Champion of the Gods, Books 1-2

by Andrew Q. Gordon

  “When one of my friends and allies risks his life for my people, I take a personal interest in their safety. You will not berate Prince Farrell in my house after he saved hundreds, if not thousands, of my people. These wounds were the result of his selfless actions to close the Door Meglar used to invade my realm. If you’re not able to be more civil, I’ll have Master Jelath treat him without you.”

  “My thanks, Prince Wilhelm, but Master Heather has treated me for serious self-inflicted injuries in the past. We have an understanding. If I injure myself doing something stupid, I owe her the courtesy of listening to her chastise me for my foolishness.”

  “No, my prince, he’s correct.” Heather stared hard at Wilhelm before bowing her head more deeply. “My sharp tongue gets the best of me at times, but I reserve that for those I care about. I ought to have asked the circumstances of your injury before I assumed you were being a silly child again.”

  “How about everyone stops worrying about whose feelings were ruffled and someone help Farrell?” Miceral’s angry voice made Heather and Jelath turn slightly red.

  “I’ve never seen anything like this, Prince Farrell,” Jelath said after examining his hands. “How did this happen?”

  “I grabbed hold of the energy lines used to create a Door.” Farrell snuck a peek at Heather and watched as her eyes narrowed to thin slits. “The volatile energy ate through my shielding and did this before I could shut it down.”

  He felt Jelath probe his wound with her mind. Shaking her head, she turned to Heather. “This injury escapes me. The damage to the flesh and muscle I can treat, but there is something that bars my abilities to reach the wounded areas.”

  “Magically induced injuries can often interfere with our talents.” Heather took his right hand none too gently. She pointed to the straight line of the wound on his palm. “See how the energy clings to the damaged flesh?”

  “So how do you treat it?” Jelath asked.

  “Only a healer who has a wizard’s talent can effectively treat such a wound.” Heather led him to a table and patted the top. He quietly sat on the edge, waiting for her to treat him. “You know, you have to stop blocking the pain for us to work on you.”

  Nodding, he dissolved the protective energy surrounding his hands. Bracing himself, he unblocked his pain receptors. He felt Miceral place a hand on his neck and tried to draw some comfort from it as the pain returned in excruciating waves. Even prepared for it, he couldn’t stifle a sob when the full effect hit him. Jelath and Heather worked quickly to wall off the pain, but they only numbed it. They couldn’t block it entirely.

  “Prince Farrell?” Heather’s use of his title and her deferential tone caught him off guard.

  “Yes?” His voice came out thin and halting as he tried to ignore the pain.

  “You’re the only wizard healer who understands Door energy. I need you to dissolve the magic that holds back the healing process.”

  Nodding, he stared at his mangled hands. “Where first?”

  For the next hour, Heather pointed to a spot and helped him siphon off the energy, while Master Jelath worked to repair the damaged muscle, sinew, and flesh. Once they removed all the dark magic, Heather turned her attention to helping Jelath heal the physical wounds.

  Miceral stayed with Farrell through the entire process. Several times, the healers touched nerves, sending waves of pain through the young wizard’s body. He managed not to scream but couldn’t hold back the tears. Miceral gently wiped his face, smiling despite the anguished look in his eyes.

  When Jelath and Heather finished, they both looked exhausted but pleased.

  “Young Prince, your hands will be as good as new if you rest for a day or so.” Heather gave him a small smile that turned into a smirk. “Perhaps you can get your unicorn friend to stab your hands for you like she did that shoulder.”

  “Rest assured, Healer, I will use whatever gifts I have to ensure his full recovery.” It seemed to Farrell that everyone heard Nerti’s words. She walked over and touched Heather, then Jelath, with her horn. “I thank you both for all your efforts today.”

  The two healers exchanged bewildered looks. “I no longer feel tired from my efforts. Truly, a unicorn is a blessing from the Holy Mother.” Jelath dropped to her knees before Nerti.

  Horgon helped her to her feet. “Master Jelath, it is disrespectful to Lenore to worship Nerti like a goddess. We honor all unicorns and Lenore by caring for them and keeping them safe.”

  Staring at his hands, Farrell kept flexing them to check for any lasting damage. When he felt Nerti’s presence close by, he turned to look into her green eyes.

  “I am afraid, Wizard, I cannot help you right now. The healers have done their job expertly, but your body needs time to assimilate the work they did before I hasten your recovery. Too quickly, and the wounds will not heal properly.”

  Farrell stood with Miceral’s help. “You’ve already done enough, Nerti. We each do according to our gifts. Helping those who helped me was gift enough.” He kissed her gently on the forehead.

  The healers bowed, moving to help other patients, leaving Farrell leaning against Miceral. “Let’s go find out what happened after we left the Citadel.”

  The pair made their way to where Horgon and Wilhelm spoke quietly with several military officers. When they saw Miceral and Farrell, they waved them over. Wilhelm excused himself, leaving Horgon to fill in the details.

  Aside from the force that rescued them, a second group under Master Thomas assisted the counterattacks. Wesfazial aided them, working beside their Belsport counterparts to round up stragglers. A defiant group of wizards and Chamdon had made a stand at the site where the Door originated. Darius and Cylinda joined a contingent of wizard constables to defeat that group. After that, they encountered only intermittent episodes of fighting as the last of the invaders were hunted down and either killed or captured.

  “We received a couple of accounts of the human soldiers taking women and young children hostage,” Wilhelm said as he rejoined them. “These soldiers appeared shocked when they arrived at the site of their Door and found it gone.”

  Farrell nodded. “That would explain what Meglar was up to with this attack.”

  “What does it mean to you?” Wilhelm asked

  “I wondered what the point of this was, but it’s clear Meglar was collecting slaves for the breeding pits. The raid had two purposes, I believe. The first, carried out by the wizards and Chamdon, was to instill fear in your people. Meglar meant to sacrifice these troops to achieve that end. They were a diversion to keep your forces occupied while the real goal of the raid was carried out—slaves. The human soldiers must have been sent to abduct as many people as they could, especially young women and children.”

  Wilhelm tilted his head. “Why young women and children?”

  “Children who are turned into a Chamdon don’t burn out as quickly as adults. The young women were for breeding purposes. Our information is that Meglar has come up with a process to turn babies into full-grown Chamdon. Now he’s using young women to give birth, one after the next, until they can no longer bear a child and they’re turned into Chamdon themselves.”

  Wilhelm’s jaw tightened, and his eyes seemed to focus on nothing. “Thank you for your help, Farrell, and for that information.”

  Stifling a yawn, Farrell leaned back against Miceral. “Wilhelm, I believe everything is under control, so I’m going to take my leave from your fair city. The wizards will stay to assist Darius as needed, and if Meglar or another attacks, Haven stands ready to aid you. I’m sorry for the suffering my presence brought you and Belsport. But I hope we part friends.”

  Wilhelm laughed. “You’re sorry? You? My dear boy, what in the sea could you be sorry for? Meglar is a disease on our world that cannot be appeased. I knew that the moment his agents arrived. Your offer of friendship and support made it possible for me to take action sooner than later.”

  Wilhelm gripped both Farrell’s shoulders, giving him a
warm smile. “When Meglar attacked, you owed us nothing, yet risked everything for my people with no thought of compensation. Our casualties are not greater because you were here to aid us. For that you have my thanks and my friendship.”

  Farrell bowed to Wilhelm. “You’re welcome, friend. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m feeling the effects of being healed and fear I may fall asleep as we speak.”

  “Go.” Wilhelm returned the bow. “Stay well, Friend of Belsport.”

  “Horgon is staying to command our forces,” Nerti told him. “And I’ve contacted Wesfazial to open a Door back to Haven. We three shall return, and you, Wizard, are going to rest.”

  FARRELL WOKE to see Miceral sleeping in the chair next to the bed. Not a deep sleep, but more as though his partner had dozed off. When Farrell rolled onto his side, Miceral woke up.

  “Hey, handsome.” Farrell flashed him a grin. “How long have I been asleep?”

  “We left Belsport about four hours ago.” Miceral walked over to the bed. “How do you feel?”

  He scooted over to make room for his partner. “Like I was dragged by a horse over the Plains of Gharaha.”

  Miceral reached over and stroked Farrell’s hair. “In truth, that might have been kinder than what you went through.”

  He lay quietly, enjoying the feeling Miceral’s hands sent through his body. “I’m sorry I caused you such stress. I don’t mean to get hurt, but sometimes I act without worrying about the consequences. If it’s any consolation, it wasn’t much fun for me either.”

  Miceral laughed. “I imagine not, but can you try to be more careful? I would prefer to carry you to bed for things other than healing sleep.”

  “Yes, I’ll try.” Farrell yawned again. “Come to bed? It’s late, and I’ll sleep better if you’re next to me.”

  Trying to fight the need to sleep so he could watch Miceral get undressed proved impossible. He woke briefly when his partner climbed into their bed, but quickly fell fast asleep, content to feel Miceral’s strong arms around him.

  For the better part of the next two days, Farrell slept. The only memory he had of that time was when Lisle tried to enter the bedroom the morning they returned. Even that wasn’t a very clear memory, but he remembered hearing “stubborn woman,” “dense as the iron you wear,” “let him sleep,” and “take your hands off me.”

  From how much better he felt and the dreamlike images he remembered, he knew Miceral had brought him food and drink several times a day. How little he remembered concerned him until he scanned his body and found traces of a sleeping draft. He should have known Master Heather would enlist Miceral to put something in his drink.

  Mildly irritated, he let it go when he remembered how concerned Miceral had been. A couple of days’ sleep not only let his hands heal, it left him feeling stronger than he’d felt in a long time.

  Leaving the bedroom, he remembered Miceral had mentioned going to meet his father. Given the amount of drugs in his system, he wondered why Miceral had thought it necessary to say anything. He found a tray of food and almost poured himself a drink before he scanned the pitcher.

  Putting the pitcher back, he decided to call down to the kitchen for food that did not have a sleep-inducing agent as an ingredient. The page shifted his weight from foot to foot as Farrell told him to explain to the cooks the consequences if he found any trace of the drugs in his food ever again.

  Farrell directed the second page to follow him into his study and dashed off a terse, almost threatening, note to Master Heather. Telling him what he had to do qualified as part of her job. Sneaking drugs into his food did not.

  He handed the note to the teen and let him out. Flexing his fingers, he moved to the music room to test his hands. The window at the far end provided little light, given its western exposure, and he quickly felt the tug on his energy from the room’s lights.

  Despite its infrequent use, Lisle kept the room spotless. Farrell stretched his fingers and sat on the piano bench. Everything felt right, but he’d know for sure in a moment. Fingers flying across the keys, he missed more than a few notes, but he still smiled broadly. Masters Heather and Jelath had done a superb job.

  Pleased with his hands but not his playing, he stopped once he determined he had suffered no permanent damage. He knew work had built up during his absence, but he sat by the window when he saw a shape fly by. Peering out, he watched transfixed as several young peregrines chased each other around. He could see his brothers doing this as youngsters.

  No. He smiled to himself. They probably do it even as adults.

  “He should be told.” Horgon’s voice caused him to turn from the window and head for the sitting room.

  “I agree, but it can wait until he’s better.” Miceral’s tone told him they withheld bad news.

  “Tell me what?” The two snapped their heads in his direction. He spotted the untouched tray of food and drink. “Oh. Don’t let Master Heather give you any more sleeping potions for my food.”

  Miceral blushed slightly. “They were for your own good.”

  “I’m not complaining, though it upset me when I figured it out.” He nearly frowned at the memory. “What’s done is done, and I’m feeling better, so it worked.”

  “That’s good news.” Horgon moved closer to clasp Farrell’s shoulder. “You had us worried for a stretch there.”

  “Sorry for that.” Not letting them distract him, he said, “What is it you think you shouldn’t tell me until later?”

  Father and son exchanged a look before Miceral nodded. “We went over the casualty list from the fight at Belsport this morning. The troop commanders all returned, and we were able to get an accurate count.”

  Dead soldiers always bothered him. As leader, his orders sent them into the fight. “How bad?”

  “Relatively light.” Horgon almost sounded upbeat. “The healers did an amazing job. We lost twelve soldiers in total.”

  He felt his face tingle, forcing him to breathe deeply to avoid tearing up. “Will you provide me a list so I can speak to the families personally?”

  “Of course.” Horgon’s gaze darted toward Miceral, who shook his head. “I’ll go get it now.”

  Swallowing loudly, Farrell lifted the pitcher, only to set it down when he remembered the drugs. Ignoring the look he got from Miceral, he flicked his wrist, eliminating the sleep draft. He filled a cup and downed it, then filled it again.

  “Farrell.” Miceral put his arms around his waist.

  “Don’t lecture me about using magic,” Farrell snapped. “I’m fine.”

  “I wasn’t going to do that.” He gently kissed the top of Farrell’s head. “It’s about the list.”

  Cup to his lips, Farrell set it down and stared into the water. “Whose name is on it?”

  The silence lingered long enough that Farrell almost asked again.

  “Ostert.”

  Barely a whisper, the name struck Farrell like the flat of a sword across the chest, leaving him unable to breathe. After the initial sting, he wiped his eyes and twisted around. “I’m sorry, Miceral. You knew him his whole life.”

  “I’ve had time to make peace.” Miceral blinked, sniffing softly. “Lenore will welcome him with all honors.”

  “Of course She will.” He buried his face against Miceral’s chest, feeling the hoped-for embrace he needed.

  STANDING IN front of the door, he paused. Should he be here unannounced? Maybe, but if he didn’t do it now, he might not get to it for a while. Knocking, he then stepped back.

  Lillian, her eyes red and puffy, opened the door. “Prince Farrell?”

  Noting her surprise, he smiled as best he could. “Hello, Lillian. I hope it’s okay that I came by without warning you.”

  She pulled the door wider, motioning for him to come in. “You’ve always been welcome in our home.”

  She nearly choked off the last two words. He let her rush past, giving her the time to compose herself. “Have a seat while I get you something to drink.”


  “Don’t worry about that. I can’t stay long.” Swallowing the lump in his throat, he squeezed his eyes tight. When he opened them, he found her staring at him. The grief he saw nearly broke his resolve, but he’d been through enough sorrow that he clamped down and kept it together. “How’s the baby doing?”

  Lillian rubbed her round stomach, almost smiling. “He’s doing well. The healers are checking on me daily to be sure I don’t go into labor prematurely.”

  Nodding, he tried to smile, but he knew it looked forced. “I… I… came to tell you how sorry I am. It doesn’t mean or change anything, I know, but I wanted to tell you personally how much your husband’s friendship meant to me.”

  Did that sound phony? They’d known each other less than a year. Why would she believe him?

  “Ostert always smiled when he spoke of you and Miceral. His ‘two friends,’ he’d tell people.” She finally smiled for real. “That you never forgot him or us was a source of joy and pride.”

  “I never forget my friends.” He sniffed, wiping his nose. “He taught me the value of living now….”

  Finishing the sentence proved impossible. Insensitive too. Or at least, so he thought.

  Laughing, Lillian stepped closer. “Did you know he took credit for you and Miceral getting joined?”

  The laughter turned into a sob, and Farrell reached for her. “As well he should.”

  Standing still, he let her cry until she just held him. Nothing he said would change things or ease her grief. Lifting his hand, he summoned a square of white silk and handed it to her. Silently, she accepted the offered cloth and wiped her face.

  “Thank you.” She tried to give it back, but Farrell waved her off.

  “Keep it.” Taking her by the arm, he led her to a chair. “I’ll… Miceral and I… if you or your son ever need anything, please come to us.”

  “Miceral said the same.” She stared at a spot on the floor. “You two have done enough already. With the gold you gave us, my son will never want for anything.”