Champion of the Gods Box Set

by Andrew Q. Gordon

  “There’s no change, but I’m reasonably sure what’s happened.”

  The rush of hope Miceral felt at first withered under the expression on the wizard’s face. “What’s wrong?” Can you cure him?”

  Cylinda started taking short, staccato breaths, and Miceral noticed a slight glisten around the edges of her eyes. She swallowed and pinched her nose. “I think so. But I can’t even attempt it until I get to Dreth.”

  “What! That’s days away. He’ll—”

  “Farrell will die if I try it without the proper instructions.” She drew strength from the conviction of her words. “This was a piece of very high magic. I’ve read about this in a book in Kel’s library. With Yar-del captured, the only place I know for sure I’ll find a copy of that book is in Dreth.”

  “Fine, let’s open a Door there and get started.”

  “Miceral.” She exhaled, looking as if Honorus had dropped a mountain on her. “You have to stop. I can’t fight you and stay focused. I know it’s hard, but we can’t do this your way. There is only one way to do this, and that is to bring this ship and the dead pirate to Dreth. And before you ask, no, I can’t go to Dreth to get the book and come back. Even if I could open a Door to somewhere in the city, it’s a bit more complicated than that.”

  “What’s complicated? Get the book, come back, and—” He stopped when she closed her eyes and a tear leaked out of one corner. “I’m sorry. I just . . . just can’t stand not being able to do something.”

  “I know. I feel equally frustrated, more than I can explain.” Cylinda sniffed and opened her eyes. “But I’m going to tell you now. You need to stop fighting me. There is no guarantee I can get hold of the book, but if I’m to have any chance, I need you to stay calm.”

  “What do you mean?” His tentative grip on his control slipped and he took a moment to calm himself. “Why wouldn’t you be able to use the book?”

  “The only other copy of the book I know of is in the possession of the Order of Kel. A secretive organization that I’m not supposed to know exists or how to find it.”

  Miceral missed something, but he pushed aside his questions. “I take it you know where it is?”

  “Yes. Don’t ask me how I know. I can’t tell you.” She held up a hand before he could protest. “Understand, what we do is bigger than any of us, bigger than all of us. The Six move us about like pieces on Their board in Their war with Neldin. Each of us has a defined role and we are not permitted to step beyond those boundaries. In order to save Farrell, I’ll very likely need to defy the Six and do something I should not. Such disobedience comes with a price. If I tell you how and why, I’ll be putting your life at risk along with my own. That is something I won’t do.”

  “They would punish you for saving him?” He didn’t try to hide his disbelief.

  “Remember what I said about the bigger war.” Cylinda waited until he nodded before she continued. “The Six have plans thousands of years in the making. Move one piece out of order, or beyond its role, and the entirety of Their plans might be ruined. I’m afraid you will need to trust me because I’m not going to drag you or anyone else along with me in defying the Six.”

  “I don’t understand why you need to defy Them. Don’t They want you to save Farrell? Isn’t he Their Champion?”

  “He is and They do, but it’s complicated. Regardless, my hope is that I can save him and avoid Their ire. If I fail . . .” She shrugged.

  Miceral processed her words. As their silence dragged on, he noticed red-clothed Arlefors moving about, collecting people and things.

  “What are they doing?”

  Cylinda twisted until she could observe the wizards. “Teberus is trying to protect us.”

  Miceral followed the activity. When one of the Arlefors closest to him bent down, his hand flew to his sword. “Stop!”

  Cylinda scanned the ship. “What’s wrong?”

  Miceral stepped closer to the wizard. “They’re disturbing the one who did this to Farrell. You said he has to stay here.”

  “Miceral, stop.” Cylinda moved closer until she barred Miceral’s path to the dead pirate. “Don’t interfere.”

  “Why not? You said—”

  “Stop!” Her shout bordered on hysterical. When he turned toward Cylinda, there was fire in her eyes. “Are you going to fight me every league to Dumbarten?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Every time you do something like this, you make it that much harder to save Farrell.” Exhaustion gave her anger an extra edge. “The wizards are collecting bits of magic and scattering them on the waves.”

  “Why?”

  “That’s my point. You have no idea what we’re doing, yet you interfere at every turn.” She shook her head and made a quick movement with her hand. “Meglar is behind this attack. Sooner or later he’ll realize something happened and might come looking for us. Teberus and his wizards are shielding us as best they can, but it might not be enough. As an extra precaution, they’re taking snippets of the energy he gave the two dead pirates and spreading it over the ocean. That and the concealing spells will make it harder for Meglar to find us.”

  “Oh.”

  “Now, if you’re finished, let us do what we need to without further delay.”

  Her dismissal stung, but he knew he deserved it. When Miceral spotted Peter and Emerson off to the side, he took a last glance at Farrell and moved to join his friends.

  Chapter Fifteen

  MICERAL CLUTCHED the railing until his knuckles turned white. He managed to keep from falling down, but it proved a hollow victory as the spray soaked him when the Seafoam Rose landed hard in the choppy sea. Several hundred yards away, the lighter and smaller corsair they’d captured struggled to keep up with the heavier merchant vessel. If not for the Yar-del seamen and naval officers who had come through the Door from Haven, Miceral figured the ship would have floundered by now.

  For six days, Arritisa had blessed them with favorable conditions—the Arlefors helped as well—but today the weather turned foul. With a fair wind, Nathan estimated they’d have made Dreth by midday. Tacking against a strong headwind as they had all day, they were pressing to make it by sunset. If not, they’d have to heave to and wait until morning.

  The roll of the ship forced him to twist. Behind him, he saw Teberus helping Cylinda to her feet. Checking to see he had the feel of the ship—or as best he could, given the conditions—he made his way to where the two wizards were engaged in conversation.

  “Can’t you do something to make this easier?” Miceral asked Cylinda. Turning toward Teberus, he noted the Arlefor’s brow was furrowed. He repeated the question mentally.

  “Even under the best of circumstances, a wizard shouldn’t meddle with the weather. But with Meglar searching for us, it is a risk we can’t take.”

  “What about—” He stopped when he saw Cylinda frown. “Sorry. I’m doing it again.”

  “My people are doing all we can to speed your journey, but when the sea is this angry, there is little we can do to settle her.”

  “Thank you for all you’ve done.” Miceral hoped he sounded grateful. “Without you, we’d be leagues farther from Dreth.” “We’ll make it today or I’ll fly him to Honorus’s temple myself.” Cylinda’s voice had the determined edge she’d displayed since she arrived.

  “Cylinda. Thank you.” The ship rolled, forcing them to struggle to stay upright. “I’ve been difficult since you arrived, and I’ve never properly—"

  “Land ho!”

  Sailors across the deck peered up toward the lookout.

  “How far?” Emerson shouted.

  “Less than an hour, sir.”

  When Miceral looked away, he found himself alone. Cylinda and Teberus moved toward the bow. The two exchanged a look just before the Arlefor deftly leapt over the rail.

  “What . . .?” Miceral’s question was asked of the air. Cylinda sped past him, heading toward the wheelhouse.

  Following as best he
could, Miceral marveled at the wizard’s sea legs.

  “Captain!” She paused until Nathan glanced in her direction. “Teberus and his people are going to redouble their efforts. He asks that you try not to fight them.”

  “And how do you suggest I carry out such a precise instruction?” He grunted as he and another sailor struggled to control the wheel. “That—”

  “Would be them trying to aid you.”

  He opened his mouth, but before he spoke, the wheel turned again. “Mr. Emerson!”

  The first mate looked soaked and haggard when he appeared near Cylinda. “Aye, Captain?”

  “Our friends from the sea are trying to help us. Do the best you can to not work at crosswinds to them.”

  When Emerson cocked his head, the captain pointed to the wheel moving on its own in ways even Miceral knew shouldn’t happen. “Aye, sir. I’ll see what we can do, but—”

  “Just try your best, Mr. Emerson.”

  The officer saluted and moved away. Cylinda turned to her right and sent a globe of blue energy across the water toward the corsair. She waited until the ball returned and landed in her hand. With an absent wave of her fingers, the globe dispersed.

  “We’ll make it before the harbor closes.” For the first time all day, her body seemed less rigid. “Teberus and his people will get us there in time.”

  Miceral nodded, leaving unasked what he really wanted to know. What then? Rather than harass the frazzled wizard, he left in search of Peter. Much as he wanted to go check on Farrell, he knew it would only frustrate him more. Farrell lay resting where he’d fallen, cut off from everyone by several layers of protection Teberus and Cylinda had spent the first two days creating.

  Being unable to touch his life partner’s skin fueled his rage and made him unreasonable. Though his mind knew Cylinda continued to do everything possible, his heart told him there had to be something else they could try. In the end his mind won the battle.

  WHEN MICERAL and Peter returned topside, the weather had cleared. The change left him wondering if outside forces influenced the shift, but the cloud cover behind them appeared consistent with normal weather patterns.

  He could see Dumbarten’s capital, Dreth, as the prow rose and fell in the still-choppy sea. Old even when Kel had left to found Yar-del, the ancient city sprawled in front of the ship dwarfed anything Miceral imagined existed. Boats packed the vast harbor. Easily twice the size of Belsport, Dreth housed dozens of ships, with many more creating chaos as they came and went.

  Beyond the piers and warehouses, the city rose, built all the way up the hills that framed the capital. The palace, a huge complex in the heart of the urban center, had been built on a small rise overlooking the harbor. It alone was bigger than many lesser cities in the Seven Kingdoms.

  As they approached the chaotic port, Nathan barked orders to the crew and piloted the ship toward the southern side of the harbor. The warship, now flying Prince Peter’s personal flag, took up a position slightly to the north. Miceral received word from Teberus that his people would be leaving them, but Cylinda could reach them should the need arise.

  The dockworkers were unhappy when the two ships arrived. Their grumbling continued until someone spotted Peter. A worker turned his gaze up and his eyes went wide when he noted the flag on the warship. Word spread outward, and soon soldiers, merchants, and additional laborers filled the dock.

  “I’m going to find help,” Cylinda said before sailors could tie off the boat. “Stay on board until I return.”

  Before Miceral could protest, she disappeared. Frustrated, he clenched his jaw to refrain from yelling after her. Peter stood next to him and they silently stared into the city.

  Emerson appeared at Miceral’s side. “Where to next for you three . . . four?”

  “The Grand Temple of Honorus.” Miceral ignored the confused look in the first mate’s eyes. He said, “Farrell needs help, and Cylinda believes that is where we’ll find it.”

  “Do you trust her?”

  “Of course.” He didn’t try to hide his annoyance. “How could you even ask that?”

  Emerson held up his hands and stepped back. “Whoa. I meant, do you trust her instincts? What happened to Farrell is beyond her ability to fix, so maybe a healers’ temple would be wiser.”

  Miceral shook his head. “No. She understands the problem but needs a tome from somewhere to make sure she cures Farrell and doesn’t kill him.”

  The three stood silently at the rail as the crew moved around them. If he’d known where the temple was, he’d have left the moment Cylinda disappeared. But Farrell never discussed the city with him, and Miceral didn’t want to risk wandering around Dreth in the dark.

  “Dumbarten is my home, so I’m leaving the Rose to accompany you.” Emerson’s voice broke the silence.

  “You weren’t invited.” The harsh words conveyed almost as much as Miceral’s stare. “What we do doesn’t concern you.”

  “If I’m right, what you do concerns all of Nendor.” He arched an eyebrow at Miceral.

  The comment, and the offhand manner in which it was spoken, sent a chill up Miceral’s back. How could Emerson know Farrell’s importance to the Six and the war? Keeping the man close made sense, but not with Farrell incapacitated. And he still needed to protect Peter.

  “Even if that were true—especially if that were true—the answer is still no.”

  The smirk on Emerson’s lips faltered slightly, but he didn’t back away. “Dreth is a big place and different from any city you’ve been to on Ardus. Not only am I able to guide you, I’ve got connections . . . important ones . . . that reach all the way to the palace and the king. You may not know it, but you need me.”

  “What’s in it for you?” Peter asked. “You don’t need us.”

  Miceral nodded in agreement. “Exactly.”

  “As I said, if I’m right, what you’re doing is going to have a profound impact on the world—my world. What’s in it for me, Prince Peter? Is not my survival a big enough stake?”

  “Who are you?” Miceral didn’t expect the truth, but he asked anyway.

  Emerson crossed his arms over his chest. “You first.”

  “Good evening, Mr. Emerson.” He turned his back on the officer.

  “As I expected.” The man walked away.

  “I don’t trust him,” Peter said.

  Scanning the young man’s face, Miceral saw the fear he tried so hard to hide. “The funny thing is, I do.”

  “You do?”

  “Not enough to risk Farrell’s life or yours, but yes, I do.” He worried a piece of wood on the rail with his fingernail. “Go to battle with a man, fight together for your lives, and look him in the eye, and it’s hard not to trust him. Whoever he is, I don’t think his intentions are evil.”

  “So why not accept his offer?”

  “We don’t need him, and the fewer who know our business, the better.” Lanterns flared around the city; most had the telltale signs he’d come to recognize as wizard’s fire. Though they may have been helpful to those walking, they did little to dispel the general darkness descending on the city that matched his mood.

  Since Cylinda snuck off, Miceral didn’t know which direction to watch. With his focus to the east, he was surprised when she suddenly appeared from the north with a company of temple guards. She and an older priest led the soldiers up the plank.

  The priest wore a plain white robe cinched at the waist by a platinum link belt adorned with dozens of precious gems. Over the robe he wore a blue chasuble embroidered with gold, silver, and platinum threads. A solid white stole with silver tips completed his raiment. With each step the priest leaned on a solid gold crosier that curved in on itself at the top. Whomever Cylinda found, he had some rank within the priesthood.

  Before they set foot on deck, Emerson quickly walked over to intercept them. “What is the meaning—” The first officer drew up as if pulled by a string. “Holy Father?”

  The cleric raised a graying eyeb
row, and Miceral noted how the priest shifted his position slightly. “Emerson?”

  After a deep bow, the officer stood at attention. “Yes, Holy Father. This was my current assignment.”

  “I see.” The man’s lips curled down slightly before he turned to Cylinda. “Where is he?”

  Cylinda motioned toward the makeshift shelter they’d erected on deck. Miceral had argued Farrell should be moved below deck but relented when Cylinda pointed out Teberus couldn’t get down the stairs.

  With a grace that belied his portly build, the cleric made his way to Farrell’s side. He placed a hand on Farrell’s chest and closed his eyes. A pale blue nimbus surrounded the priest’s hand, then winked out when he opened his eyes. After a brief glance at Cylinda, he stood and snapped his fingers at his guards.

  “I want him taken to the temple.”

  “No!” Miceral moved between the soldiers and Farrell.

  “Miceral.” Cylinda’s shoulders slumped. “High Priest Gedrin came personally to make sure we could get Farrell to the temple as quickly as possible.”

  Miceral shook his head, his hand drifting to his sword. “No one moves him until I’m convinced it’s the right decision. He’s my life partner, not yours.”

  Gedrin laid a hand on Cylinda’s shoulder. “Let me.”

  He stared at her for a moment before her body relaxed and she nodded.

  “My apologies, Miceral. You are, of course, correct.” He came closer and gave Miceral’s forearm a squeeze. The ornate robe jingled softly as he moved.

  Miceral searched for some hint of deception in Gedrin’s gray eyes. Finding none, he nodded. “So he stays here?”

  The wrinkles on the priest’s face deepened as he frowned slightly. “No, he will be safer if we move him. The Temple of Honorus is protected by powerful magic from prying eyes. More importantly, we have a vast library of magic that is second only to the Temple of Falcron in Bowient. Believe me when I say I understand what the Chosen means to Honorus and the world. If there were a better option, I would fully support taking him there.”