Spirit’s barking was incessant, and she was poking him hard to wake him up. He tried to move his arms and found them too heavy to lift.

"Somebody please shut that beast up."

"What do you want me to do?"

"Just kill it."

"I will remind you that I am a goddess of healing."

"Hasn’t stopped you before."

"That was a long time ago, Avram."

"Casovan, freeze it or something."

There was a pause, and Konrad felt the lightest of cold breezes touch his skin.

"Impressive. I think you might have given it a slight cold."

"Let’s see you do better."

"Will you two be quiet? I’ll do it."

Spirit immediately stopped barking and whined, and her head rested in his lap.

Konrad tried to speak, but with each word, a blossom of pain exploded in the back of his head. His vision cleared slightly to reveal four small figures gathered around him, each the size of a small child and giving off a faint etherial light.

"What did you do to her?" Konrad croaked.

"Your animal is fine; I calmed her. One of my many powers," one of them said, glancing at the figure next to her who rolled his eyes.

"Who are you?"

"I am Lyran."

Lyran’s body was that of a woman but made from the delicately woven branches of a tree. Her hair was made of red flowers. Her smile was bright, and when she spoke, her voice was light and airy.

"I am Casovan," said the small figure beside her.

Casovan had a sharp-featured face with a long chin and high cheekbones. His ears were large and pointed, and his eyes were deep set in his head. He wore a rich blue robe and gave a courteous bow that was slightly ruined by the fact that he was only as tall as Konrad’s knee.

"You might know me as the god of the cold bite," he said, and tendrils of frost escaped his mouth and shimmered crystalline in the air.

"Can we have less of the theatrics, Casovan?" said the third figure, stepping forward.

"I am Avram, god of the long night."

He wore a dark robe that wasn’t any color at all and seemed to soak up the light. He reached up and pulled off his cowl to reveal a featureless, blank face that swam in shadows.

"Who’s showing off now?" Casovan muttered, crossing his arms.

The final figure had been standing a pace behind the others. He was old, with wrinkled skin, and naked save for a dirty loincloth. His bright white, whispy hair floated out from his head like an unruly halo.

"What’s he the god of?" Konrad asked. The figure was now staring blankly around the shrine, apparently having less idea of what was happening than Konrad did.

"Ah," said Avram, and he clicked his tongue.

Lyran waved a hand in front of the face of the waif-like figure, who appeared not to notice. "He’s been turning up every time we’ve tried this, but he doesn’t seem to have any power any more, poor thing."

"A fate that awaits us all if we can’t make this work," said Castovan.

Konrad sat up and winced at the pain in his head. "You’re the small gods, aren’t you? The ones made of straw."

Casovan let out a huff of frigid air, and Lyran looked affronted. Avram’s face was hidden in shadows, but Konrad was sure that he would have worn a disapproving frown.

"That beast destroyed my likeness. They used to have real punishments for that—something about iron manacles in the fire, or was it fire manacles?" Avram said.

"Heads bouncing down the temple steps into a basket was always a classic," Casovan suggested.

"I used to throw a pretty good bolt of lightning," Lyran mused, flexing her arm.

"Sorry, what I meant is you’re not like them," Konrad interrupted. He gestured to the statues of the Mother, the Father, and the Brother across the room and saw, to his astonishment, that they were missing.

"Where are they?"

"It’s best if we talk to you in private first; they can be very overbearing at times," said Lyran.

"And we are not small gods, boy, we are old gods," said Casovan.

"Among the oldest," Avram added.

"More specific to this region, of course," finished Lyran.

"What is your name, lad?" Casovan asked.

"I’m Konrad, and this is Spirit."

"Konrad, you know that means 'bold' in the old tongue?" Avram said.

"Bold is good; we need a bold champion," Casovan said.

"Champion?" Konrad asked, looking from one to the other.

Konrad's voice rang around the shrine, repeating the words he had spoken.

Uh, gods, will I be your champion?

"You asked us, Konrad, and we have answered. Now up you get, we have to give you the gifts and, of course, your first quests."

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Konrad shook his head slightly to clear away whatever madness was creeping over him, but all it served to do was cause an explosion of pain behind his eyes.

"Come on, champion," said Lyran, reaching out to rest a gentle hand on his brow. The pain was removed instantly.

"Thank you," Konrad stammered. Lyran stepped back, and he noticed that she was slightly more translucent than a moment ago.

He reached for his crutch and struggled to his feet, noticing all of the gods, even the waif, staring at his leg.

"Ah," said Casovan.

"What?" Konrad asked. But the small gods were ignoring him and had turned on each other.

"How is he going to Champion if he only has one leg?"

"How was I to know?"

"Well cards on the table, I had my doubts at the start, but now... You know my first quest was going to be a light introduction to adventuring, but with one leg, he won’t last a minute."

"The last one had both legs, and we still don’t even know what happened to her. Who knows perhaps one leg could be an asset?"

"He’s going to go and raid some deadly forbidden lair with one leg, and somehow that’s going to be an asset. Lyran, you really are absurdly optimistic."

“Well, we can just wait till next time."

"I won’t last until next time; I barely made it here. Another five years and I’ll look like him."

The three small gods looked at the waif, who was now conducting a thorough inspection of his left nostril.

Konrad felt a rush of emotions threaten to overwhelm him. His mother's words rang in his ears, and his father's look of quiet shame was a wound in his heart. His last glimpse of Otto climbing the Long Hill was an emptiness inside of him.

But pride burned away all that stood before it.

"I can be your champion." He stood up straight on his good leg and felt a rush that threatened to spill over into hot tears, but he fought them back. Konrad towered over the small gods and looked down on them, his chin jutting out.

Spirit sluggishly got to her feet and placed her head under his hand to steady him.

"Well said, my champion," Lyran said, throwing a glare back at the other two. "You have a strong heart, and I shall give you my gift. Give me your hand."

He felt her warm touch, and when she stepped back, she had faded so much that it was only possible to see her vague outline in the dim light of the lamp.

"You will have the power to heal yourself from minor wounds," she said, her voice sounding like it was coming from far away.

Casovan took a deep breath and also stepped forward. "Take my hand, champion. To you I give my first gift; the cold will not bite you, much," he said solemnly.

Avram's blank face emitted a snort. "A little resistance to the cold? Is that it?"

"Let’s see you do better then," Casovan said, and Konrad noticed that his form too had become transparent.

Avram pulled up the sleeves of his robe, revealing dark grey skin that had faint shadows dancing on the surface. Spirit stepped cautiously forward, sniffing his blank face curiously. "Shadows will protect you when you have need champion, hide in their embrace," he said dramatically, reaching forward and seizing Spirit by the snout.

"Oh no," said Casovan.

"Spirit," cried Konrad.

The dog went rigid, and her eyes filled with darkness as the black lines swept into her body, then she stepped back and shook her head as if dazed.

"What have you done to her?" Konrad cried, looking around frantically. "Where is she?"

Casovan’s hand was over his face, and he shook his head slowly. "He’s gone, we only have a limited amount of power, and he foolishly gave most of his to your animal. You won’t see him for some time now."

"Will she be okay?"

Spirit's eyes were pitch black, and in the depths he could see the swirling shadows. She gave him a playful lick.

"She’ll be fine, but if she wants to hide at night, you might have a hard time finding her," Lyran said.

"Well, that’s made a mess of that," Casovan said brusquely. "Looks like Avram's first quest will have to wait until he can come back. You can do ours first."

Konrad felt a swell of expectation and stood up straight. This was really happening; he was going to be a champion of the gods, fulfilling their quests and adventuring all over Parthanea.

"I’m ready."

Casovan exhaled, and the ice formed into an image. A small settlement stood on the coast, with dozens of ramshackle buildings leaning against each other. A line of upturned boats sat on the sand, and cold waves battered the shore line under a boiling stormy sky.

"Where is this?" Konrad asked.

Fallow Vale was the only place he had ever been, and it was famously the center of the continent; the coast was several weeks journey away.

"I can’t tell you everything, champion."

"He doesn’t know," Lyran added helpfully.

"Go to this place and find out what happened to my followers. Do this, and I will be able to grant you more power to use in my service."

Konrad studied the image carefully, trying to commit every detail to memory. When the image faded, Casovan too was gone.

"He’s gone?"

"We don’t have much power, Konrad. If you are able to help us grow stronger, then we may linger," Lyran said. "I also have a quest for you. There is a place of healing in my name in Tajar. I need you to help return its name to greatness."

The image of a hooded figure appeared in the shrine. A tall, slim fighter with two lethal looking swords at their hip.

"This woman is Athir, you will need her."

She stepped back but did not fully disappear.

"Wait, where can I find her?"

"In the city somewhere, perhaps look where adventurers are found. I am not powerful enough to see any more. But I know that she is important."

Konrad was desperate to know more before Lyran vanished like the others.

"You said you were a god of healing, can you heal my leg?"

Lyran looked at Konrad’s leg and cocked her head to one side, her eyes narrowing.

"There’s nothing I can do; there’s nothing medically wrong with it."

Before Konrad could reply, the waif darted forward and clasped at the fabric of Konrad’s pants. His wrinkled face was knee high, and when he looked up, Konrad saw a madness in his eyes that terrified him. The creature opened its mouth, but for some reason was not able to speak; only a dusty hoarse noise came from it.

"Oh my," Lyran’s faint voice drifted in the air, and Konrad sensed a note of distress. "It seems this entity has given you another gift, Konrad. Beware of it, for you do not know who has bequeathed it, or their price."

"What’s the gift, what price?" Konrad shouted, but Lyran and the waif were both gone.

Konrad was left alone in the shrine, and the fire in the center began to burn brightly once again. In the flickering light, he saw that the statues of the Mother, Father, and Brother had returned.

"Did that really just happen?" he muttered.

In response, Spirit jumped up and put her front paws on Konrad’s chest, he took two rapid steps back and regained his balance.

Two rapid steps, on two strong legs.

Realizing what the final gift from the waif had been, Konrad let the wooden crutch clatter to the floor, and his cries of joy almost reached the village below.

"What are you shouting about, boy?" The priest snapped, his arms still folded, and a stern look on his face.

The small gods were gone, leaving only broken straw figures in their place.

"I was made a champion."

Konrad explained the visit from the four small gods, his powers, and quests. When he had finished, the priest blew out his cheeks.

"Small gods," the priest muttered. He pulled out a small leather pouch and fingered some dry leaves onto a thin strip of paper.

"Is that a problem?"

"Weeeeell, this happens from time to time; we don’t talk too much about it. See, you’re not a real champion. Not like the champions of the Mother the Father or the Brother. The big gods get a little jealous when the small ones try to get a bit more power."

"Am I in some kind of trouble?"

"I’ll have to report it, of course, but I’d say no. Not as long as they stay in their lanes, so to speak. Judging by the quests you’ve got, I’d say you will be staying in the minor leagues."

The priest flicked a match with a dirty thumbnail, and it flared into life. He took a long drag on his cigarette.

"Well, good luck to you then."

"Wait, what do I do now?"

"Well, seeing as you're not in the big three, as it were, there’s not a lot I can help you with. Just head off and do what you can."

"What about my family and the village, what’ll I tell them?"

"Tell them what you like. You’re to head off adventuring."

"No, you don’t understand, my family are Clods. My brother was a champion, and a priest came and paid what was owed and explained everything."

"Your brother was a champion, which god?"

"The Father."

A strange look crossed the priest's face, and his gaze flickered to the statue of the stern-looking man.

"And a Clod to boot," the priest muttered. "Okay, if you have any trouble, tell them that Father Jessop, that’s me, will come through the town there in a few days and speak to them. But as for the money, I can’t help you. Perhaps you can finish working it off and then leave."

"If I do that, I won’t start being a champion till I’m fifty."

The priest shrugged. "You seem like a resourceful lad. I’m sure you’ll think of something."