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 an irritation 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. Haven had plenty of room and had been expanded to accommodate any of Lenore’s followers forced to seek shelter. Why hadn’t he figured this out sooner? 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.”
Chapter Five
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 h
and 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.”
Silently mouthing Miceral’s age, Farrell eyed his companion more closely.
“You heard right.” Miceral nodded. “Seventy-five years ago, when I was particularly despondent at the prospect of being alone forever, Lenore’s avatar paid me a visit. Have you ever met an avatar?”
Farrell laughed. “Too many times for my liking.”
“Exactly. After the shock of the moment wore off, She told me that She and Her Brother would send me someone to spend my life with, but it would not be soon. To ease my loneliness, Lenore sent Klissmor to be my companion and close friend. She told me, ‘He whom Nerti chooses to be her rider will be the one.’”
Taking Farrell’s hand, Miceral rubbed it gently. “I suppose it’s a bit unfair to you. I’ve waited almost eight decades to meet you, and you only just learned of me. I also know I can be a bit much. It’s just a euphoric time for me. It’s hard to explain, but looking at you I feel I’ve found a missing piece of myself. Normally I’m not this forward, but knowing you’re the one Lenore sent and that you’re so damn adorable makes it very hard for me to not be giddy.”
Miceral talked so fast at the end that Farrell lifted a finger to the man’s lips.
“My turn.” He smiled. “Honorus did tell me he’d send me someone. It’s just that he did it today, right before Nerti showed up. It was almost an afterthought. And He didn’t go into as much detail as Lenore gave you. I suppose that’s the difference between the Mother of Us All and the Sky Father.”
Farrell let out a halting, rueful laugh. Miceral’s eye roll and grin helped calm him.
“I also felt something, but until you just said it, I didn’t know how to name it. Now I do. Completeness. I feel whole. When I first saw you and felt that tug, I hoped you were the one, but how could I know? In my doubt, I moved cautiously. I didn’t want to be disappointed or hurt again.” Farrell shrugged, turning his head. Taking a deep breath, he pushed through his doubts. When he returned his gaze to Miceral, he was met with a pair of warm eyes and a joyous smile. Nodding once, he continued.
“Miceral, I feel the same as you, but it scares me. Losing you scares me more. How silly is that? I’ve known you less than an hour, and I’m afraid to lose what I don’t even have.”
Miceral laced their fingers together and squeezed gently. “You’re not silly. The gods have spoken. It’s hard to resist where Their hands are involved. Foolish would be to fight what you know They want for you.”
Nodding, Farrell forced himself to smile. “So if you can handle my awkwardness and the fact that, at twenty-seven, I’m a mere child compared to you, I can handle your eagerness to ask for my hand in marriage.”
“You really think I want to marry a silly, soft human? Please, a Muchari does have standards, you know. Ask my father.”
Farrell laughed, but after a moment’s reflection, the smile drained from his face.
Miceral’s eyes narrowed and Farrell felt his grip tighten. “What’s wrong? It was a joke.”
A union needed honesty to last. Knowing this didn’t make it easier to tell Miceral the truth. Farrell let out a shaky breath.
“There are things about me you need to know . . . dark, dangerous things.”
Countering Farrell’s frown, Miceral gave him a smile and a wink. “You mean other than being a fearless wizard who charges entire armies all by himself?”
Despite Miceral’s joke, Farrell didn’t smile back. “My destiny is to face Meglar alone. He killed three of the most powerful wizards of our age. Heminaltose, Sanduval, and his own wife, Queen Zenora of Yar-del, my mother.”
His mind screamed for him to look away, but he couldn’t. Whatever Miceral’s reaction, he needed to see it. Slowly Miceral nodded.
“So that makes your father—”
“Meglar.”
“But Zenora’s father, King Bren, ordered his grandson killed. How can you be him?”
Farrell’s mouth felt too dry to speak. He swallowed twice to wet his tongue and pressed on. “My mother and grandfather created an elaborate scheme to fake my death. Then they sent me to a small temple to Honorus in the westernmost city in Yar-del. After six months there, I was taken to Heminaltose’s school at Haven. No one told me I was really Prince Halloran of Yar-del, and Heminaltose kept me out of sight for years. To all the world, Halloran is dead and Farrell is Heminaltose’s last student.”
Miceral gave him another thoughtful nod but kept silent. Unsure of his welcome, Farrell tried to free his hand. Miceral’s fingers remained firm. His second attempt found him being pulled closer.
“Don’t.” The word came out harsh, but Miceral’s face lacked any sign of anger. “Please, don’t. Why are you pulling away?”
Snorting, Farrell rolled his eyes. “Oh, maybe it has something to do with telling you my father is the insane wizard trying to kill you and your people as well as conquer the Seven Kingdoms.”
“Okay, you win the worst-father contest, but you’re not him. Lenore and Honorus clearly trust you. That’s all that matters. After waiting seventy-five years to meet you, it would be a poor time to second-guess Her.”
Miceral gave Farrell a smile that dispelled some of his doubts, but not all.
“Come here.”
He felt himself being gathered into Miceral’s arms. The desire to get closer suppressed his urge to resist. Pressed against the hard chain mail, he took in Miceral’s scent.
“You reek of Chamdon entrails.” Pushing back, Farrell couldn’t stop himself from laughing. “You really need to change before we do that again.”
The look of shock on Miceral’s face quickly morphed into his ever-present grin. “If you reject me like that, there might not be an ‘again.’ I have feelings, you know.”
“I’m sorry.” He laughed again, and Miceral playfully hit his arm. Farrell grabbed the offending hand and tugged Miceral toward him and into a kiss.
“Apology accepted.” Ducking his head down, the warrior sniffed loudly. Wrinkling his nose, he winced, but refused to let Farrell move away. “I do smell. Sorry. However, you asked if I really wanted to spend time with you, and the answer is yes. I trust Lenore to send me the right person.”
“It’s more than just trust, Miceral.” Farrell’s emotions swung back toward despair. “Having to fight Meglar could prove fatal. Our time together could be very short. Are you prepared to live out your centuries-long life after that?”
“If that’s the risk I have to take, so be it. This is a dangerous age. Should Meglar defeat us, the Eight Gates of Neblor will open and Neldin will cover the world in darkness. Rather than worry about a future that might not happen, we should enjoy our time now.”
Miceral inched nearer; their gazes locked. After a moment’s hesitation, Farrell moved closer, his body acting on the desire he felt. Miceral’s hand brushed his face, pushing its way through his hair before pulling their heads together.
Pressing him against the wall, Miceral lowered his head until their lips met.
“Wow.” Farrell’s voice came out barely a whisper, but he knew Miceral heard him.
“Yeah, wow.” Before Miceral could seek a second kiss, Farrell heard the rumble of an assault on the new shield.
“Your dad calling?”
“Not strong enough for it to be him,” he said absently. He assessed the shield through his link. “Must be the remaining wizards trying to weaken the shield. It has had no effect so far, but we should get the evacuation started.”
Micer
al stole another kiss, quick but invigorating, before resuming their trek.
Cut into the bowels of the mountain, the Great Hall stretched hundreds of feet in front of them. Globes of wizard’s fire, hundreds of them, gave the room a feel of sunlight. Scanning the layout, Farrell moved confidently. Keeping mental track of his position, he led Miceral to a spot close to the middle of the hall.
“This is where I’ll create the Door.”
Miceral swept the room. “Here?”
“Do you have a better suggestion?” Arching his eyebrow, Farrell dared his companion to make one.
“Um . . . no, but why here and not against a wall?”
Farrell laughed. “Really? You want me to give you an answer?
Would the spatial requirements of creating a Door mean anything to you?”
Shaking his head, Miceral bowed mockingly. “No, so I’ll leave this for the mighty, powerful, incredible, magnificent wizard to handle.”
“Strong, good-looking, and wise. Honorus outdid himself.”
“Without a doubt.”
The cheek of the man had Farrell grinning, and he quickly drew his staff to remind himself why Lenore had sent him to Northhelm. Miceral turned toward the entrance. Dozens of people milled around, and more entered every minute.
“Since you will not need my help for this, I’ll use this time to gather my possessions. Things might get hectic before the end.” Miceral winked before spinning on his heel. He turned back just before disappearing to flash Farrell a smile.
Pushing Miceral from his thoughts, Farrell paced out a distance he knew would not exceed the size of the terminus and marked the ends with the tip of his staff. He walked off the distance two more times to be certain, then secured his markers.
Using the first mark, he locked in the initial point. Slowly, he reached as high as he could. A blue-green line of energy sizzled to mark the path his staff followed. When he had secured all four points, he pushed his will into the space framed by the lines.
People carrying their possessions assembled behind him in the orderly chaos of an evacuation. Checking for someone in authority, he didn’t find anyone who stood out as in charge.
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