Champion of the Gods Box Set

by Andrew Q. Gordon

  “As I was trying—”

  “You’ve done everything but try to answer my question!” Realizing that yelling wouldn’t help him convince her to answer, he took a deep breath to compose himself. “The story about Kel, the Order, and that Neblor-be-damned room, none of that tells me who you are. Who you really are. We both know your name and Farrell’s aren’t on that rock. So tell me, Cylinda, whose names are on Kel’s stone?”

  She picked at a bit of string on her tunic sleeve. Miceral’s chest started to burn, and he realized he had been holding his breath. He forced himself to exhale. As he prepared to repeat his question, Cylinda finally looked up.

  “The last two names are Halloran and his mother, Zenora.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  HOLDING FARRELL’S hand, Miceral drew comfort from the warmth. Despite the assurances from Father Gedrin and the wizards, he didn’t trust the stasis spells to keep Farrell alive as long as necessary. To Miceral’s eye, his life partner had lost weight and his skin had an unhealthy pallor.

  It had been three days since Gedrin had interrupted their conversation in the small room with the requested book. Cylinda had disappeared without a word once she’d received Kel’s tome, and Miceral had barely seen her since.

  He kept reminding himself that if she had told him the truth—and Gedrin obviously believed her—then Farrell could still be saved. By all he knew, Zenora was a formidable wizard. She of all the wizards he could think of had not only the skill, but also the motivation to save Farrell.

  “It’s his kingdom. He deserves to know.” Gedrin’s voice alerted him to the priest’s arrival.

  “Right now, Markus doesn’t need to be told,” Cylinda said. “When Farrell is healed, we can let him know. Until then, he will only get in the way.”

  “Get in the way? He’s the king.”

  “I’m well aware of who Markus is, Holy Father, but I say we wait.” The door opened and the wizard and priest entered. “What is it you think telling him will do to help? He can’t read Kel’s book. Neither can any of his wizards, including his aunt. I don’t need any further distractions.”

  “If you’re planning to bring King Rothdin and Queen Nerti into Dreth, he needs to be told.”

  “Why?” Her tone had changed in the past few days. “How will telling him help us cure Farrell? Besides, I didn’t come to Dumbarten for help. I came to Honorus’s temple. Unless you’re saying you answer to Markus—a development the other monarchs of Endor would not be pleased to hear—I see no reason to tell him.”

  “This is still Dumbarten, not . . . someone else’s domain.”

  “Father Gedrin, you’ve long argued that Dumbarten’s reach doesn’t extend to the temple grounds.” She raised an eyebrow at him, as if waiting for a denial. “What really has you worried is your wizards have seen Farrell’s aura.”

  “Indeed.” Whether he meant to or not, the priest stared at the unconscious body. “They’re concerned we might not be able to contain him without more help.”

  “I understand.” She moved to the foot of the bed, her staff clicking as she walked. “I’ll let Rothdin and Nerti explain to you why that won’t be an issue.”

  “And what if my position is the same after I speak with them?” The prelate appeared to Miceral’s left and laid a hand on Farrell’s forehead. “Markus is the king. He deserves to know.”

  “Father, clearly I can’t stop you, but no one is saying don’t ever tell Markus. Just wait until we’ve made the attempt.”

  Miceral felt like he’d stepped between two warriors about to duel. He looked from Cylinda to Gedrin, waiting for one of them to blink. Finally the priest nodded.

  “Very well, I will defer to Lord Rothdin’s wisdom in this.”

  “Thank you.” Her relieved smile lacked any sense of triumph.

  With the standoff over, Miceral found his voice. “What’s this about Nerti and Rothdin?”

  “Cylinda believes she has found a way to revive your partner.” Gedrin’s wan smile didn’t seem encouraging. “But, I’ll let her explain.”

  He glanced at the wizard, who rolled her eyes. “Fine,” she said. “How long until they arrive?”

  “I spoke to Teclelion just before I came to find you. He said he’d send them through at tenth hour this morning, our time.” Gedrin pointed to the clock on a table. “You have about a quarter of an hour.”

  The high priest smirked and left before Cylinda could say anything.

  “That man.” Shaking her head, she smiled at Miceral. For the first time since he’d met Cylinda, the smile seemed genuine and familiar. She motioned toward two green-robed healers in the doorway. “We need . . . I’d like to talk about how to help Farrell. Let’s go find an empty room.”

  “I’m not leaving.”

  “Miceral, I realize you don’t agree with what happened, but believe me when I say I had no choice. It was this or lose Halloran. Better we both suffer than he died.”

  Hearing the pain in her voice, Miceral tried to see past his anger. If he were being honest, he didn’t believe Cylinda meant to hurt Farrell. “I accept you believe that.”

  When the healers reached Farrell’s bed, Miceral stood up and followed Cylinda. She didn’t speak as she led them through a side door. For the first time since he’d arrived, Miceral took a moment to examine the surroundings.

  The stone felt old. To most people the walls were just more rocks piled onto each other, but not to him. Having spent his entire life inside a mountain, he’d become more attuned to his surroundings. Even with all the paintings, tapestries, and other wall hangings, he could tell they’d used marble and granite, the latter with a hint of quartz running through the odd stone.

  Cylinda walked farther into the temple than last time. She stopped by an open door. Unlike the first room, this one had several overstuffed chairs, a sideboard with a pitcher and glasses, and a floor-to-ceiling set of shelves crammed with books. On a small table near one of the chairs, what appeared to be Kel’s book sat opened.

  “Have a seat if you like.” She motioned toward one of the two chairs opposite the one next to Kel’s book. After settling into her seat, she ran a finger across the open page. Tapping the sheet several times, she turned to Miceral. “One advantage of a magical book no one can read—no one will try to take it either.”

  Miceral almost told her he’d stand but decided to try to be civil. She was Farrell’s mother, and when he woke up, all three of them would likely spend time together. When he sat down and leaned back, the supple leather enveloped him in a soft embrace. “These are comfortable.”

  “This is one of Gedrin’s reading rooms.”

  “So you know how to revive him?” Civility only extended so far.

  “Yes, I believe I do.” She glanced at the book. “The spell is quite insidious. It traps the wizard inside his own mind. Farrell might not even know what’s happened to him.”

  “How did the spell get past his shield?” He couldn’t believe he hadn’t asked anyone before. “It was still up when Farrell was struck.”

  “The magic involved is ingenious. It used some of Farrell’s energy to slip past his shields.”

  “Farrell’s energy?” He didn’t expect to understand everything, but this made no sense. “The man who attacked him wasn’t a wizard. How could he have stolen some of Farrell’s energy?”

  “The pirate was merely a vessel. Meglar was the source of the spell.”

  Miceral’s heart pounded harder and he sat forward. “You can determine that?”

  “I can.” Cylinda chewed her lower lip, then stood up. “Every wizard has his or her own feel, almost like the sound of a voice. Unlike a voice, however, I’ve never heard of any wizard being able to change the feel of his or her magic.”

  “You hid yours from Farrell all these years.”

  “No. Honorus did that.” She shook her head. “He changed everything about me—my looks, my age, my aura—so that no one would be able to recognize me.”

  Not even
her son. Cylinda—Zenora’s pain brought Miceral to the brink of tears. Farrell had always spoken of how much his mother had loved him. To have that ripped away . . . Miceral understood.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up such painful memories.”

  Pinching the bridge of her nose with one hand, Cylinda waved the other in his direction. “Please, ask your questions. You need to trust me if we are to save Farrell.”

  Trust her? How could he trust someone whose entire existence was a lie? When she removed her hand, Miceral saw tiny beads of water at the edges of her eyes. “It’s going to be hard to trust you, Cylinda. Nothing I know about you is true.”

  “You need to get past that, or else we won’t be able to save him.” The edge to her voice cut through her sorrow. “Right now he’s lost inside his own mind. I . . . once I might have been able to reach him, but right now, he’d never accept me as real. That leaves you.”

  “I . . . I have . . .” He sank back into the chair. “Me?”

  “Yes, Miceral, you. There is no one else.” She moved the chair closer and put Kel’s book on the table between them. “Right now Farrell’s trapped. He needs someone to find him and guide him out. If I’m right, the only person he’ll trust is you.”

  “Me?” He wasn’t a wizard. “How?”

  “Your amulet.” Cylinda reached under her tunic and pulled out a white pendant identical to Farrell’s. She turned the circle over and back. “Mine and Farrell’s were never attuned as they were meant to be, but Honorus left me this one link to my old life.”

  He gave her some time to work through her emotions before clearing his throat. When she looked up, he said, “Are his defenses down? Farrell said I could only use it to enter his mind if he let me or if I could overpower his control.”

  “No.” She gave the pendant a last look, then tucked it away. “Quite the opposite. Because of the spell, Farrell is at war in his mind. I don’t know what he’s fighting, but his defenses are at full alert.”

  “So how do I get through? I couldn’t break through in the best of times, but now? It will be like a baby attacking Master Baylec with his teething ring.”

  “That is why Nerti and Rothdin are coming. Theirs are among the most powerful minds on Nendor. They will help you.”

  “Which means one or both of them need to possess me.” He’d do it, of course. Somehow he’d find a way to put aside his fear. What choice did he have? If he couldn’t, Farrell would die.

  “It won’t be that bad, Miceral. So long as you welcome them into your mind, the process will go smoothly.”

  “I’ll . . . It won’t be a problem. Klissmor did it on board the Rose. I can do it again.”

  “This won’t be that simple.” She paused, searching for something. Finally, she blinked and then nodded. “Klissmor used your eyes to see. This will require more. If we’re right, Farrell will resist any attempt to enter his mind. Your link is the only way in that won’t shatter his consciousness and leave him worse than dead.”

  Miceral’s chest tightened. “What does that mean?”

  “Forcing your way into his mind would be like trying to enter Haven if the main gates were closed.”

  “So I could do permanent damage to him?”

  “It’s a possibility, but Nerti and Rothdin are like having the two finest healers ever to handle a complex injury. If you three can’t reach him without damaging his mind, Farrell will die anyway. The attempt has to be made.”

  He wanted to ask if there were another way, but he remembered how pale and unhealthy Farrell looked. They needed to free him now. “I agree.”

  “I knew you would, but there’s more. The moment you attempt to enter his mind, I expect he will lash out—with magic. That is what Father Gedrin alluded to. His wizards have seen how powerful Farrell is and are concerned.”

  If Farrell attacked them magically, they had no defense. “What are you trying to tell me? That we’ll die?”

  “I hope not.” She tried to smile, but it did nothing to ease Miceral’s fears. “That is what I’m working on with Father Gedrin and his wizard-priests. We’re going to shield you.”

  “Father Gedrin is a wizard?”

  “No, but there are many strong wizards among Honorus’s clerics. He is gathering the most powerful to assist me. I’m . . . confident we’ll be able to keep you safe.”

  “You don’t sound so sure.”

  “No, I’m very sure you won’t be harmed.”

  “I sense a ‘but,’ Ze—Cylinda. What are you afraid of?”

  “Farrell is powerful—more powerful than even he knows. As Champion of the Six, he has strengths he hasn’t tapped into. With his defenses down, anyone with wizard’s sight can see his full aura, and it’s blinding. Of course, talent is just one facet of what makes a wizard powerful. Training, practice, and skill are all important. The bad news is, Farrell is a genius when it comes to magic. Even Heminaltose couldn’t match his skill.”

  Miceral looked at his boots, breathing slowly. “Which means he might kill us all.”

  “Not everyone, no. The risk is to me first, then the wizard-priests. If . . . if he overpowers me, Nerti and Rothdin will do whatever they must to stop the attacks.”

  Miceral’s skin tingled. “You mean destroy his mind?”

  “Yes.” Cylinda’s flat inflection told him much about her resolve.

  Miceral nodded, as much to reassure himself as to answer her. “What else can we do? If we don’t try, Farrell will die.”

  “I agree we have to try, but I wanted Erstad and Wesfazial to join me. Father Gedrin is worried, however, that if the three of us try and fail, there’d be no one left to guard Haven. He’s right, of course, but I’d still feel better with those two than an army of wizard-priests.”

  For Gedrin to prepare for their failure by keeping away her two most capable assistants only confirmed for him the validity of Cylinda’s risk assessment. He didn’t mind putting himself in danger, but the chance they might blast Farrell’s mind apart made him pause.

  “It’s really that dangerous . . . to Farrell, I mean?”

  “Nerti and Rothdin will do everything they can to help you reach him before they resort to harming him. As I said, there couldn’t be two better choices to make the attempt.” She moved closer and put a hand on his upper arm. “They’ll go over what you need to know from their end. Once they feel you’re ready, we’ll begin.”

  “How long will this take?”

  “I can’t say. Time has no meaning inside your mind. Think of it like a dream. When you wake up, you don’t know how long you’ve been asleep. So it might take minutes or hours or more. My hope is that once you get inside his mind, that will end the magical attack on our bodies. If not, he might kill himself trying to cast spells he doesn’t have the energy to fuel.”

  “Which means I need to work fast.”

  “Yes.”

  Another risk Miceral didn’t know about. “Are we even sure this will work—I mean, if everything goes right? It seems there are more chances Farrell will die than recover.”

  The hand on his arm tightened for the barest instant. “It’s our only option.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  THE ROOM where Farrell rested seemed smaller when Miceral returned. Dozens of priests stood around the high priest, looking as grim as Miceral felt. Even the arrival of Rothdin and Nerti didn’t lighten his mood.

  To save Farrell, Miceral would gladly forfeit his own life. But his death would only ensure Farrell’s as well. That thought kept him focused on what he needed to do.

  Rothdin had been terse and to the point when he instructed Miceral on how they would proceed. If anyone doubted the depth of his feeling for his adopted son, the way his feathers stood out answered the question.

  By contrast, Nerti showed no outward signs, but she snapped at a priest who asked a simple question. The man’s query had been appropriate given the circumstances, but Nerti berated him as a simpleton and insinuated they might need someone with m
ore intelligence given the stakes. Father Gedrin smoothed things over, but even his voice showed signs of strain.

  Miceral scanned the room and found Cylinda gently stroking Farrell’s hair. She looked up as he approached but didn’t stop.

  “I’ve wanted to do this for ten years.” She used her free hand to wipe a tear from her eye. “But this wasn’t how I envisioned our . . . it.”

  “I’m sorry for being angry with you earlier. I’m sure this hasn’t been easy for you.”

  She pushed aside a stray lock of brown hair and bent down to kiss Farrell’s forehead. When Cylinda looked up, she had more tears welling in her eyes. “You have a right to be angry, if not at me, at the unfairness of things. I saw him become the man and wizard he was meant to be, to fall in love and be loved in return. I was there to see him joined with his life partner and to see the joy and happiness I’ve always wanted for him. What mother could ask for more?”

  She sniffed and used the edge of her sleeve to dry her eyes. “Farrell, however, got none of that. He’s had to do all these things and more without knowing his mother was there, that she watched him, and that she couldn’t have been prouder of him.”

  “He never stopped loving . . .” He tried to say you but found he couldn’t speak the word. Some of the priests stared in their direction. “. . . his mother. When he wakes up, he’ll tell you that himself.”

  Cylinda swallowed loudly, closed her eyes, and shook her head. “No, he won’t. When he wakes up, neither you nor Father Gedrin will be able to tell him the truth.”

  “You can’t—”

  “It’s not my decision, Miceral.” Cylinda’s eyebrows bristled. Frustrated, she continued in a whisper. “Honorus’s avatar paid me a visit last night. It’s not time.”

  “Surely He knows how much it would help Farrell to know the truth.”

  “Honorus knows far more than either of us. Being here today—for him—that came with a price.” Her smile held no joy. “In my mind, it was—is—worth it.”