following the sermons and blessings, High Priestess Fridoa escorted them to her private study. Their hostess was of average height for a dwarf, with her gray hair pulled back in a ponytail. Her pale green robe had so many shells and precious stones sewn into the fabric, Farrell expected it to shred whenever she moved.

  “I understand you’ve met Mother Burcia,” Fridoa said, snapping Farrell from his thoughts.

  It took a moment to realize she knew about Rastoria. It made sense, of course. Burcia was the first prelate. The others needed to know of her to take direction from her.

  “Does every priestess know of Rastoria and its people?” Farrell asked.

  “Only the high priestess of every temple.” She smiled. “The Blessed Mother explains that her first priestess lives below the waves.”

  “I’m sure that comes as a shock,” Miceral said.

  “Not at all, Your Majesty.”

  “Please, call me Miceral,” he said.

  “As you wish.” She nodded to them. “I’m glad you decided to visit the temples. If you hadn’t, I’d have had to seek you out. Mother Burcia gave me something for you.”

  “She came to Trellham?” Farrell asked.

  “There are no means for me to visit her.” She winked at him with vivid green eyes. Farrell had not seen a dwarf with eyes that color. “Although I’m told you can move freely in both realms.”

  Farrell nodded. Arritisa’s kiss flashed into his mind. “It was something of a shock.”

  Fridoa chuckled. “Burcia said much the same.”

  “Did she mention the circumstance surrounding why Arritisa kissed me?”

  “She did. You were seeking Arritisa’s Gift, and She denied you for the time.”

  “She told me I couldn’t have it until I know why I need it.” He laughed ruefully. “It’s hard to know why I need it when I don’t know what it does.”

  “The ways of the Six can be a mystery.” She eyed him carefully. “Your visit here has something to do with that question.”

  “In a way, yes.”

  “I’m not sure how I can help you. My people and I have been absent from this world for more than three thousand years.”

  Farrell shook his head. “No, I didn’t come here expecting you to have the answer I need.”

  “Yet still you came.”

  He wanted to remind her Father Aswick arranged these meetings, but that wouldn’t matter. “How much do you know about me?”

  Fridoa’s laugh wasn’t what he expected. “That’s impossible to answer. It requires I know what there is to know and how much I don’t know.”

  “I have six of the seven Gi
fts.” He kept his gaze on her.

  She stared back and didn’t answer.

  “She’s deliberate,” Miceral said.

  “She is.” Despite that, Farrell liked her.

  “Your comment begs an important question,” she said finally.

  “Kel acquired the Hand of Neldin at Seritia’s request,” Farrell said. “By means I don’t understand, Seritia used the Heart to hide the Hand from Neldin’s servants.”

  She continued to study him. “With the Blood, you will have done what no being ever has.”

  “Few have ever possessed one, let alone more. I’m also a son of the House of Vedri, from whose line Neldin selects His Champion.”

  Her only reaction was to raise an eyebrow fractionally. “You are either our savior, as was your ancestor Kel, or one who will plunge us all into Neblor.”

  “So I’ve come to learn. Does that scare you?”

  “The hand of my Lady is strong on your soul,” she said. “Whomever She blesses, I do not fear.”

  Of all the high priests and priestesses he’d met, Fridoa unnerved him the most. Her gaze felt like it peered into his soul. “As you say.”

  “You do not believe the Six have chosen wisely.”

  Swallowing, he didn’t break eye contact. He wanted her to find the blackness in his core; to warn the others they couldn’t trust him. “I am a son of both houses. Neldin, like the Six, is free to solicit my services.”

  “He has come to you.”

  “In Bowient.”

  She shook her head. “I do not see Neldin’s hand on your soul. Only the Six.”

  “I refused Him.”

  “Still, you fear He will try again and again until you accept.” She spoke as if they discussed what they’d had for dinner, not the fate of the world.

  “He said as much.” He felt something. Not a link or an attempt to break his defense, but a probe.

  Farrell resisted the urge to lock Fridoa out. Instead he kept his feelings open, baring his soul for her to see. He didn’t know how long they stayed that way. When she blinked, he did as well and it ended. Able to focus again, he was surprised to see Fridoa smiling warmly at him.