“I would like to join you for that,” Faust said.
Lars perked, a spark of recognition and amusement passing through the man’s eyes. “We’ll need a massive archive somewhere in the kingdoms.”
Faust’d do anything for the sake of history. “I can have that arranged.”
Lars chuckled but shared the excitement with a grin. He tapped the X on the map. “As for this, was this where you were headed?”
“I thought that was where I should head,” Faust clarified.
Lars traced over the circle and X with one finger. “This is fresh ink and Qinn’s handwriting.”
“How can you tell?”
Lars shrugged. “I’ve been cataloguing his things for a long time.”
“I want to go there,” Faust said. “I need to find my gate and it could be there.”
“It isn’t.”
“How can you be certain?” Faust asked.
Lars tapped the capital of Vinas with his forefinger. “It’s here. I haven’t been able to confirm it, but I’ve heard many knights talk about Rhys wanting to destroy it. The Blessed stands in his way.”
“We need to head to Vinas then.”
Lars shook his head. “We need to collect the journals that I was supposed to pick up here. They are Qinn’s and no one should read what is inside those ones.” He picked up the bag they had shoved the journals into and pulled out one Faust recognized from his time in the hold. “They are the continuation of these.” Lars set it down and flipped it open, pausing at the sight of fresh blue ink. “This is new ink. Did you write in them in the hold?”
Faust fidgeted. “I did not get to those. It was there when I woke up. I do not remember falling asleep.”
Lars’s jaw tightened. He turned the journal and set it in front of Faust. “Read them now. These messages are for you.”
Faust picked up the journal. Blue ink circled blocks of script pertaining to things about Lathil’s ability to help bolster someone’s potential as far as it could go—good or bad—and how Lathil couldn’t get close to anyone without using said ability. Lathil’s target always wound up in the deity’s palm with little will of their own and they’d worship him.
Faust followed an arrow pointing to the thin margin to the left of the paper, his eyes widening. Qinn’s handwriting flowed in blue ink: save them.
Faust dropped the journal with a sinking feeling. There was no way he would save them after what Lathil and Emoris did to him and his family. Qinn had lost his mind.
Lars didn’t interrupt his reading, but the man’s gaze bore into him.
Faust cautiously picked up the journal as if new words would appear before him. He flipped a page, scanning the blue ink along the edges of the crinkled pages. Qinn’s notes said there was no way to save Emoris because he was too damaged and full of hatred for all life. It went against the deity’s nature.
Each deity had one instinct or ability they couldn’t ignore, but this journal contained no more information. Faust scanned over another note in fresh blue ink on the page: find the rest of this.
Faust’s hands shook.
“You don’t need to fear these notes,” Lars said, shaking Faust from his thoughts. “I had not expected him to guide you through his journals, but he is. A group of knights took the journals my informant had in this town to the city of Tik. He also learned they have the chest from my informant in Tik.”
“Do you mean the chest no one can open?” Faust perked, glad to move away from the harder conversations.
“That is what they say about it. The chest was important to Koros. It was reported Koros nearly lost his mind when it disappeared from the castle,” Lars said. “Qinn probably gave it to him.”
Faust cracked a smile. “If we find it, I can open it.”
Lars slumped. “Of course you can. I can see Qinn doing something like that. Which means Sor foresaw quite far.”
“Do you know how far?”
Lars shook his head. “I knew we’d meet again, but I didn’t know how or under what circumstances. He would never go into detail.”
“Sor’s consort is a four-stone user, right?” Faust asked.
“Dragomir? Yes, he is, why?”
“He is here,” Faust said. “On Drokan.”
Lars sat up straight. “Then Sor will be saved soon. We can pursue this and move on as quickly as possible,” Lars said. “We must catch up to him.”
“He is not alone. My Blessed is here, too, and a new Servant of Power to Vasil.”
Lars mused. “Only one Servant of Power?”
Faust wasn’t certain why Lars would’ve thought more Servants of Power lived in Drokan. The kingdom didn’t seem to like anything related to Vasil.
“I didn’t know you had a Blessed,” Lars said, breaking his momentary silence. “This will help us greatly. How far away are they?”
“Maybe a day or two, but they have Volant armor.”
“We should prepare. There is no telling what we’ll find.” Lars turned another paper toward Faust and showed him a small map. “The knights are near the outskirts of Tik. I know they are getting ready to pass the chest and journals off to Torin since this is his jurisdiction.”
Faust sighed. It was hard enough keeping track of those with a deity’s blessing in three kingdoms. Koros must have been more generous with his blessings. “Is he a corrupted Servant of Power like Rhys and Oran?” Faust asked.
“Yes,” Lars confirmed.
“Will we make it before they pass the chest off?”
“With Volant armor we can. Leave a veil to me,” Lars said with confidence. “But I need armor. Do you think you can manage one?”
Faust flexed his hand. He would have to. “I can try.”
Lars stood and opened a trunk in front of the door, pulling out pieces of armor and a few leather pieces. Fur rested along the collar of the chest piece, the leather arm guards, and the large leather belt.
Faust eyed the armor arrangement. “Is that Windilum armor?”
Lars smirked. “I did my best to find a similar design. My informant did well, considering I didn’t give him a lot to go by other than a mixture of leather and armor. Pretty sure he’s figured out where I am originally from,” Lars said. “I can’t walk around Tik very well since Cian used to live there, so I should be prepared.” Lars pulled out a smaller chest piece and set it on the table. “This part is for you. We must wait for your Linos to restore your chest plate since that armor is made by Linos.”
Faust inspected the piece. It wasn’t anything grand, but Lars had a point. Any protection was better than nothing.
Lars laid the pieces of armor on the bed.
Faust took a deep breath and brushed the magic within the Mark of Linos. He ran his fingertips over the chest plate and rapped the center with his knuckles. Magic swept over the pieces of armor, flickering multiple colors along the intricate patterns now engraved in the armor before it settled on white. The magic pulsed once and faded, making the armor look divine despite its rugged appearance.
“Why Sor’s color?” Lars asked.
“Because Sor is who you will stand with.”
Lars furrowed his eyebrows, touching the chest piece. “It is quite powerful. Thank you.”