Champion of the Gods, Books 1-2

by Andrew Q. Gordon

  The barrier dissolved between Miceral and him.

  “What was that?”

  “What happened?”

  “What did you do?”

  Questions darted at him from all sides. He waved a hand, dismissing them. He didn’t have time for an inquisition. Then his gaze landed on Miceral, a small frown cutting between the man’s brows, and the urge to explain made Farrell open his mouth. But a slight rumble beneath them had him shutting it again and searching the ground.

  His hand went to his endless pocket. After checking the distance to the entrance, the position of the rocks, and the contour of the ground, he settled on a suitable spot. He removed an oddly grooved stick with a large mushroom-like head, half the length of his staff. It looked to be made from a live tree branch, with sprigs of green along the stem.

  Using both hands and all his weight, he firmly embedded the stick into the rocky ground.

  He stepped back, checking his distance. In one fluid motion, he grabbed his staff in both hands and swung it directly at the top of the stick. When the staff’s metal knob struck the wooden top, sparks flew, and the stick sank farther into the ground, leaving only its wide head visible. A sudden burst of energy pulsed outward. When the flash subsided, a new shield replaced the one Meglar destroyed. Much better. He turned and walked back to the others.

  “That ought to give us enough time to get everyone to safety.”

  Miceral fell in beside him. A small grin replaced the frown. Farrell liked the way the man’s cheek quirked with the smile.

  “Next time”—Miceral’s deep voice sent a shiver through him—“you could warn us we’re under attack.”

  “There really wasn’t time for an explanation.” Reaching back, he returned his staff to its place.

  Then, catching Miceral’s eye, Farrell gave him a shy wink before placing a hand on Nerti. Almost immediately he snatched his hand back. “Honorus help us!”

  Moving so he could look her in the eye, he shook his head. “You’re exhausted beyond your limits.”

  Nerti trembled slightly and tried to pull away. Despite his lack of familiarity with unicorns, he grasped her head with both hands and pressed his forehead to hers, just below her horn. He said nothing, and Nerti ceased struggling. For a brief moment, a light blue aura engulfed the pair. When it vanished, he released her and stepped back.

  Nerti no longer trembled. He smiled and turned toward the distant gate. “Come, we should get inside. When Meglar recovers from the shock of having his attack shoved down his throat, he’ll probe this area to find out what happened.”

  Before he advanced three steps, Grohl barred his way.

  “What do you think you are doing, silly wizard?”

  “Trying to get inside.” Checking around him, he found everyone staring at their exchange. “What are you doing?”

  Grohl didn’t move. “And you expect us to let you walk?”

  “Nerti can barely make it back herself, let alone carry me, and though magically weary, I am not—”

  A low, deep growl forced him to step back. A hand grabbed the back of his shirt, yanking him upward. What the…? He landed in front of Miceral. The man’s arms snaked around his waist, pulling him closer. Torn between annoyed, embarrassed, and thrilled at the closeness, he opted for thrilled.

  “You could have warned me you were going to do that.” He picked at a loose thread on his shirt. “You almost ripped my tunic off!”

  A laugh rumbled from behind him, causing another shiver. Miceral leaned forward, his lips so close Farrell could feel the warmth of his breath. “When I want to take off your shirt, believe me, I’ll do it somewhere more private than this.”

  Klissmor began an easy jog toward the now open gate. Acutely aware of how they moved together, he let out a nervous breath. Good thing the others were well ahead. He hadn’t been this embarrassed in years.

  “Farrell, are you blushing?” Miceral twisted to his left, and Farrell turned the other way. Not to be deterred, Miceral twisted again. “Your neck is turning red.”

  “Fine.” He felt his cheeks warming even more. “Yes, I’m blushing. Your attention, while welcome, is also uncomfortable. I’m not sure what to say or do in response.”

  Miceral’s grip seemed to slacken, but he didn’t say anything.

  “You are supposed to kiss him, Wizard.” Nerti’s voice bubbled with amusement. “That’s what he wants.”

  Honorus help him, could this moment be any more mortifying? Now Nerti was giving him advice? And how did she know Miceral felt that way? This mind-sharing thing was going to be a pain.

  “I heard that,” she said. “I’m just trying to help you.”

  He laughed and shook his head.

  “I missed something, didn’t I?” Miceral said.

  Annoyed at the unwanted attention, he tossed caution aside. “Nerti said I ought to kiss you.”

  Miceral pulled him closer again. “A wonderful suggestion, I’d say.”

  Farrell’s blood rushed someplace other than his face. Don’t notice, don’t notice. Miceral pressed a fraction closer; his warm breath tickled the nape of Farrell’s neck again. He felt Miceral having the same “problem” and smothered a smile. Maybe this wasn’t so bad. He relaxed into Miceral’s embrace a little more.

  Nerti’s presence entered his mind. “Don’t fear him. He means you no harm. Trust that Klissmor and I would know, and I would not allow him to hurt you.”

  He covered Miceral’s arm with his own and interlaced their fingers. From behind, he could almost feel Miceral beaming.

  People milled about the entrance, waiting for their arrival. Seeing the gathering crowd, he tensed. Miceral’s grip tightened when he tried to remove his hand.

  “Please don’t go shy on me again. It took a great deal of effort to get you to even let me touch you. No one will care. After what you just did, you’re going to be revered by all. It isn’t every day someone is chosen by the Queen Nerti to be her rider, saves the life of a peregrine prince, and rescues a company of Muchari.”

  “So everyone in your party is important?” he asked, half in jest.

  “Not everyone.” Miceral’s voice lacked any hint of humor. “My companions are my escort.”

  “Your new friend is the son of Horgon, leader of the Muchari.”

  “Great.” Meant only for Nerti, he said it out loud without thinking. Despite the sarcastic tone, he felt the arm around him tighten for a momentary hug.

  When they finally came to a stop, an older man walked over. Sparing him the barest of glances, the man locked eyes with Miceral. “So, who is this you come riding home with, holding him like your mate? It is unfathomable to me that you waited all these years for some silly, soft human.”

  Miceral tensed behind him. Farrell tried to get free of Miceral’s grasp, but the arm didn’t budge. “It is disappointing that my father is the only one who cannot accept what Lenore Herself has set for me. Farrell has been chosen by Nerti, who outranks even you in this community.”

  “First you leave against my direct orders, and then you bring home”—the man motioned with his left arm toward Farrell—“this.” Horgon glared at his son.

  Using magic, Farrell broke free of Miceral’s hug and dismounted. Throwing both arms out to his sides, a shimmering wall of energy surrounded himself and Horgon. When several warriors drew weapons to strike the barrier, peregrines and unicorns interposed themselves around the wall.

  He ignored everything going on outside his bubble. When Horgon made a move toward him, he froze the elder Muchari, lifting him off the ground. Levitating himself, he stopped when he could look Horgon in the eyes.

  “How dare you treat me like this? Who do you think you are to come to my home and use your cowardly arts on me?” Horgon screamed, trying to free himself from Farrell’s spell.

  “Silence!” he yelled. “If not, I will silence you myself. I am Farrell, Prince of Haven, Chosen of Honorus and here at the request of Lenore. Other than Meglar, who is trying to destroy
your people, I am the last grand master wizard in the Seven Kingdoms and your only hope of survival. If you wish to live, you will not speak to me in any tone other than one having all the respect due one of my station. I came here at the invitation of your goddess to assist you and your people. I did not fight through Meglar’s entire army to have some small-minded person degrade me.”

  Horgon’s eyes burned with anger, but he kept quiet.

  Farrell wanted to say more, but a tremendous boom shook the ground.

  “That would be Meglar. You live because of this silly, soft human. So next time you open your mouth, keep in mind I can leave and let you deal with that on your own.”

  He stepped down, turned away, and dissolved his shield with an absent wave of his hand. After he walked a few paces toward Miceral, he released his hold on Horgon, letting him fall to the ground.

  Miceral walked over and took his hand. “Impressive, my fragile little wizard. Who knew there was so much spunk in one so shy?”

  The smile on Miceral’s face helped quell Farrell’s anger. “I have a poor control of my temper at times and should not have assaulted him in his own house.”

  “No, Father has had it coming for a while. The unicorns and peregrines do not approve of his refusal to accept Lenore’s plans for me. To them it smacks of heresy. It has created something of a rift, as you can see. It’s good for him to see that there are many who don’t care for his ways.”

  They walked over to where Horgon’s guards helped him to his feet. Immediately, they interposed themselves between father and son.

  Farrell expected to keep walking, but Miceral brought them to a halt.

  “Father, allow me to introduce Farrell. He risked his life to save my party after we foolishly did not listen to you and left Northhelm. In the end, we needed rescuing, just as you said. I will submit to whatever punishment you deem appropriate.” Another boom struck the shield wall. “Assuming we get out of here.”

  Horgon dusted himself off and motioned for his guards to step away. He sent Farrell another hard look.

  Farrell clenched his teeth but didn’t flinch, certain Horgon wanted to see just that. He’d faced worse as both wizard and prince. This man didn’t scare him. Something ever so slight changed in Horgon’s expression.

  “Perhaps I am mistaken. This one has more grit than I would expect in one not of our kind.” Horgon gave Farrell the smallest nod. “I thank you for saving my son’s life. It is belated, but I offer it all the same.”

  Farrell released Miceral’s hand and crossed both arms across his chest. He let the man sweat a moment, then nodded his acceptance.

  Horgon turned to Miceral. “You know I’ll never approve of this… this arrangement. Though Lenore Herself has told me this is Her will, as a father I want my only son to be a prince others will be proud of. I fear people will always think less of you for this.”

  “Father, you are stubborn. I love you still and always will, but your silly notion of what is right makes me laugh. The best and strongest of our warriors joined me when I left the city. If they follow me, who else would dare disparage me? And no one will ever look down on Farrell, chosen as he is by Nerti. I cannot change your mind and will not try, but I’ll ask you again to accept me for who and what I am. You ought to be well-pleased that Farrell has an interest in me, given his status as Chosen of Lenore.” Miceral stopped for a moment, then added, “And Chosen of Honorus, I am reminded by Klissmor.”

  Another boom. Farrell faced the shield. On the far side of the enclosed area, a wizard directed magic at a spot on the shield that acted as a beacon. Another assault, striking from above, shook the valley. Honorus’s balls, the attacks came fast.

  His shield proved equal to the task. For now.

  Fear lingered on the faces of those around him. He cleared his throat to reassure them. “The shield is holding without issue. Meglar cannot direct enough power from his great distance to breach my shield. But we must act quickly, for at some point he is likely to come himself and see what defies him.”

  Honorus did not intend for Farrell to engage Meglar at Northhelm and certainly not now. Ignoring the lump that used to be his stomach, he walked over to Miceral and gave him a small kiss.

  “I believe Nerti suggested I give you that.” His face felt hot, and he knew he turned bright red. “I wanted to be sure that, if I don’t see you again, I didn’t miss my chance.”

  Miceral looked stunned, elated, and confused all at once. “Why wouldn’t we see each other again? You’re taking us to Haven, aren’t you?”

  Farrell stared blankly at his companion. Haven? Nerti had never mentioned where the Door he opened would lead.

  An old woman in a worn but well-kept cleric-wizard’s robe approached. “Greetings, Prince of Haven, student of Heminaltose and Sanduval.” She extended her hand, and he shook it gently. Her strong, firm grip belied the fragile façade.

  “I am Mother Glendora. Blessed Lenore sent me from my temple to aid Northhelm. These are my fellow wizards.” She motioned to five old men in wizard’s robes behind her. “We number four more, but they are recovering from their labors and the destruction of our shield. The last attack was far more powerful than anything we faced before and beyond our ability to repel.”

  “I’m afraid that was Meglar. He must have sensed my presence when I destroyed most of the wizards in his army.”

  “He knows of you?” She arched an eyebrow.

  “I’m not sure. I believe he’s heard of me, but he doesn’t know who I am. I have been a thorn in his side since he killed Sanduval at Endor. The final assault on your shield must have alerted him that a wizard of power was here. Whether he knew it was me or just some wizard, I can’t say.”

  “Ah.” She stepped back, regarding him. “I expected you would be a lot older.” She waved her hand as if to tell him she meant no offense. He disliked the comment anyway. “I know grand masters can mask their age, but not to me. While you are mature, your eyes do not speak of great age as Heminaltose’s did. Yours are still young. But I digress. That shield of yours, will it hold against a repeat of Meglar’s assault?”

  He focused on her question. “Unless he comes here himself or sends some powerful weapons here to aid his wizards, it will hold long enough for me to open a gate to—ah, Haven, as I’ve just been told.”

  “Indeed.” Glendora smiled warmly.

  It made sense if he thought about it. Haven had plenty of room and had been expanded to accommodate any of Lenore’s followers forced to seek shelter. Why hadn’t he put two and two together? He saw Miceral wink in his peripheral vision. Perhaps the distractions at hand kept him from thinking straight.

  He stood tall and nodded. “We should hurry. Meglar’s assaults have stopped. That can’t be good. Is everyone ready to leave?” He looked to Glendora, Horgon, and finally Miceral, who shrugged and looked at Horgon.

  “We are ready,” Horgon said.

  “Very well. Where should I open the Door?”

  “Our Great Hall is central to much of the complex,” Glendora replied. “It already boasts a small permanent Door, which should make it easier for you to open a larger Door.”

  “That will be fine.” He didn’t bother explaining he didn’t need their Door. He looked back at his shield. Meglar’s army, although quiet, still assembled outside the limits. Probably waiting for Meglar to tell them what to do next. They’d better get going.

  He turned to Miceral and smiled. “Show me the way to the Great Hall.”

  MICERAL LAUGHED as they descended into Northhelm. “Did you see his face? The old man almost blew a blood vessel in his head when you kissed me. That was beautiful. I’d have never thought such a shy little wizard would ever do that in front of him. And then how you set him in his place the first time you met him. Honorus’s balls! Even I’ve never done anything like that.”

  “My name is Farrell, not little wizard, silly wizard, delicate wizard, or even plain old wizard.” While harsher than he intended, he needed to stop the
trend. Now. “As for your father, I’m not sure what in the Eight Gates of Neblor came over me. I was so tired of everyone telling me what to do, insulting me, and calling me something other than my name. He attacked you too. I figured it was time people realized I’m not a child.”

  Miceral squeezed his hand. “Farrell, I’m sorry if calling you ‘little wizard’ upsets you. I can’t promise I won’t say it again. I truly mean nothing insulting when I say that.”

  “I know, and I don’t really mind you saying it, but does it have to be little, delicate, silly, or soft? Can’t I be your mighty, powerful, incredible, or magnificent something? Something to fit my status?” Farrell struggled holding back a smirk.

  Seeming to enjoy the banter, Miceral laughed. “How about I call you Farrell and leave out the superlatives?”

  Farrell feigned disappointment. “I suppose that will do, but I did like the sound of ‘incredibly magnificent.’”

  “Even that fails to adequately describe what I see when I look at you.” Miceral gave him a big grin. “But with enough time together, I’ll find the right words.”

  He stared at Miceral, and his self-doubt returned. Compared to the handsome blond warrior, he was nothing special.

  “Do you really want to spend more time with me?” Why would he? “Why saddle yourself with a skinny, unattractive, silly human?”

  Miceral motioned for the wizards who trailed them to continue without them. He took Farrell’s hand and led him to a nearby room. “By the Six, Farrell, why would you say such things about yourself?”

  Shaking his head, Farrell let out a soft snort. “Because it’s the truth. Look at me, then look at you. Are there no mirrors in Northhelm?”

  “Are there none in Haven?” Miceral put his finger up when Farrell tried to answer. “Shh. Let me speak. The long life of a Muchari is considered a blessing from Lenore, but it is a curse when you spend it alone. In a hundred and twenty-nine years, I have never met anyone who tugged at my heart. Until today.”