Champion of the Gods Box Set

by Andrew Q. Gordon

  Miceral laughed. “I’m not sure how comfortable I’d be with that relationship. Wilhelm is under no obligation to protect these people.”

  “Maybe not, but if you were Belsport, how would you react if a large armed force marched against the neighbors you were friendly with?” Farrell shrugged. “Besides, most of the large landowners have homes inside the city walls, making them citizens of Belsport.”

  “Sounds like they’re hedging their bets.”

  Farrell maneuvered his horse behind Miceral’s to let a farmer with his cart pass. Moving back up, he said, “Actually, you have it backward. Most of the large landowners came from Belsport originally. They used their wealth to buy farmland close to the city. They have a ready market for the food they grow.”

  “I knew there was a reason I didn’t like merchants.”

  “Ruling monarchs love them.” Farrell laughed. “The more money they make, the more tax revenue the crown gets.”

  Miceral eyed him sharply. When he looked away, Farrell said, “What? You make it seem like a tawdry affair. Don’t forget, before the war, Yar-del was a major trading city, bigger than Belsport.”

  “Bigger than Belsport?” The smirk on Miceral’s face made Farrell smile. “Bit biased of you, wouldn’t you say?”

  “No.” He shook his head. “Yar-del had a large navy as well as a powerful wizard king or queen. It was far more desirable to do business in Yar-del than in Zargon or any of the free cities to the north. That led to the rise of a large and wealthy merchant class. There was more trade going in and out of Yar-del than anywhere else on the continent. Not that it did us much good in the end.” The last sentence came out as barely a whisper.

  Farrell focused on the sound of his horse’s gait to avoid reliving a day he wished he could forget. Thankfully, Miceral didn’t comment. Farrell didn’t want to hear someone else justify his failure as not his fault.

  Before the sun reached its apex, the walls of Belsport loomed ahead of them.

  “By the Six, those are high walls.” Miceral’s voice broke their silence. “It would take some siege engines to breach those defenses.”

  The awe in his partner’s voice brought a smile to Farrell’s lips. “If I remember correctly, they are forty-five feet high and eight feet thick.”

  “Belsport put their tax money to good use, I see.”

  “More than you can see, actually.” Farrell adjusted his vision so his wizard’s sight kicked in. “There are hundreds of spells layered on the walls and on the ground leading to the city. Belsport has been blessed with wise rulers who recognized the need to defend their good fortune.”

  It took the better part of the next hour to reach the first line of conventional defenses, a twenty-foot-wide, ten-foot-deep trench filled with sharpened stakes. The oak drawbridge provided easy access to the city. Several alert guards monitored those who entered and the goods they brought with them.

  “Remember, we’re mercenaries looking for work and celebrating our union ceremony.” Farrell didn’t turn toward his partner, keeping his focus on the guards.

  “Hold.” The guard nearest them held up his hand. Sun sparkled off his burnished chest plate. “What business have you in Belsport?”

  “Mercenaries looking for work.” Farrell met the man’s stare.

  “Have you booked a place to stay?” He turned his attention to Miceral. “The prince doesn’t look kindly on unemployed mercs sleeping in public spaces.”

  “No worries, sir.” Holding up his left hand, Farrell waited for the guard to nod before reaching into his saddlebag. “We’ve booked accommodations at the Blue Marlin.”

  An eyebrow went up on the guard closest to him as the other two began to pay more attention. “Blue Marlin, you say? And you’re looking for work?”

  “My father is the Baron of Vilna in Utremth, and my life partner’s father is a spice merchant in Jerdam.” Farrell handed the lodging document to the guard. “They paid for the trip as a union gift.”

  “Spice merchant?” Miceral’s voice almost caused him to turn. “You’re the son of a baron, and all I get to be is a merchant’s son?”

  “One of us had to come from money.”

  “You’re a wizard.” The guard handed Farrell back his papers. “Why would your father let you become a mercenary?”

  “My older brother felt uncomfortable having a wizard for the next in line.” He put the confirmation back in his bag. “I felt it wisest to find another place to live.”

  “Brothers,” one of the guards grumbled.

  The solider in charge nodded, and a guard raised the wooden pole blocking the way. “One piece of advice, wizard.” He stopped speaking until Farrell turned to face him. “Avoid seeking employment from the House of Kaleb; word has it their fortunes are about to take a turn for the worse. Consider it a union gift.”

  Before Farrell could answer, Miceral nudged his mount forward. “Thank you for the advice. Would be a poor start to our union if our first contract together ended with us not getting paid.”

  Farrell smiled and gave the solider a nod before following Miceral into the city. “Jealous?”

  “Possessive.” Miceral turned and gave his partner a wink. “Didn’t want him to think he could make a move on my life partner.”

  “We both know it would be a wasted effort.” Laughing, he motioned to the right. “The Blue Marlin is this way.”

  He led them through the upper city, home to the working class, garrisons, and labor-intensive and foul-smelling industries such as tanning and slaughterhouses. When they came to a wide avenue, they turned left and descended into the lower city.

  “This is amazing.” Miceral stopped his horse and looked around. “It’s as if the gods took a giant scoop out of the land but left the cliff face to guard the city.”

  “Legend has it that Arritisa carved out the harbor and the land around it for Her people.” He pointed toward the narrow mouth of the harbor. “She pushed the cliffs apart just enough to allow for steady trade but close enough to be highly defensible.”

  “Defensible?” Miceral shook his head. “The entrance can’t be more than a hundred yards wide. An enemy trying to sail in couldn’t get more than two or three ships at a time into the harbor, if they could survive the pounding they’d take from the fortification on top of those cliffs.”

  “They would never be able to enter the harbor.” Farrell pointed to the right side of the entrance. “See that massive iron link? That’s part of a chain as wide as I am tall. In times of war, that gets pulled taut, blocking the entrance.”

  “What’s that?” Miceral motioned with his chin to an island in the center of the mile-wide harbor.

  “That’s the Citadel, home to the Prince of Belsport.” He nudged his horse and led them down the gentle slope heading toward the harbor. “The other houses are the homes of the leading merchants.”

  “Bet that land costs a shiny gold piece,” Miceral said.

  Farrell shook his head. “No, the land on Prince’s Island is not for sale. The merchants rent the land, but they own the homes.”

  “How’s that work?”

  “Badly for the merchant class, to be sure.” He laughed. “The prince owns the land but permits others to build homes on the island, provided they pay rent. If they can’t afford the rent or should they fall out of favor, they are told to move. Selling the house becomes tricky because the buyer has to be approved by the prince or else they can’t rent the land.”

  Now Miceral laughed. “That makes negotiating difficult for the seller if the list of buyers is limited.”

  “Exactly.” Farrell smirked. “Seems a good way to keep the merchants in line. Anger the prince and your home becomes almost worthless. I heard the last merchant to fall out with the crown was forced to all but give away his magnificent home. The prince only approved one renter—the captain of his guard. The man refused to pay more than two silver pieces—no doubt the price set by the prince. That was over two hundred years ago.”

  A
breeze swept up the street, confined by the tightly packed stone buildings. Farrell closed his eyes and breathed in deep. The ocean smell, combined with the sound of seagulls squawking and fishmongers calling out their goods, reminded him of Yar-del. Nearly overwhelmed by the memory, he couldn’t choke off a small sob.

  “Farrell?” The concern in Miceral’s voice made Farrell even more annoyed by his reaction.

  “Sorry.” He managed a thin smile. “Being here reminds me of Yar-del, which is odd because I’ve been to Belsport several times since

  Yar-del fell.”

  Miceral moved his horse closer and squeezed Farrell’s hand. He kept silent, leaving Farrell alone with his thoughts.

  Moving west, they descended past increasingly larger homes and more expensive shops. Across the water, they could see commercial buildings just beyond the extensive docks. Below, several smaller piers held small, well-appointed boats docked in front of grand villas. Reaching the second-to-last tier, Farrell turned north.

  “The Blue Marlin is just ahead.” His voice seemed almost strange to him after the extended silence. “I hope you’ll like it.”

  Miceral gave him a grin. “If the inn is half as grand as what we’ve passed, it will easily be the finest place I’ve ever stayed.”

  Tugging the reins, Farrell turned onto a small semicircular path in front of an ornate building. Columns carved with images of the ocean and its goddess lined the front of what could easily be a palace anywhere else.

  When Farrell and Miceral stopped by the front door, a well-dressed doorman slowly eyed them up and down. A moment later, he snapped his fingers, and two teenage boys came scurrying over to attend and stand in front of the horses.

  “Good afternoon, sirs,” the doorman said, keeping his place in front of the entrance. “Is it your intention to be guests of the Blue Marlin this day?”

  “It is, sir.” Farrell dismounted and pulled the documents from the saddlebag. “I contracted with your innkeeper a few weeks ago for a suite for my partner and I to celebrate our union.”

  The man continued to eye him, spending time observing his boots and weapons. Finally he moved closer. “Who shall I tell Master Jarvis has arrived?”

  Reaching slowly into his purse, Farrell withdrew a silver ducat. If the doorman noticed his actions, he gave no hint of it as Farrell walked over and shook his hand. “Halloran and my partner, Miceral.” When he removed his hand, the coin disappeared and the man smiled.

  “At once, good sirs.” He flicked his wrist twice at the boys and moved inside.

  Miceral dismounted and moved to the teenagers. He handed a small silver coin to each. “There will be double that if our horses are well cared for while we’re here.”

  The coins disappeared as the pair smiled broadly and gave Miceral a small bow. Farrell grabbed his saddlebag just before one of the boys collected the reins. The horses quickly disappeared, leaving them alone to wait for word from Master Jarvis.

  Farrell slung his saddlebag over his left shoulder, then moved closer to his partner.

  The doorman returned a moment later.

  “Masters Halloran and Miceral.” He bowed twice. “My apologies for not recognizing two such important guests. Your common attire and casual attitude are most convincing. Even I, who prides himself on seeing through disguises, was fooled.”

  The man snapped his fingers, and two smartly dressed young men appeared, holding out their hands for the pair’s travel bags.

  “I am Galthus, at your service.” He eyed the small bags. “Traveling light, I see. Well, we have all the amenities well-born persons such as yourselves might require. Simply ask for me, and I’ll personally see that you’re taken care of.”

  “By the Six, what happened that he’s suddenly treating you like . . . well, Prince Halloran of Yar-del?”

  “When one rents the most expensive suite at the Blue Marlin and pays in full, in advance, it is presumed that said person is a gentleman of means.” Farrell winked at his partner. “And for what I paid, only a prince or wealthy merchant could afford such rates.”

  They followed Galthus to a small office just off the main staircase. After knocking twice on the door, Galthus moved back to the entrance, bowing his head as he passed. A large, portly man with thin wisps of gray-black hair emerged from the office, smiling ear to ear. Dressed like a successful merchant, the man had to be Master Jarvis.

  “M’lord Halloran, so good to finally meet you.” He offered his hand to Miceral, who pointed toward Farrell.

  “I’m Miceral, that’s F—Halloran.” His face turned bright red. Only the fact that Jarvis moved quickly to “Halloran,” the paying customer, saved Miceral from having to explain his near slipup.

  “My apologies, my lord. I am Master Jarvis. Welcome to the Blue Marlin.” Spreading both arms, he bowed foppishly. “I trust you and your partner had no difficulties finding us?”

  “I hope we’ll be able to have some time away from all the fawning staff.” Miceral didn’t make eye contact, just as Farrell had taught him.

  “No worries, love, we’re almost free of them.” Smiling back at the innkeeper, he said, “Our journey was pleasant, and we had no problems finding the inn. I must say, my agent was too stingy in his praise. His words failed to capture the true magnificence of your inn.”

  Jarvis appeared pleased by the compliment. “Well, young sir, we cater to those used to the finer things. Your suite is ready. These two will assist you in finding your way. If you need anything, anything at all, please let us know.”

  “And he’ll be only too happy to bill us outrageously for the privilege of doing what should be in the price we paid.” Miceral’s comment got a small snicker from Farrell, despite his best attempt to ignore it.

  “My apologies, Master Jarvis, I was not laughing at your offer. I was responsible for packing, and in my haste to leave, I forgot a good many things. Miceral gave me a fair bit of teasing on the ride, and your words reminded me of my mistake.”

  “Fear not, m’lord. As I said, we’re well-equipped to deal with any of your needs.” Turning to his assistants, he nodded toward the stairs. “Enjoy your stay.”

  “You’ll pay for that comment.” While not really mad, Farrell tried to sound convincing. “Perhaps an army of fire ants in your pants will teach you a lesson.”

  “Wow, you don’t play fair, do you? And you recovered so well, too.” Miceral clearly didn’t take him seriously. “But before you go handing out fire ants, remember two things. I get up earlier than you. Ice water can be a brutal wake-up call. And second, if you put them down my pants, that might hinder our postnuptial activities.”

  They both started laughing again, drawing an amused look from their guides. Up two flights of stairs, down a long, rug-covered hallway, and the four stopped before a set of inlaid oak doors at the end of the corridor.

  Once the staff put the saddlebags down, Farrell gave each a silver coin for their efforts and motioned for the door. Even as they bowed, Farrell thought he saw a smirk on one of their faces. Fine, let them think what they wanted; they were probably right. Shutting the door behind them, he turned to find Miceral looking around the room.

  “Great Lenore, this room puts our suite to shame.” He spun around, looking to Farrell like a small child who’d just received his birthday gifts. “I mean, you’re the Prince of Haven and Yar-del and you don’t live like this.”

  Farrell laughed, giving his partner a kiss. “If we wanted to live like this, we could, but I prefer our comfortable furniture to this showy stuff. It reminds me of the formal sitting room.” He sat in a beautifully carved upholstered chair and rolled his eyes. “Not comfortable at all, but the view is spectacular.”

  They walked to the balcony and opened the window. Despite it being winter, they were farther north, making the breeze almost warm. The entire harbor stretched out before them, affording them an unobstructed view of the Citadel and its many spires.

  “I didn’t realize we were so high up.” Miceral leaned over
the balcony, turning his head left and right. “This is very nice; even the weather is perfect. You couldn’t have planned a better post-union trip if you tried.” A pair of strong hands swept Farrell off his feet. “I love you, Farrell.”

  “Halloran,” he corrected. “At least for the week. And I love you too, Miceral. C’mon, let’s unpack, have dinner, then you can pay up for your earlier mistake.”

  Chapter Twenty

  LEAVING THE tailor’s shop, Farrell put his new tunics in his endless pocket.

  “You’re going to make Galthus insane.” Miceral smirked. “Every day he eyes us whenever we change clothes.”

  Farrell laughed, looking around for a place to eat. “The man’s gotten more than enough coins from me in the last four days. I’m fine if I upset him.”

  Miceral tapped Farrell’s shoulder and pointed to a merchant selling food. “Want to try that one?”

  Squinting, Farrell muttered a spell, then waited for the results. “Definitely not. The meat inside the pastry is spoiled. You can’t tell because of the heavy spices used, but it’ll make us sick if we eat there.”

  A sigh escaped Miceral’s lips. “Much as I appreciate you checking every vendor, it’s frustrating to see so many selling rancid food.”

  “Let’s go back to the inn.” Farrell nodded toward the side street that led to the Blue Marlin. “Galthus will be happy to give a recommendation for some more of my silver.”

  “He’s not been wrong so far.” Miceral shrugged. “Better than you checking every random food seller we come upon.”

  The pair navigated their way between various merchants and vendors before reaching the main avenue. “I’ve never seen a populace so intent on making a sale,” Miceral said when they cleared the last stall. “A gauntlet might have been easier to run through.”

  Rolling his eyes, Farrell shook his head. “You never experienced Market Square in Yar-del. Made these sellers look tame.”

  “Not that you’re biased, of course.”