Champion of the Gods Box Set

by Andrew Q. Gordon

  “Do you at least know where we should go first?”

  “Dumbarten, Kel’s birthplace.” His smile quickly faded as he pressed on with what he needed to tell Miceral. “The first problem, however, will be getting there. I don’t know anywhere in Dumbarten that isn’t sealed off magically. So even if I had point of reference, I can’t open a Door.”

  “How do you intend to get there?”

  Before he could answer, Nerti did it for him, voicing the reason for her reluctance.

  “By ship.”

  Chapter Six

  SEVENTH HOUR approached as Farrell led Miceral to the small meeting room he had set aside for their celebration. His smile turned into a broad grin when he saw the changes the staff had made to the normally drab room. Flowers graced the small tables, resting on top of tablecloths in a vibrant shade of green that reminded him of new boxwood growth. Serving tables lined the walls, their tray holders waiting for the food. Chairs seemed placed at random spots about the room.

  Miceral turned to Farrell with a raised eyebrow.

  Farrell forced out a small laugh. “What? It’s our night. I get to choose how we celebrate.”

  “I hope no one is offended.”

  He kissed Miceral on the cheek. “Anyone who is probably doesn’t belong here.”

  Miceral opened his mouth, but his gaze locked on a spot over Farrell’s shoulder. He didn’t need to turn around to know his partner found the “window” he’d created. Miceral released Farrell’s hand and walked to the far end of the room.

  “Amazing.” Miceral leaned both hands against the stone windowsill. “You can even feel a breeze. Is it real?”

  Farrell reached up and stopped Miceral from slamming his head against the stone. “Careful. No, it’s not a real window. The air you feel is from a spell I learned as a novice. Haven’t had many chances to use it, but it seemed appropriate for tonight.”

  He wiggled between Miceral and the window. He hoped that his partner would take the hint, and he was rewarded when Miceral pulled them together.

  “When did you find time to do this?”

  Pressing back, he enjoyed the safety he always felt nestled against Miceral’s chest. “Three nights ago when I met with the staff to plan the party. See the moon?” He pointed to the right side of the window.

  They stood holding each other while people set up behind them. Normally he wouldn’t ignore the staff—it felt rude—but tonight he wanted to enjoy the moment. Who knew when they’d get another chance?

  “Are we interrupting?” Horgon’s voice ended their private moment.

  He tried to turn around, but Miceral tightened his hold. “Nothing we’d be embarrassed for you to see, Father.”

  Several people laughed, and Miceral relented and released his hold. Farrell turned and found Baylec, Thomas, and their wives standing in the main doorway beside Horgon. Like a proud parent, Miceral ushered their guests to see what Farrell wrought. Soon more people arrived, and the pair excused themselves to greet their other guests.

  The servers appeared and began to circulate, offering drinks and appetizers to the new arrivals. Other guests arrived in a steady trickle, and the room filled with the sound of friends talking and laughing.

  By the eighth hour, most of their guests had arrived, and Farrell made certain the staff understood that unicorns and peregrines required special accommodation. When he noticed his brothers happily eating something, he grabbed a plate and filled it to near overflowing. He spied Prince Peter of Belsport looking bored as his father talked to Horgon and took the seat next to his young friend.

  “What’s new and exciting in your life, other than I see you have a need to shave?”

  “Shaving is terrible.” The teen put his hand to a small scab near his chin. “All I do is cut myself. But I look foolish if I don’t.”

  Still chewing his food, Farrell shook his head. When he swallowed, he put his fork down. “You’re friends with one of the most generous wizards alive. Why didn’t you ask him for help?”

  “And just who would that generous mage be?” The look of mock confusion on his face made Farrell chuckle.

  “Why are we friends if you don’t have any respect for me?” He held out his left hand and fetched a small, rectangular, polished oak box. He placed it on the table and slid it over to Peter. “A gift.”

  Peter opened the lid and held up a straight-edged folding razor. “Um . . . thanks, but I already have a razor.”

  “Not like this one.” Farrell used his hand to cover his mouth as food sprayed the table. He gave Peter a grimace as he looked around to see who’d noticed what he’d done. “When I was your age, I hated to shave, maybe more than you. Heminaltose insisted, however, that I not let him see my ‘mangy teenage beard.’ After cutting myself too many times, I enchanted that blade.”

  He noticed Horgon and Prince Wilhelm had stopped talking. Peter picked up the razor and pulled the blade from the handle. “Doesn’t look any different from the razor Father gave me.”

  “And I don’t look nearly as threatening as Miceral, but we’re both dangerous in our own way. That blade will always be sharp and never cut or nick you, no matter how clumsily you shave.”

  “Heminaltose must have been very proud of you.” Wilhelm motioned for his son to let him see the gift.

  “Not exactly.” Farrell shrugged. “He wanted me to find a magical solution to my shaving problem. This just wasn’t what he had in mind.”

  “Seems a rather ingenious solution.” Horgon accepted the razor from Wilhelm. “What did he want you to do?”

  “Use magic to remove my whiskers. Once I learned that trick, I realized this wasn’t quite so clever.” He handed the razor back to its new owner. “Use it well. One word of warning, however. I made that when I was fifteen years old. I can’t promise the enchantments will work in all situations. What I mean is, it always worked properly when I used it to shave, but I never tested its powers in any other way. Best that you don’t try to impress anyone with your magical razor. You’ll hurt yourself or someone else.”

  “Thank you, Farrell. This is amazing.” Peter put the box down and wrapped his arms around Farrell.

  “You are welcome.” He almost told his friend how little value it had for him but realized that would probably ruin the mood. “It’s good to finally give it to someone who can use it like I did.”

  “A generous gift indeed.” Wilhelm nodded and stood up. “Can I have a moment alone, Farrell?”

  They made their way to where the staff had set out dessert. Wilhelm grabbed a small plate and offered it to Farrell. “I’ve given thought to your request.”

  Shaking his head, Farrell poured himself a cup of coffee. “That sounds ominous.”

  “Nothing of the sort.” After placing a couple of small pastries on his plate, Wilhelm led them toward a table at the far end of the room. “Your idea to travel as mercenaries will likely not hold up to scrutiny. There’s more work available in the free cities than there are mercs to be hired, especially for a wizard. People will question your desire to leave, and worse, it will be the subject of intense gossip.”

  Farrell smiled. “I sense you have an idea you feel will work better.”

  “I do.” Wilhelm returned the smile with a slight nod. “Allow me to hire you.”

  “Hire us?” That was not what he expected to hear. “We aren’t really turning into mercs, you know.”

  Wilhelm chuckled but kept it low. “I understand, but hear me out. For months I have been searching for the right opportunity to send Peter off to sea, but I’ve feared for his safety. Meglar has been busy on the west coast. In addition to the overtures he’s made to the other city-states seeking an ally, he’s been funding pirate attacks on merchant vessels from every nation. I can’t send Peter on his first overseas voyage without the right protection.”

  “Why send him at all?” He realized the moment he spoke he shouldn’t have questioned his friend. “Sorry, it isn’t my position to inquire.”

&nb
sp; The older man waved his hand absently. “If you’re going to accept my offer, you have a right to ask any question you feel important. Peter should have gone before his sixteenth birthday, but with his mother’s death, I didn’t know if the time was right. My people will never accept him as heir if he hasn’t had at least one long ocean voyage under his belt.”

  “They won’t?” Somehow Farrell doubted anyone in Belsport disagreed with Wilhelm for long.

  “Politics being what it is, there are plenty of pretenders among my more distant relations. Given his attraction to men and the issues producing an heir it will create, it would be one more reason not to support him as prince. He needs to put this behind him. These are dangerous times we live in. If something happens to me, Peter needs to be able to step into my place with as few distractions as possible. Your request presented me with an ideal solution—hire you and Miceral to guard my son. It will give your aliases instant credibility, and I’ll know he’s as safe as I can make him.”

  Farrell took a long pull from his steaming mug. The suggestion had merit. “I like the idea, but I have a condition.”

  Did he detect a hint of amusement in Wilhelm’s eyes? “I’m

  listening.”

  “When we arrive at Dumbarten, I want to send Peter back by way of a Door.”

  Wilhelm took a nibble on a chocolate cookie. “That’s not a problem, but may I ask why you can’t sail back with him?”

  “We don’t know how long we’ll be in Dumbarten, and it could be too dangerous for us to ensure his safety.”

  “Too dangerous?” He cocked his head, eyes squinting just a bit. “Even Meglar wouldn’t dare attack Dumbarten, not when he’s still warring with the remaining nations of Ardus.”

  Draining his cup, Farrell rose, nodding toward the table with the coffee. “You know as well as any that just because Meglar hasn’t declared his intentions, that doesn’t mean he won’t send his wizards to attack specific targets. Dumbarten would almost surely attack Zargon if Meglar created an incident.”

  “A valid point.” Wilhelm poured himself a glass of red wine and took a sip. “If I agree to your condition, do we have a deal?”

  Farrell laughed. “You make it sound like a sale of timber or a bolt of cloth.”

  “Or a unique shield?” He peered over his cup.

  “That, too. If Miceral agrees, we have a deal.”

  “Excellent!” Wilhelm clapped Farrell on the back. “This will ease my fears greatly. And Peter will be so thrilled to travel with you both that he might not even complain about ‘his duty as a prince to go to sea.’”

  Farrell nodded. “Let me speak to Miceral, and we can discuss the details in a day or two. Right now I need to find my life partner and embarrass him by telling everyone how happy he’s made me this last year.”

  “Newlyjoineds.” Wilhelm smiled and motioned for Farrell to lead the way.

  Chapter Seven

  “BRING IN those two.” Master Darius motioned toward Miceral and Farrell, who stood quietly in the small anteroom. “The prince will see them now.”

  Four guards snapped to attention and the sergeant nodded crisply. “Yes, Master Darius.”

  Farrell avoided looking at his partner, instead focusing his attention on the throne at the end of the long aisle. Peter sat next to Wilhelm on a slightly lower throne. Barely looking at the pair, Wilhelm handed a document to Darius when he arrived. The wizard turned and handed it to Miceral.

  “If you look over that document, you will find everything is as we discussed,” Wilhelm said.

  Leaning closer, Farrell pretended to read the note. He already knew what it contained, but he tried to stay in character. With the alterations he’d made to his appearance the last few days, few if any in Belsport would recognize him.

  “Everything appears in order, Your Highness.” Miceral bowed respectfully. “Prince Peter will be well protected during his trip.”

  “Good.” Wilhelm waved absently and turned to speak to his ministers.

  Accepting their dismissal, Farrell turned and left without looking back. At the front gate, they retrieved their weapons under the watchful eyes of the palace guards. They took a ferry south toward the more commercial areas of Belsport and retrieved their horses when they reached the mainland.

  “Which way to the Sword and Shield Inn?” Miceral asked the ferryman.

  Barely acknowledging them, the man pointed south. “Two streets and make a right. It’s a few blocks down on the left.”

  Farrell handed him a coin to pay for their ride and nudged his mount forward. Wilhelm had booked their room at the inn, telling them it catered to well-paid soldiers, not common thugs. Run by two brothers who’d been mercenaries themselves, the inn had clean rooms, decent food, and reasonable rates. Not that Farrell cared about the rates since Wilhelm paid the bill, but the room needed to be clean.

  Located on a busy commercial street, the inn occupied the left side of the block. Several competent-looking swordsmen stood at various places, ensuring no one thought to relieve the inn of a few highly prized horses. Darius told them the “guards” were mercenaries working to earn their keep, a practice not uncommon for those between jobs.

  The big U-shaped inn bordered the street. A simple sign with the inn’s name adorned an iron post at the head of a semicircular gravel path. Near the entrance, two unarmed, bored-looking lads sat among a quartet of alert guards.

  “Four guards?” Farrell asked Miceral. “Have things gotten that dangerous since we were last here?”

  “No, I doubt that. These are mercenaries between work. They’d be working mercs if things were that bad.”

  They dismounted before the entrance, and Miceral pulled the letter Wilhelm had given them for the innkeeper from his saddlebag. Farrell fished out a silver coin and handed it and the reins to the boy closest to him.

  “There’s double that if you take good care of them.”

  The teen took the coin and smiled. “They’ll be well cared for, sir, but

  I can’t board your horses ’til Dad says so.”

  He winked at the boy and silently made for the door.

  Light filled the common room through numerous open windows. Although Wilhelm had almost certainly weeded out most of Meglar’s agents, he searched their surroundings just in case. Three long tables with low wooden benches on either side ran the length of the large room. Numerous small tables lined the far wall, affording small groups a modicum of privacy. To the right, the fireplace sat unused on the warm spring day. A staircase dominated the far wall, bisecting it almost in half.

  Three loud and boisterous guests, who appeared to have consumed a decent amount of ale, sat at the end of a long table. Passing over them, Farrell quickly scanned the two who sat at a small table in the corner, speaking in low voices. Finally, he noticed a lone warrior at a table close to the staircase. The man stretched his legs and watched them as they entered, letting out occasional puffs of smoke.

  A lifetime of keeping secrets kicked in, and he decided this man bore watching. Before he could alert Miceral to his concerns, a middle-aged man dressed in the nondescript clothing mercenaries favored walked out of a small room immediately to their left.

  “Good day, gents. What brings you to the Sword and Shield?” His eyes ran up and down both of them. A large gray wolfhound to Farrell’s left stirred after the innkeeper spoke. Standing closest to the dog, Farrell reached out a hand to say hello.

  “I wouldn’t do that, sir!” The man’s urgent warning nearly caused Farrell to jump. “He doesn’t take to folks the first time he meets them.”

  When the dog stood, his shoulders came up to Farrell’s hips. The shaggy hair that covered the animal made his true size hard to determine, but Farrell guessed the hound weighed well over a hundred pounds. Farrell ignored the man’s warning, leaned his staff against the wall, and squatted down to be eye level with the hound.

  “Really, sir, you best not get down like that. He will bite you!”

  “No, he
won’t.” Farrell projected calm as he grabbed the dog behind both ears and scratched gently. “You’re a good boy, aren’t you?”

  A broad tongue licked Farrell’s face, causing Miceral to snort.

  “Well, don’t that upside down everything.” The man rubbed his chin. “How’d you know Thorn wouldn’t bite you? Neblor’s gates, I don’t know that he wouldn’t bite me if I got down like that, and I raised him from a pup.”

  Farrell continued to scratch the contented hound. “I have a way with animals.”

  “Being the chosen of Lenore and Nerti’s rider also helps,” Miceral said.

  Farrell kept his attention on Thorn to avoid giving away that he’d heard Miceral.

  “We were referred to your establishment by our employer,” Miceral said, drawing the man’s attention to him. He held up Wilhelm’s letter. “I’m Elgin, and that is Kelvin. I believe our lodging has been paid for in advance.”

  The proprietor accepted the document, glancing occasionally at Farrell happily playing with Thorn. When Farrell stood up, Thorn batted him with a big meaty paw, prompting Farrell to reach down and scratch his head some more.

  Scanning the document, the man looked up once, then reread the paper. “My apologies. I’ve been expecting you, but I expected someone a bit older and fiercer-looking.”

  Looking past them, the innkeeper nodded to the boy standing in the doorway. The lad winked at Farrell, leapt down the stairs, and led their horses around the building.

  Farrell knew most men who lived by selling their sword would take offense at the comment, but since they had already been “hired” and the man meant no harm, he let it go.

  Perhaps the lack of response made the innkeeper realize his mistake because he quickly held up both hands in front of himself. “Not that you have to impress me. Thorn seems to approve of you. That, and your employer is known to me and paid good currency for your accommodations.”