Champion of the Gods Box Set

by Andrew Q. Gordon

  Miceral finally smiled. “Amazing.”

  “I could show you where the window is on the mountain, if you like.”

  “How would we get there?” Miceral looked out the window. “From the looks of things, it’s more than a thousand feet up.”

  “Well, I could fly us there, but I meant I could let you see the image in my mind.”

  “No!” Miceral’s body suddenly seemed tense. “Maybe when you’re better, we can fly up.”

  “But it requires no magic, really. I can link my mind to—” Farrell stopped when Miceral seemed to recoil and move back. Turning away, he said, “I’m sorry, I forgot.”

  “Don’t be.” Miceral gently rubbed Farrell’s uninjured shoulder. “I’m just not comfortable with using magic like that on my mind.”

  “I understand.” He tried to smile, but he knew it came out forced. “I do it so often, I don’t really think about it.”

  He drank and ate some more as Miceral stared off in silence.

  “Beautiful country,” Miceral said, breaking the stillness. “Does anyone live there?”

  “There are only a few sparse hunting and trapping settlements and the odd group of brigands hiding from someone. The reach of the city-states along the western shores doesn’t extend this far inland.”

  “I’ve never left the Seven Kingdoms in my life.” Miceral shook his head. “You’re a hundred years my junior, and you’ve seen the world. Sometimes I feel like a child when I talk to you.”

  “I can take you to Belsport if you like.” Farrell put his hand on Miceral’s leg and rubbed softly. “It’s the largest of the city-states. I’m on fairly good terms with the court wizard. A few years ago I went there to warn them about Meglar.”

  “Do they offer aid in our fight?” The ray of hope in Miceral’s eyes faded when Farrell shook his head.

  “No. The princes of these small city-states have little they can offer. Not even the larger kingdoms can help. What we need is a rare commodity: grand master wizards. Whether through fate or careful planning on Meglar’s part, it appears just he and I are left on Ardus. I’m not very familiar with the great kingdoms in the northern hemisphere, but I know they are a fractured, bickering people, always at war with each other. My one attempt to reach out to them confirmed that opinion. The court wizard I met spoke of the constant state of war in the north from one end of Erd to the other.

  “Dumbarten might hold some hope. Kel was born there, and their kings were always closely allied with Yar-del. But my information is that King Markus is on guard against an invasion from Meglar.”

  “Dumbarten’s a huge unified island, separated by thousands of miles of ocean from Zargon,” Miceral said when Farrell took a sip. “How can Meglar threaten them?”

  “It might be an ocean away from Zargon, but Dumbarten and Lourdria are separated by only a few miles of water. Don’t forget, Lourdria is bigger than all of Ardus by half, with twice as many people. The population might be scattered among dozens of smaller kingdoms, but if Meglar can get control of even a small kingdom, he could quickly overrun the continent. That is what Dumbarten is worried about.”

  Farrell finished eating, shivering as he drained his cup. Miceral stood, reaching for his hand.

  “Okay, time for you to get back to bed.”

  “I’m fine, really.” Miceral’s strong hands gently rubbed his back. “You must feel trapped. Let me get some clean clothes, and I can show you around some.”

  Pushing back, Miceral stared at him. “They said you should rest.”

  Grabbing his staff, he shrugged. “I promise not to use my shoulder and to take it easy. That’s all the rest I need.”

  On the way back to the bedroom, he paused by the bath chamber. “Erstad must have forgotten to empty the tub. Let me take care of it before we go.”

  “What happened to being good?” Miceral shook his head, tugging lightly on Farrell’s good arm.

  “Trust me. This is fine.”

  “How can this be fine?” He kept his grip firm. “Powering the lights caused you enough pain to wake you up.”

  Farrell smiled, motioning toward the bath. “This will be a short lesson in magic and healing. First, it’s not really the wound that’s the problem. Well, that’s not totally accurate. Healing and magic are similar. The greater the healing, the greater the energy needed. Because of that, good healers use the patient’s energy to assist the healing process.”

  Farrell guided them toward the tub. “My energy is being diverted to heal my wound. Any use of magic, however slight, pulls magic from everywhere in my body, particularly the injured area because that’s where my energy is the greatest. That’s what causes the pain. It feels like a rag being pulled through the wound.”

  Miceral winced when he described the pain. “Okay, so that’s why it hurts. How’s this different?”

  “Healers are a wonderful bunch, but they don’t understand the finer points of how a grand master can use power.” He pointed toward himself with a smile.

  “Magic lesson, part two,” he continued. “Spells and magic require power as well as skill. Most lesser wizards use power from inside themselves. Higher-level wizards can draw energy from their surroundings, but usually there isn’t enough energy to power even the smallest spells. That’s why wizards collect and store power, and the best place to store it is in oneself. Less chance of being stolen, and it’s easier to access there.”

  Holding his staff out, he made the water disappear. Miceral relaxed when Farrell smiled at him. “Most wizards of any class can only work magic if power flows through their body. Mainly because that’s how they were taught. However, a talented wizard can tap power stored in something else, like their staff, and use it to power spells just as effectively as if it came from inside. Using power stored in something else doesn’t pull it from me, and thus it doesn’t hurt.”

  Miceral kept his eyes on the tub. Using the distraction, Farrell leaned in for a quick kiss. “Come on. Let me get dressed, and we can go.”

  Gathering his clothes, he gingerly got dressed under Miceral’s watchful eye, determined not to show any sign of pain. He returned to the closet and exchanged his wooden staff for his black one with the platinum caps.

  “This one has more energy,” Farrell explained, reaching for Miceral’s hand. The questioning look from Miceral drew a sigh from Farrell. “My shoulder won’t break from holding hands as long as you don’t use your brute strength to yank it off.”

  Miceral gave him the first real smile since they got home. “Silly imp.”

  “Met an imp once. I can say I’m nothing like him. Had to kill him. Imps only look cute and cuddly. They’re cruel and mean. Just horrible creatures.” It took Farrell a moment to realize he had ruined Miceral’s playful mood. “Sorry, that was uplifting, wasn’t it? I promise to be good, so long as you hold my hand.”

  He bowed theatrically. “Then, my prince I shall not let go.”

  For the next several hours, Farrell showed Miceral around, taking him up and down to various markets and to the main entrance.

  “This place is vast, much larger than Northhelm,” Miceral noted as they entered a long, empty corridor.

  “Each kingdom has its own designated area, complete with its own temples, marketplaces, and royal residences.”

  “How far does it stretch?”

  “Miles.” He motioned with his staff for Miceral to turn left. “It takes a lot of space to hold the survivors of five kingdoms, counting your people.”

  “Did anyone from Zargon flee when Meglar took over?”

  “No. There was no reason for them to flee at first. Even after Meglar killed his father, he ruled much like his sire.” That “sire” being the grandfather Farrell had never met.

  “What about when he experimented on his people to create Chamdon?” If Miceral noticed Farrell’s reflective moment, he didn’t show it.

  “At first, he only used criminals, slaves, or captured enemies. No one objected too much with Zargon militarily a
nd economically on the rise. By the time Meglar’s true madness revealed itself, it was too late. Any who voiced opposition or even concern disappeared, along with their entire family and household.”

  Miceral nodded. “I imagine the disappearance of a few powerful noble families would be enough to cow the remaining citizens into silence.”

  “Exactly.” Farrell squeezed Miceral’s hand. “Now the only unchanged people left are his cadre of faithful retainers. Those, and the women he keeps as breeders.”

  “Breeders?”

  Swallowing, he nodded. “Meglar rarely turns women of childbearing age into Chamdon. Instead, they become slaves and are sent to breeding pens. He encourages his men to rape any woman not with child. The only purpose for these women is to bear children who can then become Chamdon.”

  Miceral jerked to a halt. “That’s barbaric!”

  Farrell stifled a grimace at the abrupt stop. “Indeed. It’s why we rarely turn and fight when we can avoid it. The fewer people he captures alive, the better.”

  Silently, they passed through little-used areas. Farrell used the silence to push aside thoughts of his father’s madness.

  “Are we headed for the stables?” Miceral’s voice echoed in the long, unbroken corridor.

  “No, those were off the last corridor we passed. We’re going to see Nerti and Klissmor. Lenore’s clerics tended them, but we should’ve checked on them sooner.”

  “I’m sure they’ll understand, given your condition.”

  “Perhaps, but I would like to visit.” The tunnel sloped upward and ended in front of a large, plain stone door. Farrell tapped his staff on the stone, and cool evening air greeted them as the door swung open.

  Farrell reached out to let Nerti know they had arrived, but she didn’t answer. “Odd. She knew we were coming.”

  Before Miceral could answer, Nerti and Klissmor cleared an outcrop of rocks and trotted toward them. Klissmor, an angry glint in his eyes, never turned his gaze from Miceral. The unicorn pressed forward until he had backed his rider against the wall.

  Watching Klissmor’s behavior, Farrell failed to notice that Nerti stood inches away from him. She stared at his shoulder but didn’t say a word, not even a greeting. Suddenly, she lunged forward and impaled him in his injured shoulder.

  Chapter Eleven

  MICERAL CRIED out, but Farrell barely heard it. Stunned, he stared wide-eyed at the horn embedded in his body.

  Nerti moved back, removing her horn. Farrell found no blood, no wound, not even a hole in his shirt. And no pain. Before he could speak, Nerti stepped closer to Klissmor, keeping Miceral cornered.

  From the look on his face, Miceral appeared to be on the receiving end of a lecture from one or both of the unicorns. When Farrell moved toward the trio, Nerti turned her head quickly.

  “Do not interfere!” The force of her voice caused him to flinch.

  Miceral’s chin sagged, almost touching his chest. “I agree. I promise to be more careful.”

  With that, the two backed away. Nerti narrowed her piercing green eyes on him. “How does it feel now, Wizard?” A wink accompanied the last word.

  He rotated his arm, testing the range of motion. “Better, Unicorn. You could have warned me.”

  “No.” She shook her head. “Had you flinched, I could have missed the spot I needed.”

  “I’m to blame, not Miceral.” He included Klissmor in his thoughts. “I should have stopped when I got tired. Instead, like a fool, I tried to prove my worth.”

  “Defending your mate is admirable, but Miceral knew better.” Nerti locked eyes with him. “You are too important to Lenore and Honorus for him to have put you so at risk. He should have verified your skills before he put them to the test. He failed to act wisely. We told him to do better in the future. There is nothing left to discuss.” Farrell recognized the tone and knew better than to challenge her. “Can we go for a ride?”

  “I would welcome a run, but there are no good paths for miles.” She looked to the West. “There are too many trees on this side of the mountains.”

  “I thought I’d open a Door to Gharaha.” Nerti smiled at him—or what passed for a unicorn smile.

  Klissmor moved closer to Miceral. “We waste time standing here.”

  In the waning light of the summer sun, the four emerged onto the grassy plains. Without warning, the unicorns took off as only their kind could. Back home, with the wind rushing through his hair, Farrell laughed. He leaned forward, urging Nerti to run faster. Peering back, he saw Klissmor galloping with a determined glint in his eye. Miceral mimicked Farrell’s position, and his blond hair shimmered when it caught a shaft of moonlight from the newly risen moon.

  For all his effort, Klissmor never caught Nerti. They reached the northern edge and had careened back when a powerful flare lit the dark sky from a spot above the gates. Farrell recognized the aura instantly. What did Wesfazial want?

  “We’re being summoned back,” he told Nerti, not trying to hide his disappointment.

  Nerti raced Klissmor to the front gate, and the pair arrived side by side. Farrell and Miceral quickly dismounted, and Farrell moved to one of the permanent Doors on this side. Careful to avoid the horn, he put his head to Nerti’s forehead and kissed her between the eyes, a thanks for the ride.

  Smiling broadly, he waved to close the Door and took Miceral’s hand. Before they reached the gate, his smile drained.

  “Honorus’s butt cheeks!” His curse earned him a stifled laugh from Miceral. “That man is always scowling at me. What is it now?”

  When they arrived, Wesfazial, his face pinched and tight, “greeted” them.

  “What in the Eight Gates of Neblor do you think you were doing?” He barely contained his anger. “You’re supposed to be resting, not off romping around at night on a unicorn’s back. And what demon possessed you to open Doors? You’re not supposed to be using magic.

  At all!” He paused for a breath, then turned his glare on Miceral. “And you. Not content to wound him, now you’re trying to kill him by not letting him rest?”

  Farrell put fingers to lips and whistled loudly. When his mentor stared at him, he shook his head slowly. “Sometimes it’s better to ask questions before launching into a lecture.”

  Wesfazial’s eyes narrowed, but he kept silent.

  “Nerti healed me with her horn.” Raising both eyebrows, he waited a moment before adding, “I assume that’s all you wanted.”

  “Um, no, there’s nothing else.” The older wizard shook his head as Farrell led Miceral inside. “Sorry, but I was apoplectic when I saw you four galloping about like that. Forgot about those unicorn horns.”

  Laughing at the contrition, Farrell turned abruptly and put his hand on Wesfazial’s shoulder. “Sooner or later you’ll have to let go and realize I’m not the juvenile you met when you arrived.”

  “It will take a long time for me to forget those days. I’m glad you’re all right, but be careful around this big oaf. He only looks slow.” Wesfazial gripped Miceral’s shoulder in his meaty hand before walking away.

  Farrell took a small detour by the kitchen. The old woman on duty eyed Miceral a few times before she disappeared to get their food. Despite being healed, Farrell still felt drained. He barely kept his eyes open while they ate, and Miceral sent him to bed as soon as they reached their rooms.

  He woke briefly when Miceral crawled in bed next to him. A strong arm enveloping him sent him back into a peaceful sleep.

  “KEEP YOUR guard up!” Miceral stepped back, signaling a pause in their training. “How many more welts must I give you before you remember to focus on both defending and attacking?”

  “You’re trying— ” Farrell stopped when he saw Miceral’s smirk.

  “Of course not.” He threw Farrell a towel. “But it’s almost impossible to stop a blow when you fail to protect properly.”

  “I really am trying.” They’d only been training together two months, but he thought he’d made good progress.
r />   “You’re doing amazingly well.” Miceral nodded encouragingly. “But there’s always room to improve.”

  Farrell finished wiping the sweat from his face. “Room? There’s a whole mountain of improvement for me to make.”

  Three sharp raps filled the air, seeming to come from nowhere and everywhere.

  “Front door.” He flipped the towel over his shoulder and moved to the exit.

  “What’s that?” Miceral asked, soundly slightly annoyed.

  “Sorry, someone’s at the front door.” Farrell held up his hand before Miceral could answer. Waving his fingers in front of his mouth, he said, “Be there in a moment.”

  Another flick of his hand, and he smiled. “The door has a spell to let us know someone’s knocking. Otherwise people might knock for a while before we heard them.”

  “Oh.” Miceral seemed happy with the answer. “Who is it?”

  “No idea.” Laughing, Farrell stepped off to meet their guest.

  He wiped his face again as he opened the door. Erstad backed up when it opened.

  “Erstad,” he said cheerfully. “Sorry to keep you waiting. We weren’t expecting you.”

  The older wizard eyed him carefully, the beginning of a smirk on his lips. Feeling his face get red, Farrell rolled his eyes. “No, you didn’t interrupt us doing that.”

  Snorting, Erstad stepped inside when Farrell moved back. “So what are you doing that you’re half-naked and sweating?”

  The way Erstad asked only made him blush deeper. Turning, he motioned for his mentor to follow.

  “Great Honorus, Farrell!” Erstad put a hand on Farrell’s shoulder, causing him to stop. “What happened to you?”

  Farrell turned, unsure what his mentor meant. They locked eyes, and Erstad motioned to Farrell’s back.

  “Where did you get all those welts?”

  “Oh, that.” Relieved, he waved his hand absently. “Miceral and I are practicing. Evidently I’m not keeping my guard up enough.