Champion of the Gods, Books 1-2

by Andrew Q. Gordon

  Another two companies charged into the square from the east. The group from the west reversed course again and returned to guard the western exits. The newly arrived troops fanned out, blocking the roads to the east. Farrell steadied Miceral, adding a bit more strength to his partner’s shield.

  “I’ve enough energy left that I can probably blast our way through what’s in front of us, but if we encounter any wizards beyond the square, I’ll be hard-pressed to handle them.”

  “Save it.” Miceral scanned the area around them. “We might need it later.”

  “Wizard.” A voice called from the group that blocked their way to the north. “Surrender. There’s no escape. You’re surrounded on three sides, and more troops are coming as we speak.”

  Farrell forced as natural a laugh as he could manage. “Surrender? Why would I do something so foolish when I hold the upper hand? It is you who should surrender.”

  “If you think that, then you are truly the fool. Look around….”

  Farrell drowned out his opponent’s voice with a spell. “Your Door is down by my hand; I killed every wizard and Chamdon to the south with a thought; I repelled your pathetic attack on my sword mate, and you think I’m the fool? Does Meglar require you to be as stupid as he is in order to serve him?”

  While the wizards checked on the Door, Farrell quietly cast a spell. Unnoticed, a small dark cloud formed over his enemies. Noting the worried looks on the faces of a few, he laughed. “You lot truly are worthless. No wonder Meglar sent you to Belsport to die. Did none of you bother to look? Even a novice could tell my aura is brighter than Meglar’s. I outclass all of you combined, and you think to trade blows with me? In enemy territory? When your only means of retreat has been shattered against the will of your master? Pathetic.”

  He watched with satisfaction as most of the wizards stared at him with wide eyes. “I see some of you realize how little Meglar values your lives. He sent you to your deaths just as he does his Chamdon.”

  “Which way?” Farrell noted several of the wizards arguing with the master wizard he assumed led the attack. He reached out to the central stone and found it nearly empty. Darius and the wizard constables no doubt needed the energy. Taking a small line, he linked it to his slowly building cloud. With a bit of time, he’d have a nasty surprise for his foes. “I’ve used their hesitation to prepare a few counterattacks. Tell me where and when, and I’m ready.”

  Flashing him the barest hint of a smile, Miceral inclined his head north. “I say we keep to our original plan and head north.”

  “North it is.” Farrell steeled himself for whatever it took to get Miceral out safely. “Let me give them something to worry about before we go.”

  Raising his eyes, he saw the large, unnatural black cloud slowly descending over the square. Aiming one staff at the wizards in front of him and the other to the sky, he fired green blasts of power at both. The sizzling energy struck the shield erected by the eight wizards to the north. The assault continued long enough that they ignored the cloud above them.

  Farrell used the diversion to pick off two of the weaker wizards before they could reinforce their shields. Getting the attention of the surviving wizards, he braced for the onslaught he knew would follow. “Get ready.”

  Wizard fire struck him on three sides, mildly surprising him with its strength. “Desperate men are dangerous men,” Sanduval used to say. But Farrell had taken no chances, and his shields easily repelled the attacks.

  “Let’s go,” he told Miceral, launching a new attack on the Chamdon ahead of them. As Farrell hoped, a new shield quickly appeared to protect these troops. The energy from his attack hit the shield, covering it in a wall of bluish fire. Using the energy of his enemy’s shield, Farrell trapped the Chamdon inside. Left alone, the fire would burn itself out, but Meglar’s wizards tried to bring it down, stoking the flames.

  With their closest adversaries effectively walled off, Farrell followed Miceral north. As he hoped, between the trapped Chamdon and their movement, no one paid attention to the dark cloud he’d slowly been feeding energy to. Watching his opponents, Farrell sent a command to his spell the moment Zargon’s wizards turned their magic on him.

  Flashes of different-colored lightning sizzled the air, leaving a burnt odor as they targeted only wizards. The first strikes would be the strongest, so Farrell waited to see their effect before attacking the wizards himself. Despite leaving his flank exposed, Farrell decided he’d focus his attacks on those barring their way.

  Of the wizards in front of him, one turned into a charred corpse, her personal shield too weak to displace the amount of raw power directed against it. Two others got singed but lived only seconds more. Farrell targeted these two, firing a succession of fiery energy balls that swept away the remains of their shields. Unprotected, they were hurled back several yards by the force of the attack.

  Wizards in the other companies died as well, but Farrell couldn’t spare the attention to find out how many. With fewer targets, the next round of lightning proved almost as powerful as the first. One of the four wizards between them and their escape route screamed in agony as lightning caused thousands of tiny tendrils to arch between his shield and his body. When the shield failed, the burned, smoldering body hit the ground, kicking up dust.

  His cloud had one less-powerful round of strikes left. He held it in reserve, letting the cloud replenish some of its power before he used it again. The remaining wizards drew closer, erecting a powerful shield Farrell doubted the lightning could penetrate.

  Maintaining that new shield meant their enemy couldn’t spare the power to launch a meaningful attack. A standoff suited his purpose, so Farrell sent token attacks to encourage them to focus on protecting themselves.

  “Farrell! To your left!” Miceral’s desperate voice made him turn just in time to see two Chamdon charging him with swords raised.

  FARRELL TURNED quickly to face the new threat. Weeks of training kicked in, and he rebalanced his weight, preparing to meet the attack. Forcing energy to the tips of his staff, he spun the halves into position to strike. He’d readied a spell to turn the lead brute into ashes when its face exploded in a shower of blood, flesh, and brains. The second Chamdon met a similar fate a heartbeat later.

  Farrell looked up to see Grohl and Takala, wings spread wide, soaring upward, the limp bodies of their lifeless enemies dangling from their claws.

  “We thought you could use a talon, brother!” Takala’s exuberance had Farrell laughing.

  The square suddenly swarmed with activity. Companies of Belsport’s city guard accompanied by teams of wizard constables poured in from the north and west. Dozens of peregrines glided into the open space, dropping fully armored, angry Muchari warriors. Ostert was among the newcomers, and he gave Farrell the barest of nods before he swept across the open space to attack a confused Chamdon.

  Chaos ruled the square for a moment as dead Chamdon rained down on Meglar’s troops. Farrell’s brothers and the other peregrines swooped down, snatching Chamdon from the ground before quickly dropping the bloody corpses among the other defenders. The remaining wizards proved no challenge for Belsport’s wizard constables. Working together, the constables quickly killed or subdued the remaining Zargonian wizards.

  No longer under attack, Farrell searched for places to help. Noting a few human soldiers aiming crossbows skyward, Farrell focused his attention on protecting the peregrines. He killed three soldiers before the last one managed to fire a bolt. Following its path, Farrell shattered it just before it struck. The look of terror on the archer’s face lasted only until his intended target dug her claws into the man’s head and hauled him skyward in one swift movement.

  Behind the initial reinforcements, Farrell saw a determined Nerti and Klissmor leading a troop of unicorns, each bearing a Muchari. Erstad rode Nerti, and Klissmor brought Master Baylec to the fight. Dozens more trailed their Queen, fanning out as they reached the open space.

  Bereft of handlers, the remain
ing Chamdon proved easy to isolate and kill. The few remaining human soldiers quickly surrendered. Baylec led the Haven troops east to help subdue the remaining enemy. Farrell noted the barely controlled zeal Baylec and the others displayed when searching for Meglar’s forces.

  Erstad remained with the troops left to guard the square. Nerti walked toward Farrell as he removed the energy skins protecting himself and Miceral. Her gaze locked on Farrell’s hands, which still had the healing energy around them.

  “Child, what did you do?” Her tone lacked the reproach he expected. When Erstad turned toward them, Farrell knew she spoke to more than just him.

  “What’s wrong with your hands?” Erstad left the others and walked over.

  Miceral thwarted Farrell’s attempt to find the best explanation by speaking first. “He grabbed the sides of a Door and got severely burned in the process.”

  While Miceral didn’t understand the full ramification of what he said, Erstad did.

  “Great Holy Honorus, what on Nendor did you think you were doing?” Erstad’s raised voice drew the attention of several Belsport guards. “Even novice wizards know not to touch, let alone grab, the lines of a Door. Let me see your hands. Now!”

  Putting aside his embarrassment, Farrell turned his hands so his mentor could see what his foolishness had cost him.

  Erstad’s face paled as he stared intently at Farrell’s injuries. “I have no idea what demon took hold of you to make you do this. What were you thinking?”

  “When we reached the Door, troops and wizards were still exiting. It needed to be closed. Initially, I blocked the exit while I searched for the ends of the spell, but before I found it, I felt someone probe my barricade. Given what it took to overpower Darius, I assumed Meglar was behind the Door and the one—”

  “Wait, you were searching for the ends of the spell? Why?” Erstad appeared confused.

  “Yes, so I could unravel it.” Feeling uncomfortable meeting his mentor’s stare, he looked at Nerti, hoping for support. Her eyes bristled with anger.

  “Foolish child!” Her words stung like a sharp slap. “You were not chosen by the Six so you could toss your life away on some grandiose adventure.”

  Before he could explain, Erstad started questioning him again. “Unravel the spell? What in Neblor does that mean?”

  “Turn it off.” How could Erstad not understand? “If I had located the beginning, I could have undone the spell.”

  Shaking his head, Erstad waited a moment before responding. “I don’t begin to understand what you’re talking about, but we can discuss that later. You still haven’t explained why you grabbed the energy lines.”

  “The Door had to be shut. I couldn’t risk Meglar coming through. I grabbed the lines and forced more energy into them than they could hold. That made the Door implode.”

  Erstad stood there, a look of disbelief on his face. “Boy, we need to have a long talk about what goes on in your head.”

  Farrell shrugged. “When we have time, I can explain how I came up with this procedure. But tell me what’s happening.”

  “After you two flew off”—the look on the elder man’s face made plain his disapproval—“Darius, Cylinda, and I made it to the front gate to assess what we were facing. Several low-level masters led the attack on the palace. Fortunately, Darius is every bit as competent as we suspected, and the palace had enough protection to withstand the attack long enough for the three of us to quash it.”

  Farrell tried to ask another question, but Miceral grabbed him under his shoulders and hoisted him onto Nerti’s back. “Enough talk. Farrell needs a master healer to look at his hands. You can talk once he has been treated.

  “Nerti, will you send word to Wilhelm that Farrell has been severely injured and requires the services of his best healer? If the Door to Haven is still open, ask that Master Heather come herself.” Miceral glared at Farrell, cutting off any protest. “This isn’t negotiable! You’re going to see the healers now!”

  When Miceral took a breath, Farrell spoke up. “I was going to say, why not let Nerti heal me?”

  “I cannot heal this wound.” She shook her horn. “If I tried, your hands would be healed as they are now, with nothing done to repair the damage.”

  “But you healed my shoulder. How is this different?”

  “The healer repaired the damage. All I did was hasten the process.” Nerti sounded irritated. “No amount of arguing will change what I’m capable of doing. You’re going to see the healers now.”

  She turned to Miceral and fixed her eyes on him. “Get behind him. You’re coming with us.”

  Miceral wrapped his arms around Farrell’s waist, and they rode north toward the Citadel.

  “Wilhelm has been told to provide his chief healer.” Nerti’s choice of words made Farrell smirk. Even in Belsport, she told people what to do. “I told Haven to dispatch as many healers as are available and made clear Master Heather was to treat your injury.”

  Without thinking, Farrell groaned at the thought of Master Heather treating him. “Haven’t I suffered enough that you summoned her? She’ll give me another stinging lecture on my lack of concern for my personal safety, my reckless behavior, and my unrivaled ability to injure myself in new and unique ways.”

  “You do this often?” Miceral asked.

  “Often is too strong a word.” Even though Miceral couldn’t see him, Farrell looked sheepish. “I’ve required her assistance a few times in my life. Between opposing Meglar and attempting new spells, the opportunity for injury is common.”

  “I think I’m going to join Erstad and others when they talk to you about this episode. You have a knack for getting injured, seriously injured.”

  Farrell knew he couldn’t win this argument so he kept silent.

  Nerti’s deceptively fast gait had them to the now heavily guarded docks directly across from Prince’s Island. Soldiers and constables snapped to attention as Nerti came to a halt. A wizard constable motioned them to follow her and led them to the edge of the water. She placed a small rock on top of a chest-high stone column, and a white road of energy, wide enough for several horses to ride abreast, spanned the water to the island. Nerti never acknowledged the woman as she galloped across the bridge.

  Prince’s Island buzzed with activity. Palace guards patrolled with units from the city guard, constables, and wizard constables. Dozens of soldiers from Haven stood watch around the island, with vigilant peregrines perched on every tower.

  Nerti came to a halt before several serious guards who ordered them to stop. Nerti’s irritation made her “voice” so loud, it caused several guards to grab their heads. Being forced to wait didn’t improve her mood.

  “Ridiculous!” she said. “These silly humans know who you and I are. There is no need to stop us and get clearance from that man in the palace.”

  Farrell laughed at her description of Wilhelm. “Be calm. My condition isn’t dire and won’t get worse while we wait for permission.”

  Less than a minute later, a page dressed in the prince’s colors came running toward them. “Prince Wilhelm commands you to let Queen Nerti pass.”

  Farrell winked at the teen, who, despite being many years younger than the guard captain, conveyed his authority with little difficulty.

  A worried-looking Horgon met them at the entrance to the Citadel. To Farrell’s surprise, Wilhelm stood there as well. Miceral hoisted him off Nerti’s back, and Horgon immediately reached for Farrell’s hands. In one motion, he turned them over. The look of concern when Horgon saw the damaged flesh hurt Farrell more than his injuries.

  “Holy Mother of the Sea, what happened?” Wilhelm took a look, then motioned to his guards. “Let’s go.”

  “In closing Meglar’s Door, I misjudged the strength of my shields when I grabbed the lines of energy.”

  Taking another look, Horgon released Farrell’s hands. “By the Six, that’s got to hurt, son.”

  That Horgon called him “son” still took getting used to
, but Farrell felt a twinge of joy hearing it.

  “He’s blocking the pain at the moment.” Miceral’s continual disapproval took away the small smile that crept onto Farrell’s face. “Has Master Healer Heather arrived yet?”

  “I’ve been told she’s on the way…,” Horgon said. “Nerti said blocking the pain is almost as… foolish as grabbing the energy lines.”

  Farrell didn’t need to look over. He could feel Nerti’s anger. “It can be. If you don’t feel pain, you won’t know you’ve been hurt, and that can cause you to bleed out before you realize you need help.”

  Another glare from Miceral, and Farrell kept his head down the rest of the way. Wilhelm had set up the infirmary in a large hall near the throne room. Healers already worked on the steady stream of wounded men and women brought in from the fight.

  Farrell spotted Master Heather speaking to another healer he did not recognize and wished he had the power to heal himself. When she saw him, she marched directly for him, a grim expression etched onto her features.

  Without a word, she grabbed his wrists. Though less rattled than the others, she barely managed to stifle a look of shock as she examined his injuries.

  “Child, what is wrong with you?” Her tone confirmed her anger. “Can’t you do anything without causing yourself major trauma? Why can’t you simply do what you’re supposed to do instead of always trying to find some new and different way to do things? This incessant need to do it your way is going to be the death of you. One day, you’re going to do something to yourself that I can’t fix. Then you’ll be sorry.”

  “Excuse me.” Wilhelm held up a hand, drawing a scowl from Master Heather. “I presume you are Haven’s Chief Healer. I am Wilhelm, Prince of Belsport.”

  Heather eyed Wilhelm before she bowed her head slightly. “My apologies, Prince Wilhelm. I didn’t realize you would personally escort my reckless sovereign to be treated.”

  Farrell smirked, knowing Wilhelm wouldn’t get a more contrite apology from her.