Champion of the Gods, Books 1-2

by Andrew Q. Gordon

  Shaking his head, Miceral sat back against the pillows. “I believe a certain Lord of Haven began tossing our clothing about in his haste to consummate his union.”

  “No,” Farrell said, pulling the tan shirt over his head. “It was the lord’s concubine who couldn’t get undressed fast enough.”

  “Just go get the door while I get dressed.” Miceral tossed a pillow at him. Flicking his wrist, Farrell sent the pillow back, hitting Miceral in the face.

  “I live to serve.” He followed the playful bow by quickly leaving the room. Padding his way barefoot to the door, he released the spell that had hidden their luggage from Miceral.

  Lisle stood waiting impatiently when he opened the door. She seemed genuinely surprised. “What’s come over you, child? Normally you stay in bed as long as you can.”

  “Nice to see you too, Lisle.” He smiled. Even though everything had changed, nothing had changed. He stepped back to allow her to enter. “We didn’t expect you today given how late the festival went. Thought you might take the day off.”

  “Why in the world would you think I would take a day off?” She rolled her eyes.

  “Um, well, we were sort of thinking, well, you know, it was our first night as newlyjoineds and all.” He felt himself blush under her stare.

  “Child, you two have been living like newlyjoineds for months. I figured last night you’d mix things up and try sleeping for a change.” She looked over his shoulder at the bags. “Why are those bags on my clean floor? You two going somewhere?”

  “Farrell’s taking me to Belsport for our postnuptial trip.” Miceral stood in the doorway wrapped in a robe. “The little imp planned this as a union surprise.”

  “Told you before, I’m nothing like an imp.” Grabbing Miceral’s hand, he pulled his partner closer. “I figured we’d never get any time alone in Haven, so taking a trip was the only way we could have any fun.”

  “Never knew you to be a hopeless romantic.” Lisle sounded impressed.

  “Never had a reason to be romantic until now.” Farrell yawned. “I think I’m going back to bed for a bit. No one’s expecting me for the next week. I might as well take advantage of my freedom.”

  “Shouldn’t we be getting ready to go?” Miceral nodded toward the bags. “Would be a shame to waste these plans after all you did to surprise me.”

  Farrell wanted to smack Miceral for missing the hint. “You’re probably right.” When only his partner could see his face, Farrell glared at him.

  “What?”

  “That was a polite way of suggesting we go back to bed for a while.”

  “Missed that hint, didn’t you, Miceral?” Lisle laughed as she made her way into the other rooms to begin work.

  Miceral wrapped his arms around Farrell once she moved out of sight. “Sorry.”

  Stealing a kiss, Farrell wiggled out of the embrace. “No worries. You can make it up to me later.”

  “EXPLAIN TO me again why Klissmor and Nerti aren’t coming?” Even though he couldn’t see his face, Farrell could hear the unease in Miceral’s voice.

  “By now, I’m sure Meglar has heard the story of the young wizard who rode a unicorn to Northhelm and helped destroy his army.” Farrell leaned his head back into the bath to rinse the soap from his hair. When he finished, he found Miceral seated at the end of the tub. “Once word of Nerti’s presence spread, we’d be hounded by his agents without rest.”

  “Even in Belsport?” Miceral handed Farrell a towel.

  “Thank you.” He dried his hair first. “Belsport isn’t at war with Meglar, so Zargon’s merchants are free to conduct business in the city. Most of them are probably spies who, willingly or otherwise, report back to Meglar.”

  Motioning with his head, he led Miceral back to their bedroom. Laid out on the bed was comfortable but nondescript clothing. Farrell’s favorite ornate platinum-capped staff was replaced by a simple smooth staff similar to the one he used to spar with Master Baylec.

  “What’s with the travel clothes?” Miceral picked up the gray tunic and held it out toward Farrell. “These look like something mercenaries would wear.”

  “That’s because that’s what they are.” He pointed to the two sets of clothes. “We’re traveling to Belsport as mercenaries in search of work. I’m the younger son of a minor nobleman; you’re the son of a merchant who didn’t want to enter the family business. We’re celebrating our union ceremony with money from our families. I already made inquiries with some wealthy merchants, asking if they’re hiring.”

  “What happens if they want to hire us?” Miceral arched one eyebrow at Farrell.

  “We decline.” He laughed. “It’s not like we’ll be in danger of ruining our reputation. Come on, let’s go.”

  When they reached the luggage in the foyer, Farrell presented Miceral with a small brown leather saddlebag. “What’s this for?”

  Farrell held up a twin to the one he gave Miceral and opened one of the two side flaps. “These are union gifts from Wesfazial. The two side pouches are endless pockets. We could stuff the contents of both our closets in these and they’d be no bigger than they are now.”

  Farrell picked up a travel bag many times larger than the entire saddlebag. He placed the bag over the opening to one pouch of the saddlebag and it disappeared inside. The size of the leather pocket, however, didn’t change. Miceral’s eyes widened a moment, but he quickly followed Farrell’s lead, stuffing a week’s worth of luggage into the tiny bag.

  Farrell summoned a page to tell Horgon they’d left, bade Lisle good-bye, and set off for the stables, smiling foolishly. Two sturdy but unremarkable horses waited for them, saddled and groomed.

  “It’s been decades since I used a saddle.” Miceral tested the straps before mounting. “Might take some getting used to.”

  “Don’t worry,” Farrell said, swinging himself onto the gray gelding, sending calming thoughts to the animal in the process. “After we get through the Door, the ride shouldn’t be more than a couple of hours.”

  “Why can’t you bring us into the city itself and avoid the ride?” When Miceral nudged his mount, the muscular brown male started to get jittery.

  “Talk to him like he was me,” Farrell suggested.

  Miceral clutched the reins tighter. “He won’t understand what I’m saying.”

  Rather than see his partner thrown, Farrell reached out to the skittish animal, projecting soothing thoughts. “It’s not the words but the emotions behind them. See?”

  The brown horse calmed noticeably, allowing Miceral to relax. “I must be tense after all these years riding Klissmor.”

  “Probably.” Pointing to a spot between two trees, Farrell opened a Door, using a marker close to Belsport. “The reason I don’t take us into the city is threefold. First, I don’t have permission. Darius, Belsport’s chief wizard, has sealed the city against unwanted Doors. It would be bad form to try to circumvent his control except in an emergency. Sadly, your comfort doesn’t rise to that level.

  “The second is image. We’re mercenaries, not princes. Using a Door to travel between cities, while common for wizards, is expensive for nonwizards. If I were really the barely master-class wizard I’m projecting, there’s no way I could do it myself. Thus, we’d need to find a wizard and pay to open a Door. Then there’s the effort of finding a wizard who had a point of reference in Belsport, again no easy—”

  “Didn’t you say there were three reasons?” Miceral rolled his eyes when Farrell looked over.

  “Sorry, too detailed.” He led the way through the Door, keeping both animals calm as they went. They emerged at the edge of what appeared to be a great forest. “The third is we don’t want to get there too early. After all, Belsport is at least an hour behind timewise.”

  When Miceral’s mount moved a few feet beyond the Door, Farrell withdrew the energy, causing it to close in a flash.

  “What does that mean?” Miceral drew his horse next to Farrell’s.

  “To most people,
time difference isn’t an issue.” Before they got too far, he did a sweep of the area to be sure no one watched them. Finding nothing, he cast a spell around them that would make people ignore them unless something significant happened. “The sun doesn’t rise at the same time all over the planet. Belsport is several hundred miles west of Haven, so dawn comes over an hour later for them than for us. Another reason I suggested we go back to bed.”

  Snickering, Miceral shook his head. “You’re not going to let me forget that, are you?”

  “Not until tonight, at least.”

  Exiting the tree cover, Farrell led them toward a road visible at the edge of the grass. Under a cloudless sky, they rode through the cultivated lands surrounding Belsport.

  “Does Belsport claim this as part of their territory?” Miceral asked when they’d been riding for close to an hour.

  “No and yes.” Farrell shook his head. “Belsport is a seafaring city. Its life’s blood is the port built around one of the most sheltered deepwater harbors in the world. Technically, Prince Wilhelm’s reach only extends to the city’s massive walls, but practically, these farmers and landowners consider themselves part of his domain.”

  Miceral laughed. “I’m not sure how comfortable I’d be with that relationship. Wilhelm is under no obligation to protect these people.”

  “Maybe not, but if you were Belsport, how would you react if a large armed force marched against the neighbors you were friendly with?” Farrell shrugged. “Besides, most of the large landowners have homes inside the city walls, making them citizens of Belsport.”

  “Sounds like they’re hedging their bets.”

  Farrell maneuvered his horse behind Miceral’s to let a farmer with his cart pass. Moving back up, he said, “Actually, you have it backward. Most of the large landowners came from Belsport originally. They used their wealth to buy farmland close to the city. They have a ready market for the food they grow.”

  “I knew there was a reason I didn’t like merchants.”

  “Ruling monarchs love them.” Farrell laughed. “The more money they make, the more tax revenue the crown gets.”

  Miceral eyed him sharply. When he looked away, Farrell said, “What? You make it seem like a tawdry affair. Don’t forget, before the war, Yar-del was a major trading city, bigger than Belsport.”

  “Bigger than Belsport?” The smirk on Miceral’s face made Farrell smile. “Bit biased of you, wouldn’t you say?”

  “No.” He shook his head. “Yar-del had a large navy as well as a powerful wizard king or queen. It was far more desirable to do business in Yar-del than in Zargon or any of the free cities to the north. That led to the rise of a large and wealthy merchant class. There was more trade going in and out of Yar-del than anywhere else on the continent. Not that it did us much good in the end.” The last sentence came out as barely a whisper.

  Farrell focused on the sound of his horse’s gait to avoid reliving a day he wished he could forget. Thankfully, Miceral didn’t comment. Farrell didn’t want to hear someone else justify his failure as not his fault.

  Before the sun reached its apex, the walls of Belsport loomed ahead of them.

  “By the Six, those are high walls.” Miceral’s voice broke their silence. “It would take some siege engines to breach those defenses.”

  The awe in his partner’s voice brought a smile to Farrell’s lips. “If I remember correctly, they are forty-five feet high and eight feet thick.”

  “Belsport put their tax money to good use, I see.”

  “More than you can see, actually.” Farrell adjusted his vision so his wizard’s sight kicked in. “There are hundreds of spells layered on the walls and on the ground leading to the city. Belsport has been blessed with wise rulers who recognized the need to defend their good fortune.”

  It took the better part of the next hour to reach the first line of conventional defenses, a twenty-foot-wide, ten-foot-deep trench filled with sharpened stakes. The oak drawbridge provided easy access to the city. Several alert guards monitored those who entered and the goods they brought with them.

  “Remember, we’re mercenaries looking for work and celebrating our union ceremony.” Farrell didn’t turn toward his partner, keeping his focus on the guards.

  “Hold.” The guard nearest them held up his hand. Sun sparkled off his burnished chest plate. “What business have you in Belsport?”

  “Mercenaries looking for work.” Farrell met the man’s stare.

  “Have you booked a place to stay?” He turned his attention to Miceral. “The prince doesn’t look kindly on unemployed mercs sleeping in public spaces.”

  “No worries, sir.” Holding up his left hand, Farrell waited for the guard to nod before reaching into his saddlebag. “We’ve booked accommodations at the Blue Marlin.”

  An eyebrow went up on the guard closest to him as the other two began to pay more attention. “Blue Marlin, you say? And you’re looking for work?”

  “My father is the Baron of Vilna in Utremth, and my life partner’s father is a spice merchant in Jerdam.” Farrell handed the lodging document to the guard. “They paid for the trip as a union gift.”

  “Spice merchant?” Miceral’s voice almost caused him to turn. “You’re the son of a baron, and all I get to be is a merchant’s son?”

  “One of us had to come from money.”

  “You’re a wizard.” The guard handed Farrell back his papers. “Why would your father let you become a mercenary?”

  “My older brother felt uncomfortable having a wizard for the next in line.” He put the confirmation back in his bag. “I felt it wisest to find another place to live.”

  “Brothers,” one of the guards grumbled.

  The solider in charge nodded, and a guard raised the wooden pole blocking the way. “One piece of advice, wizard.” He stopped speaking until Farrell turned to face him. “Avoid seeking employment from the House of Kaleb; word has it their fortunes are about to take a turn for the worse. Consider it a union gift.”

  Before Farrell could answer, Miceral nudged his mount forward. “Thank you for the advice. Would be a poor start to our union if our first contract together ended with us not getting paid.”

  Farrell smiled and gave the solider a nod before following Miceral into the city. “Jealous?”

  “Possessive.” Miceral turned and gave his partner a wink. “Didn’t want him to think he could make a move on my life partner.”

  “We both know it would be a wasted effort.” Laughing, he motioned to the right. “The Blue Marlin is this way.”

  He led them through the upper city, home to the working class, garrisons, and labor-intensive and foul-smelling industries such as tanning and slaughterhouses. When they came to a wide avenue, they turned left and descended into the lower city.

  “This is amazing.” Miceral stopped his horse and looked around. “It’s as if the gods took a giant scoop out of the land but left the cliff face to guard the city.”

  “Legend has it that Arritisa carved out the harbor and the land around it for Her people.” He pointed toward the narrow mouth of the harbor. “She pushed the cliffs apart just enough to allow for steady trade but close enough to be highly defensible.”

  “Defensible?” Miceral shook his head. “The entrance can’t be more than a hundred yards wide. An enemy trying to sail in couldn’t get more than two or three ships at a time into the harbor, if they could survive the pounding they’d take from the fortification on top of those cliffs.”

  “They would never be able to enter the harbor.” Farrell pointed to the right side of the entrance. “See that massive iron link? That’s part of a chain as wide as I am tall. In times of war, that gets pulled taut, blocking the entrance.”

  “What’s that?” Miceral motioned with his chin to an island in the center of the mile-wide harbor.

  “That’s the Citadel, home to the Prince of Belsport.” He nudged his horse and led them down the gentle slope heading toward the harbor. “The other houses
are the homes of the leading merchants.”

  “Bet that land costs a shiny gold piece,” Miceral said.

  Farrell shook his head. “No, the land on Prince’s Island is not for sale. The merchants rent the land, but they own the homes.”

  “How’s that work?”

  “Badly for the merchant class, to be sure.” He laughed. “The prince owns the land but permits others to build homes on the island, provided they pay rent. If they can’t afford the rent or should they fall out of favor, they are told to move. Selling the house becomes tricky because the buyer has to be approved by the prince or else they can’t rent the land.”

  Now Miceral laughed. “That makes negotiating difficult for the seller if the list of buyers is limited.”

  “Exactly.” Farrell smirked. “Seems a good way to keep the merchants in line. Anger the prince and your home becomes almost worthless. I heard the last merchant to fall out with the crown was forced to all but give away his magnificent home. The prince only approved one renter—the captain of his guard. The man refused to pay more than two silver pieces—no doubt the price set by the prince. That was over two hundred years ago.”

  A breeze swept up the street, confined by the tightly packed stone buildings. Farrell closed his eyes and breathed in deep. The ocean smell, combined with the sound of seagulls squawking and fishmongers calling out their goods, reminded him of Yar-del. Nearly overwhelmed by the memory, he couldn’t choke off a small sob.

  “Farrell?” The concern in Miceral’s voice made Farrell even more annoyed by his reaction.

  “Sorry.” He managed a thin smile. “Being here reminds me of Yar-del, which is odd because I’ve been to Belsport several times since Yar-del fell.”

  Miceral moved his horse closer and squeezed Farrell’s hand. He kept silent, leaving Farrell alone with his thoughts.

  Moving west, they descended past increasingly larger homes and more expensive shops. Across the water, they could see commercial buildings just beyond the extensive docks. Below, several smaller piers held small, well-appointed boats docked in front of grand villas. Reaching the second-to-last tier, Farrell turned north.