Champion of the Gods, Books 1-2

by Andrew Q. Gordon

  “The Blue Marlin is just ahead.” His voice seemed almost strange to him after the extended silence. “I hope you’ll like it.”

  Miceral gave him a grin. “If the inn is half as grand as what we’ve passed, it will easily be the finest place I’ve ever stayed.”

  Tugging the reins, Farrell turned onto a small semicircular path in front of an ornate building. Columns carved with images of the ocean and its goddess lined the front of what could easily be a palace anywhere else.

  When Farrell and Miceral stopped by the front door, a well-dressed doorman slowly eyed them up and down. A moment later, he snapped his fingers, and two teenage boys came scurrying over to attend and stand in front of the horses.

  “Good afternoon, sirs,” the doorman said, keeping his place in front of the entrance. “Is it your intention to be guests of the Blue Marlin this day?”

  “It is, sir.” Farrell dismounted and pulled the documents from the saddlebag. “I contracted with your innkeeper a few weeks ago for a suite for my partner and I to celebrate our union.”

  The man continued to eye him, spending time observing his boots and weapons. Finally he moved closer. “Who shall I tell Master Jarvis has arrived?”

  Reaching slowly into his purse, Farrell withdrew a silver ducat. If the doorman noticed his actions, he gave no hint of it as Farrell walked over and shook his hand. “Halloran and my partner, Miceral.” When he removed his hand, the coin disappeared and the man smiled.

  “At once, good sirs.” He flicked his wrist twice at the boys and moved inside.

  Miceral dismounted and moved to the teenagers. He handed a small silver coin to each. “There will be double that if our horses are well cared for while we’re here.”

  The coins disappeared as the pair smiled broadly and gave Miceral a small bow. Farrell grabbed his saddlebag just before one of the boys collected the reins. The horses quickly disappeared, leaving them alone to wait for word from Master Jarvis.

  Farrell slung his saddlebag over his left shoulder, then moved closer to his partner.

  The doorman returned a moment later.

  “Masters Halloran and Miceral.” He bowed twice. “My apologies for not recognizing two such important guests. Your common attire and casual attitude are most convincing. Even I, who prides himself on seeing through disguises, was fooled.”

  The man snapped his fingers, and two smartly dressed young men appeared, holding out their hands for the pair’s travel bags.

  “I am Galthus, at your service.” He eyed the small bags. “Traveling light, I see. Well, we have all the amenities well-born persons such as yourselves might require. Simply ask for me, and I’ll personally see that you’re taken care of.”

  “By the Six, what happened that he’s suddenly treating you like… well, Prince Halloran of Yar-del?”

  “When one rents the most expensive suite at the Blue Marlin and pays in full, in advance, it is presumed that said person is a gentleman of means.” Farrell winked at his partner. “And for what I paid, only a prince or wealthy merchant could afford such rates.”

  They followed Galthus to a small office just off the main staircase. After knocking twice on the door, Galthus moved back to the entrance, bowing his head as he passed. A large, portly man with thin wisps of gray-black hair emerged from the office, smiling ear to ear. Dressed like a successful merchant, the man had to be Master Jarvis.

  “M’lord Halloran, so good to finally meet you.” He offered his hand to Miceral, who pointed toward Farrell.

  “I’m Miceral, that’s F—Halloran.” His face turned bright red. Only the fact that Jarvis moved quickly to “Halloran,” the paying customer, saved Miceral from having to explain his near slipup.

  “My apologies, my lord. I am Master Jarvis. Welcome to the Blue Marlin.” Spreading both arms, he bowed foppishly. “I trust you and your partner had no difficulties finding us?”

  “I hope we’ll be able to have some time away from all the fawning staff.” Miceral didn’t make eye contact, just as Farrell had taught him.

  “No worries, love, we’re almost free of them.” Smiling back at the innkeeper, he said, “Our journey was pleasant, and we had no problems finding the inn. I must say, my agent was too stingy in his praise. His words failed to capture the true magnificence of your inn.”

  Jarvis appeared pleased by the compliment. “Well, young sir, we cater to those used to the finer things. Your suite is ready. These two will assist you in finding your way. If you need anything, anything at all, please let us know.”

  “And he’ll be only too happy to bill us outrageously for the privilege of doing what should be in the price we paid.” Miceral’s comment got a small snicker from Farrell, despite his best attempt to ignore it.

  “My apologies, Master Jarvis, I was not laughing at your offer. I was responsible for packing, and in my haste to leave, I forgot a good many things. Miceral gave me a fair bit of teasing on the ride, and your words reminded me of my mistake.”

  “Fear not, m’lord. As I said, we’re well equipped to deal with any of your needs.” Turning to his assistants, he nodded toward the stairs. “Enjoy your stay.”

  “You’ll pay for that comment.” While not really mad, Farrell tried to sound convincing. “Perhaps an army of fire ants in your pants will teach you a lesson.”

  “Wow, you don’t play fair, do you? And you recovered so well too.” Miceral clearly didn’t take him seriously. “But before you go handing out fire ants, remember two things. I get up earlier than you. Ice water can be a brutal wake-up call. And second, if you put them down my pants, that might hinder our postnuptial activities.”

  They both started laughing again, drawing an amused look from their guides. Up two flights of stairs, down a long, rug-covered hallway, and the four stopped before a set of inlaid oak doors at the end of the corridor.

  Once the staff put the saddlebags down, Farrell gave each a silver coin for their efforts and motioned for the door. Even as they bowed, Farrell thought he saw a smirk on one of their faces. Fine, let them think what they wanted; they were probably right. Shutting the door behind them, he turned to find Miceral looking around the room.

  “Great Lenore, this room puts our suite to shame.” He spun around, looking to Farrell like a small child who’d just received his birthday gifts. “I mean, you’re the Prince of Haven and Yar-del and you don’t live like this.”

  Farrell laughed, giving his partner a kiss. “If we wanted to live like this, we could, but I prefer our comfortable furniture to this showy stuff. It reminds me of the formal sitting room.” He sat in a beautifully carved upholstered chair and rolled his eyes. “Not comfortable at all, but the view is spectacular.”

  They walked to the balcony and opened the window. Despite it being winter, they were farther north, making the breeze almost warm. The entire harbor stretched out before them, affording them an unobstructed view of the Citadel and its many spires.

  “I didn’t realize we were so high up.” Miceral leaned over the balcony, turning his head left and right. “This is very nice; even the weather is perfect. You couldn’t have planned a better postunion trip if you tried.” A pair of strong hands swept Farrell off his feet. “I love you, Farrell.”

  “Halloran,” he corrected. “At least for the week. And I love you too, Miceral. C’mon, let’s unpack, have dinner, then you can pay up for your earlier mistake.”

  LEAVING THE tailor’s shop, Farrell put his new tunics in his endless pocket.

  “You’re going to make Galthus insane.” Miceral smirked. “Every day he eyes us whenever we change clothes.”

  Farrell laughed, looking around for a place to eat. “The man’s gotten more than enough coins from me in the last four days. I’m fine if I upset him.”

  Miceral tapped Farrell’s shoulder and pointed to a merchant selling food. “Want to try that one?”

  Squinting, Farrell muttered a spell, then waited for the results. “Definitely not. The meat inside the pastry is spoiled. Yo
u can’t tell because of the heavy spices used, but it’ll make us sick if we eat there.”

  A sigh escaped Miceral’s lips. “Much as I appreciate you checking every vendor, it’s frustrating to see so many selling rancid food.”

  “Let’s go back to the inn.” Farrell nodded toward the side street that led to the Blue Marlin. “Galthus will be happy to give a recommendation for some more of my silver.”

  “He’s not been wrong so far.” Miceral shrugged. “Better than you checking every random food seller we come upon.”

  The pair navigated their way between various merchants and vendors before reaching the main avenue. “I’ve never seen a populace so intent on making a sale,” Miceral said when they cleared the last stall. “A gauntlet might have been easier to run through.”

  Rolling his eyes, Farrell shook his head. “You never experienced Market Square in Yar-del. Made these sellers look tame.”

  “Not that you’re biased, of course.”

  “I may be, but I’m also certain—” Farrell pulled up, staring at the corner of the Blue Marlin. “We’ve got a problem. Someone’s using dark magic inside the inn.”

  “Are you sure?” Miceral’s hand immediately went to his sword. “I mean, you can tell it’s not regular magic from this far away?”

  “Yes.” Ignoring the questioning look from his partner, Farrell restrained himself from running back to the inn. His increased pace quickly brought them to the front entrance, where Galthus stood scanning the street.

  “Galthus, what’s happening?” Farrell’s voice caused the man to jump. When he recognized the pair, his face relaxed slightly.

  “Masters Halloran and Miceral, thank the Six you’ve returned.” He grabbed each of the guests by the shoulder. “Two wizards came in demanding to stay in your suite. Well, Master Jarvis told them no and—”

  “They asked specifically for our suite?” Farrell shot Miceral a worried look.

  “Yes—I mean not your—I….”

  “Calm down.” Miceral put his hand on the man’s shoulder, looking him in the eye. “Now, tells us—slowly—what happened.”

  “Two wizards marched in and demanded they be given the room on the top floor that overlooked the Citadel. They told Master Jarvis to get the key and take them forthwith. Master Jarvis explained the suite was rented, but they could secure accommodation if they had the required fee. That did not sit well with them. The older one set Master Jarvis’s tunic and arm on fire.”

  “Describe what they were wearing.” Farrell knew the answer but needed to be sure.

  “They wore the black and red of Zargon.” Galthus spat out the last word. “They’ve been making trouble in the city for a while, but this is the first time they’ve come to the Blue Marlin.”

  Farrell scanned the area for anyone else. “Have you sent word to the constables?”

  “Of course.” Galthus nodded vigorously. “I’m waiting for them to arrive.”

  Before Farrell could answer, he felt magic being worked in the area of the inn where their rooms were located. “They’re trying to break the seal I put on the room.”

  “Wait here,” Farrell told Galthus, stepping around the still-shaken man. “I’ll take care of them until the constables arrive.”

  “My lord!” The panic in the doorman’s voice caused Farrell to whip his head around. “There are two of them to just one of you. Shouldn’t you wait?”

  “I know it’s not fair to them, but if they wanted to pick a fight, they should’ve brought more people.” He gave the older man a wink.

  “Don’t get cocky,” Miceral said.

  “Don’t worry. I can handle this.” Reaching out for his spell, he found the wards holding as expected. “They’re still trying to get inside our suite.”

  “Can they get through?” Miceral followed a step behind.

  “Not unless it’s Meglar trying, and even he would have a problem.”

  Farrell felt a second attempt before they reached Jarvis. A cook and an elderly maid tended the innkeeper’s wound. They had carefully cut away the charred cloth to reveal a nasty, oozing burn.

  “Sorry, Ral, this looks like the end of our trip.” Farrell gently moved the maid to the side. “We can’t let them hurt these people.”

  “Why not leave it to the local authorities?”

  “Doubtful they’ll get here in time. They’ve stopped trying to break into our suite, so they’re probably on their way down already.”

  The cook, the large knife shaking in his hand, moved back toward the kitchen, tugging on the older woman. Farrell crouched down, carefully holding Jarvis’s arm parallel to the ground.

  “Galthus told me they burned you when you tried to keep them from our room.” Farrell noted the glazed look he’d seen so many times before on people in pain. “I’m sorry this happened, but I can help.”

  Without waiting for a reply, Farrell passed his staff over the man’s injuries. After the third pass, the red, blistering skin disappeared, leaving it only slightly pinker than the rest.

  Pushing the barest amount of power through his staff, Farrell sent a scan through the inn, looking for the wizards. “Be alert, Miceral. They’re on the stairs.”

  Farrell stepped back just before two men entered the common room. The black tunics with red trim announced their allegiance to Zargon and, by extension, Meglar.

  “Innkeeper!” The older man snarled. “This key wouldn’t open the door. Perhaps if I light your head on fire, you’ll give me the right key.”

  Farrell turned his wizard’s sight on the pair. The one who spoke was a master wizard of average strength. The younger man would never get beyond wizard class.

  “It won’t open because I don’t want you in my room.” Farrell’s voice seemed to surprise the pair. He rolled his eyes. “Pathetic. This scum is the best Meglar can dredge up?”

  “Why are you taunting them?” Miceral didn’t hide the annoyance in his voice. “If you keep them busy long enough, the constables can handle this.”

  “I’ll try.” Farrell never took his focus off the glaring master wizard. “But I like my way better.”

  “You won’t live long enough to regret insulting me, whelp.” Without warning, the gray-haired man pointed his hand at Farrell’s chest. The ball of energy drew loud gasps when it exploded on contact.

  Waiting for the light to dissipate, Farrell fixed an evil grin on his face. His adversary’s stunned expression quickly turned into a frown. Farrell let the man study him for a moment before moving away from the others.

  “As I said, pathetic. First you ignore me, then you insult me with a ridiculous attack even a novice could block.” Circling, he moved to place himself between the wizards and the exit. “Does that idiot Meglar know how worthless you are?”

  “Watch your tongue.” The man’s eyes narrowed. Farrell felt him extend a link with his companion. “No one insults the emperor.”

  “I’m not afraid of Meglar.” From the corner of his left eye, Farrell saw Miceral herding the others behind a pillar. “You two, however, should be worried about me.”

  The Zargonian wizard laughed, not a nervous laugh, but a genuinely amused one. “Your aura is no brighter than the novice’s beside me. You won’t best us, let alone the mighty Meglar.”

  “If that’s true, you should have no trouble defeating me.” Farrell shrugged, trying to look as unconcerned as he felt. “But considering you couldn’t break the seal on my room and your first attack was completely ineffective, I’m not afraid.”

  “Then know fear, fool!” The wizard drew energy from his companion and sent a second, more powerful strike toward Farrell. This one washed over his personal shields, scorching the rug around him.

  “Time’s up,” he sent Miceral.

  Waving his staff overhead, Farrell surrounded the two wizards and himself with an energy shield to protect the others. When the pair turned their focus from the newly raised shield to Farrell, he brought his staff down with a thud. “My turn.”

 
; Four balls of blue energy shot from the end of the staff in rapid succession. The younger man flew backward, his personal shields unable to stop the two bolts of power directed at him. He died before he hit the wall.

  Although his shield managed to slow the first attack, the master wizard fared no better than his apprentice. The first ball shattered his defenses, singeing his clothing, before the second strike tore a hole in his chest.

  The smell of burnt flesh permeated the common area, accompanied by a faint crackling sound coming from the two lifeless bodies. No one spoke, but just stared at them.

  “Too late you learned the folly of following Meglar.” After dissolving his shield, Farrell knelt and ran his staff over the man, collecting what little energy the dead wizard retained.

  Before Farrell rejoined Miceral, two wizards wearing constable clothing entered the inn. Without speaking, the lead wizard cast a spell over the entire room. Feeling the magic wash over his shields, Farrell determined the constable meant to immobilize everyone.

  Farrell returned his staff to his back when the constable walked past him to check on the two downed wizards. “They’re dead.”

  Both constables turned toward him, staffs pointed in his direction. Careful not to make any sudden movements, he kept his hands where they could see them. “Before you attempt to freeze me again, perhaps you should hear what I have to say. If I wanted, I could have killed you both when you turned your backs to me.”

  Neither lowered their staffs, nor did they release the power they had ready for use. “Despite the fact you just attacked me, I’m not your enemy.” Keeping his shields up, Farrell slowly spread his arms wide, then locked them behind his back. When they didn’t attack, he continued. “Those two set the innkeeper on fire when he wouldn’t give them access to my room. When they couldn’t get past the wards I placed there, they threatened to set Master Jarvis on fire again. I came to his defense, and that’s when they attacked me. Twice. Unlike your spell, his tried to peel the flesh from my body. When they attacked a second time, I responded. You can hardly hold me accountable because they couldn’t defend themselves. Ask the innkeeper and his staff if you doubt my words.”