Champion of the Gods, Books 1-2

by Andrew Q. Gordon

  Farrell cut the spell, wishing he’d never used it. Leaning back, he closed his eyes. He knew he should push Miceral away, but he couldn’t. He’d waited for Miceral his whole life.

  “Honorus.” He whispered his prayer so the others didn’t hear him. “You sent him to me; now help me find a way to win this war.”

  Farrell stood and almost used magic to dispel the water from his body. Grumbling, he left a trail of water behind him as he walked over to the shelf with the towels. Once dry, he wrapped the soft cotton around his waist and went in search of Miceral and Erstad. Following their voices, he found them in the study, looking over a set of plans.

  Unlike the workroom, he let Lisle kept the study neat and orderly. Books lined three sides of the space. Erstad laid a drawing on top of the large oak desk that took up most of the fourth wall.

  “This is nice, Farrell.” Miceral motioned around the room. “When I get a chance to unpack, I’ll add my books to your collection.”

  Erstad looked a bit miffed, but Farrell took comfort in the fact they had worked together on the plans.

  “If I understood you correctly, you want to add a couple of small rooms. Putting aside the request for a place to practice, you want a closet and storage room for his weapons and armor.”

  “That’s part of what I want, but my other thought is for something like the sitting room, only not so stuffy or proper.” He stared at the plans, trying to envision how to explain what he wanted. “Can’t we add something off the music room, just for us to enjoy? Or maybe add to the music room so there’s more room to just relax?”

  Shaking his head, Erstad pointed to the sketch. “A master musician designed your music room to perfect the acoustics. Adding to the room or building off of it will upset that balance. Your choices are, add the room off the formal sitting area or here, in the right corner of your bedroom. It depends on how private you want it to be.”

  Farrell looked at Miceral for guidance. “Not sure how much help I can be since I haven’t seen the formal room yet.”

  “What have you two been doing that you couldn’t show him the few rooms of your apartment?” Erstad asked, then held up both hands. “No, don’t tell me. I don’t need to know.”

  “No worries, Master Erstad, we weren’t going to tell you,” Miceral said. “Getting back to the task at hand, of the two, my suggestion is to add it off our room, not the formal sitting area. Placing it in the common area would allow someone to wander into our space if left unattended.”

  Farrell nodded. “I agree. Will that work okay?”

  “It should work fine.” Erstad shrugged. “Though we may need to widen your bedroom a bit to accommodate a hall and a closet if you insist on keeping that monstrosity of a bed you have.”

  Farrell waved his hand quickly over the drawing. “Oh no, don’t even think about messing with my bed. I might need to get a bigger one now that I’m sharing it.”

  Erstad looked toward Miceral, who shook his head. “The bed doesn’t need changing.”

  Rolling his eyes, Erstad feigned a frown. After Farrell shrugged, Erstad turned his attention back to the desk. He passed his right hand over the drawings, and the lines came to life. Soon he produced a miniature model of the apartment on top of the paper. Using a small wand he pulled from his pocket, the elder wizard pointed at and prodded his model.

  When he finished the diagram, it showed the bedroom expanded by six feet to the right, and a door appeared to the right of the bed with a closet carved out behind the wall. “I think it’s best to put your storage room in the rear of the closet. Better use of space and not as visible.”

  Miceral nodded, then asked, “Are there other rooms adjacent to ours?”

  “Nothing even close.” Erstad laughed. “Farrell selected a remote area of Haven for his rooms. Makes it harder for folks to just ‘drop by,’ and he said he wanted room to expand if needed.”

  They both cast Farrell a quizzical look.

  “Don’t look at me like that.” He raised his left index finger. “First, I knew my workspace would need to be expanded. And it has been, I might point out. Then there was the issue of how many times I would need to entertain people. And yes, finally, even then I dreamed of finding someone special to share my space with. Is that so terrible?”

  “No, not in the least.” Erstad gently messed up Farrell’s hair. “It’s just you already have the biggest apartment in Haven, and we’re adding to it. You can take the prince out of the castle, but you can’t take the need for a castle out of the prince.”

  Farrell sneered at this, causing both men to laugh. “Ha-ha-ha, laugh away. So glad everyone finds it so easy to make a joke at my expense.”

  “Mmm.” Erstad pointed at the model. “Back to the expansion of Castle Farrell.”

  Miceral snickered, drawing a glare from Farrell. Erstad focused on the drawing. “Do you want the room set back off a hallway or just a door leading to the room?”

  They looked at each other, shrugged, and answered at the same time.

  “Hallway.”

  “Just a door.”

  Farrell and Miceral immediately switched positions to agree with the other.

  “Children,” Erstad said with a sigh. “Fine, I’ll decide. Just a door to the room. No hallway.” He moved the wand about, and the model shifted to show a fair-sized room appear. As wide as the length of their bedroom, it stretched back to run parallel to the sitting room and music room. “That ought to satisfy you, oh Prince of the Bigger Space.”

  “How long will it take to complete?” Miceral asked.

  Focused on the model, Farrell didn’t acknowledge the question. He linked with Erstad and began the spell to create the new rooms. When he opened his eyes, Farrell winced in pain and grabbed his shoulder. The model sank back into the drawings, and Erstad frowned.

  “Boy, I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking. I knew better than to let you work magic right after being healed.” He looked at Miceral and said, “Take him inside and see that he lies down.”

  Farrell’s shoulder throbbed and he felt dizzy. Miceral put an arm around his waist, and he let himself be guided back to the bedroom. Miceral gently swept him off his feet and set him down on the mattress.

  “One benefit of having a Muchari for a lover. You sure are strong,” he whispered, and fell asleep almost as soon as he hit the mattress.

  After a restless sleep, his throbbing shoulder woke him. A quick scan of the apartment identified the source of his pain.

  He pushed back the covers, grabbed his staff, and set off to find Miceral. The lights in the wall sconces flickered for an instant as he passed, causing brief twinges of pain as he denied the attempts to draw energy from his body. Instead, he touched the sconces with his staff, fueling the lights with power from the black wood rather than himself.

  Tucked in the far-left corner of the formal sitting room, a short hallway led to the music room. He found Miceral sitting on a bench next to a window pouring sunlight into the room.

  “Like the view, handsome?”

  Miceral jerked, nearly dropping the tankard and his sandwich. “Shouldn’t you be in bed?”

  Miceral tried to help him to a seat, but Farrell waved him off. “I’m fine.”

  “You look pale, and your wound looks redder than when you went to sleep.” The concern on his face made Farrell lean over and kiss him.

  “That’s because I used magic in my sleep.”

  “What?”

  Farrell put a finger to Miceral’s lips.

  “I didn’t mean to, but it is the nature of my… our apartment. Everything requires magic. The tap in the bathroom and the lights in these rooms require energy. If no other wizard is around, they’re keyed to me. Powering the spells is what caused the pain that woke me up. Don’t worry. You couldn’t have known.”

  Miceral let out a breath. “I’m sorry. I guess I need to be more careful around you. I had no idea….”

  “I know.” He gave Miceral a quick kiss. “How coul
d you have known? I’ll make sure to figure out a different system now that you’re living here.”

  “Let me get you a sandwich and some juice.” Miceral didn’t wait for an answer. He returned with a tray of food and another tankard.

  Farrell grabbed a sandwich, even though he didn’t feel hungry. He ate anyway, to keep up his energy to speed along the healing process.

  “I’m really sorry about your shoulder.” Miceral frowned and turned away. “I was so focused on the exercise, I failed to notice how tired you were. Good thing it wasn’t serious.”

  Farrell took another bite, followed by a sip of apple juice. Given how upset Miceral was, Farrell was glad his injury wasn’t serious.

  “I know you blame yourself, but don’t. You couldn’t know how tired I was. Had I said something, this wouldn’t have happened.”

  “Why is everything your fault to you? Wasn’t there enough blame to go around for us all?” Miceral asked quietly.

  “I suppose you’re right.” He didn’t want to argue about it. When he saw Miceral look out the window again, he decided to change topics.

  “It’s not real, you know.” He nodded toward the window. “It’s an illusion of sorts. One day, I climbed the western slopes of these mountains and cut a window into the rock. Then I exchanged views. When you look out this window, you see what you would see as if you were standing on the mountain. Of course, if someone stood on the mountain and looked into the window, they’d see us.”

  Miceral finally smiled. “Amazing.”

  “I could show you where the window is on the mountain, if you like.”

  “How would we get there?” Miceral looked out the window. “From the looks of things, it’s more than a thousand feet up.”

  “Well, I could fly us there, but I meant I could let you see the image in my mind.”

  “No!” Miceral’s body suddenly seemed tense. “Maybe when you’re better, we can fly up.”

  “But it requires no magic, really. I can link my mind to….” Farrell stopped when Miceral seemed to recoil and move back. Turning away, he said, “I’m sorry, I forgot.”

  “Don’t be.” Miceral gently rubbed Farrell’s uninjured shoulder. “I’m just not comfortable with using magic like that on my mind.”

  “I understand.” He tried to smile, but he knew it came out forced. “I do it so often, I don’t really think about it.”

  He drank and ate some more as Miceral stared off in silence.

  “Beautiful country,” Miceral said, breaking the stillness. “Does anyone live there?”

  “There are only a few sparse hunting and trapping settlements and the odd group of brigands hiding from someone. The reach of the city-states along the western shores doesn’t extend this far inland.”

  “I’ve never left the Seven Kingdoms in my life.” Miceral shook his head. “You’re a hundred years my junior, and you’ve seen the world. Sometimes I feel like a child when I talk to you.”

  “I can take you to Belsport if you like.” Farrell put his hand on Miceral’s leg and rubbed softly. “It’s the largest of the city-states. I’m on fairly good terms with the court wizard. A few years ago I went there to warn them about Meglar.”

  “Do they offer aid in our fight?” The ray of hope in Miceral’s eyes faded when Farrell shook his head.

  “No. The princes of these small city-states have little they can offer. Not even the larger kingdoms can help. What we need is a rare commodity: grand master wizards. Whether through fate or careful planning on Meglar’s part, it appears just he and I are left on Ardus. I’m not very familiar with the great kingdoms in the northern hemisphere, but I know they are a fractured, bickering people, always at war with each other. My one attempt to reach out to them confirmed that opinion. The court wizard I met spoke of the constant state of war in the north from one end of Erd to the other.

  “Dumbarten might hold some hope. Kel was born there, and their kings were always closely allied with Yar-del. But my information is that King Markus is on guard against an invasion from Meglar.”

  “Dumbarten’s a huge unified island, separated by thousands of miles of ocean from Zargon,” Miceral said when Farrell took a sip. “How can Meglar threaten them?”

  “It might be an ocean away from Zargon, but Dumbarten and Lourdria are separated by only a few miles of water. Don’t forget, Lourdria is bigger than all of Ardus by half, with twice as many people. The population might be scattered among dozens of smaller kingdoms, but if Meglar can get control of even a small kingdom, he could quickly overrun the continent. That is what Dumbarten is worried about.”

  Farrell finished eating, shivering as he drained his cup. Miceral stood, reaching for his hand.

  “Okay, time for you to get back to bed.”

  “I’m fine, really.” Miceral’s strong hands gently rubbed his back. “You must feel trapped. Let me get some clean clothes, and I can show you around some.”

  Pushing back, Miceral stared at him. “They said you should rest.”

  Grabbing his staff, he shrugged. “I promise not to use my shoulder and to take it easy. That’s all the rest I need.”

  On the way back to the bedroom, he paused by the bath chamber. “Erstad must have forgotten to empty the tub. Let me take care of it before we go.”

  “What happened to being good?” Miceral shook his head, tugging lightly on Farrell’s good arm.

  “Trust me. This is fine.”

  “How can this be fine?” He kept his grip firm. “Powering the lights caused you enough pain to wake you up.”

  Farrell smiled, motioning toward the bath. “This will be a short lesson in magic and healing. First, it’s not really the wound that’s the problem. Well, that’s not totally accurate. Healing and magic are similar. The greater the healing, the greater the energy needed. Because of that, good healers use the patient’s energy to assist the healing process.”

  Farrell guided them toward the tub. “My energy is being diverted to heal my wound. Any use of magic, however slight, pulls magic from everywhere in my body, particularly the injured area because that’s where my energy is the greatest. That’s what causes the pain. It feels like a rag being pulled through the wound.”

  Miceral winced when he described the pain. “Okay, so that’s why it hurts. How’s this different?”

  “Healers are a wonderful bunch, but they don’t understand the finer points of how a grand master can use power.” He pointed toward himself with a smile.

  “Magic lesson, part two,” he continued. “Spells and magic require power as well as skill. Most lesser wizards use power from inside themselves. Higher-level wizards can draw energy from their surroundings, but usually there isn’t enough energy to power even the smallest spells. That’s why wizards collect and store power, and the best place to store it is in oneself. Less chance of being stolen, and it’s easier to access there.” Holding his staff out, he made the water disappear. Miceral relaxed when Farrell smiled at him. “Most wizards of any class can only work magic if power flows through their body. Mainly because that’s how they were taught. However, a talented wizard can tap power stored in something else”—he pointed to his staff with his free hand—“and use it to power spells just as effectively as if it came from inside. Using power stored in this staff doesn’t pull it from me, and thus it doesn’t hurt.”

  Miceral kept his eyes on the tub. Using the distraction, Farrell leaned in for a quick kiss. “Come on. Let me get dressed, and we can go.”

  Gathering his clothes, he gingerly got dressed under Miceral’s watchful eye, determined not to show any sign of pain. He returned to the closet and exchanged his wooden staff for his black one with the platinum caps.

  “This one has more energy,” Farrell explained, reaching for Miceral’s hand. The questioning look from Miceral drew a sigh from Farrell. “My shoulder won’t break from holding hands as long as you don’t use your brute strength to yank it off.”

  Miceral gave him the first real smile since they got
home. “Silly imp.”

  “Met an imp once. I can say I’m nothing like him. Had to kill him. Imps only look cute and cuddly. They’re cruel and mean. Just horrible creatures.” It took Farrell a moment to realize he had ruined Miceral’s playful mood. “Sorry, that was uplifting, wasn’t it? I promise to be good, so long as you hold my hand.”

  “Then, my prince”—he bowed theatrically—“I shall not let go.”

  For the next several hours, Farrell showed Miceral around, taking him up and down to various markets and to the main entrance.

  “This place is vast, much larger than Northhelm,” Miceral noted as they entered a long, empty corridor.

  “Each kingdom has its own designated area, complete with its own temples, marketplaces, and royal residences.”

  “How far does it stretch?”

  “Miles.” He motioned with his staff for Miceral to turn left. “It takes a lot of space to hold the survivors of five kingdoms, counting your people.”

  “Did anyone from Zargon flee when Meglar took over?”

  “No. There was no reason for them to flee at first. Even after Meglar killed his father, he ruled much like his sire.” That “sire” being the grandfather Farrell had never met.

  “What about when he experimented on his people to create Chamdon?” If Miceral noticed Farrell’s reflective moment, he didn’t show it.

  “At first he only used criminals, slaves, or captured enemies. No one objected too much with Zargon militarily and economically on the rise. By the time Meglar’s true madness revealed itself, it was too late. Any who voiced opposition or even concern disappeared, along with their entire family and household.”

  Miceral nodded. “I imagine the disappearance of a few powerful noble families would be enough to cow the remaining citizens into silence.”

  “Exactly.” Farrell squeezed Miceral’s hand. “Now the only unchanged people left are his cadre of faithful retainers. Those, and the women he keeps as breeders.”

  “Breeders?”

  Swallowing, he nodded. “Meglar rarely turns women of childbearing age into Chamdon. Instead, they become slaves and are sent to breeding pens. He encourages his men to rape any woman not with child. The only purpose for these women is to bear children who can then become Chamdon.”