The Eye and the Arm Read online

  “I don’t understand.” Did his adoptive father want him to ignore Kel’s book?

  “After we warned him that Neldin would one day return, Kel set out to find ways to thwart Neldin’s plans. He created the Source to give his descendants near-limitless power to use in the future conflict. Now that weapon has been turned against you and the Six.”

  “Are you blaming Kel for Meglar’s rise to power?” The idea that Rothdin would accuse Kel of siding with Neldin seemed absurd.

  “No. Blaming him for Meglar’s actions would be akin to blaming the smith for the deaths his sword caused. The point I seek to impart is that Kel made a mistake thinking he could thwart Neldin on his own. When you read his book, remember that even the best ideas can end badly.”

  “If I can’t trust what Kel wrote, what should I do? Not read it?”

  “You can trust Kel meant only to help you when he wrote those pages,” Nerti said. “Just don’t blindly follow his words.”

  “Sound advice.” Speaking aloud, Erstad’s voice seemed harsh and strident by comparison. “That book was written thousands of years ago. Much has changed since then. Even if Meglar hadn’t stolen Yar-del’s source, it would be prudent to heed your father’s warning.”

  Farrell turned toward Miceral, hoping to find some guidance. The small nod reassured him more than anyone’s words. “Agreed.”

  “That easy?” Wesfazial looked as shocked as he sounded. “No argument? No railing that we’re trying to needlessly hold you back?”

  Farrell opened his mouth to answer, but Cylinda’s snicker cut him off. When he shot her a half-real, half-feigned glare, the other wizards started to laugh in earnest.

  Catching Miceral’s eye, Farrell gave him the barest of nods. “Next time I suggest we invite Master Wesfazial and the other grumpy old wizards to our rooms, remind me they are such bad company.”

  Amid the protests from his mentors, he unwrapped Kel’s book. When the last fold of the velvet fell away, the room went quiet again.

  A smirk crossed his lips. “I see that got your attention and bought your silence.”

  Wesfazial looked about to speak and then shut his mouth. Giving the older man a quick wink, Farrell stared at the book to avoid laughing at the grumble he got in return.

  “Perhaps you should open the book,” Glendora said. “Otherwise, this back and forth will keep us here all night. I would suggest, however, that any actions you undertake based on what you read should be vetted first by this group.

  Heads nodded around the room in support of Glendora’s words—all but Farrell’s.

  “I’ll try whenever it’s practical, but I can’t promise I’ll bring everything to you before I act.”

  Erstad shrugged. “It’s a start.”

  Ignoring the snide looks he knew the others gave him, Farrell lifted the leather cover. Shorn of its velvet wrapping, the book looked unremarkable. Its plain but well-oiled cover held no fancy markings or lettering. Despite the centuries, the parchment appeared supple and new. Folding the cover to the left, Farrell found a letter from Kel.

  “This appears to be a letter of welcome.”

  Seated to his right, Miceral leaned over to peer at the page. “All I see is a blank sheet of paper.”

  “You don’t see the flowing script?”

  “No, not a single line of ink anywhere on the page.”

  Holding the book out for the others to see, Farrell watched as everyone shook their heads.

  “Clearly Kel’s words are meant for you alone,” Glendora said.

  For an instant he considered reopening the debate about sharing the information with his fellow wizards. But their arguments were as sound now as when he thought they could read the book themselves, Kel’s wishes notwithstanding.

  He spun the book around, scanned the page for content, and then began to read out loud.

  “Greeting, my distant grandchild, however many times removed. I hope this finds you in good health, though if you are reading this, Neldin must be threatening Nendor once more. This book is written at the behest of Honorus. He and Lenore sent my old friend Rothdin and an imperious unicorn named Nerti to inform me of my new task. Despite her condescending nature, I strove to do as my god instructed.

  “If you haven’t figured this out already, only a descendant of mine can see these words. Since it was foretold my descendant would free the dwarves, only a child of my house could qualify to receive this book. The information is for your eyes alone. What you choose to share with others is left to your discretion. However, be warned. Should you try to break the enchantment barring other eyes, the entire book will be destroyed. Some words are meant for you alone. They should not be shared, for reasons that will be made clear in this tome.

  “Contained in these pages are an accounting of what happened at Trellham, some high magic I’ve not recorded elsewhere, and some suggestions on how to free the dwarves. It has taken me nearly five hundred years to complete this book, but as things happened, I kept adding pages. In addition to this book, I’ve collected and secreted numerous magical artifacts of great power. There are clues within this tome to where they are located. To find and use these items will require you be a wizard of high power. I hope my pride has not created false expectations for my future sons and daughters. But since only a powerful master wizard will be able to free the dwarves, I feel it is safe to assume you are a wizard of great power.

  “I’m sorry we ‘meet’ under such dire conditions, but there is no help for that. We serve the Six and are subject to their whims. May the Six bless and watch over you.

  Fondly,

  Kel”

  Staring at the book again, Farrell suddenly felt possessive of what it contained. Kel hadn’t meant for him to read it to the others, at least not until he’d had a chance to determine what he should keep to himself. Even without looking up, he felt the stares of the other wizards in the room. Like him, they wanted to know what Kel left behind in the book.

  “I think I’ll wait to read the rest of Kel’s words. Clearly he didn’t mean for me to share everything in the book.”

  The expected protests came immediately. As he knew they would, his mentors counseled him not read the book alone.

  After listening to their arguments, he held up his hand. “I’ve heard your advice, but for now, I’ll keep to my decision. I promise not to act on anything I read without consulting you, but I want to read the book first to see what I should share.”

  “Who decides what should be kept from us?” Wesfazial’s question lacked his usual annoyance. “You must see that there could be things you think are not meant to be shared that we might see otherwise.”

  “Your requests are noted.” Rothdin stirred from his cushion. “But Nerti and I agree that my son’s decision is the correct one, at least for now. He has given his word not to act without seeking your guidance. That ought to be enough.”

  “And even if you disagree”—Nerti’s tone lacked the gentleness of Rothdin—“it will not change our support for Farrell’s decision.”

  The wizards looked set to argue, but Rothdin, Nerti, and Klissmor did not back down. If anything, the position of Rothdin’s feathers told Farrell he was angry. He welcomed their support but wondered why they gave it.

  “I realize in the past I have kept things from you, believing only a grand master wizard could understand what I was doing, but you have my word I won’t do that this time. After I have had a chance to read Kel’s book, I will share as much of it as I can with you.”

  Farrell made eye contact with each of the other wizards. When no one raised any more objections, he set the book on the on the cushion next to him. “Since Kel’s book won’t be of any immediate help, how do I bring the dwarves back from the edge of nowhere?”

  “You don’t know that,” Glendora said. “Khron would not have you attempt something this important without believing you could succeed.”

  “I wish I shared your optimism.” He didn’t completely disagree with the priestess
. He just didn’t know where he’d find the time to learn what he needed in order to carry out Khron’s wishes.

  Chapter 5

  FARRELL JERKED suddenly, splashing water in the process. He opened his eyes, certain he’d heard someone call him.

  “Farrell?” This time he recognized Miceral’s voice.

  “I’m just finishing taking a bath.”

  “More like sleeping in the tub from where I stand.”

  He twisted his body and saw Miceral smirking at him from the doorway. “How long have you been standing there?”

  “Long enough to tell you fell asleep.” Miceral retrieved the towel and held it out. “Rough day?”

  Standing, Farrell felt his partner’s gaze on him. A year together and he still felt scrawny and unattractive. Not that Miceral ever said or did anything to suggest he felt that way. “Yes.”

  Rubbing the soft cloth through his hair first, Farrell dried off and wrapped the towel around his waist. Leaning against the wall, Miceral continue to watch him, wearing the same silly smile.

  “Why’d you cover up so fast? I was enjoying the view.”

  “Sure you were. Scrawny, pale, and scarred—haven’t we been through this before?—is not a view worth staring at.” Farrell tried to inject as much humor as he could into his words. “Be honest, when it’s dark and we’re together, don’t you imagine something better? I mean something bigger, stronger, more like you?”

  “Never.” He leaned closer, kissing the side of Farrell’s neck. “I always see you, and you know what that does to me.”

  The kiss and Miceral’s words sent a wave of energy coursing through his body that focused on one area. Why did he even have these thoughts anymore? “If I didn’t know how much you loved me, I’d accuse you of lying.”

  “Good.” He kissed Farrell again.

  Before the tingle faded, Farrell felt a hand at his waist a moment before the towel was ripped away. “Hey!”

  “Just getting a last look before we eat.” Miceral tossed the towel back and made for the door. “Get dressed. I had dinner sent up.”

  “Dinner?” When did Miceral start ordering food?

  Poking his head back into the room, Miceral said, “Yes, dinner. You know, that meal we eat at the end of the day.”

  Miceral disappeared and Farrell shook his head. Tying the towel around his waist, he cast a quick spell to keep it there. Using his fingers as a comb, he smoothed his unruly mane as best he could and left the chamber.

  Free of the scent of soap, his nostrils detected a rich, slightly spicy aroma coming from the other room. When he started to salivate, he swallowed and quick-stepped it out of the bath chamber.

  A deep bowl, sealed with mashed potatoes on top, rested in the center of the small table. He could smell the roast lamb he knew lay hidden inside. Plates, utensils, napkins, and cups surrounded the tan ceramic dish, as if waiting for his arrival. Scanning the room for Miceral, Farrell was just about to call out when his partner emerged from Farrell’s closet. He held up a tunic and britches for Farrell’s approval.

  Farrell nodded and held out his hand for the tunic. “How in Nendor did you arrange all this without me knowing? And why?”

  After yanking the shirt over his head, Farrell peeled off his towel and held it out. It disappeared with a small flash when he let it drop.

  “It wasn’t meant to be a surprise, at least, not all set out like this. But you were asleep when I got home, so I had the staff fix the table.” Miceral pulled a chair back once Farrell finished putting on his pants. “As for why? Today marks one full year of knowing the most handsome, wonderful, amazing—and dare I forget—mightiest wizard in all the world.”

  Farrell rolled his eyes but kept smiling. “Right, that’s why we’re celebrating tomorrow, remember?”

  Scooping the bowl from the table, Miceral spooned a large portion of food onto Farrell’s plate. “Correct, but since we have plans for the day, I couldn’t do anything special for you tomorrow. I decided to celebrate the end of our first year together today and the beginning of our new one tomorrow.”

  Miceral broke a hunk of bread from the loaf and held it across the table. “I know how much you like farmer’s pie, so I asked the cooks to make this for us.”

  His grin threatened to make it impossible for Farrell to eat. “This is really sweet of you. Amazingly wonderful, in fact.”

  “Dig in. Don’t let it get cold.”

  Farrell speared a piece of lamb and a green bean before using them to scoop up some potatoes. One bite and he knew Miceral had done more than just ask the kitchen for food. “Who made this? It’s incredible.”

  “Noticed the difference, did you?” Winking, Miceral took a bite. “One of the cooks from Northhelm used to make this for me as a kid. I asked her to do it for me tonight as a favor.”

  Rather than answer, Farrell shoveled more food into his mouth. The last time he remembered anyone making farmer’s pie this good, his mother ruled Yar-del and they’d had dinner in the palace together. The twinge of loss stayed with him, but Miceral’s presence dulled the pain a bit.

  “So tell me.” Miceral’s voice cut his morose daydream short. “Why the bad day?”

  “Do you want to kill the night’s festivities already?” Farrell laughed, but he knew telling Miceral wouldn’t ruin his mood. “Let’s just say Endor may need a new monarch. Jursten is a dead man—and he knows it.”

  “What’d he do?”

  “Not what he did, but what he didn’t do.” He took another bite and washed it down with half his water. “My biweekly attendance at the morning complaint session was this morning.”

  Miceral nodded. “I know. I helped you get dressed.”

  “And I’m sure I looked splendid with my face so red it nearly burst.” He chuckled, remembering Horgon had looked almost the same. “Normally the sessions are boring, painful, or annoying, but today topped all three. A merchant from Respital complained that merchants from Endor were stealing business from their market and demanded reparations.”

  “Stealing?”

  With the fork in his mouth, Farrell tried to speak, then stopped to swallow. “Exactly. As if being at war with Meglar wasn’t dire enough, they’re worried about merchant wars.”

  “Farrell, trade is their livelihood. It is that important to them.”

  “Agreed.” He drained his cup and then refilled it. “But their complaint was that the existence of Endor’s market hurt their business.”

  Miceral chewed his bread and shook his head.

  “To make matters worse, Respital’s fat, lazy, worthless pile of pig turds of a king, Covis, agreed with his subjects and demanded Jursten repay his merchants.”

  “How is that Jursten’s fault?”

  “He should have declared war on Respital and cut off Covis’s fat head. Instead, he agreed with his merchants, declared impasse, and sent the matter to me to decide.”

  “That’s what he’s supposed to do, isn’t he?”

  “Yes, but he’s also required to attend. Then again, his absence was meant as a sign of how utterly stupid he found the whole affair.”

  “Sounds like you agreed with Jursten.”

  “Of course I did.” He felt anger rising inside him as he recalled the morning’s events. Taking a deep breath, he held it until some of his ire faded. “His failure to appear gave Covis the opening to argue that Endor conceded the claim because Jursten didn’t come to argue in their defense. When the idiot made that statement, I lost my temper. I mean, really lost it. I told him if he ever set foot in my council chamber again, I’d find the nearest clutch of Chamdon and deposit him in the middle with the command to rip him to pieces.”

  “Wow, bet that went over well.”

  “The crowd cheered my decision, until Horgon silenced them with a stare. Then your father lit into that fat dung heap. I thought Covis was going to cry. To cool me off, your father sent me to weapons.”

  “How’d that go?”

  “Worse.” Farrell tried
not to laugh. He’d have to make things up to Master Baylec later.

  “Worse? How?”

  “I guess I was still distracted. After one too many stinging blows, I created an invisible, body-hugging shield around myself. For a while, Baylec didn’t catch on, but when he did, he became irate. He lectured me for a time, then called Master Thomas over to help yell at me. Being in the wonderful mood I was in, I told them both off.”

  “Wow.”

  “Yeah, wow. I mean, I understand the concept of training, but I don’t see any point in letting him hurt me.”

  Miceral shook his head. “The pain is supposed to motivate you to work harder to avoid future hits.”

  His mouth full, Farrell had to chew before he could answer. “I think I understand the purpose of training, but it was clear I wasn’t in the right frame of mind for the pain to make a difference.”

  “Maybe you should have called off the session.”

  “That’s what Baylec said. Now that I’ve cooled off, I somewhat agree, but at the time I was mad. I told him that as weapons master it was his responsibility to assess if I was well enough to train. That means mentally and physically. And that he should never again try to beat me into condition.”

  “What did he say to that?”

  “At first he and Thomas seethed, so I added that not only am I the prince of Haven, I’m also the one who has to fight Meglar. Hurting or maiming me is detrimental to both responsibilities.”

  “Also a good point.”

  “They seemed to think so too, and then we all calmed down. Baylec apologized, I did too, and then he and Thomas told me to leave their practice field until I was feeling better.”

  “Told you, did they?”

  “That part hasn’t changed and I don’t want it to. If I’m going to require they make an assessment of my fitness, I need to listen to them.”

  “Why do I get the sense that isn’t it?”