Champion of the Gods, Books 1-2

by Andrew Q. Gordon

  “Master Thomas,” Farrell said, stopping an arm’s length from his teacher. “This is Miceral, son of Horgon, Chief of the Muchari. He’ll be joining us from now on, as he’s staying with me.”

  As Farrell put on his jerkin, the older man gave no indication he cared about Miceral or whom he slept with. Extending his arm, he said, “Pleased to meet you, sir. Kindly stay out of our way while I work with the prince.”

  Miceral nodded and unwrapped his own swords. Farrell watched him select two similar blades and swing both in a twirling motion. A firm slap on his ass from the flat of a sword elicited a short yelp.

  “Stop watching your friend over there and concentrate on your own practice.” Master Thomas’s voice held nothing except the business at hand. Rubbing his “wound,” Farrell began to limber up, performing the stretching routine he’d been taught as a boy. When ready, he picked up his sword and bowed to his teacher.

  After a perfunctory bow, Thomas attacked. Farrell used a lighter sword that played to his wiry build and natural quickness. After a few passes, Thomas stopped and lowered his sword.

  “Your arm is too low.” Thomas moved Farrell’s sword arm approximately three inches.

  Feeling foolish at the almost negligible adjustment, Farrell barely paid attention to the additional instructions.

  Master Thomas moved in front of Farrell, and they resumed practice. Without warning, Thomas changed his attack, stopped, and repeated the drill of showing Farrell what he’d done wrong this time. Farrell chafed as the lesson continued. He wanted to show Miceral his skill with a sword, but his trainer consistently focused on his weaker points.

  “Boy!” Thomas slammed the point of his practice sword into the ground, signaling a stop. “What in the Eight Gates of Neblor are you doing? Trying to show off for the pretty lad sitting over there?”

  Farrell turned beet-red, glaring at his instructor.

  Undeterred, Thomas scowled back. “We’re here to work on where you’re most vulnerable, not to do fancy moves to impress someone you hope to get in your bed tonight. Trust me. I saw what he can do. You’re not going to impress him. You aren’t that good.”

  Humiliated, Farrell ground his teeth, eyes barely open. If this fool thought to insult him in front of Miceral without consequences, he—

  “Master Thomas.” Miceral’s voice broke into Farrell’s thoughts. “If you wouldn’t mind, may I talk to Farrell a moment, please?”

  The two locked eyes for an instant before Farrell saw his teacher nod.

  Putting a hand on Farrell’s shoulder, Miceral drew them aside. “He’s correct. I am a distraction. I shouldn’t have come. I’ll go back to the rooms to wait for you.”

  “No.” Farrell grabbed Miceral’s arm. “It’s not you, it’s him. I’m a much better wizard than he is a swordsman, and this is his way of humiliating me.”

  Shaking his head, Miceral gripped Farrell by the biceps. “That’s not true. He’s trying to teach you how to work around your weaknesses. It makes no sense to work on what you’re good at and ignore where you need help. You were in the wrong. Master Thomas is a fine teacher. If you want me to stay, you need to apologize to him.”

  Farrell’s head snapped back. “Are you joking? He’s a surly, grumpy old man—”

  “Who’s trying to save your life by making you a better swordsman. He was right to call you out just then. He might have been a bit mean, but he got your attention.” Miceral suddenly smiled at him. “It was sweet of you to try to show off for me. I’m impressed. You’re a much better swordsman than I thought. But if you really want to impress me, then learn what he’s trying to teach you.” He kissed Farrell’s forehead. “Go on, apologize and get on with the lesson.”

  Farrell turned toward Master Thomas, then looked back over his shoulder. Miceral mouthed the words go on and flicked his fingers twice.

  The older man stood apart, his focus on Farrell as he walked over.

  “Master Thomas, I’m sorry I’m wasting your time today.” He maintained eye contact, waiting for some further insult from his teacher. “You were right. I was trying to impress Miceral when I should’ve paid attention to the lesson. If you’ll accept my apology, I’d like to continue.”

  Thomas stared at him for a moment longer, then glanced at Miceral. The ends of his lips curled up ever so slightly. “Accepted, lad. Now shall we begin again?”

  Surprised, Farrell nodded and assumed a combat position. This time he ignored Miceral and focused on his instructions. The rest of the lesson went considerably better. Though a sweaty mess at the end, he felt pleased with the results.

  Stabbing his sword into the dirt, he bowed to his teacher. “Master Thomas, thank you for the second chance today.”

  The older man assumed a slightly deferential posture. “Prince Farrell, all I want is to make you a better swordsman, as your grandfather asked. I know your true skills lie elsewhere. Your willingness to learn was all the apology I wanted.”

  He walked over to Miceral. “Whatever you said, you did him a great service, sir. He’s lucky to have you. I’d be honored to practice with you if you’ll give an old man the privilege.”

  Miceral grinned, picked up his sword, and moved to the center of the field. The two bowed before Thomas launched a furious attack. Farrell raised his eyebrows and wondered how he’d never gotten hurt training with the man. Miceral however, parried the assault easily and quickly countered.

  After a time, Thomas paused. “Well met, sir, but you hold back.”

  “Master Thomas.” Miceral bowed to the older man. “You’re an expert swordsman, but my race is faster and stronger. I don’t want to injure you.”

  “Prince Farrell,” Thomas called, “bring your sword and the mate to the one your friend holds and come join us. Perhaps two of us will present more of a challenge than one.”

  Farrell handed Miceral his other sword.

  “We’ll attack him together.” Thomas gave him a conspiratorial wink. “Let’s see how good he really is.”

  A quick bow and Thomas lunged. Farrell circled around, trying to stay opposite his teacher. Spurred by the day’s events to try harder, Farrell did his best to keep up, but even he recognized his limited skills. He took consolation that his mere presence assisted Master Thomas. Still, Miceral easily met their attacks.

  Farrell’s training had been longer—and more strenuous—than usual so he quickly tired. Pushing himself when he should have called a halt, he stumbled, falling into the path of Miceral’s sword. As the steel pierced his leather jerkin, he screamed in pain, clutched his shoulder, and dropped to the ground.

  MICERAL DROPPED his sword and rushed to Farrell’s side. “I’m so sorry. Let me see.”

  “Add one more scar to an otherwise scarred body.” The small laugh made Farrell wince in pain.

  The slick wetness under his vest warned him of the blood loss. Light-headed, he couldn’t focus enough to staunch the flow from the wound. At the edge of consciousness, he heard Master Thomas summon the healer always on duty.

  “Come away, lad.” Thomas gently pulled Miceral back. “Let Healer Geanette tend to this.”

  Farrell felt Geanette’s hands over the wound. Soothing energy created a numbing sensation in the injured shoulder. Pain receptors, so recently overloaded, returned to normal, leaving a dull ache through his body.

  “The wound was deep and bled much in a short time. Had I not been here, you would have died.” She glanced at Miceral and Thomas in disapproval. “It is healed, and you’re no longer in danger. Most of the blood found its way under the leather shirt, so your undergarment will appear worse than the wound was. I cleaned off some, but you need to rest for the remainder of the day. No magic. Let me repeat that, my lord—no magic.”

  Shaking her head, Geanette walked over to Thomas. “Make sure he eats and rests. Don’t let him use the shoulder for a couple of days.”

  Shirtless, Farrell examined the clean gash in the left shoulder of his vest. It had absorbed some of the blow, but Micer
al’s stab had cut deep. Even healed, the shoulder remained tender and would be for a few days.

  “My prince, this is my fault.” In all the time he had known Master Thomas, Farrell had never heard him apologize. “I should never have put you at risk. Worse, I paid no attention—”

  “Door opening,” Farrell said, interrupting Thomas.

  Miceral opened his mouth, but before he spoke, a Door opened just outside the practice field.

  “Word of my injury must have spread fast.”

  Erstad and Wesfazial quickly stepped through the Door, followed by Glendora and, to his surprise, the wizard Cylinda. Master Thomas and Miceral moved to intercept the angry entourage. All began yelling at once, most of it directed at Master Thomas. When Miceral attempted to defend the weapons master, they turned their venom on him. Farrell heard words like irresponsible and idiotic. Then the rhetorical questions started. “Don’t you know who he is?” “Do you realize how important he is?” Finally, there came the threats. “There will be consequences for such stupidity.” “If anything happens to him, you’ll both be sorry.”

  “I’m fine, thanks for asking.” Farrell’s voice went unheard amid the shouting.

  “It hurts a bit, now that you ask, but I’ll be fine.” He spoke louder, but they still ignored him.

  “I should be okay in the morning with some rest and food.” Frustrated by his sarcastic imaginary conversation, he spoke a couple of words of magic and whistled loudly enough that the sound reverberated off the walls.

  Face contorted in pain, he clutched his injured shoulder. “Yup, should have listened to the healer. Magic equals bad right about now.” Having gained their attention, he rolled his eyes. “I’m fine, thank you for asking.”

  As a group, they avoided his gaze. When they came closer, he raised a hand and let Miceral help him to his feet. “First, don’t talk about me like I’m not here. I was stabbed in the shoulder, not the ears or brain. Second, why are you yelling at them? It was my lack of skill and stamina that got me hurt.”

  Scanning their faces, he shook his head. “Finally, there’ll be no repercussions. None. I’m still Lord of Haven, not any of you. No one is pulling rank here except me. And I’m going to take a nap. When I wake up, everything better be just like it is now.”

  The four wizards stared at him but were now calmer. With Miceral’s help, he collected his things. When he glanced up again, Erstad looked pleased, Wesfazial grumpy, Glendora still mad at Miceral, and Cylinda nowhere in sight.

  Erstad almost clapped him on the shoulder, stopping himself just in time. “Lord of Haven?” He raised a bushy eyebrow.

  “I… um… well….”

  The elder wizard gave him a broad smile. “That was a good thing you did for Master Thomas. He’s always been fiercely loyal to you and your house. I’m proud of you for standing by him. But perhaps we ought to rethink further weapons training.”

  “Or perhaps I ought to recognize I need more practice and work harder.” He glared at Erstad, daring him to say something different. “Today was actually fun. Miceral helped me see what Master Thomas has been trying to teach me but I’ve been too stupid to recognize. Now that I see things clearer, I realize I need to work harder. Miceral can help me train. He’s amazing. Think you can add a practice area to our quarters?”

  “Our quarters?” Wesfazial growled. “Known each other what, four days now, and you’ve moved in together? Moving a bit fast, wouldn’t you say?”

  Farrell did something he couldn’t remember doing before. He snapped at his former teacher. “No, we’re not moving too fast, and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t pry into my private life.”

  Erstad’s eyes shot daggers at his colleague. “We can talk about that request later, but if you don’t mind the suggestion, it would be better if you continued your practice here.” He held up his hand to silence any protest. “Miceral is on a level you’re not accustomed to facing. Sort of like you and an entry-level wizard. You can learn enormously from him, but if he loses his concentration, he can easily hurt you like he did today. There is always a healer on duty here in case that happens.”

  Farrell looked to Miceral before he answered. “Agreed. Um… can we use your Door to go back to our room? That little voice spell hurt almost as much as getting stabbed.”

  “Of course.” Erstad nodded his agreement. “Let me change the location to your workroom.”

  Farrell reached for his vest, only to have Miceral push his hand away. “I’ll get it. You just worry about yourself.”

  “I’m not broken, and you’re not to blame.” Farrell almost used a spell to snatch it from Miceral but settled for glaring at him instead.

  Miceral nodded but quickly turned away. Rather than press the issue, Farrell leaned over and kissed his cheek.

  The area between the lines shimmered as Erstad opened a Door into Farrell’s workroom. The lights came on, and Farrell groaned before he could stop himself. Miceral nearly dropped his things, but Farrell held up a hand.

  “I’m fine. The lights tried to draw energy from me, that’s all.”

  The trio walked carefully, stepping around the mess. Books and scrolls lay open on workbenches, debris from various tasks lay on the floor, jars sat open, and staves lay scattered about the floor.

  “We really need to work on this room. It’s a hazard to anyone who enters.” Erstad’s scowl grew as he looked around. “I’m assigning you an assistant to help with this. ‘Lord of Haven’ or not, this has to be better kept.”

  “Yes, sir.” He wanted to keep it in better order, but with all the demands of running Haven, cleaning his workroom remained a low priority. As they exited his workspace, Farrell had an inspiration.

  “Miceral, do you think Horgon would be willing to act as first minister of Haven?”

  “You want him to be what?”

  “Part of the reason my workroom is so messy is I don’t have time anymore.” He waited for Erstad to make a comment. Instead, the older man shook his head and looked down. “King Clement of Endor served that function after Sanduval was killed. Clement died at Respital, and none of the other monarchs in exile are suitable for the position.”

  Erstad snorted. “That didn’t stop them from offering their services.”

  “True.” Farrell pushed aside the unpleasant memories of telling each of them “No, thank you.” “But back to Horgon. If he accepts and it works out, it would free me up to do things I really need to do, instead of deciding who gets what new space or who has rights to the cheese trade.”

  Miceral blinked as if being pulled from a deep thought. “Father and I aren’t exactly close, but I’ll ask him. If nothing else, I think he’ll be pleased you asked.”

  Hopefully, Horgon would agree. “So, Master Erstad, did you get my note?”

  “I did, and though Wesfazial is a bit too blunt sometimes, I agree with him. Aren’t you moving a bit too fast? Adding rooms to your apartment for someone you met a few days ago? That’s not like you. No offense, Miceral, you’re a fine lad and a worthy mate, but four days is not a commitment ceremony in the making.”

  Erstad looked ready for an attack, but Farrell felt calmer in his own quarters. “You raise a point we discussed already. Honorus told me I’d meet Miceral. He didn’t say by name, but He meant Miceral. He told me the one I met would be the one who would end my solitude and loneliness.”

  Nodding at his side, Miceral spoke before Erstad could reply. “Lenore told me the same, only with more details. She told me I would know him because Nerti would choose him to be her rider. A bit more specific than what Honorus told Farrell.”

  “Well, She is the mother of us all.” Erstad laughed.

  “But besides those rather obvious signs, this feels right.” Farrell wanted to grab Miceral’s hand, but Miceral still carried his things. Just the idea he could hold his hand made him smile.

  Miceral nodded before heading to his bags. Farrell took back his sword as Miceral put his away. Before Miceral could protest, he slid the
sword back into his endless pocket. Noting the blood on his pants, he shrugged.

  “Guess I’d better bathe before going to bed.” He was moving to fill the tub when Erstad’s voice called out.

  “Farrell!” Farrell turned to find his mentor scowling at him. “No magic! I’ll take care of the bath. You go change.”

  Miceral picked up the damaged leather shirt, but Erstad held out his hand.

  “I’ll take that. If you two are going to spar, I’m going to add a few magical protections to this after it’s repaired so we don’t have a repeat of today’s episode or worse.” He smiled and gave Farrell a nod. “Go bathe while I look over your expansion plans.”

  Farrell heard the water running, and he quickly undressed. The healer had cleaned up most of the blood on his torso, but he had blood everywhere below the waist. Noting the look of pain on Miceral’s face, he made directly for the bathing chamber.

  He slipped into the hot water and sank to his neck, letting the heat soothe his muscles. In the background, he could hear Miceral and Erstad talking. When the tone turned angry, he used a whiff of magic to enhance his hearing. Even that small spell sent a jolt of pain through his damaged shoulder.

  “I helped raise that boy, and if there were any other option, I would move the ends of the earth to find it. So don’t you dare come here and think you can judge me and the others just because you two shared a night of passion.”

  “I am one hundred and twenty-nine, so you may as well stop calling me ‘lad’ and realize I only look young. Say what you like, but most of what I said is true. You admitted as much yourself. Some of your concern is that you need him to be okay so he can face Meglar. It’s ghoulish and you know it. The sad part is, he knows it too. It’s why he doesn’t want to commit to anyone. He’s afraid he won’t survive and he’ll end up hurting someone else like he’s been hurt. But I plan to make sure he knows I’m not going anywhere. I’ll risk getting hurt if it means I get to spend my time with him now. Call me selfish, but I hope he never has to face Meglar. But I won’t tell him that, nor will I try to talk him out of it. He’s accepted his responsibility, and I’m going to support him any way I can.”