Champion of the Gods Box Set

by Andrew Q. Gordon

  “I probably owe you an apology for what I said last time we met.” Miceral avoided looking at her. “I—”

  “You were right to be angry for him, Miceral.” She put her hand on his cheek. “I wasn’t able to tell you then, but you have no idea how pleased I am that Halloran has you. I’ll be honest, I never thought anyone would be good enough for him, but you proved me wrong.”

  Farrell laughed with the others despite the burning in his cheeks. He let the two of them speak together for a moment and went over to talk with his former teachers.

  “Masters.” His grin was reflected back in the faces of the two men he’d known most of his life. “This is a most disconcerting day. I would say I’m pleased to have a second chance to learn from you both, but neither of you ever left me.”

  “That was the idea.” Heminaltose winked and clapped him on the shoulder.

  “I have so many questions about how this occurred and why, but I’ll leave those for another day and simply enjoy being in your company again.”

  Miceral appeared beside him and reached for Farrell’s hand. “How are you?”

  “A bit overwhelmed, but I’ll be fine.” He squeezed Miceral’s hand.

  “We should get back and find Horgon. Haven’s leaders will no doubt want an update on what just happened,” Miceral said.

  Farrell took two steps and stopped. “I just realized, I’m no longer Lord of Haven or ruler of Yar-del.”

  He wasn’t sure if that pleased him or not. Despite protesting he didn’t want to be the king, it felt odd now that he’d lost the titles.

  “Not so fast.” Sanduval raised his hand and moved it back and forth. “Haven occupies the northernmost part of Trellham. Now that you’re the king, it is more yours than before. As for Yar-del, even as queen, your mother technically answers to you, since we’re living in your kingdom.”

  So much for shedding a title. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

  “Besides,” Heminaltose said, “it was you who brought everyone together and made Haven what it is today. You rule not because you own the mountain but because you give everyone hope for the future.”

  “Master, your words honor me, but there are no greater names in the Seven Kingdoms than Heminaltose, Sanduval, Zenora, and Kel. Your return will do more to rally those who oppose Meglar than anything I could do.”

  Sanduval bumped shoulders with Miceral. “Guess your days of being the royal concubine are well and truly over. As Kings of Trellham, you both rule Haven.”

  “Not that it is anyone else’s to know, but our relationship has remained the same since we acquired the new titles.” He winked at Farrell. “And this new revelation won’t change it, either.”

  In high spirits, they made their way to the entrance. A team of dwarves worked to open the gates, and Farrell used the time to survey the battlefield. Dead Chamdon littered the ground. “What happened during the battle?”

  “Everything went according to plan. The first three waves had them disorganized and vulnerable. The infantry barely took the field when we had to pull back to avoid the cloud.” Miceral studied the remnants of the fight. “Though I don’t know what happened to the rest of their force. I assume they used the distraction to escape.”

  Heminaltose shook his head. “If they ran off, we’d still see them. There is nothing on the horizon except dead bodies.”

  “I wonder . . .” Farrell enhanced his vision and scanned the field. “Are any of the peregrines still in the air?”

  “Yes, but we had them move well away from the cloud,” Klissmor said. “We didn’t know if the attacks would be limited to things on the ground.”

  “Can you ask them if they see any large clumps of dead east of where the fight began?”

  “What are you looking for?” Heminaltose asked.

  “What powered the cloud.” Farrell peered skyward to see a squad of peregrines leave the top of the mountains. “It manifested itself after you engaged Tixel. Neither he nor Meglar could have powered it.”

  “Meglar could have given it to a minor wizard,” Sanduval said. “Neblor be damned, he could have given it to a nonwizard for that matter.”

  Farrell needed no reminder of that. “True, but what powered it? Assume a nonwizard or even journeyman wizard launched it, the amount of power it expelled was great. Something had to fuel it.”

  “And you think it was what?” Zenora asked.

  “His army.” Farrell shrugged. It sounded crazy, but where was his army? “That thing grew rapidly once I was inside. I felt it leech energy from my shield, but I made sure it was minimal.”

  “What about the discharge from our fight with Tixel?” Heminaltose asked.

  “No.” Sanduval shook his head. “We made sure all power that was released was captured and returned to the Source.”

  “Go feel the energy in that stone.” Farrell pointed back the way they’d come. “And that only captured what was left after it tried to incinerate me. It burned up a lot of power in the attack and still has enough to power Belsport’s shield for a month. Either Meglar fed it from Zargon—”

  “And we know he didn’t,” Zenora said.

  Farrell nodded. “Or he had them bring the energy. Given how much this needed, he’d have had to give them a piece of his Source or something with vast capacity.”

  “Not a chance in Neblor he gave them a piece of his Source,” Heminaltose said. “Not even a tiny speck.”

  “I agree. Or . . .” Farrell waited to see if they’d reached the same conclusion he did. “He powered it by sucking the life force from his army, human handlers included.”

  “Sorry, Farrell, but we—Sanduval and I—would have felt it if he used dark magic like that.”

  “I have a report from the peregrines,” Klissmor said. “They said there are a lot of dead Chamdon near the back of the battlefield. Most seemed to have fallen where they were. They also report numerous charred bodies that appeared to be wizards.”

  “Any human soldiers?” Heminaltose asked.

  “None with the Chamdon, but there were dead soldiers near the wizards.”

  “A mystery for another day.” Farrell shrugged. He could find the answers later using the Eye. “Let’s get back inside and debrief everyone.”

  “A word, Farrell?” Heminaltose asked, all business. “Though we three are now alive again, Zenora is not your mother. Her son, Halloran, died nearly thirty years ago. Farrell is the son of a minor house of Dumbarten with very distant ties to the House of Hevnor. You must not forget that.”

  “By the Six, I’d forgotten.” With his words, Heminaltose shattered Farrell’s vision that he and his mother would renew the bond they’d lost ten years ago.

  “Fear not, Farrell.” Zenora took his hand in hers. “Behind closed doors, you and I will always be family.”

  He nodded, fearing his voice would fail him. It was better than nothing at all, but it didn’t satisfy him. A dead Chamdon caught his attention. “Master Heminaltose, have you given thought to being able to undo the magic used to create the Chamdon?”

  Heminaltose frowned. “You mean turn them back into what they were before they became Chamdon?”

  “Exactly.”

  “No,” he said. He looked at the others before fixing a hard stare on Farrell. “Have you?”

  Farrell shook his head. “No, I’ve not tried to theorize a way to make it happen.”

  “Why this question now, boy?” Sanduval asked.

  “Master Sanduval, will I ever be more than a boy to you?” Farrell laughed but did not wait for an answer. “I asked because there’s a good possibility that we’ll find a few directionless Chamdon who survived. Without a dedicated group of handlers ordering them to kill us, we should be able to capture them without too much trouble. We could put them in stasis until we figure out a way to save them.”

  “An interesting notion, Farrell, but I’m not sure it’s practical,” Heminaltose said. “If our information is correct, Meglar is now using his spell on babies. Assum
ing we find a way to undo this madness, what would we have at the end? By the time we catch these lost souls, the change will have been in effect for days. How much of their life force burned up? The possible results are endless, and some could be frightening.”

  Farrell nodded but didn’t respond as he considered the answer.

  “Watch out, Heminaltose,” Zenora said. “I know that look. He doesn’t want to argue with you, but he doesn’t agree. This isn’t over.”

  “I’m afraid I know that look, too,” Heminaltose said. “He’d concede, but go ahead and do exactly what I said he should not.”

  The fact his mother and former masters were alive to banter with him left him too happy to disagree. With the state of affairs on Ardus, he didn’t expect the good mood to last, so he enjoyed it while he could.

  Farrell put his fingers inside the neck opening of his breastplate and tugged. Given that he barely noticed the armor when he wore it, the reaction was more reflex than discomfort. He and Kel stood apart in the council chambers, waiting for the last of their party to arrive before opening the Door.

  “Are you sure this is necessary?” Farrell asked.

  “Which? The armor or the meeting?”

  “The meeting.” Without that, he’d have no reason to wear his armor.

  “Things are moving apace, Grandson. We know that freeing the dwarves marks the beginning of the final phase, so yes, this is needed.”

  Farrell nodded reluctantly. What purpose did it serve to have Kel around if he ignored the advice his grandfather gave? “Are you sure we need to tell them everything?”

  “Better to control the flow of information.” Kel guided Farrell toward the others. “It is easier to manage the disruption if it is on your timeline.”

  Disruption? The goal of the meeting was to unite everyone. “I hate politics.”

  “You are truly my grandson.” Kel laughed loudly. “Speaking of politics, you realize that holding this meeting in Belsport is going to create a bit of an uproar?”

  “Wilhelm is concerned about an attack and would prefer not to leave the city.” Farrell said. “Horgon and I decided to hold it in Belsport to accommodate him.”

  “Christian and Heldin are in almost the same situation. They’ll feel slighted that you placed Wilhelm over them.”

  “Didn’t you just tell me to control things on my terms?”

  “I did, but I didn’t mean create new tension.”

  “First, I don’t care if they’re offended. Neither gave much thought to Yar-del’s situation.” Farrell took a breath to calm himself. “Belsport is our closest ally other than Dumbarten. Wilhelm reminds me of Clement. He’s a shrewd and polished leader. I admire him and value his advice far more than I do those two. The other, more important, reason is neither of them have ever been to Haven. I’d rather we not let them here just yet.”

  “I just wanted to be sure you understood the ramifications of what you do. Clearly you’ve given thought to this, and I find no fault in your decision.” Kel gripped Farrell’s shoulder. “You sell yourself short. You may find politics distasteful, but you are quite skilled in your own way.”

  Farrell blushed. “Thank you.”

  Darg and Bendict arrived and saved Farrell from any more comments. Horgon walked toward them. “Everyone is here. Shall we go?”

  “Yes.” Farrell walked over to the wall where he’d created a Door to Belsport earlier. He and Darius worked together to keep the city’s protection intact, yet still allow Farrell to access the Citadel. Pushing out with his will, Farrell opened the portal. They stared into a stone entryway of a large building where Wilhelm and Darius waited for them. Both looked tired and noticeably thinner.

  “The others have already arrived and are waiting for us in what is now my war room,” Wilhelm said to Farrell. “They are not—”

  “Father!” Alicia pushed her way forward. “You look terrible.”

  “But you are still as lovely as always, dear.” He kissed her on the forehead and pulled her into a hug.

  She glanced over at Darius and shook her head. “You’re going to kill Darius if you keep overworking him.”

  “We all do what is required,” Darius said. “Your father asks no more of me than he asks of anyone else.”

  “If you will follow me.” Wilhelm led the way without waiting for an answer.

  Darius waited as the others followed Belsport’s prince. He stayed with Farrell as he closed the Door.

  “You must be Grand Master Kel.” Darius bowed.

  “I am, but Kel will do.” He returned the bow. “My grandson speaks highly of your wisdom and skill.”

  “He lies.” Darius chuckled. He asked Farrell, “Heminaltose, Sanduval, and your mother as well? The Six have truly been busy.”

  “Indeed.” Farrell grinned. “But you haven’t told Heldin and Christian, did you?”

  They followed the others. “I wouldn’t dare spoil your surprise. That and I had to see them to fully believe it.”

  When they arrived at their destination, they found several others already seated. Peter sat off in a corner next to Markus, who was talking to Randgar, Penelope, and Marisa. Rothdin, Hesnera, Nerti, and Klissmor were on the other side of the room talking with Father Aswick and the other dwarf kings.

  Their arrival nearly doubled the number of people in the room. In addition to Kel, Horgon, Heminaltose, Sanduval, and Zenora, Farrell had asked Kerstand, Jursten, and Glendora to join them. Zenora stopped in the doorway and stared at a small couch where two older men sat talking and watching warily.

  Kerstand nearly pushed her aside and followed the invisible path her glare made to the two men. He stopped in front of a thin, clean-shaven, middle-aged man with short, graying brown hair. The simple gold circlet on his head and the green-and-brown clothing was enough for Farrell to conclude this was King Christian of Honal.

  His companion was a bit older and sat ramrod straight in his chair. He wore ceremonial armor with the royal crest of Pelipan etched into the burnished metal. He’d pulled his steel-gray hair back in a ponytail, and he sported a closely cropped gray beard. The facial hair added a look of authority to his weathered and creased face. Heldin continued to scrutinize Farrell and his party.

  “You were busy,” Miceral said as he took Farrell’s hand in his.

  Farrell shrugged. “Events are rushing along. There isn’t time to explain what is happening more than once.”

  “It is far easier to coordinate our actions if we are all together when we finalize our plans,” Kel added.

  Kerstand smiled while talking to his father. The smile on Christian’s face matched his son’s, making the resemblance to each other apparent. Farrell and Miceral followed Jursten, who stopped before King Heldin.

  “Nice to see you, King Heldin,” Jursten said. Farrell knew his friend well enough to know he’d lied.

  “A pleasure to see you as well, King Jursten.” Heldin remained seated and glanced over at Farrell.

  Farrell declined to acknowledge Heldin as a superior. The moment became awkward, but he refused to give Pelipan’s king the satisfaction. Heldin squinted, and Farrell saw the irritation in his eyes. Finally, he asked, “Have we met?”

  “Once.”

  “King Heldin,” Jursten said, drawing off some of the tension. “This is King Farrell and King Miceral of Trellham. By Khron’s word, they are high kings of the three dwarf nations.”

  “Kings of the dwarves?” Heldin asked, confused.

  “All will be explained soon,” Farrell said. “But thank you for coming. I don’t want to explain everything more than once.”

  “You’re not helping the situation by being so rude,” Miceral said.

  Farrell kept his gaze on Heldin. If the man thought he’d earn respect by cowing Farrell with his stare, he’d be wrong. “I’m not trying to be nice. The cow’s ass hasn’t even bothered to stand up to greet us.”

  “Are you sure that’s the only reason?”

  “Of course not. I have no love
for him after he abandoned my mother. Have you seen the looks she’s giving him?”

  Miceral turned around, and Heldin’s eyes followed. He quickly looked back at Farrell. “You say we’ve met, but I’m sure I’ve not met a human king of the dwarves.”

  “We met ten years ago when I was Heminaltose’s student and he asked for your help fighting Meglar. You remember that day, I’m sure.” He waited to see if he got a reaction, but Heldin’s expression was neutral. That at least earned him a measure of Farrell’s respect.

  Heldin finally cracked. “Did you ask me here just to be rude?”

  “Says the man who insults his hosts by not rising to greet them,” Miceral said.

  “What happened to not making things worse?”

  “After you pointed it out, I agree. He clearly thinks we’re beneath him.”

  “I knew this was a trick.” Heldin looked at Jursten. “You said this was to be a planning session to defend Pelipan and Honal from Meglar.”

  “Actually, I said it was a planning session for how to counter Meglar’s aggression.” Even Jursten seemed annoyed with Heldin. “And it isn’t a ruse. The only fly in the butter is your condescending attitude.”

  Jursten angled his body away toward Christian and Kerstand. The pair had been watching the exchange. Kerstand motioned them over.

  “Father, this is Prince . . . King Farrell and King Miceral.”

  Christian bowed his head politely. Farrell and Miceral returned the gesture.

  “Your Majesties, my son has nothing but praise when he speaks of you. It is my pleasure to meet you after all the communications I’ve had with your intermediaries.”

  “I think highly of your son as well, Your Majesty. He’s not only a friend, but my sparring partner.” Kel had joined them, and Farrell waved him closer. “King Christian, may I introduce Kel, son of Bren, first king of Yar-del.”

  “Kel? The Kel?” Christian stammered.

  “I did tell you that, Father.” Kerstand smirked.