A deep bowl, sealed with mashed potatoes on top, rested in the center of the small table. He could smell the roast lamb he knew lay hidden inside. Plates, utensils, napkins, and cups surrounded the tan ceramic dish, as if waiting for his arrival. Scanning the room for Miceral, Farrell was just about to call out when his partner emerged from Farrell’s closet. He held up a tunic and britches for Farrell’s approval.
Farrell nodded and held out his hand for the tunic. “How in Nendor did you arrange all this without me knowing? And why?”
After yanking the shirt over his head, Farrell peeled off his towel and held it out. It disappeared with a small flash when he let it drop.
“It wasn’t meant to be a surprise, at least, not all set out like this. But you were asleep when I got home, so I had the staff fix the table.” Miceral pulled a chair back once Farrell finished putting on his pants. “As for why? Today marks one full year of knowing the most handsome, wonderful, amazing—and dare I forget—mightiest wizard in all the world.”
Farrell rolled his eyes but kept smiling. “Right, that’s why we’re celebrating tomorrow, remember?”
Scooping the bowl from the table, Miceral spooned a large portion of food onto Farrell’s plate. “Correct, but since we have plans for the day, I couldn’t do anything special for you tomorrow. I decided to celebrate the end of our first year together today and the beginning of our new one tomorrow.”
Miceral broke a hunk of bread from the loaf and held it across the table. “I know how much you like farmer’s pie, so I asked the cooks to make this for us.”
His grin threatened to make it impossible for Farrell to eat. “This is really sweet of you. Amazingly wonderful, in fact.”
“Dig in. Don’t let it get cold.”
Farrell speared a piece of lamb and a green bean before using them to scoop up some potatoes. One bite and he knew Miceral had done more than just ask the kitchen for food. “Who made this? It’s incredible.”
“Noticed the difference, did you?” Winking, Miceral took a bite. “One of the cooks from Northhelm used to make this for me as a kid. I asked her to do it for me tonight as a favor.”
Rather than answer, Farrell shoveled more food into his mouth. The last time he remembered anyone making farmer’s pie this good, his mother ruled Yar-del and they’d had dinner in the palace together. The twinge of loss stayed with him, but Miceral’s presence dulled the pain a bit.
“So tell me.” Miceral’s voice cut his morose daydream short. “Why the bad day?”
“Do you want to kill the night’s festivities already?” Farrell laughed, but he knew telling Miceral wouldn’t ruin his mood. “Let’s just say Endor may need a new monarch. Jursten is a dead man—and he knows it.”
“What’d he do?”
“Not what he did, but what he didn’t do.” He took another bite and washed it down with half his water. “My biweekly attendance at the morning complaint session was this morning.”
Miceral nodded. “I know. I helped you get dressed.”
“And I’m sure I looked splendid with my face so red it nearly burst.” He chuckled, remembering Horgon had looked almost the same. “Normally the sessions are boring, painful, or annoying, but today topped all three. A merchant from Respital complained that merchants from Endor were stealing business from their market and demanded reparations.”
“Stealing?”
With the fork in his mouth, Farrell tried to speak, then stopped to swallow. “Exactly. As if being at war with Meglar wasn’t dire enough, they’re worried about merchant wars.”
“Farrell, trade is their livelihood. It is that important to them.”
“Agreed.” He drained his cup and then refilled it. “But their complaint was that the existence of Endor’s market hurt their business.”
Miceral chewed his bread and shook his head.
“To make matters worse, Respital’s fat, lazy, worthless pile of pig turds of a king, Covis, agreed with his subjects and demanded Jursten repay his merchants.”
“How is that Jursten’s fault?”
“He should have declared war on Respital and cut off Covis’s fat head. Instead, he agreed with his merchants, declared impasse, and sent the matter to me to decide.”
“That’s what he’s supposed to do, isn’t he?”
“Yes, but he’s also required to attend. Then again, his absence was meant as a sign of how utterly stupid he found the whole affair.”
“Sounds like you agreed with Jursten.”
“Of course I did.” His anger rose as he recalled the morning’s events. Taking a deep breath, he held it until some of his ire faded. “His failure to appear gave Covis the opening to argue that Endor conceded the claim because Jursten didn’t come to argue in their defense. When the idiot made that statement, I lost my temper. I mean, really lost it. I told him if he ever set foot in my council chamber again, I’d find the nearest clutch of Chamdon and deposit him in the middle with the command to rip him to pieces.”
“Wow, bet that went over well.”
“The crowd cheered my decision, until Horgon silenced them with a stare. Then your father lit into that fat dung heap. I thought Covis was going to cry. To cool me off, your father sent me to weapons.”
“How’d that go?”
“Worse.” Farrell tried not to laugh. He’d have to make things up to Master Baylec later.
“Worse? How?”
“I guess I was still distracted. After one too many stinging blows, I created an invisible, body-hugging shield around myself. For a while, Baylec didn’t catch on, but when he did, he became irate. He lectured me for a time, then called Master Thomas over to help yell at me. Being in the wonderful mood I was in, I told them both off.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah, wow. I mean, I understand the concept of training, but I don’t see any point in letting him hurt me.”
Miceral shook his head. “The pain is supposed to motivate you to work harder to avoid future hits.”
His mouth full, Farrell had to chew before he could answer. “I think I understand the purpose of training, but it was clear I wasn’t in the right frame of mind for the pain to make a difference.”
“Maybe you should have called off the session.”
“That’s what Baylec said. Now that I’ve cooled off, I somewhat agree, but at the time I was mad. I told him that as weapons master it was his responsibility to assess if I was well enough to train. That means mentally and physically. And that he should never again try to beat me into condition.”
“What did he say to that?”
“At first he and Thomas seethed, so I added that not only was I the prince of Haven, I was also the one who had to fight Meglar. Hurting or maiming me was detrimental to both responsibilities.”
“Also a good point.”
“They seemed to think so, too, and then we all calmed down. Baylec apologized, I did too, and then he and Thomas told me to leave their practice field until I was feeling better.”
“Told you, did they?”
“That part hasn’t changed and I don’t want it to. If I’m going to require they make an assessment of my fitness, I need to listen to them.”
“Why do I get the sense that isn’t it?”
“Because it’s not.” Farrell sighed. Just retelling the day made him tired again. “Next I tried riding with Nerti, but as soon as we set foot on Gharaha, I sensed something was wrong. One of the defensive spells was bleeding through.”
“What does that mean?”
“Breaking it down to its simplest terms, the spell had been laid improperly by Wesfazial. We designed all the spells to meld together, so they had to be cast properly. Before I used the concealment spell, I was supposed to check it. I guess I’ve been so preoccupied with Kel’s book this past month, I forgot. The two spells were slightly out of sync, and the underlying spell was no longer hidden.”
He waited for Miceral to nod before he continued. “When I tried to ‘repair’ the problem, I almos
t started a cascade reaction that threatened to wipe out months or even years of work. Fortunately, I stopped the breakdown before it got started, but I still need to go back and fix everything. That will take days of effort. After that, Nerti told me to go take a bath and relax.”
Exhaling, he locked eyes with Miceral. Why did any of that matter right now? Staring at his partner, he saw concern in Miceral’s gaze. After the effort Miceral had gone through to make tonight special, Farrell couldn’t—wouldn’t—let his mood drag them down. Dipping a finger into the gravy and potatoes, he licked the food-covered digit. He made a pop when he removed it and smiled when the twinkle returned to Miceral’s eyes.
“This”—he gestured toward the table, hoping not to sound too sappy—“is exactly what I needed tonight. I feel much better already.”
Miceral wiggled his eyebrows and smiled. “Dinner was just the start.
Wait until you see what’s next.”
He let Miceral pull him from his chair. “I like the sound of that.”
STEPPING OUT the western door, Farrell breathed in the crisp spring air. Blue sky, cool breeze, and the smell of new growth made this the perfect day for their outing. Shifting the pack he carried, he reached for Miceral’s hand. “It’s as if the Six made this day perfect for us.”
“You should thank Lenore for this day.” Nerti’s voice presaged her arrival. She and Klissmor rounded the outcropping of rock, tossing their heads playfully. Even they seemed to appreciate the fine weather.
“I did that before we left our rooms.” He had said a prayer of thanks to all Six for the past year.
“Where are we going?” Farrell asked, settling quickly on Nerti’s muscular back.
Klissmor took off so quickly that Miceral’s blond hair whipped around his face.
“It’s a surprise.” Miceral sounded immensely pleased.
“Really?”
“Consider it payback for our post-union trip. Even if it’s only a day trip.”
Farrell’s body tingled at the answer. Who knew his partner could be this romantic? Pressing himself against Nerti’s soft, snow-white mane, a thought stuck him. “Did you put him up to this?”
“No.” Nerti shook her head beneath him. “It was he who asked for our help.”
Farrell’s smile grew even wider. “What kind of help?”
“Klissmor and I have spent the last three weeks scouring this side of the mountain for a place for you to enjoy your day. It will be our gift to you both.”
Could his day get any better? “Not sure I deserve a gift from either of you. It should be I who finds ways to reward you.”
“Klissmor and I became mates at what you call the summer festival.
Feel free to devise an appropriate treat.”
Farrell laughed out loud. “I shall do my best, my queen.”
“What’s so funny?” Miceral asked. Farrell twisted to the right. After explaining his conversation, he buried his nose in Nerti’s neck and watched the ground whiz by. Rarely did he get the chance to ride with nothing pressing clamoring for his attention. Today he had nothing to do but enjoy himself, and he intended to do just that.
Their path started out wide enough for the pair to run side by side, but it slowly narrowed. Several times he noted footpaths break from the main route, and he wondered where they led, how they came to be, and when they were made. At the fifth intersection, Klissmor turned right, taking them north.
Farrell tried to follow their route using a mental map of the area, but he quickly lost track of direction when Nerti began to weave around trees. He thrilled at the feel of Nerti’s body flexing and straining as she took turns that threatened to dislodge him. Through their shared link, he could feel her excitement. Could she do this even faster without him?
Suddenly the trees melted away and they emerged onto rolling hills of prairie grass. Peering over her head, Farrell was stunned to find a wide swath of trampled grass. The lane could easily accommodate six mounted riders.
“My unicorns enjoy running, so we enlisted their help,” Nerti said as she drew even with Klissmor.
Using the wider path, the pair increased speed, forcing Farrell to burrow into Nerti’s body to keep his eyes from drying out. The smell from the trampled grass reached his nose, causing him to breathe in deeply. He loved the scents of spring, the renewal, and the freshness.
They continued at a full gallop for almost half an hour, and Farrell felt the cool spring air growing warmer. When they crested a small ridge, he spotted a tree line that marked a major river. He didn’t need to see a map to know the Weivre River flowed west out of the Trellham Mountains toward Hamble on the western coast.
Nerti slowed her pace when they reached the thin band of trees and soon arrived at a small clearing by a river swollen by the melting snow. The sun sparkled off the babbling water, creating a soothing effect.
Inside the sheltered glade, Farrell let the warm sun take the chill off his windblown skin. After he collected enough cold water for all of them, Miceral opened the basket.
With an exaggerated flourish, he began pulling items from inside—two of Farrell’s favorite cheeses, small loaves of bread baked with a spicy chicken he liked, and a tub of Honalese clotted cream.
Farrell’s stomach rumbled as he watched Miceral take out a large bag of oats and several apples. Next, he set two red apples aside and offered the rest to Klissmor and Nerti.
“Yar-del shepherd’s cheese? Erdish spiced-chicken sandwiches? Clotted cream? How? Who?” Farrell turned toward the unicorns, who looked on with interest.
“Not I, little one.” Nerti shook her head. “I don’t know what you like to eat.”
When Farrell turned back toward his partner, Miceral grinned and handed him a sandwich. “You were right. Lisle does melt when you ask her to help you do something romantic.”
He accepted his lunch and tried to rein in his emotions. After being alone so long, having someone work this hard to make his day special had tears forming at the edges of his eyes. He swallowed loudly, keeping his gaze on his food.
“Are you okay?” Miceral asked in a soft voice.
Nodding slowly, Farrell looked up. He couldn’t stop a tear from escaping his control. “Never better. This is just so . . . amazing. I . . . I never . . . It’s wonderful.”
Brushing the back of his hand across his cheek, he leaned over and cupped the back of Miceral’s head, drawing them closer. He pressed their lips together, but before it turned too passionate, he pulled back and whispered, “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
Before he lost control again, he picked up his sandwich. “Let’s eat. I’m starved.”
FARRELL’S FINGERS and face were sticky with sweet cream. He probably ate too much, but he almost never had clotted cream anymore.
“What did you have to give Kers to get you that tub of cream?” He licked his fingers, but that made the feeling worse.
“Nothing.” Miceral found a cloth napkin and helped Farrell to his feet. “I asked and he had it to the kitchen the next day. Believe it or not, people really like you. When they found out what I was doing and why, everyone tried to help.”
After they cleaned up, Farrell created a dock out of green energy. He sat on the edge, removed his boots, and dangled his feet in the swift-flowing water.
“That water has to be ice cold.” Miceral sat behind him and hugged
Farrell to his chest. “Why are you doing that?”
“Sure it’s cold, but after having my feet stuck in those boots all day, it feels wonderful. Even if I can’t do it for long.”
Leaning back, he enjoyed all the sensations of the day. Miceral kissed the top of his head and rested his cheek on Farrell’s hair. If he didn’t know better, Farrell would suspect the Six had conspired to make this day perfect just for him.
He stared at the water rushing over his now tingling feet. Reluctantly he pulled them onto the dock. After all the effort Miceral put into planning the perfect day, he hated what
he needed to do next. He found a towel in his endless pocket and quietly dried himself. Instead of asking his partner to move back, he extended the dock another three feet and stretched his legs.
While the sun warmed his feet, he considered his words. “I’m not sure if this will ruin our day, but I finished reading Kel’s book.”
“Why would that upset me?”
He faced Miceral. “I . . . we need to leave Haven.”
Miceral blinked but otherwise didn’t react. “Why?”
He took a deep breath and glanced at Nerti, who along with Klissmor had moved closer to the makeshift jetty. She gave him the barest of nods. “Two reasons. First, Kel’s book is clear. He collected items at the behest of the Six that They intend for me to have. I need to get them, and they are scattered around the world.”
“Do you know what he left you?”
“No.” He swallowed. “I don’t even know exactly where he left things.”
Miceral’s expression told Farrell he didn’t like what he heard. “Why would he do that? The book was meant for you. Why not just tell you?”
“He didn’t say, but I think it’s a test to ensure his heir is a powerful enough wizard.”
Miceral shook his head and stared at the water. After several long moments, he looked at Farrell. “What’s the other reason?”
“I need to speak to Kel.” He stared into Miceral’s blue eyes and fought the urge to turn away.
“How? Kel died two thousand years ago.”
“Kel’s still alive.” Farrell nodded several times. “He is. On a page near the end, he explains that he found a way to suspend his life functions to extend his life. There’s a small circle on the page. If it’s red, his efforts failed. If it’s green, he’s alive. The dot is green.”
Miceral’s jaw clenched and relaxed a couple of times before he looked over Farrell’s shoulder to Klissmor and Nerti. “Comments from either of you?”
“Farrell and I discussed this yesterday. I don’t entirely approve, but Klissmor and I believe it is Lenore’s wish that Farrell find Kel. For that reason we support his decision.”
Farrell watched as Miceral struggled with the news. He wanted to reach over and grab his hand or rub his back—anything to ease the tension, but he knew better. Miceral needed to work through it without Farrell’s help.
Champion of the Gods Box Set Page 43