Champion of the Gods Box Set

by Andrew Q. Gordon

“Take a deep breath, Little One.” Nerti’s admonishment stopped him before he spoke. When he looked up, Miceral took a deep breath just before speaking. Klissmor gave Farrell the barest of nods.

  Farrell recovered first. “What’s wrong, Miceral?”

  “That’s what I want to know. Why the sudden urge to leave?”

  “It’s not sudden.” Farrell poured himself a drink and motioned with the pitcher to Miceral and Peter. They both nodded, so he filled two more cups. “We came here for a purpose. That’s been achieved, so it’s time to go home.”

  “How has our mission been accomplished? We’ve not found Kel, and we don’t have all seven Gifts.”

  “Sorry, I misspoke.” He handed the others their drinks. “We’ve done what we came to Agloth to do. We don’t need to be away from Haven to collect the last two Gifts. And as for Kel, that’s why we’re going to Dumbarten. He’s there.”

  Miceral pulled back a bit. “Kel’s in Dumbarten? Since when?”

  “Since always.” Farrell took a drink. “I have a very good idea where to find him.”

  “Where?” Peter and Miceral asked in unison.

  “I’ll tell you if I find him.” He waved off their protests before they voiced them. “I want to be sure I’m right first.”

  “That hardly seems fair,” Peter said.

  “I’ll know soon enough.”

  They informed everyone of their intentions to leave, which sped up the withdrawal of the dwarf troops. But even with his oversized permanent Door to Colograd, they needed the rest of the day and night to get home. Rather than sit around doing nothing, Farrell left the city to help clear the battlefield.

  When they arrived, a steady stream of Ze’arderian warriors were going in and out of the city. Those going out pushed empty two-wheeled carts that came back loaded with armor and weapons.

  “What are they doing?” Peter asked.

  “Taking the weapons and armor from the dead,” Miceral said. “The better stuff can be used by other soldiers, but the majority will be melted down and forged into something else.”

  Peter wrinkled his nose. “That seems uncivilized to strip the dead of their last few possessions. Who wants to wear anything a Chamdon wore?”

  Miceral shrugged. “If you don’t take the metal off, it will be left behind after you burn the bodies. This makes it easier.”

  Farrell’s first stop was “the spot.” It surprised him, but at the same time it didn’t that the affected area had disappeared. It had clearly served its purpose. Something about it nagged at him, but he didn’t know what questions to ask, let alone the answers.

  The enemy dead were separated into three groups. The Chamdon pile was the largest. It surprised him that the wizards outnumbered the human soldiers, but as he thought about the dynamics of moving a Chamdon army, it made sense.

  The Ze’arderian wizards stripped the dead enemy wizards of any usable power. If he and Penelope weren’t still in Agloth, the Ze’arderian wizards would have used it to cremate the dead. Now they could use it for other tasks.

  Penelope flew down before Farrell did anything, and he was grateful for her help. They dismissed everyone and walked in opposite directions while the workers moved back toward the walls.

  Farrell grabbed his staff in the middle and held it in front of him. When Penelope mirrored his act, he pushed a wide stream of power out across the length of wood. She copied him, and when their energy met, it spread out.

  At first nothing happened, but as the blue energy reached the farthest ends of the battlefield, the remaining dead slowly rose. Silently the procession of lifeless bodies moved toward the three piles. Just before the dead reached their final destination, objects dropped from them onto the ground.

  By the time the last body floated to a pile, the mound of items collected had risen above the tallest Ze’arderian warrior’s head. Farrell walked toward Penelope, and their energy flared where the two streams met. Several tendrils grew out of the bright area and snaked toward the dead. The fiery energy swirled around the base of each pile and moved in ascending circles. Fire remained where the lines passed until each heap was entirely encased. The fires pulsed brightly and collapsed toward the ground.

  When the flames died, only a small pile of ashes remained. Farrell withdrew his power, and the streams disappeared. He swept his right hand across his body to create a strong breeze. The wind scattered the ashes across the parched prairie.

  He stared intently as the fine grains of dust settled onto the ground and Penelope removed the metal and other objects. Though there were no visible signs of the battle, the scars he carried remained. He added them to the growing inventory the war forced him to carry and walked back to his rooms.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Their last day in Agloth went by in a blur for Farrell. Much of it was spent on routine things—saying goodbyes, checking on the wounded wizards, and making sure he’d packed everything. Farrell received an extended lesson on the stubborn nature of dwarves. Although the dwarves in his new guard were eager to reach Haven and its close proximity to Trellham, Jagwin decided he and “a small guard of one hundred” would accompany Miceral and Farrell to Dumbarten. The discussion kept repeating itself to the point Farrell asked Father Aswick to mediate.

  “We are sworn to guard the high kings,” Jagwin told Aswick when he offered to bring them directly to Trellham. “Wherever they go, an appropriate guard must follow.”

  “As kings, we get to decide if the guard must follow and if so, what is an appropriate number.” Farrell had never been more tempted to drop someone in the middle of the ocean as he’d been at that moment. The only thing that stayed his hand was the firm belief that if he dispatched Jagwin, any new captain of the guard would immediately resume the argument. “We don’t need a guard. We’re going to Dumbarten, not Zargon. Besides, Penelope doesn’t have the room or the desire to house an entire company of guards.”

  “Unacceptable.” Jagwin shook his head. “We will not leave the kings unattended. It’s been three millennia and more since Trellham had a king. You must be guarded.”

  “We’ll be guests of the Princess of Dumbarten.” Farrell flung his arms out, causing Aswick to flinch. “What possible danger could we face there?”

  Jagwin crossed his arms over his chest. “From what I know of Dumbarten politics, every person of importance is surrounded by guards.”

  “He has a point, Farrell,” Miceral said. “Even minor nobles walk with armed guards.”

  “But grand master wizards do not. Besides, if we leave Penelope’s manor, it will be to go to the palace or we’ll be riding Nerti and Klissmor.” Farrell shook his head. “The guards go to Trellham with Father Aswick.”

  “Perhaps a compromise?” Aswick waited until both Jagwin and Farrell focused on him instead of each other. “A hundred guards would be an insult to the king of Dumbarten and his aunt. Decorum prevents any king from bringing anything close to that number.”

  Farrell nodded his agreement, but his smug attitude melted away when Aswick turned his way.

  “But the honor of Trellham demands some honor guard.” The priest raised a bushy gray eyebrow, demanding Farrell’s silence. “You can’t go to Dumbarten without a soldier to protect you.”

  “Very well. Four guards, including Jagwin.” Farrell held up four fingers. “The rest go to Trellham with you.”

  “Twenty, plus me,” Jagwin countered.

  “This is not a debate.” Farrell almost said “two,” just to be spiteful. “Be satisfied I’m allowing any guards.”

  Jagwin’s eyes narrowed and his jaw tightened. “Twelve and not a dwarf less.”

  Farrell shook his head. “That’s it. No guards. Take them all with you, Father, because the Door to Dumbarten will not permit any dwarves to pass through.”

  Aswick’s face burned red. “Enough! Both of you.”

  “What—?” His protest was cut short by a deathly stare from the high priest.

  Jagwin snickered, but he stopped
when Aswick slowly turned his glare on the captain. Miceral held up his hands and stepped back. The look he got from Aswick didn’t seem appreciative.

  “This has gone on long enough. Since you are both going to be dense as granite, I’ll put an end to this.”

  “That won’t be necessary, Father,” Miceral said. “Four is the only number I will permit. It’s not up for discussion. I agree that some guards are needed for appearances, but two guards are all that would be permitted to attend King Markus. Since there are two of us, two apiece is within the bounds of proper etiquette. More would not be.”

  “I agree.” Aswick addressed Jagwin. “They don’t need protection, Captain. This is an honor guard. Choose the other three and be done with it.”

  Jagwin bowed and smiled. “Four is more than none.”

  Before Farrell could respond, the dwarf left. Aswick interrupted his thoughts by grabbing Farrell by the arm.

  “You need to adjust your thinking.” He squeezed a bit tighter and let go. “As king you must now be concerned about the appearance of Trellham as well.”

  “No, Father, everyone else needs to adjust their thinking. I’m Champion of the Six first, king second. There are things I must do that I cannot take a guard with me, and even if I could, I won’t. That has to be made clear to Jagwin.”

  “All the more reason for you to be more open to compromise when you can bring them along.”

  Farrell closed his eyes and took a deep breath before he nodded. “Understood.”

  The sun had sunk below the walls when the last of the dwarves were ready to leave. The four kings and three high priests of Khron met outside the Door leading to Colograd. After a brief discussion, which required promises from Miceral and Farrell to call on the dwarves whenever they marched to war, the kings of Fracturn and Colograd led their soldiers back to the dwarf kingdom. Farrell closed the portal but didn’t dismantle the Door.

  They shared an informal meal with Jolella and Randgar in a small dining room near the high priestess’s quarters. The conversation was subdued without being somber. More promises were exchanged, and they retired for the night.

  No one rushed to rise in the morning, as they wanted to give Penelope’s house the chance to wake up before they arrived. When they finally arrived at the site of the Door, Farrell met with Jolella first.

  He took the priestess’s hands in his and kissed them. “Goodbye, Jolella. I shall miss you and your wisdom.”

  “Goodbye, Chosen. Though you came seeking no blessings, you leave with more than has ever been given to another pilgrim.” She drew his hands to her lips.

  “Pray that I use them wisely.”

  “You shall certainly be in my prayers. The fate of Nendor rests with you.” She squeezed his hands as he tried to take them back. Pulling him closer, she kissed him on both cheeks. “May Seritia bless you and all you love, may She guide you wherever your journeys lead, and may She give you strength when you need it most.”

  Jolella released him and turned to Miceral. “Remain true to yourself, Miceral, and remember you are Her gift to Farrell as much as he is Her gift to you.” She kissed his cheeks and stepped closer to Peter.

  “Prince of Belsport, no longer can any call you a child. In the few short days you have been in Agloth, you’ve grown into a man. You came to Agloth neither by choice nor by desire, only to help. Your heart has been judged, and you were found worthy. Seritia has granted you Her favor and will guide you in finding your true love. Your payment has been noted. Remember that whenever you doubt your self-worth.”

  She repeated the farewell gesture before she moved back to Farrell. “It is Seritia’s will that this permanent Door remain. Only you may use it, but using it, you can summon Her army as you require. Farewell, Chosen, and be blessed.”

  Jolella walked away without waiting for a response.

  Penelope spoke first. “The priestess and I spoke at length before you arrived. There are some things I’d like to keep private.”

  The sun was barely up when the nine “pilgrims” and four dwarves stepped into the courtyard of Penelope’s estate. Claire came running from the back door to greet her mother, followed by a more reserved Marisa. Penelope wrapped her arms around her daughter for a long hug before she greeted her partner. Claire broke away first and walked over to Peter.

  “I’m glad to see you made it back in one piece.” She gave him a hug. When she stepped back, she pointed over his shoulder. “What happened to the fourth unicorn?”

  The color drained from Peter’s face. He licked his lips and looked down. “He died to save my life.”

  The happy mood turned somber, and Marisa motioned for everyone to move inside. Farrell smelled fresh-baked bread and roasted meat as soon as he entered the manor. Despite having eaten before they left, his stomach announced its interest.

  Farrell patted his torso as his friends laughed. “Quiet.”

  “Come,” Marisa said. “I had the cooks start breakfast a bit early once Penelope sent word you’d be here this morning.”

  “Thank you, but I’m going to decline.” Farrell waited until Marisa made eye contact. “I’ve eaten this morning, and I’d like to go for a ride.”

  “Now?” Marisa looked at Penelope.

  “They ate hours ago, dear.” Penelope took Marisa’s hand and rubbed it gently. “I knew you’d go to the effort, so I only nibbled.”

  “And I appreciate it, love, but I made enough for him to eat.” She hitched her thumb in Farrell’s direction.

  “Captain Jagwin and his dwarves will be able to help you with the excess food.” Farrell bowed politely and turned to Miceral. “Will you come with me?”

  “Of course.” Miceral’s face didn’t match the certainty in his voice. “What’s this about?”

  “I want to visit Kel’s home again.” The barrage of questions he expected never came, and the pair walked back to Nerti and Klissmor.

  Once clear of the walls, Nerti took the lead, and they raced north. The congestion on the road this close to Dreth forced her to slow her pace to avoid the line of farmers and merchants headed for the city. Farrell had to wait until they were farther from the city before he could pull them along to shorten the trip. Even then, he needed to limit his usage to short jumps to make sure they didn’t trample anyone along the way.

  Farrell used the need to focus as an excuse for not answering Miceral’s questions. Once he finished the longest pull of the morning, he checked their surrounding and smiled. “That was the last one.”

  “So can I ask questions now?”

  “Yes, Miceral. Before you ask again, we’re going to Bren and Geena’s house because I expect to find Kel there.”

  “You do? Did you use the Eye?”

  “No I didn’t, but he’s there.” Farrell had no proof he’d find Kel at the house, but he “knew” he was right. “If I’m wrong, we’ll probably find clues to where we can find him.”

  Miceral didn’t respond, but Farrell knew his position. Anytime Farrell acted on a hunch, Miceral worried. This time, however, if they were wrong, there would be no adverse consequences.

  At the approach to the familiar one-lane road, Klissmor and Nerti slowed their pace. They turned right and followed it to where the house sat amidst the open fields. Everything, including the shield, was as he remembered it.

  “Do you want to come inside?” Farrell asked the unicorns after he and Miceral dismounted.

  “That will not be necessary.” Nerti moved toward a small patch of dense grass. “We shall wait for you here.”

  They stopped at the edge of the outer shield. “Markus said as a descendant of Bren and Geena’s, the spell would allow me to enter.” Farrell stared at the magic but didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. “If we hold hands, you should be able to come with me.”

  “I should?”

  “Yes, you should.” He shrugged. “That’s typically how recognition spells work.”

  Farrell held out his hand, and when Miceral took it, he walked towar
d the barrier. True to Markus’s word, he slipped through the shimmering wall without a problem.

  When Miceral’s hand touched the barricade, it came to a halt. Farrell felt him push, but his hand didn’t move.

  Miceral had a smug look. “So much for ‘should.’”

  “Wait a moment. I want to try something.” Farrell freed his hand and drew his staff. He etched a line in the barrier and cast a spell to create a temporary opening. Extending his hand through the area, he said, “Let’s try again.”

  Slowly he drew Miceral’s hand toward him, but it still came to a stop at the energy wall. Frustrated, he released his partner’s hand and examined the shield again.

  “Why don’t you just go inside alone?” Miceral suggested.

  “No.” Farrell shook his head and stepped back. “Move aside, please. I’ll bring the entire barrier down.”

  “You don’t need to take such drastic measures,” a voice said from behind him. Farrell turned around quickly, his staff extended outward defensively.

  Standing in the doorway, leaning on a beautifully carved ivory staff topped by an enormous red jewel, was an elderly man. Thin, almost gaunt, he was nearly lost in the embroidered gray robe he wore. His fine, white hair reached the tops of his shoulders, giving his friendly face a paternal, trustworthy quality.

  “I’ll lower the barrier, child.” The old wizard waved his hand, and the shield disappeared. “I am Kel. Welcome to my home.”

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Farrell reached out and touched the wizard in the doorway. Kel appeared frail, but he radiated power. His eyes sparkled with energy and life, even if his body betrayed his age. “You’re real.”

  “Come now.” Kel sounded amused. “I know you’re wizard enough to tell the difference between a magical image and a real person.”

  “Just making sure.” Farrell grinned. “You’ve deceived me more than once already.”

  “You say that as if I were being unfair.” Kel raised his hands slowly in protest. “I had to be certain you were equal to the task.”