Champion of the Gods Box Set

by Andrew Q. Gordon

  Miceral spun around, striking a Chamdon in the face, sending it flying back into two others. Shoving his left sword into one shaken creature’s chest, he parried a blow from the other. A quick twist pushed the last Chamdon’s clumsily used sword to the ground, providing a clear shot at its head. Before the severed head hit the ground, Miceral ran back toward Farrell.

  Farrell stared at the mass of raw, charred, oozing red flesh his hands had become. Almost every part of both hands had been burned.

  “What in the Holy Mother’s name did you do?” Miceral’s question barely registered as Farrell concentrated on trying to heal his hands. He managed to numb the pain but nothing else. Only a master healer could fix this. Lifting his eyes from his hands to his partner, he held back the tears.

  “Door energy is extremely destructive. I miscalculated the strength of my shield, and the energy ate through to my hands.” Sensing the approach of more Chamdon, he knew their survival depended on him being able to hold and use his staff. Closing his eyes and gritting his teeth, he pushed past the agony and used his healing talent to turn off his pain receptors.

  “Why would you do such a foolish thing?” Miceral tried to grab his hands, but Farrell had already encased them in a new set of energy gloves.

  “The Door needed to be closed; I shut it.” The pain reduced to a memory, Farrell channeled healing energy to his ruined hands. It wouldn’t heal them, but they wouldn’t get worse, either. With nothing more he could do, he reached for his staff.

  Miceral stopped him. “What in Neblor do you think you’re doing? There’s no way you can touch anything with those hands.”

  Using magic, Farrell moved Miceral aside to pick up his staff. “If I can’t hold this, we will die. In case you forgot, we are deep into the area controlled by Meglar’s forces.”

  “You need to see a healer before I let you use that again.” Miceral reached for the staff, but Farrell’s shield kept him at bay. “I’m not kidding. Give it to me.”

  “If we stay here, I won’t live to see a healer.” He spun the thick black wood in his hand. “I’ve blocked the pain and protected my hands so I won’t further damage them.”

  Any further discussion ended when Farrell heard the jingle of badly fitting armor and booted feet on stone. Movement caught his eye from the street to his left, and he noted Miceral looking in the same direction.

  “We need to move.” Miceral didn’t wait for Farrell to answer before heading north.

  Following behind, he thanked Honorus that Miceral couldn’t see his face. In his rush to get to the Door, he’d forgotten the first rule of wizardry: always know how much power you have before you act. When they flew away from the Citadel, he hadn’t replenished his supplies. And while that still left him with more than most master wizards could store, he had already used a significant amount getting to and destroying the Door. Shielding them both and keeping a small but constant stream of energy flowing to his hands ate into his reserves.

  Midway through the block, a company of Chamdon turned the corner. Upon seeing them, the snarling creatures lurched forward. With a burst of speed, Miceral moved ahead to engage their enemies.

  Like a man gone berserk, Miceral tore into the Chamdon. In a blur of motion, his swords wove a deadly dance, cutting through armor, flesh, bones, anything in their way. Sending the head of one Chamdon flying off a building, Miceral spun to his left, bringing his sword down to split the last attacker from head to groin.

  Wading through the blood and carnage, Farrell caught up with Miceral at the end of the street. A chill raced down Farrell’s back when Miceral turned around, a grim, determined expression on his face. Farrell grabbed Miceral’s hand to keep him from moving again.

  “I’m going to fly us out of here.” Gathering his energy, he’d initiated the spell when his body exploded in pain, forcing him to his knees.

  “What . . . what’s wrong?” Miceral’s mental scream hurt almost as much as the pain in his chest and arms.

  “Stupid.” Why didn’t he think before he acted? “I’m fine now. I just forgot magic burns injured flesh when it passes through. I can’t fly us out without skin-to-skin contact, and that hurts too much for me to focus on the spell.”

  “Then don’t use magic anymore.” His blue eyes glared at Farrell. “I’ll get us out of here.”

  “I can use magic if I focus it through my staff.” Hopefully, he wouldn’t run out. “But I’ll keep it in reserve for now.”

  They’d gone a few blocks when they encountered a staging area for Meglar’s troops. Several wizards, including two midlevel masters, conferred in the center of four large groups of Chamdon.

  “Trouble.” Farrell took a moment to assess the wizards’ full powers. “There are two wizards strong enough to delay us. Let me cloak us before we continue.”

  Miceral’s eyes narrowed, boring into Farrell as if looking for an answer. “Fine, but we’re going straight across, no stopping.”

  He gave his lover a reassuring smile. “Agreed.”

  “Stay with me.” Miceral’s expression never softened. “I waited a lifetime to find you. I won’t lose you now.”

  “I’m not going anywhere.” Farrell leaned in and kissed Miceral’s cheek, breaking the warrior’s scowl. “You be careful, too. Nothing crazy.”

  Using the power from his staff, Farrell raised a cloak, aware the Chamdon could still sense them. He’d yet to figure out how, but he didn’t have the time to resolve that issue now. Carefully, he and Miceral moved past broken, empty stalls once part of a vibrant outdoor market. The open space measured twice as wide east to west as it did north to south. Two streets crossed the open area from the east. To the north, across the square, the road they used continued toward the Citadel.

  Chamdon milled about, barely organized, in groups of roughly fifty. The handlers seemed to be having trouble keeping them calm. Without a target, Chamdon needed to be put to rest or they grew unsettled. Apparently this group of wizards had never dealt with the problem before.

  To Farrell’s eye, the enemy appeared to be guarding the western and northern streets, the same direction he and Miceral needed to go. Despite the position of the Chamdon squads, they set off down the middle of the square, hoping to avoid contact.

  Making use of the noise and confusion, the pair quickly passed the first westbound street. Miceral never deviated from his original goal—the northern exit.

  “If we make it to the next street, can you bar anyone else from following?” Miceral asked.

  “Easily.”

  “Good.” Without turning, Miceral pointed due north of them. “When we get closer, we’ll sprint for that street. The Chamdon will sense us, but if we run, they shouldn’t be able to fix on us until we’re past them.”

  They moved cautiously, keeping alert for signs anyone noticed them. Focused north, Farrell didn’t see two Chamdon wander toward them from the group to their left. When they started sniffing, a wizard turned. For a moment, Farrell thought he would order them back, but the man’s eyes went wide, and he pointed in their direction.

  “They’re sniffing!” he shouted. “Just as the Emperor Meglar warned us!”

  Farrell separated his staff and blasted the two Chamdon, then the wizard. He hoped it would add to the confusion and give them more time to escape. “Run.”

  Even though Miceral and Farrell were cloaked, Chamdon and wizards began to converge on them. Running hard, Farrell dropped their invisibility when he saw handlers sending Chamdon in their direction.

  “We’re visible,” he told Miceral, sending several fiery green balls at their enemy. “They’re using Chamdon to find us. I need the energy to strengthen our shields.”

  The Zargonian company coming from their left abruptly stopped and ran north. Before he could try to stop them, Farrell felt an attack from the rear. Turning, he saw the Chamdon from the south moving forward, attempting to surround them. Sensing a powerful shield ahead of them, he returned his attention north. One of the master wizards had l
inked with several of the lesser wizards and erected a shield around the Chamdon charging at Miceral.

  “They’re trying to encircle us.” He pointed his staff at the enemy and tried to punch a hole in the line of Chamdon blocking their way. The first strike caused the shield to ripple, eliciting a grunt from one low-level wizard. His second blast struck a Chamdon in the chest when the wizard took down the shield to prevent backlash.

  “This wizard is better than most.” He eyed the man, trying to gauge his talent. Miceral slowed to handle the Chamdon closing on them. Farrell used the time to test the master wizard’s personal shields. They proved strong enough that he spun around to deal with the wizards behind him first.

  He pushed both halves of his staff onto the ground and sent a small tremor toward the enemy running after them. The earth around the Chamdon and wizards erupted in a shower of dirt and rock. In the confusion, Farrell targeted the wizards first, taking out the other master wizard and all but one lesser mage. He quickly fired a ball of red energy that expanded into a thin line and sliced through the unprotected Chamdon as it moved. Free from an attack from behind, he returned his attention north.

  Ahead of him, Miceral was prepared to engage the Chamdon headed their way when a wave of fire washed over him and the creature. The shield around him repelled the flames, but it startled Miceral enough that he flinched and came to a halt.

  Another two companies charged into the square from the east. The group from the west reversed course again and returned to guard the western exits. The newly arrived troops fanned out, blocking the roads to the east. Farrell steadied Miceral, adding a bit more strength to his partner’s shield.

  “I’ve enough energy left that I can probably blast our way through what’s in front of us, but if we encounter any wizards beyond the square, I’ll be hard-pressed to handle them.”

  “Save it.” Miceral scanned the area around them. “We might need it later.”

  “Wizard.” A voice called from the group that blocked their way to the north. “Surrender. There’s no escape. You’re surrounded on three sides, and more troops are coming as we speak.”

  Farrell forced as natural a laugh as he could manage. “Surrender? Why would I do something so foolish when I hold the upper hand? It is you who should surrender.”

  “If you think that, then you are truly the fool. Look around—”

  Farrell drowned out his opponent’s voice with a spell. “Your Door is down by my hand; I killed every wizard and Chamdon to the south with a thought; I repelled your pathetic attack on my sword mate, and you think I’m the fool? Does Meglar require you to be as stupid as he is in order to serve him?”

  While the wizards checked on the Door, Farrell quietly cast a spell. Unnoticed, a small dark cloud formed over his enemies. Noting the worried looks on the faces of a few, he laughed. “You lot truly are worthless. No wonder Meglar sent you to Belsport to die. Did none of you bother to look? Even a novice could tell my aura is brighter than Meglar’s. I outclass all of you combined, and you think to trade blows with me? In enemy territory? When your only means of retreat has been shattered against the will of your master? Pathetic.”

  He watched with satisfaction as most of the wizards stared at him with wide eyes. “I see some of you realize how little Meglar values your lives. He sent you to your deaths just as he does his Chamdon.”

  “Which way?” Farrell noted several of the wizards arguing with the master wizard he assumed led the attack. He reached out to the central stone and found it nearly empty. Darius and the wizard constables no doubt needed the energy. Taking a small line, he linked it to his slowly building cloud. With a bit of time, he’d have a nasty surprise for his foes. “I’ve used their hesitation to prepare a few counterattacks. Tell me where and when, and I’m ready.”

  Flashing him the barest hint of a smile, Miceral inclined his head north. “I say we keep to our original plan and head north.”

  “North it is.” Farrell steeled himself for whatever it took to get Miceral out safely. “Let me give them something to worry about before we go.”

  Raising his eyes, he saw the large, unnatural black cloud slowly descending over the square. Aiming one staff at the wizards in front of him and the other to the sky, he fired green blasts of power at both. The sizzling energy struck the shield erected by the eight wizards to the north. The assault continued long enough that they ignored the cloud above them.

  Farrell used the diversion to pick off two of the weaker wizards before they could reinforce their shields. Getting the attention of the surviving wizards, he braced for the onslaught he knew would follow. “Get ready.”

  Wizard fire struck him on three sides, mildly surprising him with its strength. “Desperate men are dangerous men,” Sanduval used to say. But Farrell had taken no chances, and his shields easily repelled the attacks.

  “Let’s go,” he told Miceral, launching a new attack on the Chamdon ahead of them. As Farrell hoped, a new shield quickly appeared to protect these troops. The energy from his attack hit the shield, covering it in a wall of bluish fire. Using the energy of his enemy’s shield, Farrell trapped the Chamdon inside. Left alone, the fire would burn itself out, but Meglar’s wizards tried to bring it down, stoking the flames.

  With their closest adversaries effectively walled off, Farrell followed Miceral north. As he hoped, between the trapped Chamdon and their movement, no one paid attention to the dark cloud he’d slowly been feeding energy to. Watching his opponents, Farrell sent a command to his spell the moment Zargon’s wizards turned their magic on him.

  Flashes of different-colored lightning sizzled the air, leaving a burnt odor as they targeted only wizards. The first strikes would be the strongest, so Farrell waited to see their effect before attacking the wizards himself. Despite leaving his flank exposed, Farrell decided he’d focus his attacks on those barring their way.

  Of the wizards in front of him, one turned into a charred corpse, her personal shield too weak to displace the amount of raw power directed against it. Two others got singed but lived only seconds more. Farrell targeted these two, firing a succession of fiery energy balls that swept away the remains of their shields. Unprotected, they were hurled back several yards by the force of the attack.

  Wizards in the other companies died as well, but Farrell couldn’t spare the attention to find out how many. With fewer targets, the next round of lightning proved almost as powerful as the first. One of the four wizards between them and their escape route screamed in agony as lightning caused thousands of tiny tendrils to arch between his shield and his body. When the shield failed, the burned, smoldering body hit the ground, kicking up dust.

  His cloud had one less-powerful round of strikes left. He held it in reserve, letting the cloud replenish some of its power before he used it again. The remaining wizards drew closer, erecting a powerful shield Farrell doubted the lightning could penetrate.

  Maintaining that new shield meant their enemy couldn’t spare the power to launch a meaningful attack. A standoff suited his purpose, so Farrell sent token attacks to encourage them to focus on protecting themselves.

  “Farrell! To your left!” Miceral’s desperate voice made him turn just in time to see two Chamdon charging him with swords raised.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  FARRELL TURNED quickly to face the new threat. Weeks of training kicked in, and he rebalanced his weight, preparing to meet the attack. Forcing energy to the tips of his staff, he spun the halves into position to strike. He’d readied a spell to turn the lead brute into ashes when its face exploded in a shower of blood, flesh, and brains. The second Chamdon met a similar fate a heartbeat later.

  Farrell looked up to see Grohl and Takala, wings spread wide, soaring upward, the limp bodies of their lifeless enemies dangling from their claws.

  “We thought you could use a talon, brother!” Takala’s exuberance had Farrell laughing.

  The square suddenly swarmed with activity. Companies of Belsport’s city gu
ard accompanied by teams of wizard constables poured in from the north and west. Dozens of peregrines glided into the open space, dropping fully armored, angry Muchari warriors. Ostert was among the newcomers, and he gave Farrell the barest of nods before he swept across the open space to attack a confused Chamdon.

  Chaos ruled the square for a moment as dead Chamdon rained down on Meglar’s troops. Farrell’s brothers and the other peregrines swooped down, snatching Chamdon from the ground before quickly dropping the bloody corpses among the other defenders. The remaining wizards proved no challenge for Belsport’s wizard constables. Working together, the constables quickly killed or subdued the remaining Zargonian wizards.

  No longer under attack, Farrell searched for places to help. Noting a few human soldiers aiming crossbows skyward, Farrell focused his attention on protecting the peregrines. He killed three soldiers before the last one managed to fire a bolt. Following its path, Farrell shattered it just before it struck. The look of terror on the archer’s face lasted only until his intended target dug her claws into the man’s head and hauled him skyward in one swift movement.

  Behind the initial reinforcements, Farrell saw a determined Nerti and Klissmor leading a troop of unicorns, each bearing a Muchari. Erstad rode Nerti, and Klissmor brought Master Baylec to the fight. Dozens more trailed their Queen, fanning out as they reached the open space.

  Bereft of handlers, the remaining Chamdon proved easy to isolate and kill. The few remaining human soldiers quickly surrendered. Baylec led the Haven troops east to help subdue the remaining enemy. Farrell noted the barely controlled zeal Baylec and the others displayed when searching for Meglar’s forces.

  Rested remained with the troops left to guard the square. Nerti walked toward Farrell as he removed the energy skins protecting himself and Miceral. Her gaze locked on Farrell’s hands, which still had the healing energy around them.