Having decided to complete his quest without the aid of the fearsome Athir, Konrad spent three days walking the city streets visiting every single house of healing and apothecary he could find. None of them had heard of the temple of Lyran and most of them advised him to go to the temple district and find the Temple of Small Gods.

On the fourth day he was woken by his stomach growling. He checked his purse and finding only four dented copper pieces decided that despite his determination to complete the quest without calling on Lyran, he needed help.

“I think it’s time to go to the temple of the small gods, perhaps Lyran will be able to speak to me there.”

Spirit jumped down from the hay loft and spun in a few circles wagging her tail and Konrad chuckled.

“I know, I’m excited to see her again too.”

They followed the sound of the bells ringing out across the city calling the people to worship and when he joined the long lines of devotees Konrad saw that most of them were all heading to the towering temple of the Mother.

Before he was made a champion Konrad prayed often to the Mother, laying awake at night and fervently begging her to fix his leg and help him to walk. But now he passed by her open doors with his eyes cast to the ground. The small gods had warned him that the Mother might not approve of him being their champion and she was the last deity he wanted to upset, apart from the Father obviously.

The Wind Ward housed the temples of most of the prominent gods on Parthenea, and they got smaller and less decorative as he walked until finally he arrived at the last one, a square windowless building with a domed roof. He couldn’t read the markings above the door, but a dozen protected niches held small statues of small god like figures.

“This must be the place.”

The domed roof had a round hole in its centre that let in a ray of light and an altar sat at the far end with a crude marble font in front of it. A dozen simple wooden chairs were arranged in a circle and half of them were occupied.

“It appears we have a new face. Come and sit down young man, we’re just about to start, plenty of room. I’m Father Edwin.”

“Im Konrad, and this is —.” He looked around but Spirit had disappeared into the dark shadows of the temple.

“Just Konrad,” he corrected.

The wizened old priest shuffled out from behind the altar. He wore a dark woollen cassock tied in the middle with a length of rope and his bald head was ringed with wispy white hair. He tried to pull out a chair for Konrad and his skinny arms trembled with the effort.

“I can get that,” Konrad said, darting forwards.

He sat down and the smiling wrinkled faces of the congregation slowly turned to look at him. They must have had a combined aged of around seven hundred.

“It’s nice to see a new face, I’m Edna,” said the old woman next to him.

She wore a round knitted cap of white wool and glasses that were so thick her eyes were magnified to several times their regular size. “Which of the small gods are you here for dear?”

“I’m just here to ask some questions really,” Konrad stammered.

“Whut?”

“He said he’s here to ask questions Ronald,” Edna said, raising her voice.

Ronald produced a long metal cone from under his blanked and screwed it into his ear.

“Whatshesay?”

“Questions Ron.”

“Nope, no questions thank you.”

“He’s a little deaf,” Edna said with an apologetic smile. “What did you want to ask dear?”

“I’m looking for a temple, it used to be called the temple of Lyran.”

Edna’s brow furrowed. “The Lyran’s an old type of tree isn’t it? What sort of tree needs a temple?”

“Whassats’he sayin?”

“He’s looking for a Lyran tree Ron.”

“No Lyran is a small god. She used to have a temple here in Tajan,” Konrad interjected.

“Sorry can’t help you there, you can see the gods we have here in the temple and we’re the smallest one in the district. We’re all they have,” Edna said, gazing around at the various statues in the niches. Konrad didn’t recognise any of them.

Father Edwin cleared his throat. The process took several minutes and at one point he stopped breathing entirely for so long that Konrad become genuinely concerned he wouldn’t start up again.

“The small gods welcome you to their sanctuary,” he began. “Under the watchful eye of the Mother and the Father of course.”

The priest paused again and Konrad heard the deliberate step of booted feet on the flagstones behind him.

“Ah, we have another guest.”

Athir stepped into the circle of chairs and sat down opposite Konrad, crossing her arms and legs and glaring at him. She was wearing black clothing from head to toe, with black leather armour on her chest and back. She also appeared to be dead sober.

“And what’s your name dear?” Father Edwin asked.

“Mary,” Athir replied, her eyes never leaving Konrads as she unhooked her long sword and laid it across her knees.

“Whut?”

“She said her name was Mary, Ron,” Edna shouted.

"Don't look like a Mary," Ron mumbled.

“Now where was I?” said the old priest, slowly opening a dusty book.

“Father Edwin is a little dull, but the tea and coffee making facilities are very good here,” Edna whispered.

After ten minutes five of the parishioners had fallen soundly asleep and Edna had produced a pair of lethal looking knitting needles and was making what looked suspiciously like a new hat.

An hour later Father Edwin closed the book, signalling the end his sermon.

“Time for a biscuit I think,” he said.

One by one the ancient congregation, except for the slumbering Ronald, shuffled into a small side room. Konrad heard the sound of spoons tinkling in tea cups but when he made to stand Athir drew the first inch of her blade and the sharp noise was enough to make him sit back down.

A cold silence radiated from her and filled the temple, the kind of silence you get after a blade cuts off a head.

“Please don’t hurt them,” Konrad said.

“What? I’m not going to hurt them, they’re a hundred years old.”

“Oh,” Konrad said, twiddling his thumbs and looking around the temple trying to avoid her gaze.

“You can tell your dog to come out.”

Konrad whistled and Spirit slinked out of the shadows and approached Athir, sniffing her cautiously and growling a little before settling down on the floor next to Konrad.

The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

“Who’s your god, champion?” Athir asked.

Konrad hesitated, but Lyran had told him to trust Athir. She’d said that he'd need her.

“There’s three, Lyran, Avram and Casovan.”

Athir leaned forward and put her head in her hands and her shoulders began shaking, Konrad realised she was laughing.

“What’s so funny?”

“That’s why you’re here at the temple of the small gods? Well I’m sorry to disappoint you but you won’t find them here. That trio are too small even for this place.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that you’re it. You’re their only worshipper, they probably only survived up until now as a memory of a memory somewhere. Minuscule gods would be a better name, microscopic even. They couldn’t even get a postbox in the city let alone temple space.”

Konrad felt a hot rush of blood and he clenched his fists.

“That doesn’t matter. I’m still a champion of the gods, just like you.”

Athir stopped laughing and her eyebrows raised slightly. “Oh you’re nothing like me, trust me. What do you want?”

“Lyran told me to come and find you, she said that you’d be able to help me.”

“Is that all?” Athir said and her eyes flickered to Spirit.

“She gave me a quest to return her name to greatness in the city.”

Athir paused for several moments. Her hand straying absentmindedly to rest on the pommel of the sword on her lap and Konrad tensed.

“If you help me with something first…” Athir began.

“Do you need help with one of your own gods quests?” Konrad interrupted leaving forwards eagerly.

“That’s right, a Holy Quest. Do we have a deal?”

Konrad jumped up and held out a hand and Athir stood and shook it. She was the same height as him but her grasp was so strong it ground his bones together painfully.

“Meet me at The Cloven Shield tonight after sundown.”

Athir fixed her sword to her belt and strode out of the temple without looking back and Konrad sat down heavily on his chair wiping the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve.

“I thought she was going to kill us all for a second there. But I think that went well, what do you think?”

Spirit glanced at the door and growled softly.

“Well I like her, so that should be good enough for you. You’re not the only one with good instincts.”

“Whut?” Ronald said, opening one bleary eye.

-

Konrad found Athir sitting at a table outside The Cloven Shield with a cup of ale.

“What’s that smell?” she asked, wrinkling her nose.

Konrad pushed his hands deep into his pockets. He’d spent the entire day at the docks gutting fish for coin and the owner had been so impressed with his speed and skill that he had paid him a little extra and given him a hot meal.

“I can’t smell anything. Are we ready to start? What’s the quest?”

“You don’t have to keep calling everything a quest you know. I need your dog—”

“Spirit,” Konrad interrupted.

“—Spirit, to find someone. His name’s Dwendel, he’s a Gnome and he’s very good at hiding.”

Konrad lost some of his enthusiasm.

“Whats wrong, she can hide in shadows but she can’t find someone?”

“It’s not that. I just thought it would be something more exciting, like clearing a dungeon or rescuing someone.”

“You’re serious aren’t you?” Athir said giving him an incredulous look.

“Isn’t it our job to bring glory to our gods?”

“We can talk about glory later, for now lets find this Gnome. How does Spirit work?”

“She has to have smelled the person before, or have something that they’ve worn.”

“She met him a few days ago here at the tavern. Short, white beard, stupid red hat.”

Konrad recalled the man who offered him a bet. “Do you remember him?” He asked Spirit.

She barked and wagged her tail.

“She says yes.”

Athir tossed some coppers onto the table and strapped on her sword. “Lead on then.”

Their journey took them further out of the city and the buildings became more sparse. Fields began to appear, with farmhouses dotted around the landscape, then the road turned sharply and Spirit trotted ahead of them in the direction of the river. After about half an hour they approached a small settlement on the riverbank surrounded by enormous pens holding hundreds of animals. The whole place gave off the most wretched smell.

“The Shambles,” Athir muttered.

“What’s that smell?” Konrad asked his eyes starting to water.

“It’s the slaughter district, they keep it outside of the city for a reason. Come on.”

The streets were a brown slurry deposited by nervous animals and Konrad could hear their bleeting and baying from each of the large buildings they passed. Large men and women in blood soaked aprons lounged outside in the weak sunlight watching them suspiciously.

“Lot’s of sharp knives around here, so keep your eyes open,” Athir said, her lips barely moving.

The way Athir walked reminded him a little of his brother Otto, he also had a kind of feline grace, seemingly at ease but at the same time full of a tension. He tried to copy her and slipped in the mud, spinning his arms like a windmill to regain his balance.

“You could try to attract more attention if you like,” Athir muttered and Konrads face burned with embarrassment.

Spirit lead them to the back of the settlement to a collection of ramshackle low slung houses. Finally stopping at one and gently pawing the ground.

“She says he’s in there,” Konrad translated.

“Wait here.” Athir drew her sword and it came out of its scabbard with a hiss, then she placed her head against the door and listened carefully.

“What are you doing?” She hissed when Konrad joined her and placed his ear to the door.

“You might need my help,” he whispered.

“You don’t even have a sword.”

Konrad opened his mouth to reply but the voices inside became louder.

“We gotta leave Dwen, she’s not gonna stop lookin. Davy at the tav told me she was askin around after you and me.”

“Where’re you going to go, Back to Charnal?”

Konrad easily recognised the two voices as belonging to Brutha the giant and the charismatic Dwendel.

“Could go to the coast?” Brutha mumbled.

“I can’t go to the coast for the same reason you can’t go back to Charnal. We’ve a good thing going here, lets finish the fights, then we leave.”

“But what about that blond psycho?”

“Don’t worry about her, she’s got her own problems. I know people who would love to speak to her.”

Athir’s eyes narrowed and she took one step back, raised her boot and kicked the door in.

She rushed inside and Konrad followed her. He had only a split second to take in the room before an axe whirled end over end straight at his head. Spirit snapped at his waistband and pulled him back outside just in time. The axe missed him by inches and thunked into the wooden wall where it stuck, humming gently.

A great howling and banging and crashing came from inside and Brutha wailed while Dwendel cursed both in the common tongue and in Gnomish, which seemed much better suited for it.

“You can come in,” Athir called when the noise had settled down.

Dwendel and Brutha were cowering against the wall. Brutha sobbed and clutched his hand that was bleeding profusely and Dwendel had lost his hat and had a large bump on his head the size of a apple.

Konrad stared wide eyed at the axe embedded in the wall and reached down to scratch Spirit behind the ears.

“Good work girl,” he said hoarsely.

“Who do you know Dwendel?” Athir said icily. She rested the point of her sword on his boot and took a seat.

“Athir, I was just about to say we needed to find you,” Dwendel gibbered.

“You said you know people Dwendel and I’m always looking to make new friends. Who are they?”

“Lost Coast council,” Dwendel said licking his dry lips. “They say you stole from them.”

“You take my money and then you try to sell me out. You’re not even worth killing,” Athir said a look of disgust creasing her face. She turned her attention to the giant. “Where’s the money Brutha?”

“Brutha if you—”

Dwendle's cry turned into a high pitched whine as Athir pushed the sharp tip of her sword into his boot.

“In the smoker. The stash is in the smoker.” Brutha rumbled.

“Konrad, go and check the smoker out back while I keep an eye on these two idiots.”

Konrad hesitated and Athir rolled her eyes. “I’m not going to kill anyone alright?”

The smoker door creaked open and inside were two heavy bags of coins and a bright dagger in a simple leather sheath. Konrad pushed the dagger into his belt and gathered up the money. When he returned Athir had bound and gagged her captives.

“You get it all?”

Konrad nodded.

“Where’s the rest?”

Dwendel muttered under his breath and then howled again as Athir pulled her sword out of his boot.

“If you don’t have it now, then I’ll be back for it later,” Athir hissed at Dwendel, her expression softening slightly when she turned to Brutha.

“You need to get away from this Gnome, Brutha, he’s going to lead you to a bad end. Go back to Charnal and apologise, they’ll give you a beating and take you back,” Athir said, wiping her blade clean and snapping it back into its sheath.

Brutha mumbled something unintelligible and looked at the ground.

On the way out Konrad eyed the axe in the wall but decided it was far too heavy a weapon for him.

“Did we rob them?” Konrad asked as they walked.

“No, they took advantage of me when I was… not well. I was just getting what I was owed.”

Athir’s jaw was set and she glared at the countryside around them as if it could jump out and attack them at any time.

They walked in silence back to The Cloven Shield and took a table in the corner. Athir watched the doors of the tavern constantly, always on alert for danger and Konrad wondered if this was what Otto was like. Would he become cold and hard like them?

“Do you know any other champions?” he asked, trying to sound like he only had a mild interest.

Athir’s eye’s narrowed. “I’ve met some.”

“What about champions of the Father?”

Athir’s gaze turned to steel and her hand gripped the pommel of her sword. “Why are you asking me that?”

Konrads was frozen in place by her ferocity. “No reason,” he squeaked.

“Keep your questions to yourself, and a piece of advice, stay away from the Father and his champions.”

Athir threw one of the coin pouches onto the table, finished her drink and stood up, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

“I’m leaving, good luck champion.”

“Wait.” Konrad snatched up the pouch and ran after her as she strode out of the tavern.

Athir turned in one fluid motion and pulled out her thin blade, pointing it at him. He slid to a halt gazing at the sharp point which didn’t move so much as an inch. Several of the drinkers in the tavern glanced up and then turned back to their drinks.

“Do not creep up on me,” Athir said, her tone deadly.

“I wasn’t creeping,” Konrad replied holding up his hands. “I need to find the temple of Lyran, to restore it to glory. It’s my first quest and you said you would help.”

“I never agreed to that. You need to forget the temple, forget Lyran and the others. The gods are vain and only care about themselves. Being their champion is a dark and lonely road. Go home, have a life. Your gods will fade soon enough and if you’re lucky you’ll never hear from them again.”

“Is that what happened to your god?” Konrad said softly.

A flash of discomfort swept across Athir’s face and she slammed the sword into its sheath, storming out of the tavern.

Konrad made to follow her but Spirit gently held him back.

“I guess you’re right, she was never going to help us. But I know we can do this on our own.”